The fruits waited.

  Cade stared at them, his mind still half-caught on the One Piece comparison. Two mysterious objects, growing from nothing, promising power he didn't understand. The red-orange one pulsed with inner heat, its spiky surface throwing off faint waves of warmth he could feel from ten feet away. The gray-violet-blue one swirled like a captured storm, colors chasing each other across its surface in hypnotic patterns.

  "So," he said, turning to Rhys and Zyrian. "What exactly are these? How do they work?"

  Rhys approached the fruits, circling them with an appraising eye. "Essence fruits. Rewards for scenario completion. They contain concentrated essence types—abilities you can absorb and use."

  "Like the fire the city people were throwing around?"

  "Exactly like that. I would guess the red-and-orange fruit is a fire essence type. There are six affinities." Rhys held up fingers as she counted. "Transmutation, Manifestation, Absorption, Projection, Perception, and Covenant. Every essence type grants abilities that span one, some or all of those types. I'm guessing fire would probably be Transmutation and Projection mostly, for instance."

  "And these fruits give you those abilities?"

  "If you choose to absorb them that way, yes. But most people at lower tiers convert them to pure anima instead." Rhys shrugged. "Essence types are limited—three per life, remember. Wasting one at tier-two, when advancement is easy anyway, is usually foolish. Better to save them for the sticking points. Tier-five at least. The places where people die over and over, fighting their past selves, needing every edge they can get."

  Cade nodded slowly, filing that away. "So you'd recommend converting these to anima?"

  "For us? Probably. Zyrian and I are both on the edge of tier-three. The anima from one fruit, split between us, would easily push us to the threshold after that room." Rhys glanced at him. "For you... one probably wouldn't be enough to reach tier-three, both would, for sure."

  "What about the other fruit? What do you think that is?"

  "Gray, violet, blue... less obvious, even with context. Could be several things. Air, maybe. Or something in the Covenant affinity—those tend toward neutral colors. Hover your hand over them. Don't touch—just hold your palm close. Your anima will reach out automatically, and you'll see an exchange. The opacity of the flow tells you your affinity strength. Thick and opaque means strong connection. Thin and transparent means weak."

  Cade approached the fire fruit first. He extended his hand, holding it maybe six inches above the spiky surface, and waited.

  Something happened.

  Sparkles of white light began flowing between his palm and the fruit—a visible stream of energy, like glitter suspended in water, moving in both directions simultaneously. The flow was steady, consistent, clearly present.

  But he could see through it. The ground on the other side was visible, slightly obscured but not hidden. Medium strength, maybe. A decent connection, but not overwhelming.

  "Not bad," Zyrian observed. "You could use fire effectively. Not your strongest affinity, but workable. Based on that, your primary affinity probably isn't transmutation or projection."

  Cade withdrew his hand and moved to the other fruit. The gray-violet-blue one, swirling with captured storms.

  He extended his palm.

  The reaction was immediate and dramatic.

  White light poured between his hand and the fruit—not a stream but a torrent, thick and opaque and moving so fast it looked almost liquid. He couldn't see through it at all. The flow was continuous, swirling, dense enough that it seemed to have physical presence.

  "Well," Rhys said, her voice carrying a note of surprise. "That's... significant."

  Cade stared at the opaque column of light connecting him to the fruit. "What does this mean?"

  "It means whatever essence type that fruit contains, you have an extremely strong affinity for it. The connection is so dense that the fruit is probably specialized into a single affinity—and that affinity is your primary one." Rhys circled around, examining the flow from different angles. "I've rarely seen a connection that dense. Whatever's in there, it was made for your affinity type."

  Made for my type. The thought was unsettling. Had the labyrinth known? Had it somehow tailored the scenario rewards to match his affinities?

  He thought about the scenario itself. The ethical dilemma. The choice between helping the fire-wielders complete their genocide or turning against them to protect the beetles. The way the gauge had reset the moment he'd understood the truth.

  If the fire fruit was connected to the city people... was this fruit connected to the beetles? To the choice he'd made?

  "If I'd sided with the city," he said slowly, "would the rewards have been different?"

  Rhys tilted her head. "Possibly. Scenario rewards often reflect the path taken to earn them. You chose to protect the insects, to oppose the aggressors. This fruit might represent that choice somehow, or something related to the beetles."

  King of beetles, Cade thought, half-amused. I could be the king of beetles or at least grow an exoskeleton perhaps.

  But he hadn't wanted that. He'd wanted to stop a genocide. To do the right thing, even when it was hard, even when it meant fighting people who looked like him instead of creatures that looked like monsters.

  The storm-colored fruit—whatever it contained—seemed to fit.

  "Speaking of the scenario," Zyrian said, "we either did something very wrong, or the labyrinth scaled it strangely. Two essence fruits for a tier-two scenario is... unusual. Generous."

  "Maybe it was meant for a larger group?" Rhys suggested. "When the labyrinth matches parties to scenarios, it tries to balance difficulty. But Cade came in with the mass of..." She eyed him appraisingly. "What, a hundred tier-ones? More? Perhaps the labyrinth counted by weight rather than heads."

  Cade thought about that. He'd squeezed through a portal meant for foot-tall Kindred, dragging along two unwitting passengers. The labyrinth had responded by giving him a scenario scaled for an army.

  It made a certain kind of sense. Terrible sense, but sense.

  "One more question," he said. "What happens if I store up anima, enter a new scenario, and then advance before it starts? Could I game the system that way? Enter at tier-two, advance to tier-three, face tier-two challenges with a tier-three body?"

  Alarm and disgust warred across Rhys's face.

  "Never," she said firmly. "Never try that. The labyrinth does not tolerate being gamed. If you advance mid-scenario except in certain conditions that obviously allow it, the scenario abandons itself in favor of an ambush."

  "An ambush?"

  "The labyrinth sends everything it has at you. Creatures already present advance tiers instantly, scenarios collapse into pure combat, no rewards and no escape until you're dead." Rhys shook her head. "This is known. You advance after completion—when the scenario has settled and the rewards are distributed. Or when the labyrinth explicitly indicates it will allow it. Not before."

  Cade raised his hands in surrender. "Noted. No gaming the labyrinth."

  "Good." Rhys's expression softened slightly. "Now. What do you want to do with these fruits?"

  Cade looked at the fire fruit, pulsing with warmth. Then at the storm-colored fruit, still connected to him by that opaque torrent of light.

  "You and Zyrian can have the fire one," he said. "Split it, convert it to anima, advance to tier-three. You've earned it. I assume you helped clear the city after I collapsed?"

  "We did. And the other?"

  Cade hesitated. Everything he'd been told indicated taking an essence type this early was a waste. Three per life, saved for the hard tiers, used to break through sticking points. Burning one at tier-two was foolish.

  But that torrent of light. That overwhelming connection. Whatever was in that fruit, it wanted him. Or he wanted it. Or both.

  And he was so curious.

  "I want to try it," he said. "I know it's not recommended. But I want to know what it is."

  Rhys and Zyrian exchanged a glance. Something passed between them—communication Cade couldn't translate.

  "Your choice," Rhys said finally. "Just know that if you absorb an essence type and then reject it—if you decide you don't want it after learning what it really is—you lose everything. The essence type and all the anima it could have been converted to. Gone."

  "Understood."

  Cade reached toward the storm-colored fruit—

  "Wait."

  Zyrian's voice stopped him. The rust-red Kindred stepped forward, his expression thoughtful.

  "Before you take that, I'd like to test my own affinities in this new body. If you don't mind."

  Cade withdrew his hand. "Go ahead."

  Zyrian approached the fire fruit first, holding his palm above its spiky surface. The white sparkles began to flow immediately—a strong stream, thick and bright, though Cade could still see through it if he looked carefully. Definitely more opaque than Cade's own connection to the fire essence had been, but not quite as dense as the torrent that had connected Cade to the storm fruit.

  "Good," Zyrian murmured, studying the flow. "Very good."

  "What are you looking for?" Cade asked.

  "Hints." Zyrian moved to the storm-colored fruit, holding his palm above it. The flow that emerged was noticeably thinner—present, but wispy, easily seen through. He nodded as if this confirmed something. "My past self didn't leave a last life message mentioning my primary affinity or essence types. Which means I probably allowed it to be randomly selected again when I respawned."

  "You can do that? Choose to forget your affinity?"

  "You can choose to forget anything, or remember anything, in the message you leave for your next life. Though we are limited to only thirty words. Some people try to pick up where they left off, and others prefer a fresh start." Zyrian withdrew his hand from the storm fruit, turning back to the fire one. "My past self apparently wanted to start over. So now I'm gathering hints."

  "And what do the hints tell you?"

  "Fire essence types span multiple affinities—Transmutation and Projection, primarily. The strength of my connection suggests I'm aligned with one of those, but the fact that it's not as overwhelming as your connection to the storm fruit..." He gestured at the gray-violet-blue fruit. "Fire essences grant a wider range of abilities across types. They're versatile, not specialized. Your essence was almost fully dedicated to a single affinity, which is why the connection was so dense. Mine is spread across possibilities."

  "So you're either Transmutation or Projection affinity?"

  "Probably. There is one thing that may help..." Zyrian moved back to the storm-colored fruit, holding his palm above its swirling surface once more. This time he held it longer, studying the flow with careful attention.

  The stream that emerged was barely visible. Wispy threads of white, so thin and transparent that Cade had to squint to confirm they existed at all. A stark contrast to the opaque torrent that had connected him to the same fruit.

  Zyrian nodded slowly, something settling in his expression.

  "How does that help?"

  "The six affinities follow an adjacency matrix. Strong connections to one affinity mean weak connections to its opposite." He withdrew his hand, turning to face Cade. "Whatever this essence type is, you are extremely strong with it. Once you take it in, we'll know what it is and can deduce your affinity type. And then we'll know that I am the opposite."

  "Opposites."

  "In affinity, yes." Zyrian's tone gave nothing away. "Whether that means anything practical remains to be seen."

  He stepped back, nodding to Cade. "Thank you for waiting. I have no interest in fire at this stage, despite my strength. I just wanted to know."

  Cade reached out and plucked the storm-colored fruit from its stalk.

  It was heavier than he expected. Solid in his palm, the swirling colors moving faster now that he held it, gray and violet and blue chasing each other in increasingly frantic patterns.

  He brought it to his mouth.

  And bit down.

  It was sweet and sharp and cold and warm, flavors that contradicted each other somehow coexisting on his tongue. The fruit dissolved as he chewed, not breaking apart so much as melting, flowing down his throat without requiring him to swallow.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then knowledge flooded into him.

  Oath.

  The word appeared in his mind with absolute certainty. Not spoken, not read—just known, the way he knew his own name or the color of the sky.

  And with the knowing came understanding, layered and immediate, as though the essence had poured its nature directly into his awareness the moment he'd consumed it.

  It was a Covenant affinity. Rare—one of the rarest, apparently. And unlike fire or water or any essence that granted power upon absorption, this one granted potential. A framework. A ladder of commitments, each rung unlocking what the last made possible.

  The first rung was already in front of him, waiting. The essence had shown him the door but wouldn't walk him through it until he chose to step.

  I will seek to minimize suffering.

  The words hung in his awareness, patient and absolute, and with them came a flood of understanding about what accepting would mean. Not abstractly—he could feel the shape of it, the way you feel the weight of a tool before you pick it up. A new sense would unfurl inside him: awareness of suffering in others, faint at first but growing. The essence would empower him when he acted in accordance with the oath, and push back when he didn't—discomfort, resistance, a quiet wrongness that would build with repetition. And if he broke it badly enough, truly enough, the essence would destabilize from the inside. In later stages, with deeper oaths, a major violation could collapse it entirely—leaving behind a dead slot that nothing could ever fill again.

  There were more oaths beyond this one. He could sense them the way you sense rooms you haven't entered yet—weight and shape behind closed doors, each demanding more, each offering more in return. But those doors wouldn't open until he'd proven he could hold what he already carried.

  I will seek to minimize suffering.

  Broad enough to be actionable. Humble—seek to rather than I will always. Minimize rather than eliminate—acknowledging the impossibility of perfection. Not obligating impossible omniscience or constant action.

  A direction rather than an absolute rule.

  It was... exactly what he would have chosen, if he'd been given the option to design an oath himself.

  Which was unsettling.

  "Cade?" Rhys's voice cut through his contemplation. "What is it? What did you see?"

  He blinked, returning to the dome, to the plain where the city had been, to his two small companions watching him with undisguised curiosity.

  "It's called an Oath essence," he said slowly. "It doesn't give power all at once—it has a progressive system. Commitments I have to make, each one unlocking more capability."

  "What kind of commitments?"

  "The first one is..." He paused, considering how to phrase it. "'I will seek to minimize suffering.' Broad, but real. If I accept it, I get passive awareness of when my actions increase or decrease suffering, minor boosts when I act in accordance, discomfort when I act against it."

  "And if you violate it?"

  "The essence destabilizes. Later oaths might make it dissipate entirely—a dead slot for the rest of my life."

  Rhys frowned thoughtfully. "Covenant affinities can be strange like that. Progressive systems, unlocking over time rather than granting immediate power." She looked at him with new interest. "Given that affinity strength we saw, you're definitely Covenant-aligned."

  Zyrian muttered, "Which makes me projection affinity type. That's going to be fun outside the labyrinth later on."

  "My fruit seems... convenient," Cade said. "Too convenient. Like someone designed it knowing I'd be the one to find it."

  "The labyrinth tailors scenarios to delvers," Zyrian offered. "It's not impossible that it tailored rewards as well. You made a specific choice in that scenario—protecting the weak against aggressors, refusing to participate in genocide. An Oath essence focused on minimizing suffering... fits."

  "But who decides what the oaths are? Why didn't I get to choose them?"

  Rhys shrugged. "Covenant essences are rare. I've never taken one myself that I know of. But from what I've heard, they're not negotiable. The essence is what it is—you accept or reject, but you don't modify. This one does seem more specific than I've heard of, though."

  Cade turned that over in his mind. An essence type with predetermined commitments, designed for someone who valued exactly what he valued. Either an incredible coincidence or something more deliberate.

  He wasn't sure which possibility was more unsettling.

  "It sounds boring," Rhys added. "No offense. But seek to minimize suffering? That doesn't exactly let you fly around flinging enemies through walls. It's more like... a philosophy lesson, a binding imperative."

  "Boring abilities can be powerful nonetheless," Zyrian said quietly. "A passive awareness of suffering? Empowerment for ethical actions? Those could be valuable in ways that aren't obvious. Especially in social situations. In politics. In any circumstance where knowing the right thing to do matters more than hitting hard."

  Rhys made a noncommittal sound, clearly unconvinced.

  Cade made his decision.

  "I'm accepting it," he said. "The first oath, at least. 'I will seek to minimize suffering.'"

  The moment the words left his mouth, something shifted inside him.

  The knowledge that had been floating in his awareness settled, sinking down into his core, becoming part of him in a way that was difficult to describe. Not a voice in his head, not a compulsion, just... a weight. A presence. The oath was real now, woven into whatever passed for his soul in this world.

  He felt different.

  Not powerful, exactly. Not transformed. Just... aware. As if a new sense had opened up, one that perceived something he'd always been blind to before.

  This is what it feels like to be bound. A conscience with weight.

  He could live with that.

  The fire fruit went quickly.

  Rhys and Zyrian approached it together, each placing a palm against its spiky surface. The moment they made contact, the fruit began to change—its red-orange coloration draining away, replaced by a pure white glow. Streams of light flowed from the fruit into their bodies, filling whatever internal reservoirs held their anima.

  The fruit shrank as they absorbed it. From the size of a grapefruit to the size of an orange to the size of a lemon, its mass converting directly into usable energy.

  When they pulled their hands away, maybe half of the original fruit remained—a small white sphere, still glowing faintly, but no longer pulsing with fire.

  "That's enough for both of you?" Cade asked.

  "More than enough." Rhys flexed her fingers, something new flickering behind her eyes. "We're both at the threshold now. Ready to advance whenever we choose."

  "What about the rest?"

  "Yours, if you want it. Pure anima, no essence type attached—just fuel for growth."

  Cade looked at the diminished fruit. He was already tier-two. More anima wouldn't advance him further—Rhys had said he was probably short of the tier-three threshold regardless. But it would grow him. Make him larger. Store more potential for later.

  "Why not," he said, and reached for it.

  The absorption was different than he'd expected. He'd gained anima before—from Kern, from Pell and Tormina, from the beetles and fire people he'd killed—but always involuntarily. The essence had flowed into him on its own, filling spaces he hadn't known were empty.

  This was deliberate. He touched the fruit with intent, and felt it respond. The remaining energy poured into him, cool and neutral, nothing like the complex taste of the Oath fruit. Just raw power, settling into his body.

  And then he grew.

  His perspective shifted upward. The ground fell away. His limbs lengthened, his torso expanded, his whole body scaling up to accommodate the new energy. When it stopped, he was looking down at Rhys and Zyrian from a noticeably greater height.

  "About six and a half feet," Zyrian observed. "Give or take."

  Cade looked at his hands. Larger again. He was getting tired of these fluctuations—growing and shrinking, never stable, never certain what size he'd be when he woke up. At least advancement would compress him back to normal. He was looking forward to being five-foot-seven again.

  Then, without warning, his body betrayed him.

  The surge came from nowhere—a sudden spike of arousal that had nothing to do with his circumstances and everything to do with whatever this world had done to his biology. His mind had been focused on anima and growth and the mechanics of essence types.

  His body had other priorities.

  Cade felt the blood rushing south and panicked.

  He spun around, turning his back to Rhys and Zyrian, hunching slightly to hide the evidence. The motion was awkward—too fast, too obvious—but it was better than the alternative.

  "I need privacy," he said, his voice coming out strained. "To meditate. On the essence. Alone."

  Smooth, Cade. Very smooth.

  "Of course," Rhys said, and he could hear something in her tone that might have been amusement. "We'll stay here and advance to tier-three. Take your time."

  Cade started walking toward the mountains, his stride longer than necessary, his posture carefully arranged to hide what couldn't be hidden for much longer. The faux sun beat down on his back. The painted horizons mocked him from the edges of the dome.

  He really, really needed to be alone.

  The island was smaller than he'd expected.

  Cade had followed the mountain pass, descended the other side, and found himself facing a stretch of water maybe a hundred feet across. On the far side, a small landmass pressed against the painted wall of the dome—the island where the beetles had made their final stand, now empty of inhabitants.

  He waded in.

  The water rose quickly—up to his knees, his thighs, his waist. By the time he reached the middle of the crossing, he was submerged to his navel, the cool liquid providing a welcome barrier between his body and any potential observers.

  Movement on the island caught his eye.

  A pedestal stood near the far wall, a simple stone column maybe three feet tall. Beside it, a doorway—a potential portal, presumably, its surface dull and lifeless but thankfully Cade-sized.

  The exit. Or the entrance to the next room. Whatever came next in this labyrinth journey.

  But Cade's attention was elsewhere.

  He was standing waist-deep in water. Completely hidden from the chest down. His two companions were on the other side of the mountains, occupied with their own advancement.

  He was alone.

  Finally.

  Cade glanced around one more time, confirming his solitude. Then, with the desperation of a man who'd been denied privacy for weeks, he reached down and untied his loincloth.

  The crude garment came away easily—too easily, actually. The vines had been stressed by everything he'd put them through, and they practically disintegrated in his hands. He let the pieces float away, not caring.

  He didn't need clothes for this.

  His hand found what it was looking for, and he began.

  The physical sensation was familiar. Pleasurable, even. His body responded the way it always had, the way it had for years of solitary relief back on Earth. Everything worked. Everything felt good.

  But nothing happened.

  He kept going. Changed rhythm. Changed grip. Tried different techniques, different pressures, different approaches. His body stayed responsive, stayed interested, stayed ready.

  But the release never came.

  After ten minutes, his frustration was mounting. He was doing everything right. His body was cooperating. The physical mechanics were all there.

  But something was missing.

  "Would you like some help with that?"

  Cade's heart nearly stopped.

  He spun around, water splashing, and found Rhys and Zyrian standing at the edge of the island. They must have advanced while he was... occupied. Their bodies were smaller now—maybe a foot and a half tall, compressed by the advancement to tier-three—but their expressions were clearly visible.

  Rhys looked amused, suddenly seeming a lot older somehow. Zyrian looked curious.

  Both of them were staring directly at him.

  "How long have you been there?" Cade's voice came out strangled.

  "Long enough to wonder what you were doing." Rhys tilted her head. "I've never seen anyone do... that. To themselves, I mean, alone. What are you trying to accomplish?"

  Cade felt his face burning. His arousal was rapidly wilting under the combined assault of mortification and being caught. He sank lower in the water, trying to hide what had been very obviously on display moments ago.

  "It's called... I was trying to..." He couldn't believe he was having this conversation. "Release. I was trying to achieve release."

  "Ah. A peculiar word choice." Rhys nodded. "And that's done by... manual stimulation? Without a partner?"

  "...yes? That's how it works."

  "How strange." She shared a look with Zyrian. "Climax only comes through mixing anima with another. The physical component is necessary but not sufficient—you need the energy exchange, the merger, the connection between two souls." A pause. "Or more than two, depending on preferences. You truly are the strangest fresh soul. I've never heard it referred to as seeking release before."

  Cade stared at her.

  "You're saying I can't... by myself?"

  "No." Rhys's amusement had softened into something like sympathy. "The drive you seem to be feeling—I don't fully understand it. None of us experience that kind of... urgency. We pursue intimacy for pleasure, for connection, for practical purposes. But not because our bodies demand it the way yours seems to."

  "Practical purposes?"

  "Eggs. The anima exchange during release creates them. They're a delicacy, and the only portable food source in this world—everything else decays within an hour of picking. And they can be blessed, if the participants request, to create offspring through a different path than the spawning pools." Rhys shrugged. "But that's beside the point. The point is, you're trying to achieve something your body isn't designed to achieve alone. You'll need help."

  "I'm not—" Cade spluttered. "You're—you're tiny. I'm six and a half feet tall. You're a foot and a half. How would that even—"

  "Size differences can be navigated with creativity."

  "And I don't even know how old you are! You might have the memories of a two-year-old for all I know!"

  Rhys actually laughed at that. "I've lived one hundred and seventy-five years across the lives I remember—the ones that ended at tier-three or below. Hundreds of them. I've forgotten more about intimacy than you've been alive." She paused. "Zyrian is younger—maybe five years of accumulated memory at this tier. But he's no child, and neither am I. Most Kindred spend a life at tier-zero just learning before seeking death, so that future rebirths aren't so awkward. You may find that valuable in your next life."

  "That's not—" Cade shook his head violently. "No. Thank you for the offer... and information, but no. I'll figure something else out."

  "Suit yourself." Rhys didn't seem offended. "The offer stands, if you change your mind."

  Cade looked down at the water, at the floating remnants of his loincloth, at the absurd situation he'd found himself in. He reached for the vine scraps, hoping to salvage something.

  They fell apart in his hands.

  Of course they did.

  "Perfect," he muttered. "Just perfect."

  He was naked. Completely, entirely naked. The loincloth that had provided at least some dignity was gone, destroyed by one too many battles and one frustrated attempt at stress relief.

  His arousal was diminished too, killed by embarrassment, but that wouldn't last. Whatever this world had done to his libido, it would come back. It always came back.

  He looked at Rhys and Zyrian, standing on the island, watching him with expressions ranging from amused to curious.

  "Why are you here?" he asked. "I told you I wanted privacy."

  "We came to find the exit." Zyrian pointed toward the portal behind them. "It's on the island. We didn't know you'd be here and... occupied."

  Cade sighed, a long exhale that seemed to carry all his frustration with it. Of course the exit was on the island. Of course they had a legitimate reason to be here. Of course nothing in this world would give him a moment of genuine solitude.

  He waded toward the shore, no longer bothering to hide himself. What was the point? They'd already seen everything.

  "How does the exit work?"

  "Touch the pedestal," Rhys explained. "Think about whether you want to leave the labyrinth or continue to another room. If you leave, and you've advanced since entering, you can choose a destination—a higher tier place than where we entered, or attributes of a place. Or another world entirely, by spending accumulated anima. You'll exit from a portal in that tier's territory, matching what you were thinking of as closely as it can."

  "And if I continue?"

  "You enter the next room. Another scenario, another set of challenges, another set of rewards."

  Cade considered his options. He could leave now, emerge somewhere in tier-three territory, continue his journey toward whatever lay at the center of this world. Or he could push on, face more scenarios, gain more anima and potentially more essence types.

  The fire essence the city people had wielded... he'd wondered if it could have provided something useful. Fire armor, maybe. Protection, cover.

  Clothes.

  Could there be a clothes essence? he wondered. Some kind of ability that generates coverings?

  Probably not. But there might be creatures in future scenarios. Larger creatures, with hides or shells that maybe wouldn't disappear when the scenario ended. He could fashion something from those. Though maybe they all dissolved like that to receive their own rewards, or something.

  More likely than not, this world would just keep finding new ways to humiliate him. That seemed to be the pattern so far.

  "Can we continue with you?" The question came from Zyrian. "We're unlikely to be able to sneak through with you again—you'll be watching for us now, and the portals will be larger."

  Cade looked at them. At Rhys, with her centuries of accumulated experience and her unsettling offers of assistance. At Zyrian, quieter and more reserved, but no less strange.

  He looked down at his own naked body, fully exposed, no longer aroused but also no longer covered.

  He sighed.

  "Yes," he said. "If you want to. Apparently, I need a guide, and you two are the only candidates."

  "Wonderful." Rhys's smile was entirely too pleased. "We'll try not to interrupt your meditation next time."

  "There won't be a next time," Cade said firmly. "Not until I figure out how this body works. Or doesn't work. Whatever."

  He approached the pedestal, aware of every inch of exposed skin, aware of the two Kindred watching him from behind.

  Maybe the next room will have a monster with a nice thick hide, he thought. Something persistent I can kill and skin and turn into pants.

  He thought about the fire people and their carapace armor, harvested from the beetles they'd slaughtered. That had been horrifying, yes. Morally repugnant, like leather.

  But also practical.

  If some creature attacked him in the next scenario, and it died, and its body didn't disappear immediately...

  Stop trying to plan for pants, he told himself. Focus on the labyrinth. On survival. On advancement.

  Pants are a secondary concern.

  A very, very important secondary concern.

  He touched the pedestal.

  Next room, he thought, forming the intention clearly. Another scenario.

  The pedestal hummed beneath his palm. Something was engaging, building, preparing to activate.

  Cade extended his tail behind him and downward, not looking back. "Grab on. Both of you."

  He felt small hands close around his tail. Rhys on one side, Zyrian on the other—small, foot-and-a-half-tall bodies.

  The portal blazed to life.

  Cade glanced back one final time, confirming both companions were secure, and stepped through into whatever came next.

  Maybe there'll be a clothes essence, he thought, just before the light swallowed him.

  Probably not.

  But maybe.