Chapter 4

In the chill of the barracks, there was warmth that could only be found in the embrace of another. Thale had learned that in the early days, when he had been brutalized by a training regime focused on determining his talents. He could still remember the day that everything changed.

He had been a child - maybe twelve, thirteen cycles. The training master, a Knight by the name of Rentaro, had been putting the newest penitents through a device called the Grinder. The Grinder was less of a singular vision brought to life by some technical desire - rather, it was the end result of thousands of years of growth and destruction. Machinery from dozens of eras, compacted into a wild network of corridors, paths, and barely functioning tech. There were grinding gears, smashing plates, conveyor belts, electric arcs, plasma cutters. Some machines were locked in a perpetual, autophagic horror - perpetually destroying and rebuilding themselves out of the scrap components that filtered through the endless sprawl of Eudaimonia’s world spanning capital.

The Grinder had brutally injured another student that day - a girl that the Hegemony had dragged in from two steps up the chain. She had been left without an arm and was still in the regen tanks. She’d be back with a brand new arm - but the sight of the blood, and the sound of her screaming had frozen Thale to the ground. He had trembled, standing there, looking at the doorway leading into the Grinder, while Rentaro began to bellow at him.

“You pathetic mutant! You will go in there! You have the talent, don’t you?” He thrust a finger at the door. “Go! Or I’ll give you something worse than Yalenet got!”

Thale had, by that point, been trained to respond to that tone of voice with a sprint, fifty push ups, or a smart ‘yes m’lord!’, but nothing could shake him out of the scent of blood, the sound of screaming - accentuated by the distant grinding and grumbling of the Grinder.

Rentaro had drawn his threshold blade. The weapon formatted into a shock-maul, with a blunt, skull faced head, shrouded in crackling lightning. “Oh, you’re going to be a coward, huh?” Rentaro lifted his threshold blade and brought it whistling down towards Thale.

Fear shattered and Thale flung himself forward. His feet remained planted, his knees flexing as he used the very grace and strength that Rentaro had been training him for to dodge the blow. Rentaro, though, had caught him with the kick. Thale rolled and tumbled through the door into the entrance of the Grinder. The walls were covered with clicking gears and whirring pistons - gauges with languages no one spoke flickered in orange and red along the floor, while the ceiling was lit with those fierce iridescent bulbs that could last for centuries and centuries without wavering.

Thale scrambled back and away from Rentaro, who had shifted his maul - spikes grew from the eye sockets.

“I’ll teach you to-” Rentaro growled.

Thale had thrust out his palm at that moment.

And every single gearing in the room had slipped its bearings in a single cataclysmic failing. They had gone whining into the air, their edges blurring, and Rentaro hadn’t had the time to scream before they started to slam into his body. While each was light, the machine had imparted them with enough kinetic energy to smash muscle and shatter bone. One caught Rentaro in the throat, another revealed white along his skull. One lodged into the eye. Others rebounded off his chest and shoulders.

His knees had hit the ground, and then the ruined mess that was all that was left of Rentaro’s upper torso had sprawled to the side.

The other penitents - terrified children each - had gaped at the corpse.

One, a skinny girl named Eriquah, had said: “ ... cool.”

Thale had been certain that he’d be killed. Instead, he had been dragged up through the endless spires of the capital, to the temple where his cadre slept when they weren’t being trained, up to the palace itself. There, he had been brought to the red room - the vast, tesseract shaped chamber carved out of a single piece of stellar heart. It was said it had been carved, with garvitic furnaces and miracles harnessed by the first generation of Hegemonic Knights, out of the heart of a red dwarf star for Emperor Daniel Haram Nebuchadnezzar I. It was said that without the might of twelve fusion reactors, the gravitic generators that kept the room in it shape would fail and the neutronium throne of the Hegemony would be lost - and the Emperor with it.

Many things were said about the red room. None could communicate the sense of awe and terror that came from being brought inside. The tesseract shape - the cube within a cube that could only be created by alterations to the euclidean plane of space-time via focused gravitational fields - made the chamber feel larger than it could ever be. The stark red-red color of the walls. The matte black of the floor. The throne that loomed in the middle distance, looking all the world like a monolith to some ancient god. It had no decoration, for the Emperor of the Gentek Hegemony needed no decoration.

And seated upon it had been many generations of the Imperial line - to now, Emperor Daniel Golgotha Rehoboam VI. He was the end product of a thousand years of eugenic tinkering and a lifetime of war. Immense, slab-thick muscles, gone to seed and sallowness by the hideous injuries he had suffered in the Fourth Siege of Castle. His face, once so handsome, split nearly in half by the scar that left his cheeks sunken and one nearly see through. His eyes. His brooding, intelligent, furious eyes.

He was surrounded, as he always was, by the Immortals. No one knew if they were Liminal Knights or drawn from the Shocktroops. The terrified rumors Thale had heard, even as a boy of thirteen, was that their name was quite accurate. Their scowling kabuki masks and their ornate, lacquered armor, gave them the look of primordial demons.

“So...” Emperor Rehobam had said, his voice like reeds. “You are the potential.”

Thale, trembling from his eartips to his toes, hadn’t even dared to breathe.

The Emperor had lifted a single hand - and Thale had felt as if a titanic force had gripped him. A cocoon of force wrapped around him, muffling his breathing, compressing his nose. His hair stood on end and his eyes widened as he lifted up and off the ground, then flew towards the Emperor. He hovered there, trembling in the embrace of a power beyond his imagination. Slowly, the Emperor spun his finger, and Thale found himself rotating on a spot.

“Pathetic...” The Emperor muttered. “Your geneline...” He sneered and glowing hologlyphics scrolled around Thale. He was upside down and illiterate - the glyphs were utterly meaningless, but the Emperor read them with an increasing sneer. “Your geneline is worse than an insult. You, my little ... creature...” His hand tightened. Thale felt pressure beginning to build and build. “You are the offspring of whores and toys. I will not have you-”

His bones strained. His lungs burned. His eyes closed.

“-polluting my Knights one second-”

HIs tail felt like it was being torn in half.

“-longer than-”

Thale’s eyes opened. He clenched his hands and his claws stabbed into his own palms - and he felt the forces pressing against him. Gravitic engines, concealed in the walls. He found the breath to scream, and it wasn’t a scream of pain or fear. It was a scream of pure rage. The cocoon of crushing power that tried to smash him into paste exploded outwards. Immortals went flying and even the Emperor lifted an arm to shield his face as Thale dropped to the ground - landing lightly on his feet. He snarled and leaped at the Emperor-

A hand interposed itself between him and the Emperor and smashed him to the ground.

Thale saw stars.

And heard laughter. Deep, pleased laughter - with the steady beat of clapping.

When he could see through the haze of pain, he saw Lord Vorsoth - the Lord Vorsoth - standing above him. He hadn’t even seen him in the room. The Supreme Lord of the Hegemonic Knights had his hands clasped behind his back, while the Emperor clapped his withered hands together.

“You were right, Lord Vorsoth! As much as I thought you unwise, you are absolutely correct ... this one is special,” the Emperor said. His finger twitched and Thale found himself being drawn to his feet by that invisible force. He stumbled, shook himself, then stepped backwards, his claws still out, his tail lashing. The Emperor, sneering, looked at him - and then the sneer became a softer thing. A warm smile. “Please ... forgive me, Thale. That is your name is it not?”

Thale - uncertain - had blinked, then glanced at Vorsoth. Vorsoth had inclined his head. Thale, looking back at the Emperor, had nodded. The Emperor took his seat, sighing, wincing as his back straightened.

“I needed to test you, Thale,” he said, his voice quiet. “Your genetic line is polluted. Utterly polluted. By the miracles of the Machines are many and remarkable. Fixing you, your deformities? They are in their power.” He smiled, warmly. “And with your power ... your raw talent, it is clear that you must be made a true human.”

Thale’s eyes widened. “R-Really?” he whispered.

“Yes,” the Emperor said. He held out his hand, gesturing. “Come close, Thale.”

Thale, his eyes flicking to the Immortals, had stepped closer. Closer. And when he had been close enough to smell the faintly medicinal scent of the Emperor, the Emperor had placed his hand on Thale’s cheek. “You shall move, immediately, into the Royal Barracks,” he said. “Along with the other penitents who show similar drive and motivation. There, you can prove yourself...” He nodded. “And thus, earn your humanity...”

Thale could remember that moment. The taste of it. The crisp, clear, dizzying taste of being human. No more ears. No more tail or claws or infuriating purring. Eyes that wouldn’t make other people flinch. The Emperor had broke into a million pieces - blurring as tears welled. Thale ducked his head forward. The Emperor petted his head, gently. “And until that moment, I have a solution ... Vorsoth!” He had smiled. “Design ... a mask.”

“Thale?”

Thale blinked. He was in the present once more - the chill kept at bay by the compress of Adoran’s arms. His cheek was pressed against the broad, muscular swell of Adoran’s chest, while Adoran’s hand cupped the back of Thale’s head, holding him close. His finger slipped along Thale’s ear, finding the place between ear and skull - the place that made Thale start to purr. He growled and squirmed, pushing back in the bed. SOmehow, this ended up with Adoran underneath him and the blanket puddled around Thale’s hips, leaving his back, his shoulders, his head exposed to the chill barracks. Adoran grinned up at him.

“Do you not want pets?” he asked, casually.

“I-I hate it when you make me purr...” Thale muttered.

Adoran chuckled, quietly. HIs hand cupped Thale’s cheek. Thale blushed. He turned his head, pressing his nose up against Adoran’s warm palm. HIs eyes closed and he breathed in his scent - rich, masculine. The faint sound of snoring from another bed in the barracks came to his ears, but Adoran’s bed was placed near the far edge of the room, far from the door. Far from prying eyes. His fingers quested along the side of Thale’s cheek up to his ear and then he started to rub the join between ear and skull. Thale quivered, his cock growing harder and harder and harder as he clenched his teeth. Trying...

He started to purr as Adoran drew him in close. HIs cock was trapped between their bellies. AChingly hard, desperately eager. Adoran’s hand slipped along his back and Thale felt his lover’s own member as a growing presence behind him. His tail wriggled and he pressed his nose against Adoran’s chest. Adoran’s hands were everywhere, it seemed. Caressing his hair, sliding along his spine, molding him closer to his body. Cupping his ass. Adoran let out a soft coo. “You’re so beautiful, Thale...”

“S-Shut up...” Thale whispered, his arms stretching above his head, then hooking around behind Adoran’s neck. He drew in even closer, his eyes closed as he let warmth radiated from the larger man into him. HIs tongue darted out, licking one firm muscle, then another, then another. His tongue bathed Adoran’s chest as he quested - then found his nipple, which he teased. Adoran squirmed, then gasped as Thale used a bit of teeth, growling to try and dispel his purr. But it wouldn’t go. His whole body was vibrating with his pleasure - with his mutant filth. His tail wriggled and Adoran whispered.

“Thale ... I...” He gritted his teeth as Thale felt the insistent bump of Adoran’s member against his thigh. He squirmed, then shifted, then started to kiss his way down Adoran’s belly. His eyes were closed and he found the smoothness where one might expect a belly button - and for a moment, Thale flashed to Venn. He remembered the cute button, encircled by freckles. His tongue paused in its slow quest and Adoran groaned, high and eager in the back of his throat. Thale opened his mouth to kiss Adoran’s belly muscles, then worked to the side. He found the small cybernetic plug for the acceleration tank, artfully concealed by a skin-cap, like his. He nuzzled the joining of man and machine, and then ... at last ... his nose met the nestle of bright blond pubic hair and the warm hardness of Adoran’s member.

He was properly sized, unlike Thale’s freakish monstrosity.

Adoran’s hand found and caressed Thale’s ear beneath the blanket - while Thale cupped his firm balls and the hardness of his member, and took Adoran in his mouth. His eyes closed and part of him wondered at this. Thale, a pathetic street urchin ... here ... taking a Prince’s cock into his mouth. Pleasuring him. That felt both appropriate and also utterly impossible. ANd he loved every moment of it - the warm, salty taste. The firmness. The way that Adoran’s hand tightened on his hair, an excited spasm that showed that Adoran loved what he was doing.

Thale pushed forward, feeling the cock sliding down his throat in the darkness under the blankets. He began, slowly, to bob his head, moaning around Adoran’s cock. And he forgot everything - the Emperor, Lord Vorsoth, Venn and the mysterious prophecy, the failure to capture 101g, the Quantum Forge. All of it. He focused only on this.

His mind flitted back to the first time he had tasted Adoran. It had been after a training bout - the two had met because of Thale’s demonstration in the throne room. He had been placed in the royal barracks and he had been placed beside Adoran. Adoran had immediately said oh, I’ll take care of you.

Without the Emperor and Vorsoth plucking Thale off the street, he’d never be with Adoran now, would he?

“Thale!” Adoran gasped as Thale’s purring sent vibrations of pleasure through the other man. HIs hips bucked and his hand tightened more and Thale moaned in pleasure as he felt a thick spurt of cum splash against the roof of his mouth. He drank, shuddering with bliss as he felt Adoran’s seed slide down his throat. His mouth worked and his throat bobbed and he felt Adoran go utterly limp above him - his body sliding into the bed’s embrace with an almost toneless finality.

Thale drew his mouth back, coughing softly. “Mm...” He murmured, then crawled up the bed, grinning down at Adoran. Adoran grinned up at him - and for a few moments, Thale purred and didn’t hate himself for it.

“I ... swear...” Adoran whispered. “You need to meet my parents some day...”

And like that, it all came crashing down.

Thale scowled, slightly, his purring stopping with a hitch. He looked aside. “Yeah. Maybe.” He slid out of the bed, naked, and felt the cold of the barracks wrap around him. “I gotta go to bed, Prince Adams.”

“Thale-” Adoran started, sitting up. But Thale slipped into the darkness. His night adapted eyes showed him where his bed was immediately - he stepped past the pale loops of Quah’s long, silvery-white hair - and then wrapped himself in the blankets, curling himself up underneath them. Far from Adoran. His eyes closed and he throbbed - his knees drawn up to his nose. As he lay there, a tiny, whispering thought came to him.

If you become a true Knight - if you prove yourself to the Emperor ... you could be human.

The mental image built itself before his eyes. Him, without his ears, without his tail, without his claws. Dressed in the sleek black dress-uniform of a Hegemonic Knight, when they were on parade and needed to present a unified front to the awed onlookers. Him, standing on the crystal balcony of the cliff-castles of Elthas - meeting Adoran’s mothers and getting to propose. It was so tantalizing close that he could nearly reach it...

He hissed. Closed his eyes harder.

And somehow, he found sleep.

When Thale woke, it was to a sticky sheets and a stunned expression.

Venn.

Again. But this time, they hadn’t been in his sanctum. He looked at the ceiling of the barracks, trying to understand - but there was no time. The filtered gray of Eudenomnia’s early morning sunlight reflected off the ceiling, and the sound of other penitents and knights rousing from their beds drove him to act. He scrambled to his feet and stalked towards the communal showered. The chamber was adjacent to the barracks, and as he let water slide along his back, he saw Quah and Adoran both standing by one another two stalls down, chatting amiably.

Adoran glanced his way. Thale looked down at his feet, then focused on scrubbing.

Once he was dressed in his tunic and leggings, Thale headed back to his barracks, kneeling down beside his bed. He tugged his gloves on.

“Going out?” Quah asked, suddenly, from above his head. Thale jerked his head up and saw that Quah was hanging upside down from her hair. She had tied it into two huge ponytails, which both had wrapped around one of the ceiling fixtures of the barracks’ lighting systems. She dangled without any sign of discomfort or pain - which made it pretty clear she’d worked out some of the bugs on her hair design.

Thale looked back down at his glove - trying to not look impressed. “I need to find a sensorium to track down a target for the Hegemony.”

“Oooh!” Quah dropped from the ceiling, landing lightly on her feet as her hair writhed back into its normal ‘do.’ She beamed at him. “Adoran and I were talking-”

“Of course you were,” Thale muttered as he pulled out the spare mask he kept under his bed. He looked at it, holding it in his gloved hands. HIs tail lashed from side to side - reminding him that he’d need to tuck that away too. The false claws on his gloves glinted mockingly.

“If you’re heading to the sensorium repository,” Quah said. “Then we’re coming with ya.”

Her hair slapped his back - trying for comforting, clearly. Thale stood, frowning.

“Why?” he asked.

“In the year since you’ve been gone, the archive’s lower levels have been overrun by techgaunts,” Quah said. “And since we’ve finished our combat training, I suggested that we can clear it out!”

“Techgaunts?” Thale asked, sliding the mask on. It whired and clicked and snapped around his face - closing up around his face. He breathed slowly in, then slowly out, trying to center himself. “In the archive?”

“It is only the lower levels,” Quah said, cheerfully.

Drak sighed. “Who wants to bet that this is another one of their tests?”

“Without a doubt!” Quah said, in a sing song.

An autocar was waiting for the trio of them as they emerged from the AI temple - a sleek, aerodynamic dart shape that topped at six meters in length, tapering out to three meters at the fins of its moldable wings. The gull doors that opened on either side of the door showed an interior that was sparse and utilitarian. Adoran clicked his tongue as he ducked himself nearly in half to fit inside. “You couldn’t have gotten a nicer ride, Thale?”

Drak sighed and ducked into the autocar. He knelt near the needle front, the window depoloralizing. A HUD sketched itself across the glass and Drak sent the mental command to set the car on the skies. The agrav generator built into the base of the autocar whirred to life and the ducted fans that drove it through the skies blurred into motion. The outer skin of the car shifted itself in a thousand minute ways, guided by Drak’s talent to take advantage of areospace functionalities that most citizens of Eudaimonia could never have dreamed of. The end result was that the autocar zipped through the skies of the capital nearly twice as fast as the vehicles that blurred past in their lanes.

Behind him, Enriquah and Adoran watched him work. Adoran was holding his threshold blade in his hand, twirling the thick, tungsten dense weight of it around his wrist, catching it and then setting it spinning again. “So,” Drak said, not looking back at them. “Tell me about these techgaunts.”

“They’re average technophages,” Quah said. “Someone in the undercity found a corrupted source of mana and an autodoc and went skynet on us.” She shrugged one dark skinned shoulder and flicked her hair in a dismissive way. “Honestly, I kinda get the impulse.”

“That is what alarms me,” Adoran said with a slight grin.

Drak sighed. “And they haven’t been rooted out by the army because...”

“They’re roosted in the lower levels of the sensoria archives,” Adoran said.

“And it’s a test for us neonates,” Quah said, cheerfully. “A test in the hacky and slashy.” She made a soft ‘vrrr vrr’ noise with her lips, swinging the hilt of her threshold blade left and right.

“And because the army tends to go after gaunts with high-wattage autolasers and clave guns,” Adoran said.

“And antiproton grenades,” Quah added.

“Mech-suits and chainbayonets,” Adoran lobbed back, nodding.

“Oh! Suborbital precision railspikes!” Quah started to tick options off on her fingers. “Autophagic memetic virus bombs, sub-sonic pulse mines, nukes.”

“I get it,” Drak growled.

“When you want precision, you call the Navy,” Adoran said, cheerfully. “Or the Swiftwind Chevaliers!”

“They still exist?” Quah oohed softly.

“When we joined the Hegemony, we were allowed a token force - my grandfather chose the Chevaliers to keep,” Adoran said, shrugging one shoulder. “They’re mostly used as an honor guard, or when a close-action in the low orbit requires some swordwork.” He nodded. “They actually took the L1 fortress during the Third Siege of Castle.”

“The catastrophic one that ended with a total Hegemonic defeat?” Quah asked, leaning in close to eye Adoran. Adoran’s cheerful face fell. He coughed.

“Well. I never said they took it for very long...” he muttered.

“We’re almost there,” Drak growled - the autocar was slipping around in a coiling arc, canting its body to the side and fanning out its wings to bleed off kinetic energy built up by traveling for so long with near zero friction and zero gravitic drag. The banking movement let him observe the sensorium archives. The pyramidal structure was nearly lost underneath mountainous tenement housing - unplanned sprawl. The capital had been founded a respectful distance from the archives, to give the Machines their deference. But humanity had a way of never quite calculating their own growth accurately. Eudaimonia’s borders now had vastly outstripped the archives, meaning that only the upper levels emerged around the sprawl. The buildings attached to it had, over the centuries, crumbled, crushed, and then been built over with new layers of growth and tech-scrappers, creating that most lethal of urban environments: The hive.

The autocar ended its course on a clear plastic balcony that thrust from the side of the triangular face of the archives, with a large and ornately carved door of bronze and steel set open for all comers. The entrance led past stack after stack of racked solid state drives, brick shaped and nearly transparent crystalline lattices. Each one contained a cornucopia of information and data - birth records, death records. Names, dates, history. Tech and miracles, magic and wonder. History, stories, photographs, holographs, sense-information, schematics, and, of course, pornography.

Lots of pornography.

The sound of Drak and his companion’s footsteps echoed through the vast repository - and Drak swung his head around, looking for any attendant. There was no one here - just the rows, the silent drives, the distant rumble of the city. Drak measured the loss of dignity that came from shouting for someone against getting this over with and his mask off his face, but before he had to make the call, a robed figure came around the corner of one of the stacks, humming to themselves as they held a stack of greyish chunks of comptech, with dangling wires and bits of exposed circuitry.

The figure turned to face the trio - and yelped, nearly dropping the comptech. Their hood fell backwards, revealing a bald, blue eyed woman beneath. Her face was unadorned by makeup or other signifier of rank or privilege, though she did have the trio of contect studs around each of her temples that indicated a cheap VR induction job. Her jaw was angular and her eyes looked far too large for her head.

“Oh! Sire! Sirs! Lords! Ladies! Lady!” the girl stumbled, then tried to bow while also keeping her comptech against her chest. “Welcome to the sensoria archives!”

Drak inclined his head. “Where’s the central directory?”

“Riiight this way!” she said, her voice hitching on the first word. She turned on her heel and hurried off, her robes swirling around her feet. The nameless monk led them past row after row, stack after stack, and to a central pillar that ran along the entire spine of the pyramid. It looked like it was made of pure, unadorned glass - so perfectly molded that only the faintest of ripple and diffraction showed that it was anything but open air. Coming closer to it, Drak could see the faint distortions that made the pillar visible at all were, in fact, in a geometric pattern that resolved itself more and more the closer he got.

His palm pressed to the side of the pillar as the monk said: “We can get a comptech interface that...”

The entire pillar glowed. Golden light etched along the distortions, making a vast, tree-like structure suddenly become visible within the pillar. Drak felt the archive’s central directory unfold before him - and he reached out with the flashes of sensation he had felt while in communion with his personal Machine. When he had thought of Venn, he had been bombarded with scents, sounds, with feelings, shifting movement. The information flowed from him and began to search through the archives.

He withdrew his hand, while the monk - her mouth hanging agape - stepped backwards. “Jesus and her saints,” she whispered, her voice husky.

“Never met a Walker of the Constellations before?” Adoran asked, cheerfully. “Don’t worry - we’re also here to deal with your gaunt problem.”

“Oh praise the Emperor,” the monk said. “We’ve got some autolasers in the places they’ve tried to enter, but who knows what damage they’re doing in the lower levels. I’ve asked the Army, but they said that they were ordered to keep their distance.”

“Well, of course!” Quah said, clapping the monk on the shoulder. “They’d nuke the whole place into cherry red slag.”

The monk looked nonplussed - though Drak couldn’t tell if it was from Quah’s attitude, the hypothetical nuclear bombardment, or the fact that Quah had used some of her own prehensile hair to do the clapping. Drak drew his clawed fingers away from the pillar and looked over his shoulder at Adoran and Quah. “It’s on level 489.A, stack 200. The sensorium archives have three hits there, but we’ll need to check each one to see if any of them are related.”

“Oh, that’s where the gaunt’s have quartered themselves,” the monk said, her voice hopeful.

Drak let out a slow, suffering sigh.

“But of course it is,” he said, letting the vocal distortion his mask applied to his voice carry the utter disgust he felt at the contrivance of it all. No one knew quite why a Machine chose to grant one the powers of a Liminal Knight ... but he was growing increasingly certain that they only did so because they could tell when someone’s life was going to be cursed to be endlessly interesting.

“I can take you to the, um, the elevators,” the monk said, nodding to him.

The archive had many elevators. But, so too, it had many defunct elevators. The operational shaft that the monk took them to was one of the heavyweight industrial elevators, lacking the decorations or concealments that a normal elevator might have had. The walls were merely fiber-mesh and the grating on the floor made it painfully clear how far down the shaft went - though the illumination provided by the side lamps failed after only one or two dozen lamps, leaving most of the shaft a black pit.

“At the bottom, there will be several autolasers,” the monk said, her voice soft. “The access codes are-”

“Not needed,” Drak said, then focused. The elevator started to drop - forcing the monk to leap back and onto the landing leading up to the elevator, lest she be taken down the shaft with the three Knights. As the lights receded, Adoran looked up at the monk, then down at Drak. He arched a single blond eyebrow.