text: Apparently, high ranking priests of Light didn't appreciate their souls being sucked on by shadowlings. Once outside the arena, the guards blindfolded Dhane with a thick, black cloth, wrapped so many times around his head, and so tightly, his brain felt ready to explode.
  
  He was shoved into a carriage of sorts, arms held by a guard sitting on either side. It was downright uncomfortable, sitting with his hands bound behind his back, cold and tingling from blood loss. He tried to adjust his wrists—find a less painful position—and the moment he did, a jolt of hot energy surged up his arms.
  
  He yelped, and the muscles along his back, contracted involuntarily, making him arch and smack his head against something hard. It lasted for only a second, leaving the smell of burnt flesh in the air. The guards snickered and Dhane thought to let Octoralis eat them.
  
  Oh, Daddy, can I?
  
  The temptation burned strongly, though they still had no proof he was of Shadow. Revealing his class would confirm their suspicions. Not to mention, attacking a bunch of guards in the middle of the city would only get him killed. These thoughts were enough of an answer, and Octoralis projected disappointment.
  
  Dhane took in a calming breath and tried to listen, to focus on the things happening around him. A guard said something to the driver, then a whip curved through the air and cracked. Something large and furry grunted. The sounds of metal wheels with twelve spokes each, ground against the stone and vibrated up from beneath.
  
  Okay. . . . Well, this all brought about an interesting revelation, one that seemed quite late to the party: he didn't need to see to see. It was as if he were a spider, sitting on its web and listening to the vibrations of its world, only, in this case, everything was connected: the guards, their weapons, the people outside gawking at the passing carriages.
  
  It all looked like it did when he was in the Cobalin's fodder pit, no source of light at all, just the lines of everything, as if they gave off a slight glow. But it wasn't a glow, it was a vibration.
  
  Sight was like a cone, it directed his attention to what was ahead. Even in a pitch-black cave, the fact he expected to see within this cone of vision, limited him to it. Without that limit, and a lot of concentration, he could feel his way out in all directions.
  
  There were at least two other carriages, one ahead and one behind. Beyond that, the lines became blurry. Maybe . . . the cone of sight wasn't such a limitation, but a focus.
  
  In the Cobalin cave, he didn't have any problem seeing as far ahead as he could above the surface. However, trying to sense all directions at once, or even directions he wasn't facing, seemed limited to thirty or forty feet.
  
  No one spoke during the fifteen-minute ride that continually crept upward, like they were ascending a mountain, or . . . of course, the palace roads. And Dhane was perfectly happy to sit and explore this newfound ability.
  
  Guards shouted commands, wrought iron gates swung open, and people—some in armor, some in flowing fabrics—ran and walked and talked and pointed.
  
  Ha! Words were nothing more than vibrations, sound waves. It was why he could hear the wolf riders last night, despite the distance. It only took a bit of intent to zero in on what he wanted to hear.
  
  "Is that," a woman said from outside, "the Veritai?"
  
  "Must be," a man said.
  
  Another man turned to the couple. "My friend in the arena said they caught the monster that invaded last night."
  
  The woman looked relieved. "Oh, thank goodness! Such vile things shouldn't be in..."
  
  Her voice faded away as the carriage turned into a side road, one that ran into a tunnel. Or perhaps a cave. Once through the opening, the ceiling curved upward and around stalactites that had been brutally hacked off.
  
  The smells of fresh air, the feel of a slight warm breeze through windows, and the sounds of foot traffic all changed. It grew colder, damper, and the sounds had an echo.
  
  A few minutes later, the carriage came to a stop and Dhane was shoved out of a door into an underground courtyard of sorts, nicely arranged with circular patterns of cobblestones.
  
  "I ain't a Shadow!" Aaliyah shouted. She struggled against two guards, wearing her own blindfold, trying to fight and failing terribly.
  
  Devron stepped out of the third carriage without protest and unassisted. In fact, he didn't even have a blindfold on, nor were his hands tied behind his back.
  
  Veritus Scyla stepped out after him. She summoned a bag of coins, the amount hidden on some label Dhane couldn't see. The label wasn't physical, and thus didn't vibrate, though the bag seemed large and heavy.
  
  I hurt him! Octoralis projected, feeding streams of rage into Dhane's chest. It stung and ached and throbbed. Devron? Out of everyone, Devron was the absolute last person he'd have thought to backstab a friend.
  
  The guards shoved Dhane toward a large doorway. Crystals hung from the rock ceiling, likely filling the cavern with light. He walked, but also paid acute attention to his once friend, as if he could seize the man with tendrils of darkness and scream What did you do!
  
  "You should remain in the palace for a day," Veritus Scyla said, quietly. "That should absolve you of any suspicion. Then you can return to training if you like."
  
  "You gonna release Aaliyah, though, right?" Devron asked. He deposited the coins to his phone. "It's like I said before, she has nothing to do with this."
  
  "You have my word. That is if our tests prove that she's not of Shadow. You understand, do you not? We cannot take such chances that the corruption hasn't spread."
  
  Devron looked down, fists clenched. He nodded and followed the high priest and her entourage. Servants approached, guards saluted, and people spoke their greetings.
  
  The guard on Dhane's right smiled and tapped the other guard. He was carrying a spear, a follower of the hawk. Apparently, even men could be Amazonian princesses.
  
  The guy thrust the butt end of his spear in front of Dhane's feet. Really? One would think the guards would be more professional than this, especially in the employ of the Veritai.
  
  Dhane casually stepped over the spear, which produced a set of deep frowns from the two guards. The other guard motioned for the spear wielder to try again, as if the first time was some fluke.
  
  Apparently, it wasn't enough to just try again, for the two guards moved in such a way to really drive Dhane to the ground in a display of incompetence, to show that those of Shadow couldn't even walk properly.
  
  The amazon thrust his spear at Dhane's feet, but angled it a bit higher to make it impossible to miss this time. The second guard shoved Dhane forward.
  
  Dhane used the force from the second guard to twist and step over the spear, then locked it between his legs and twisted around again. The spear jerked out of the grip of the one guard, swooshed, and clanged against two helmets, knocking the guards to the cobbled floor.
  
  Everyone's attention shot to Dhane. He stopped. The spear clattered to the cobblestones, and he pretended to look around, as if lost, then proceeded to wander in the opposite direction of the doorway. "Hello? Where am I supposed to go?" he called, lacing his words with innocence.
  
  "Incompetent!" Veritus Scyla yelled. "These men are no longer in my employ. Juchon?"
  
  "Yes, high priest?" a man said, stepping out from the small crowd of servants. He wore a full suit with a thin tie and stood at average height. Perhaps everything was average except his attire and his complete lack of hair.
  
  "Take the shadowling to that fool Ink Master of yours. Stay with him until the tests are over. Is that clear?"
  
  "It'll be done, high priest."
  
  Juchon jogged up to Dhane and gently pinched his sleeve, as if touching him would be enough to corrupt the man's soul. "Right this way, sir. And be mindful, we have many guards. An attempt to escape will only result in a painful punishment."
  
  "Escape?" Dhane asked, feigning surprise. "I just want to clear my name from your witch hunt."
  
  Juchon didn't have a reply to that and instead, led Dhane through the large doorway to an even larger hallway of glossy stone. It was interesting how he could tell—the vibrations seemed smoother, cleaner.
  
  The walls were decorated with many frames of large canvases, covered in varying layers of paint, not really forming anything of note, except for maybe indistinct figures. It was like appreciating the art by how it felt to slide your fingers across the surface.
  
  Juchon led Dhane to a curving stairwell as wide as the main hallway. A squad of four guards followed them. Aaliyah was somewhere above, noticeable only by her distinct footfalls on stone. She had stopped fighting for the moment.
  
  Two levels up and at the end of a smaller hallway that opened into a rounded room, Juchon stopped. There were padded benches along the wall, forming a sort of waiting room with one large door.
  
  Juchon tugged Dhane's sleeve and explained where the seats were. Dhane pretended to feel around for the benches with his foot before taking a seat next to Aaliyah.
  
  The man gave the guards precise instructions, then turned to the door. He raised a fist, as if to knock, but then exhaled a breath and pulled the door open, slipped inside, and closed it behind himself.
  
  This seemed to cut off a lot of the vibrations Dhane could feel. There were shapes like chairs and a desk, though they were fuzzy and dim.
  
  Dhane leaned against the cold wall. This whole place felt uncomfortable. It was too cold, too precise, too clean, too ornate, and seemingly void of anything living, like flowers or trees.
  
  If he had to be in a cave deep underground, he'd much rather be with the Cobalins. They had a sense of family, of warmth, of fun and spirit. All of their buildings were imprecise, plopped down at the wrong angles, and yet if he could, he'd snap his fingers and switch places without a second thought.
  
  Of course, the Cobalins also had Taco Tuesdays, tabletop games, and a complete lack of torture chambers. One or more of those things seemed quite nice at this given moment, which only reminded him how he had missed dinner and breakfast.
  
  He sighed. "So, how's your day going? Anything new?"
  
  "New! They think I'm a Shadow because of you!"
  
  "Hmm, not going well then?"
  
  "Goddammit, not well at all!"
  
  She seemed scared, covering it with anger. But she didn't have anything to fear. She wasn't half Light and half Shadow like he was, made responsible for balancing the two affinities, ally and enemy to all.
  
  And though he didn't know, they just might have a way to confirm their suspicions. Oh, how he wanted to talk with the Mother of Shadows, ask her Is this what you wanted?
  
  But besides the state of the world, the injustices happening every day, he couldn't help but think he was going to get stuffed in some forgotten place for all eternity, and Penny would think he abandoned her, ran for the hills, or something ridiculous.
  
  Sadly, he couldn't just outright ask Aaliyah to pass on a message without giving everyone more reason to doubt his innocence. So he asked instead, "Hey, just in case you don't get out of here, want me to pass along a message to someone?"
  
  "What the fuck, man! You thinkin' I'm a Shadow?"
  
  Dhane shrugged. "I don't know, are you?"
  
  "NO!"
  
  "I'm sure a Shadow would say that...."
  
  "It's cuz I'm black, ain't it? That's why you thinkin' I'm a Shadow."
  
  "Hmm? I don't think you're a Shadow."
  
  "Right. Look me in the eye and— Pfft. Whatevs, man."
  
  "No message then?"
  
  "Fine. Tell Dev he'll make a shitty herbalist."
  
  "I . . ." Dammit! Devron was cool. He was the guy that helped people, made them laugh, and feel included. And now Dhane was supposed to hate him? He finally said, in a more serious tone, "Aali, Devron is the reason we're here."
  
  "Dev? Because he wants to abandon training? Pfft."
  
  "No, because he collected a bag of coins by telling the Veritai that we were of Shadow."
  
  ". . . Whatevs, man," she said, voice tainted with an edge of doubt. "You don't know him like I do. He . . . he wouldn't do that."
  
  From the other side of the door, a man yelled, "I can't test them blindfolded, you inbred dolt! It's an inkblot test. 'Tell me what you see. Black? Black! You must be evil!' "
  
  Dhane leaned closer to Aaliyah. "If I don't get out of here, tell Penny at the Cali Bali inn, okay?"
  
  The door opened and Juchon rushed out, then turned, finger raised. "The high priest demands—"
  
  "Out!" a short, old man yelled, standing atop of a chair. He had a wild beard that dropped all the way to his waist. "You have no say here anymore, Jui. I don't want to hear it. Just because that woman is of weak soul, doesn't mean we have anything to fear."
  
  "I can't leave! I'm to stay until all—"
  
  "Juchon! You bald, insecure aberration. Until you return my damn shampoo, of which I have no inkling of an idea of what you are using it for, you are NOT WELCOME here."
  
  "But—"
  
  "DID. I. STUTTER?"
  
  Juchon snapped his mouth shut, took in two deep breaths while staring daggers at the old man, then turned away with as much sass as he could manage.
  
  He marched up to Dhane, looked like he'd grab his arm, but instead, pinched his sleeve and pulled on him to stand. "You are . . . to be tested by the Ink Master." His voice shook. "Walk this way."
  
  "Jui!" the Ink Master yelled.
  
  "I'm leaving! And until you return my dome wax, I'm keeping your blasted shampoo! I'm the one who bought it in the first place!" Juchon stomped off down the hallway, leaving a waiting room full of guards and an awkward silence.
  
  The Ink Master hopped down from his chair and entered the waiting room. "You two," he said, pointing to two guards, "wait inside my office. Someone remove their blindfolds. Honestly, if those of Shadow could just peer into our souls and suck out all our vitality or knowledge, we wouldn't be winning, would we?"
  
  A guard raised a finger as if to say something, then the Ink Master said, "It was a rhetorical question. Now, off with the blindfolds."
  
  A guard moved up behind Dhane and untied the blindfold, then unwrapped his head. The light was suddenly a painful experience. It washed out all the little vibration lines, filling everything with distracting colors.
  
  The Ink Master wasn't an old man. His beard was actually a bright pink, feathery scarf. He had light brown hair, neatly combed, and fair, lightly tanned skin.
  
  "Right," the Ink Master said, "come and take a seat, we have a lot to cover."
  
  Dhane sat in a little round office with two little round windows. Green fields and pink trees stretched toward the horizon. Beyond, looming over the entire world, was the massive Paradeise Vono, the Heaven's Mountain.
  
  The Ink Master rounded his desk and sat in a chair barely a foot off the ground. He then proceeded to crank a device, slowly ratcheting his seat a half-inch higher with each slow rotation.
  
  The man had olive green eyes that watched Dhane for the three solid minutes it took before the Ink Master was at a height suitable to converse.
  
  "Apologies," the Ink Master said. "I am Albert, the Ink Master for Ceratree City."
  
  "You're a psychologist?"
  
  "No-no, I just told you, I'm the Ink Master."
  
  Dhane scrunched his brows together. "You were talking about reading inkblots. I've taken three psychology classes. Aren't you giving me a Rorschach psychology test?"
  
  "Well aren't you a mind wizard. I sure hope you're not of Shadow, they already outnumber us, they don't need intelligence as well. But no-no, that is not what an Ink Master does. I follow the Owl with a specialty in ink magic.
  
  "Using you as a conduit, I get to see into your soul. All of your secrets, your lies, your truths, they'll be rendered in ink. I have my doubts that you are as they claim. A shadowling? What an outrageous accusation, however, you might be aligned to their cause, and I will dig that out of you."
  
  Oh, shit brownies. Dhane didn't know anything about getting through a lie detector, other than maybe giving himself some form of pain on every answer. But this? This was a hundred times worse. How could he hide his true nature from something so invasive?
  
  Albert reached out and a long needle formed in the air. He took it and motioned Dhane to move closer. "Your hand, please."
  
  Dhane held out his hand and Albert tapped the needle to the end of his index finger. It didn't hurt whatsoever, though a pool of his shimmering silver-white soul, beaded there until the Ink Master pinched the air and pulled.
  
  A string of Dhane's soul arched through the air. Albert summoned a large sheet of paper that covered his entire desk, and the soul struck at the very center.
  
  Every shade of gray ink bled into the paper. Blotches formed in random places, almost looking like a storm cloud. The ink constantly moved, shifting darker and lighter.
  
  "I see. . . ." Albert said.
  
  Well look at that, he lasted a good five whole seconds. If this large sheet of paper covered in black ink didn't outright confirm he was of Shadow, what would?
  
  "Yes-yes. . . ." Albert said and looked intensely at Dhane. "You have a very strong mind. Most people have random thoughts, though the ink hasn't taken any shape with you. Curious, I say."
  
  "Is that a bad thing?" Dhane asked, feeling a modicum of relief.
  
  "Bad? Heavens no, it just means I have a challenge, and I do like my challenges." Albert cracked his knuckles and summoned a tiny notebook and pen. He scribbled something then asked, "Who is your divinity?"
  
  The first thing to flash through Dhane's mind was the Mother of Shadows. Shit! He quickly focused on the Sisters of Death, watching the ink to see what would form, but it continued to shift around, formless.
  
  Of course. . . . The Mother of Shadows gave him protection from mind-reading. He had to allow his mind to be read, his affinity to be seen, his divinity to be known, just the same as when people called out to his soul.
  
  He projected the Sisters of Death, perhaps a few moments too late, and the ink quickly shifted to form the symbol of the snake divinity.
  
  "Ha!" Albert yelled. "I can feel you refusing to give answers, though I am a master, mind you. It is only a matter of time. Now onto more interesting questions.
  
  "Ceratree City, as you no doubt know, was attacked last night. Do you—" Albert stopped talking when the ink pulled away from the symbol of the snake and formed a highly detailed image of . . . Octoralis.
  
  Wait, he didn't project that!
  
  Oh no! Octoralis said in his mind. I'm bad, bad-bad-bad! The image animated, now showing Octoralis hitting her head with her front legs as a form of punishment.
  
  "Most interesting," Albert said and smiled. "We are getting somewhere now. Maybe—and I really hate to admit this, but maybe . . . the high priest is onto something after all." He wrote something in his notebook.
  
  "Dhane, how do you explain your knowledge of this spider when you were reportedly dead?"
  
  "I . . ." Dhane said, thinking fast. "I died in the Wilds from a giant spider attack. The PK guild can confirm this. Everyone said a spider attacked the city, so maybe the two...."
  
  "Yes-yes, it's quite plausible to mix the two events. But what on earth is it doing?"
  
  "That's . . ." Dhane paused. Octoralis shifted left and right as she continued to pummel her head, repeating bad-bad-bad, stupid spider, Daddy in danger because of dumb me. "That's," he continued, "the . . . mating dance."
  
  "Oh my! I'm so very sorry."
  
  "Me too."
  
  Stop it, he thought back to Octoralis, then realized that while he may have mind reading protection, she didn't, and she was currently in his soul.
  
  Albert wrote something in his notebook, mouthing the words Fornicates with spiders.
  
  "Whoa! I didn't want to!"
  
  "Hmm? Well, I can't see how that can be verified. These are merely the facts. But I'll add a note." He mouthed, But says he didn't like it.
  
  Oi, like that didn't paint him in a bad light. Dhane was losing this damn fight of wits. And worse, Octoralis knew everything that he did and could likely project incriminating evidence.
  
  Dhane focused on the vibrations in the room. Everything vibrated to some degree, everything was in some form of motion. Even so, while he could see normally, focusing on those vibrations were quite difficult. He barely made out the guards standing only a few feet away, hands on weapons, watching the animated ink with great interest.
  
  He summoned Octoralis under the desk in her smallest form, which happened to be a few inches. She materialized from strands of smoke that seeped out of Dhane's skin. . ..
  
  He froze for two seconds, gauging the room for a reaction that never came, then let out a slow breath. Stay out of sight, he thought to Octoralis.
  
  I will, Daddy. I stay here. I no bite tiny man.
  
  As soon as she had materialized, the ink lost its form, which seemed to dispel the room. Dhane needed to gain an advantage here, needed to distract the Ink Master somehow.
  
  "Can I . . . that is," Dhane said, "do you mind if I take notes?"
  
  "Notes? How peculiar. I suppose I don't mind, though whatever you write will stay with me and can be used against your case. Understand?"
  
  Dhane nodded and the Ink Master summoned another small notebook with pen and handed it over.
  
  "I'm going to say words and see where your thoughts take us," he said and paused for a moment before saying, "Food, friend, lover, divinity, enemy, ally, Light, Shadow, slave, Cobalin."
  
  As the Ink Master listed words, Dhane carefully projected images of . . . an impossibly dense roll, Nick, Penny, the Sisters of Death, the Raging Rabbits, Aaliyah. But for Light and Shadow, he didn't know what to project and instead projected Kuby for slave and Cobalin.
  
  "Okay-okay. . . . Show me something sad," Albert asked.
  
  Dhane had an idea, and since it aligned well with telling the truth, he confidently projected Kuby's death. The ink swirled together to show the frightened Cobalin. It moved just as he remembered it, then Aaliyah attacked.
  
  "This?" Albert asked. "You think a slave of Shadow dying is . . . sad?"
  
  "Hmm," Dhane said, then grabbed his notebook and wrote something. "Interesting."
  
  "What is? What are you writing?"
  
  "Nothing of consequence. As to your question, that is what I projected."
  
  "How odd. I sense no deceit from you. You do know why you are here, correct?"
  
  "I understand the allegations."
  
  "And you know that the Cobalins are our enemies?"
  
  "Of course."
  
  Albert wrinkled his forehead and stared for a moment, then asked, "Show me something that made you upset."
  
  Again, revealing the truth was easy. Dhane projected Challenger Terry backhanding Kuby and the stone falling on Kuby's foot. The ink swirled to show that amused gleam in Terry's eye as he smiled at the poor Cobalin.
  
  Albert wrote something in his book, then paused. "I don't think you understand the severity of your situation."
  
  "Most interesting," Dhane said and wrote something else.
  
  "What is interesting! How are my comments interesting? You are providing quite the damning evidence against yourself and you think my comments are . . . interesting?"
  
  "Yes, very troubling, actually." Dhane wrote some more and nodded to himself as if the words on the page revealed some deep and important truth.
  
  Albert jumped out of his chair, took two steps across the desk, and snatched the notepad from Dhane. He read the notes aloud as if doing so would reveal new truths that could be rendered in ink.
  
  "'The Ink Master is in favor of slavery. He has no problem with abuse and torture and . . . war crimes'? You're twisting everything!"
  
  Dhane motioned for him to continue.
  
  "'This evident form of apathy points to depression from a recent breakup that the Ink Master is . . . clearly not over'? You know nothing of my life! I am so . . . so very over Juchon."
  
  Dhane raised an eyebrow. "The simple fact that you haven't returned his property," Dhane said, now steepling his fingers as a show of confidence, "suggests that you don't want the special connection you have with Juchon to end."
  
  "No . . . I . . . you...."
  
  And now for a rather large risk, a cringeworthy one. It was time to make use of those psychology classes and repeat the words all psychologists seem to memorize before finals.
  
  "Albert," he said in a soothing, soft, and very practiced tone, "this is a safe place. We bring the truth to light so we can understand it. Tell me how you feel about this new truth you've been suppressing."
  
  The Ink Master slumped, then sat on the paper, ink swirling around his form. New images materialized to show Albert and Juchon together on a hike, rowing a boat, eating dessert, fighting real dust bunnies. The images laughed and talked and loved in perfect silence, a silence only art could depict.
  
  "We got into a fight," Albert said and sighed. "The priests of Light have changed, have become more assertive, demanding, perhaps even vicious in their pursuits."
  
  "So Juchon is stuck between his loyalty to his job and his love of you?"
  
  "And he chose her!"
  
  Dhane pointed to a new swirl of ink, revealing a rather ugly depiction of Veritus Scyla, her hair messy, eyes evil, face contorted in rage. Clearly, this was how the Ink Master saw her, the woman that stole away his love. "Might it be more complicated than that? Does Juchon love his career?"
  
  Albert looked down at the table where Juchon was laughing at some unknown thing. "He does. He's the kindest soul, wanting to help ease the pain for those who die in this world."
  
  "Albert, I don't think Juchon is over you."
  
  "What? You don't?"
  
  "Of course not. He's holding onto your shampoo for the very same reason you won't give back his dome wax. Neither of you wants this to end, and instead of trying to understand your feelings, you are both controlled by fear."
  
  "Fear? It's not—"
  
  Dhane raised his hand to cut him off. "Both of you have the same fear of losing the other, of being hurt. You lash out with insults because you're trying to distance yourself so that when the inevitable happens, it won't hurt as much. It's a fear of emotional anguish."
  
  "But he chose her over me...."
  
  "You gave him an impossible choice that's clearly eating away at him. Relationships are about compromise, are they not? As I see it, there's only one real question here. Do you love him?"
  
  "I . . . do. I do! I need to . . . to talk with him! I need to explain myself and fix this." Albert jumped to his feet. "It's so obviously clear now."
  
  Dhane nodded and helped him down from the desk. He motioned for a guard to open the door and let the Ink Master out. "You do that. We'll meet again next Wednesday at the same time?"
  
  The Ink Master nodded emphatically. "Thank you, thank you! You wonderful, brilliant, beautiful man!" He ran down the hallway, feathery pink scarf flowing behind him.
  
  Aaliyah, her blindfold removed, crooked an eyebrow. The guards exchanged confused looks. Then Dhane smiled and said, "Next?"