I flicked another pebble.
Clack.
It bounced off the wall, fell to the floor, and joined the growing pile of what I had begun calling my Rock Army. At this point I had enough stones to stage a coup against the local pebble monarchy.
I stretched my legs out and leaned back on my elbows, staring up at the dark, ruined sky of the Dark City. A steady, cold wind slid between the broken towers, humming faintly like a spectral flute. Fitting accompaniment for my boredom-inspired performance.
I pursed my lips and whistled again — this time starting confidently with the opening line of Take On Me.
doo-doo—doo-doo doo-doo—doo-doo doo-doo—doo-doo…
Unfortunately, confidence wasn't the same as talent.
My whistle cracked halfway, spiraled upward like a dying bat, then crashed straight into an off-key catastrophe.
Huh, what do you know, maybe I do have a talent for writing after all.
I held up a hand solemnly.
"Moment of silence for that note. It didn't deserve to die this way."
The wind respected my request. Or maybe it was just awkward.
Either way, I grabbed another pebble, flicked it, and watched it topple off the wall without making a sound.
"Terrible," I muttered. "Even the rocks are bored."
My eyes drifted over to the decapitated Statue of the Saintess — towering, headless, and looming over the edge of the city like a disapproving aunt who caught you eating cookies before dinner. The missing head had been tossed down somewhere into the abyss years ago by the Nameless Sun, where it rested for eternity with the rest of the Starlight Seven.
I cleared my throat and tried singing again:
"I walked through hell to get this far…
and now I'm throwing rocks at—oh look, a scar…"
I glanced at the old gouge on the nearby wall, shrugged, and improvised:
"Dark City blues, got nothin' to lose,
I'm singin' to myself 'cause I blew a fuse…"
"Beautiful," I whispered to myself. "Absolutely Grammy-worthy."
Then the shadow next to me twitched.
A moment later, Sasrir's head slid out of the darkness like a shark breaching water, followed by the rest of him, stepping fully onto the cracked stone. His expression said he had heard at least fifteen seconds of my singing and deeply regretted not waiting longer to emerge.
"It's done," he said, deadpan.
I brightened immediately. "Done done? Or 'I did half and then gave up' done?"
He raised a brow. "Done done."
"Oh, perfect." I sat up straight, clapping my hands once. "Sunny is going to lose his mind when he finds it."
Sasrir paused. "You say that like it's a good thing."
"It is," I said proudly. "It means emotional reaction. That shows he's still human. I'm practically doing him a favor."
Sasrir just stared.
I tossed another pebble. This one ricocheted against the wall and hit the decapitated Saintess's foot.
"Nice," I said. "Bonus points."
He sighed. "I still don't see why asking me to carve that message into the ruins was necessary."
"It wasn't," I admitted. "But imagine it: Sunny and the Cohort stroll into the Dark City months from now, exhausted, depressed, dragging themselves through nightmare mobs… and suddenly—"
I waved my hands dramatically through the air.
"BOOM. A mysterious, terrifying omen on the wall. Something cryptic. Something ominous."
Sasrir blinked. "The first thing on the wall is a smiling stick figure holding a balloon."
"A scary smiling stick figure," I corrected.
"With a balloon."
"Exactly. It's the ambiguity that will haunt them."
He rubbed his forehead. "I sometimes question whether you require monitoring."
"You do monitor me," I pointed out. "Constantly."
"Yes," Sasrir muttered. "And strangely, it doesn't help."
I laughed and flopped onto my back, arms spread wide. "What else am I supposed to do? We're stuck here for a year and a half waiting for Nephis to show. Can't fight the Soul Devourer, can't escape, can't even go sightseeing because the local attractions want to eat me."
Sasrir sat down beside me with the resignation of a man accepting a lifelong burden. "There are other ways to pass time."
"Like?"
"Training. Planning. Patrolling. Preparing for—"
"Booo-ring." I grabbed a pebble and tossed it upward. It bonked me on the forehead on the way down. I graciously ignored it. "We'll do all that too. But if I don't find something stupid to keep myself entertained, I'm going to start naming the monsters."
"You already named three of them," he reminded me.
"That's because they deserved names," I said defensively. "Knife-Hands Kevin had personality."
"He also tried to disembowel you."
"See? Personality."
Sasrir exhaled sharply — the sound halfway between annoyance and suppressed amusement.
I flicked another pebble, letting silence settle for a few seconds before I asked, "So… how long before Sunny and the Cohort get here?"
"Hard to predict exactly," Sasrir said. "But when they do…"
I grinned, eyes sparkling with completely unjustifiable pride. "They're going to see my masterpiece."
Sasrir shook his head slowly. "You are irredeemable."
"Thank you," I said cheerfully. "High praise."
He sighed again — long-suffering, resigned, but unmistakably fond.
"Fine," he said. "What now?"
I hopped to my feet, dusting off my pants. "Now? We find more rocks."
"Why?"
"So I can invent a sport called 'Saintess Pebble Golf.' I need to practice my swing."
Sasrir covered his face with one hand. "You're impossible."
"And you love it."
He didn't deny it.
Which meant I won.
Sasrir and I lingered near the crumbling ledge, the hollowed-out head of the Saintess' statue staring blindly past us into the Dark City. A faint wind sighed through the empty streets—like the city was trying to imitate me and failing even worse.
I flicked another stone into the gloom and quickly did the maths.
Clack.
"Nephis will be here in… what, a year and a half?" I said, as though casually observing something mundane like the weather. "Do you think she'll still be all stoic and righteous when she sees what this place is like? I'm honestly excited. It'll be like a reunion party, only they don't know they're attending and don't know it's a reunion."
Sasrir's eyes narrowed; the shadows around him shifted like irritated serpents. "Don't go thinking anything stupid. We wait for her. We give her the all the pointers she needs to storm the Crimson Spire, and then we leave this godforsaken place." His voice was clipped, sharp. "That was the plan."
"Yes, yes, the plan." I stretched my legs out in front of me, lying back and propping my hands behind my head. "But we could… I don't know. Add a little… seasoning." I wiggled my fingers. "Something entertaining. Something memorable. A little chaos never hurt anyone."
"It hurt a great many people," Sasrir muttered. "That's literally what chaos does."
"Details," I said with a dismissive wave.
He stared at me, long and unimpressed. "What exactly are you planning?"
"Ohhh, nothing. Nothing serious." A grin crept up my face anyway. "Maybe I'll poke them a bit. Shadow their steps. Drop a cryptic message or two in their path. Throw something deeply traumatic at Sunny. You know—bonding activities. We did kill the Black Knight after all, who will disembowl Sunny now?"
His expression didn't change, but the air around him darkened. Always a sign of disapproval.
"Or," I continued, more brightly, "I could go further. I could greet Sunny personally. Shake his hand. Compliment his hair. Then enslave him through his True Name. You know, the usual dramatics. Wouldn't that be—"
"No."
His voice cut like a blade.
"Come on—"
"No." Firmer. "You do not enslave a person you have just met, who has never done anything to you. Not unless they strike first. Not unless they force your hand. That is a threshold, Adam." His gaze locked on mine, harder than the stones I'd been throwing. "What you aretalking about is following the path of the Sovereigns, of Anvil and Song. And you are not them."
I scoffed, rolling onto my side and plucking another pebble from the ground. "Why can't I be? Doesn't lording over all of Humanity and being worshipped as living Demigod now sound fun?"
"Because," Sasrir replied, "those who fall into the trap of easy pleasures often end up with brutal deaths. I won't allow you to wallow your life away in decadence."
I flicked the stone—harder this time.
Clack.