Inside the sterile, quiet confines of the Technomendia administration booth, Roy leaned over a console, his patience wearing thin. Below, through a one-way armored glass panel, the Central Court teemed with a chaotic, vibrant energy.
"Just put it up," Roy insisted, gesturing at a dormant, fifty-foot screen.
The lead technician, a harried-looking man with a data-slate clutched in a white-knuckled grip, shook his head. "Captain, with all due respect, the records are being broken every twenty minutes. The leaderboard would be in a constant state of flux. It would be inefficient."
"Inefficient is boring," Roy countered, a sharp edge to his voice. "Volatile is exciting. Let them break records. Let them see their names up there for five minutes before they're knocked off. It's good for business. It's good for the show. Put it up."
With a final, defeated swallow, the technician nodded and began frantically tapping at his console.
Back at the window, Roy's gaze swept over the court. The raw construction of the previous week was gone, replaced by the thrum of commerce. Sleek, digital signs flickered above newly outfitted storefronts, their neon glow reflecting off the polished floor. Near a row of benches, a Presidroid was methodically sweeping up a small pile of debris with a standard-issue broom, its humanoid movements precise and almost comically domestic as it navigated the flow of adventurers. It was working. All of it.
A commotion near the dungeon entrance drew his eyes. A party of adventurers was stumbling out, their gear battered, their faces etched with the grimy frustration of a failed expedition.
"Serenity," Roy murmured into his earpiece, "who are they?"
"One moment, Captain." After a beat of silence, her voice returned. "Displaying guild card information now. The party is registered as 'Lantern Quay.' The leader is Ansel Solik, A-Class Knight. He is accompanied by Azenya Trask, A-Class Mage; Makon Tamlen, B-Class Brawler; and Tomas Kellic, A-Class Shield Knight. Records indicate this is their fifth largely unsuccessful delve in three days."
Roy's eyes narrowed. "And the three kids trailing them?"
"Also registered under Lantern Quay, as junior members," Serenity confirmed. "Rava, age thirteen, Arcane practitioner. Althandrius Zenian Torasenta-Vintorantania, age fourteen, designated healer. And Orin Serruk, age unknown, designated warrior."
As if on cue, the party marched into the center of the court. Ansel intentionally stopped in a high-traffic area, his voice booming to draw a crowd.
"This is over!" he declared, his handsome face twisted in a sneer of performative frustration. "I don't care what Guildmaster Zhanna says about favors! We have carried this dead weight for the last time!"
He rounded on Rava, the smallest of the three. "You! Every time we're in a real fight, you panic! You start sharing our strengths and nearly get me killed! A warrior needs his full power, not to have it siphoned away by some sniveling coward!"
Shrinking in on himself, Rava held his staff before him like a flimsy shield.
With a step forward, Azenya's cold gaze landed on the spear-wielding girl. "And you. Your healing is a joke. You take a fighter out of the battle. Useless. Absolutely useless."
Shame turned Althandrius's face pale, her knuckles white where she gripped her spear.
Stomping toward Orin, Makon the brawler jabbed a thumb at his chest. "And you! You never attack unless you've got a perfectly clear shot! You just dance around like a coward!" With a hard shove, he tried to send Orin stumbling.
Orin didn't budge an inch. The brawler might as well have pushed against a stone pylon.
Unfazed and utterly oblivious to the malice directed at him, Orin just smiled his usual, cheerful smile. "Of course I dodged all the time," he said, his voice ringing with earnest sincerity. "I was trying not to get hit. As someone tall, it is crucial to never be hit."
Ansel's face contorted in rage at the boy's unshakable, nonsensical logic. "That's it! We're done! You three are officially kicked out. Now give us back the gear we bought for you. All of it."
He and Makon began to roughly strip the trio of their party-issued armor and bags, leaving them with only their personal, worn-out equipment. Orin's giant, sheathed sword remained on his back, an item so uniquely his it was beyond contestation. Around them, the crowd of onlookers either laughed at the spectacle or quickly looked away, unwilling to get involved.
"And you'll be paying us back for the last two weeks of rations you consumed!" Ansel added, a final, petty twist of the knife.
Tomas, the shield knight who had remained silent throughout, turned his back to the scene. As he walked away, he gave the three abandoned kids a small, almost friendly, wave over his shoulder.
The sheer, casual cruelty of it all made something in Roy snap. A calculated performance, a public humiliation, the laughter of the crowd—it was a scene he knew all too well.
"Zehrina," he said, his voice dangerously low. "Take me down to the second floor. Be as discreet as possible. Then… make the entrance fancy."
As Lantern Quay turned to leave, a single, sharp sound cut through the court. A theatrical, slow clap. Every head turned, looking up toward the administration booth's balcony where Roy stood, a wide, mocking grin on his face.
"Oh, what a wonderful development!" he called out, his voice rich with theatrical cheer. While all eyes fixed on him, a swirling vortex of black dust erupted on the balcony. Purple electricity arced within the swarm as it descended in a graceful, sweeping curve, carrying Roy and Zehrina within its dark embrace like a fallen angel. The crowd gasped.
The dust settled gently on the floor of the court, depositing Roy directly beside the stunned trio. He landed with perfect, unearned grace, specifically next to Orin.
"I was just thinking about taking a new group under my wing," Roy announced, his voice projecting across the now-silent court. "And these three little ones are precisely what I need."
"Tall," Orin corrected him instantly.
Ignoring him, Roy continued, his arm sweeping out in a grand gesture. "I can see the talent, the raw potential, oozing from their very pores!"
A ripple of skeptical murmurs passed through the crowd.
"Careful what you say, that's the boss around here," one voice whispered.
"That's the Thunder Rider himself," another hissed. "Word has it he obliterated the entire first dungeon in just two strikes."
A third, louder voice sneered. "The so called 'Thunder Rider' is in for a rude awakening if he thinks he can squeeze blood from those three stones."
From the back, a fourth voice filled with a strange, conspiratorial terror, shouted, "He can't fool me! That's the wicked Slave Strangler of the North!"
Roy's head snapped in the direction of the last comment. Before he could react, Zehrina stepped close behind him, her voice a sultry, flirtatious purr that carried to those nearby. "Oh, Captain, you couldn't be more right." One of her fingers traced a slow, deliberate line down his back. "Don't worry about what the masses think."
A massive, sudden drain on his mana reserves made him feel light-headed. He didn't need to look to know what it was. Across the court, Eryndra's vents would be wide open, plasma looping over her back as she prepared to pounce.
"Eryndra is going to kill you if you don't stop," he whispered to Zehrina, his smile feeling brittle.
Zehrina's lips brushed against his ear. "Let her try," she whispered back.
Flustered beyond belief, Roy's composure cracked for a split second. "Y-you're right, Zehrina!" he blurted out, quickly regaining control. "Let our progress speak for itself!" He turned his attention back to the abandoned trio.
Zehrina stepped forward, her tone shifting back to its usual calm elegance. "Come, children," she said gently. "Captain Gunn is here to save you."
"I'll have you know that the tall do the saving," Orin stated, matter-of-factly. "But you guys seem pretty tall, so I'll allow it."
While the other two cowered, Zehrina leaned down, her voice a soft reassurance meant only for them. "You are safe now. Roy isn't a slave master or a beater or… whatever they're calling him this week." A small, mischievous smile touched her lips. "He is nothing but a dork."
Roy's own smile faltered. He ignored the jab, extending a hand dramatically toward the three stunned, humiliated kids, his showman's flair returning in full force.
In the air, his extended hand hung, a dramatic punctuation mark to a declaration that had silenced the entire Central Court. The three abandoned kids stared at him, their expressions a mixture of shock, terror, and a fragile, unfamiliar flicker of hope.
"Come now," Roy urged, his showman's smile unwavering. "A new adventure awaits. And step one is getting out of this place." With a snap of his fingers, he signaled the sky.
From above, a low, chopping whir grew rapidly louder. An angular, matte-black helicopter, a machine utterly alien to this world, descended from the clouds and settled into a hover just beyond the mall's perimeter, its side door wide open. Wide-eyed, the trio looked from Roy to the scary flying machine.
"Fall back to the Nightshatter, guys. We have friends to welcome," Roy whispered over the comm.
The flight to the Nightshatter was a sensory assault. Strapped into their seats, the wind tore at their hair and clothes, a constant, roaring gale that made conversation a shouting match. Below them, Otherrealm spread out like a glittering, living circuit board. The kids stared, mesmerized, as glowing trams slid silently along elevated tracks, weaving between six-story buildings and skeletons of new building that scraped the sky. From this height, the triplets' metal mansion, now closer to three hundred feet tall, dominated the skyline of Sector One like a polished steel mountain.
"It's…" the girl, Althandrius, breathed, her voice nearly lost in the wind. "It's so big."
"It's tall," Orin corrected, his face beaming with an almost religious reverence as he gazed upon the city.
Touching down on the Nightshatter's flight deck was like landing on a small, metal continent. The trio stepped out onto the vast, gray expanse, their boots making small, uncertain sounds on the plating. Waiting for them was the rest of the crew, a formidable, silent welcome party. Eryndra stood with her arms crossed, her expression a blank, unreadable slate. Beside her, Takara offered a small, hesitant wave, while Warrex simply gave a gruff, assessing nod.
Lutrian stepped forward with a kind, disarming smile. "Welcome aboard the Nightshatter," he said, his voice warm and formal. "It is a pleasure to meet you."
A small figure darted out from behind Roy's legs and latched onto his hand, squeezing with surprising strength. Orden looked up at the three newcomers, his cheerful expression strained by a flicker of possessive jealousy. He was no longer the only kid on board. At parade rest, three Presidroids, JFK, FDR, and Truman, stood as a silent, imposing testament to Roy's power.
"Alright, tour's over," Roy announced, clapping his hands together. "First order of business. All of you smell terrible, like a dog fought a skunk, then fused with it. No offense. You're getting out of those smelly, tattered rags, taking a long, hot shower, and picking out some new clothes. Bridge, now."
On the bridge, the trio stared in wide-eyed wonder at the banks of consoles and the sentient, glowing flower in its glass enclosure at the heart of the room. Two other, smaller plant-like avatars flickered to life beside it.
"Serenity, Harmony, Tranquility, meet the new recruits," Roy said.
"Greetings," Serenity's voice emanated from the main flower, calm and measured.
"Hello!" Harmony chirped, her avatar bouncing with energy.
From Tranquility, a shy, soft "...hi," was all they heard.
"Serenity, get the main showers prepped," Roy commanded.
A moment of silence. "Negative, Captain," Serenity replied, her tone flat. "Fa... Mr. Pickled Fish is currently attempting to, in his words, 'cleanse the pipes of their mortal filth.' The entire primary shower facility is flooded."
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Roy sighed. "Of course it is. Fine. They'll have to use mine."
His private quarters behind the captain's chair became their next stop. He approached the wardrobe in the back corner. "This is the Infinite Wardrobe," he explained. "Think of what you want, it makes it. Serenity will help you pick something. Also, she's putting together some tutorial videos on how to operate a shower. Watch them. Also, a Presidroid will give you a haircut."
After Serenity rolled through a bunch of fashion catalogs on the TV in Roy's room, the kids picked out their clothes. One by one, they disappeared into the captain's bathroom. Forty minutes later, they all assembled, transformed.
Walking down the Nightshatter's gangplank and toward the gates of Sector One, they looked like entirely new people. Orden still refused to let go of Roy's hand, trotting to keep up with his longer stride. Rava, no longer looking like a scared urchin, wore a thick, dark violet jacket over black pants, his posture already seeming more confident. Althandrius was clad in surprisingly elegant gothic attire, black, lace and silver buckles, that somehow suited her.
Orin, however, wore a new loincloth.
"No," Roy said, stopping dead. "Absolutely not. Go back and put on some pants."
"But this is for speed!" Orin insisted earnestly.
"I don't care! I am not having anyone swinging jewels around in a loincloth on my crew!"
After five minutes of a ridiculous, circular argument, Roy and Orin went back onto the Nightshatter to produce a pair of sleek, black compression shorts from the Wardrobe. Orin pulled them on, did a few experimental lunges, and his eyes lit up. Together they left the ship and rejoined the crew.
"Whoa," he breathed, a look of profound discovery on his face. "I feel so… free. And fast!"
Shaking his head, too tired to argue for more items, Roy pointed at the Althandrius. "And you. Your name. It's too long. From now on, you're Andri."
She blinked, surprised, but a small, grateful smile touched her lips. "Okay."
The great gates of Sector One slid open, revealing a city that defied belief. The trio's jaws dropped. This was no mere collection of buildings that they would see in even the grand city of Seranovia, it was a dazzling, vertical metropolis of steel and glass. Shops with glowing neon signs and digital displays lined every street. The triplets' mansion soared into the sky, a polished steel titan that seemed to pierce the clouds.
"Now that," Orin said with a deep, reverent sigh, "is tall."
Their first stop was a snack vendor, then Chronova for a meal so heavenly it brought Rava to silent, happy tears. Finally, Roy led them to a blacksmith's shop he hadn't noticed before.
"This place new?" Roy asked Takara who did nothing but nervously look away.
The rhythmic clang of a hammer on steel rang from within. Inside, a powerfully built man with a smith's apron was expertly shaping a glowing piece of metal. "This blade," the smith announced proudly, holding it up for them to see, "is forged from a tungsten-titanium alloy, reinforced with runic channels and laced with gold wiring for superior mana conductivity. All thanks to Lady Takara."
Roy's head slowly swiveled to face Takara, who had been quietly trailing them. He fixed her with a hard glare. "Oh, ho! We have a smuggler among us, eh?"
Takara flinched, wringing her hands nervously. "Well… everyone was wondering about Siren's sword, and I just… well… Serenity and I may have gotten a little carried away with more ideas and with the civic development program…"
"Serenity! You—" Roy started to yell, but the comm in his ear went dead with a sharp click.
The empty airwaves were immediately reactivated, now filled by Harmony's cheerful voice. "See, Captain? That's a major operational failure on her part. I deserve the top spot now! Demote that weed!"
Tranquility chimed in a second later, her voice soft but cutting. "No, both of them are entirely inefficient. A truly optimal system would have me in charge."
With a long sigh, Roy pulled the earpiece out and shoved it into his pocket. "Alright," he said, turning to the smith. "Let's get these three outfitted. Don't worry about the cost."
The next hour became a slow, painstaking process. From dazzling arrays of equipment, Rava and Andri moved with the hesitant caution of those who had only ever known scarcity. Rava picked up a simple, unadorned wooden staff and a simple dagger. Andri ran a hand over a plain set of leather-and-iron armor and grabbed an equally simple spear.
"This will do," Rava said quietly, his eyes avoiding the more ornate, glowing conduits on the wall.
Stepping in, Roy shook his head. "No. Price is not an issue. Pick what you actually want. Pick what will keep you alive."
Their eyes widened. Hesitantly, they moved up one tier. Rava selected a staff of polished yew with a small, inset mana crystal along with a simple straight sword. Andri chose a set of interlocking steel plate armor, more expensive but still far from the best on display.
"Better," Roy said, his patience wearing thin. "But not good enough." He strode over to the display wall, pulling down a staff made of a dark, swirling wood that seemed to drink the light and a suit of gleaming, black-enameled armor that was clearly masterwork quality and paired it with a runic enhanced straight sword that had lines of black, gold and silver. He also grabbed a spear whose head was forged from a single, wicked piece of razor-sharp crystal. "You're taking these. End of discussion. I'm not losing my new recruits because they were too polite to ask for the good stuff."
Rava and Andri just stared, speechless, at the armory of treasures he had just handed them.
"And don't worry about armor for now. I'll have Takara integrate some of her special stuff into your cloths later," Roy added with a casual smile.
Orin, however, showed no interest in the new wares. He ran a hand along the scarred, gouged surface of the colossal sword on his back. "I'm gonna stay with this, if you don't mind," he said. His expression was one of quiet, unwavering loyalty.
This was the path he chose. And he would walk it with his own steel.