After Afi's brief infiltration, Felstrife worked me even harder than she had before, and I welcomed every minute of it. Our sessions were easily twice as long and composed entirely of duels, force-fed into my mind from start to finish so I was able to observe every play, every decision. We spent so much time together, I wasn't sure if I slept or ate regular fare anymore, my thoughts overflowing with memories that were not my own.

As near as I could tell, the matches were ones Felstrife had either observed or participated in over the course of her unnaturally long life. For instance, I watched the lich herself – her hands already shriveled to the bone – use an Epic Death card that reminded me eerily of Lustra, combined with a Water Source Explosion, to cheat out a Legendary Soul on the very first turn. It was by far the biggest creature I had ever seen, more so than my mother's Sea Titan or even the Colossal Golem, both in terms of stats and stature.

The Kraken entered devoted, since it was two rarity levels higher than the Epic it had replaced, but that hardly mattered considering the tokens it generated upon its Arrival. The pair of giant limbs were more than enough to blow past the meager defenses her opponent had access to so early in the match.

In another memory, I watched a user of Air and Earth ramp with all haste, sequestering themselves as they did inside the Fortress I had seen once before.

Then, when they had a full ten Source at the ready, they devoted them all to eviscerate their opponent with repeated summons of the very same Weapon Relic that Gale had employed against me.

Another Earth user built up a field of stones of all things, some from a token generator and others from transformed Trolls.

Later, they sacrificed them all using a Relic manned by another Troll to do an obscene amount of damage to their adversary.

I even got to see a demon duelist, who used a Relic that I instantly recognized due to my time with Hull.

During the course of the match, the demon was able to get it fully charged, as well as cast two copies of a Spell I hadn't encountered before, but I imagined my friend would gladly use.

I wasn't sure how the Nether user planned to trigger them since the field only had a single Marauder summoned, their opponent using a slower deck that defended itself mostly from hand. The demon cast another unfamiliar card, which to me didn't seem to quite connect the various Spells together.

...at least not until they also used a card I had seen Hull put to excellent use against Yveda.

The damage from the Wildfire struck both summoners, and a token Soul shed from the Nether user due to the Splitting Spawn they had previously cast.

The demon summoner used the same damage that had hit them, redirected through the Talisman, to destroy the newly summoned Imp, which in turn triggered one of the Howling Darks. The Howling Dark damage repeated the process, summoning an Imp because of Splitting Spawn but then also destroying that same Imp by using the Talisman, which caused the other Howling Dark to activate. And when that Howling Dark resolved, the first was triggered again, and so on, creating the second infinite I had ever observed. The combo had required five cards to make work – six if the Imp token was counted – and a fully charged Talisman, but the effect was undoubtedly worth it: the Nether user taking no damage while at the same time grinding through the entirety of the opponent's deck in a single explosive turn.

There were more matches besides these that I was made to watch, many more, but unlike my time spent drowning in cards, after these sessions, I found myself practically invigorated. Not only was I making progress toward elevation but each and every duel was intriguing in its own way. Unfortunately, there was something about sharing memories that profoundly taxed my body, even if, to my great frustration, Felstrife never seemed similarly affected. As was often the case since I had become her prisoner, she left me an unmoving heap on the ground while she floated off to check on the other Soul cards she was caretaking, reminding me of my mother fussing over her prized roses. Twins, let her be all right. The last I had seen of her she had been spitting blood, taking my death onto herself. Had she and Randel made it to my father like Hull had?

It was comical, really. In my deepest, selfish wishes, I had always wanted to spend my days watching duels at the Coliseum instead of working for the Watch, and here I was, doing just that. I had only needed Treledyne to fall, multitudes to die, my family to be put in danger, and to lose all freedom in order to achieve it.

Gallows humor aside, there was an undeniable benefit to what Felstrife was putting me through. Lying on the slick ballroom floor, my body no better than pudding, and my mind not far behind and yet unable to stop thinking despite its overused state, I obsessively examined the things she had shown me.

Despite my lack of formal training, I had always fancied myself a somewhat clever deckbuilder, able to use less sought-after cards to good effect. The reality was that I was merely playing in waters that had depths I had not previously fathomed. I doubted I could best any of the summoners I was observing, even those on the losing side, just as I had only been able to delay Felstrife, not overcome her. It was true these duelists had cards that far outstripped the rarity levels of my own deck, but that was only half of it. I would be blind to not notice how intelligently their decks were constructed, making exceedingly efficient use of card combinations and system mechanics, to the point that some builds felt almost unfair.

My time with Griff had undoubtedly improved my deck and my abilities as a duelist, I knew that for fact, but the things Felstrife had experienced in her long and powerful life… they revealed another echelon entirely. Not only that, but having the opportunity to witness so very many matches in such quick succession, I could feel myself coming to an understanding of how duels should be won that no amount of book reading could possibly compare to. Perhaps this was the type of tutelage that someone like Gerard had received, or Esmi during her time at Charbond, which was why she possessed such skill in these arts.

Esmi. My heart clenched at the thought of her. I will find a way, my love, no matter what anyone says. I made the inner promise to both of us, looking at her card as I did so to better seal the pledge.

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I hated that the suited vampire hadn't returned with her yet, but Fate willing, he would soon. While that was a visit I waited eagerly for, the same could not be said of the pallid necromancer woman. Telling the turning of days while confined here was a challenge, but using my sessions with Felstrife as a gauge, I thought I had one more day until I needed to divulge the lich's secret.

The trouble was, I had yet to uncover it.

As engrossing as I found the duels to be, they did not lend themselves to the tactic I had used to see past streams of cards. I had tried, of course, but there was no way I could discern to view the memories 'faster', which put me at a worrisome impasse. As I had just promised Esmi, I would not fail her in this.

By the time Felstrife left for her daily hunt of Azure – she was persistent; I would give her that even if she wasn't successful – I had mustered just enough energy to sit myself up. The guard who replaced her wasn't just one individual but half a dozen. They all wore black robes, most of them with their hoods up, and as they moved about the room, I tried to see if any of them were the necromancer I had spoken to. If so, I would have no choice but to make something up. Perhaps I could say that Felstrife had used an Artifact to create her lichdom. It's not like the necromancer would be able to check to see if I was correct, and I had no bond with these people – they were my enemies. I just needed to make it sound believable.

As it happened, she wasn't among them. Almost all were too young, somewhere from twelve to fifteen but serious looking as they marched up to our various undead watchers. They summoned Death Source and worked their hands over the upright corpses, the same as I had seen her do. The only one who didn't scurry off like this was a man with his hood down, revealing a face covered in a painful looking red rash. He watched the others working with an unexpectedly pleasant expression, popping what I realized were grasshoppers into his mouth, the crunch of them filling the otherwise quiet ballroom, outside of Justine's panted breaths from her running and the droning of Bessamun's Soul power.

It only took a few minutes of watching these young necromancers to feel frustration bubble up in me. The thing was, I didn't just need to figure out how to get deeper into Felstrife's memories, I also needed more information about how the mechanism of being Undead worked. Without understanding the crafting of regular Undead, how could I recognize Felstrife doing something beyond the norm and thus know what I should be keeping an eye out for?

"I imagine you can find better fare in the palace larders," I said to the man with the rash experimentally. Perhaps Fortune wasn't just pointing out my problem but giving me a means of resolution.

"Not for cultivating Death I can't," he answered me like we were casual acquaintances, insect bits rolling around in his mouth. "Best to eat the whole dead for that, bones and all."

I had never considered that the type of food one ate could assist with acquiring Source. Did that mean if I ate things while they were still alive, I'd cultivate more Life? That sounded utterly dreadful, if so.

"No need to make faces," he said, "it's not as bad as all that." He strolled over and actually offered me one of the six-legged treats from his bag – a stained bag, I noticed. It wasn't appetizing in the slightest.

"Thank you," I said, "but I'm afraid I must decline."

He waggled its bug-eyes in front of me before eating it himself. "You never know," he said with a smile, a grasshopper leg stuck between his teeth. "You might just have a taste for it. And I could always use another young apprentice. No offense, gaffer," he added, nodding toward Geb who was watching our exchange.

"I earned my years," Geb said with a huff from his nearby stool, "so none taken. Seems to me you've got more than enough 'prentices already. What need for recruiting? And why bother with them being young?"

"Ah well," the rash-covered man said, perking up at the question, his behavior the complete opposite of the last necromancer I had met. "Simple numbers, really. When I die, there's got to be someone to raise me and care for me, doesn't there? No good to have an apprentice that croaks too soon after you do. Would defeat the whole point. Best case, your apprentices have kids, who become their apprentices, and the same for theirs, and the ones after" – he held a grasshopper in each hand, jumping them one over the other in the air to accentuate the point – "forever and ever."

Raising. My mind had caught on that word and wouldn't let go. How similar would that be to what I hoped to do with the staff for Esmi? "And how exactly would you be raised?"

"See!" the man said happily, angling back my way after having been leaning toward Geb. "Mort can always spot the hopefuls. That's what they say." He crouched down beside me, and his breath was just as bad as I imagined, but much worse was the rash: it was so raw in some parts it looked to be bleeding, and in other areas there was dead skin half hanging off of his cheeks and chin. The way he seemed to pay it no mind was honestly a wonder. "Not much to it, telling true. You put someone's card back in them, in just the right spot," – he tapped me in the chest – "then run Death Source through 'em in just the right amount, and swip-whip," – he snapped his fingers – "you've got yourself a wight. Best type of undead to be, seeing as you remember the most. Not everything, mind, but enough to make it all worth it."

"Corbin remembers quite a lot. More than me, I expect," Geb said with a slow chuckle, referring to the philosophizing wight who was sometimes charged with watching us.

"I should hope so," the necromancer said, turning to Geb. "I've been seeing to him near all my life, and so did my parents, grandparents, and great grandparents before me." Mort puffed up a bit. "Each wight is a testament to the dedication of generations of necromancers."

I was still trying to figure out what exactly putting a card back inside someone entailed: Back down their throat? Stitched under their skin? I would do either for Esmi in a heartbeat if needed, but I hoped the magic of the Artifact staff would make that part unnecessary.

"And this caring, that's what they all are doing?" Geb asked, motioning to the apprentices who were spread around the room. He gestured with the silver rope that was always in his hands, even when he slept.

"Right you are," the necromancer said, looking over the young robbed figures. "Assuming they're doing it right, that is!" Mort added with a shout that made them flinch while he gave us a conspiratorial wink.

"But why do the Undead require any care at all?" I asked. "And if they do and Death Source is the means, why don't wights and others just take care of themselves?"

The necromancer smiled at me, revealing that grasshopper leg still wedged between his teeth. "See, boy, this is the type of thing you could learn if you joined the fold." He looked past me. "Maybe that fellow tucked in the back there, too. You seem of an age. Anyway, you ever see a wight with Source, Death or otherwise? 'Course not, because you can't. Once you're raised, you can't touch Source anymore. As for why they need it, an Undead that isn't cared for degrades, losing not only its memories but also its form." He gestured around the room. "Becoming zombies, then skeletons, then dust, leaving only an Undead card of the lowest level behind."

This was all very much news to me but an important part of what he just said struck me as false: I had seen Lustra use Source in the Rising Stars tournament and Felstrife certainly could as well. "But what of vampires and liches?" I countered. "They can use Source well enough."

For the first time in this impromptu chat, Mort didn't seem quite as lighthearted. "Ah, yes… them. Vampires don't ever really die, see? More a sickness they pass along. But you can't count on vampires, always chasing one disaster after the next. No commitment from that lot, mark my words."

"And liches?" I asked. I had no idea whether Mort was aware of the task the other necromancer had given me, but any light he could shed on the matter would be a boon.

"That's the question, isn't it?" he said, rolling back on his heels and dashing my hopes. "They're certainly Undead, only a blind fool would argue against that, but then how can they still use Source? Did they skip over the dying part, or is there a 'mancer out there of such skill that when they raise folks, they come out liches?" He laughed. "I'd love to know, but you may have noticed that liches are rather tight-lipped, and that's doubly so when it comes to how they were made. I hear Felstrife scared ten years out of our Lord Rathamon when he asked." He dropped his voice, looking between me and Geb, a sly grin on his lips, "but I wouldn't go saying that where either can hear."

There was a low cough, and all of us looked up to see that the other necromancers were in a neat line, waiting at the door.

"Whelp, guess that's our time," the rash-faced man said, heaving himself up to standing. He looked over his shoulder and then back at me with a wink. "I see Shelly over there taking a peek your way. I think you two might get on after Felstrife is finished with you."

I didn't bother responding to such a ludicrous possibility, but I did find myself inclined to do something else. "One moment," I told him, digging through the leather cardholder I wore. For as much as I loathed Felstrife and her fixation on all of our Soul cards, her complete lack of interest in my other cards did have its benefits. "Here," I said, handing one over to the man.

"What's this for now?" Mort asked, staring down at the Relic.

I had a few more copies of the Potion, so I wasn't giving up anything I needed. "It should help you with your… complexion," I settled on. I would have done the deed with my Life Source but the helmet blocked those just like it did my summons.

"Well now," he said, taking a great deal more interest in the card, "ain't that something. Thank you kindly." The look he gave me was much too sincere, and even though he was on the wrong side of this war, I found that I didn't regret the gift. Then, he leaned down and deposited the rest of the bag of grasshoppers beside me, which almost made me change my mind. "So we're even."

"Come by anytime," Geb said to the necromancer. "We don't get the opportunity for many fresh conversations here."

"It's true," I agreed. I hadn't learned what I had been after, but still, it had been… nice. A moment of almost-normalcy in a world that felt like that type of thing no longer existed. Besides, Mort had offered all that information freely, and I was sure he would do so again if given the chance.

"Neither do I, sad to say," the necromancer said, pointing a thumb behind him. "Even these young ones keep forgetting that they're still alive. If Fate's kind, I'll see you again on the next rotation." He tipped an invisible hat our way and headed over to his flock of apprentices at the door, talking at them until Felstrife returned.

When she did, the lich swept right past the necromancers, making a beeline straight for me. Justine had the misfortune of being between us on her circuit and practically had to dive out of the way to avoid a collision. I steeled myself, but it was still a jolt to suddenly be thrown into Felstrife's memories when she raised that amber ring. This time, it was a dwarf who used a mix of insect Souls that I bizarrely found myself wondering what they would taste like.

Such inane musings were a distraction though, so I shoved them mercilessly aside. What I needed was a way to interact with the memories I wished to see. Even if I could lie to the female necromancer, what if the secret to lichdom helped turn the tide of the war or gave me a better bargaining chip I could use with the Necromancer Lord himself?

But how to do it? I tried looking past the scene before me to see if other memories existed behind it, similar to what had worked with the cards, but things at a distance stayed blurry regardless of my efforts. I tried focusing on a specific part of the duel, like the deepkin's belt buckle, to see if there might be another memory within it or perhaps viewed in its reflection, but that led to nothing either. By the time the next duel started, this one with a troglodyte, I attempted to turn Felstrife's body around and walk away from the memory. I strained and pushed, but it was like I was inside a form-fitted coffin, completely unable to move. I focused then on her head. If I could just get her head to budge, I could look at something different. When that didn't work, I tried just her eyes.

Move, damn you, I cursed within the memory, Move! Nothing happened, but at a loss for what else to attempt, I kept at it, shoving against whatever force was keeping me locked in to this singular position. The troglodyte won their match, and as the world shifted to the new memory – some mud pit with two burly orcs facing off – my focus jumped to the left, where I had been trying to see.

If I had been in my own body, I would have gasped at the sudden change, especially after so long straining to make it happen. As it was, no sound escaped me or Felstrife, but we were looking at something I hadn't seen before: a white, swirling fog, taking up half my vision while the other half was still the orcs fighting. Was this nothingness a memory? Or was it a chance for me to call one into being?

While continuing to focus on the left-hand side – since I had the distinct feeling that the moment I stopped making that a priority, her eyes would snap back the other way – I started a mantra in my mind of the type of memory I wanted to see.

To my surprise, the field of daisies I had viewed before appeared, but this was later in the season, most of the petals having fallen off and the stems drooping and shriveling, their time coming to an end. A child's hands reached out, brushing over the sagging plants and then pulled sharply back when that light contact caused a stem to practically disintegrate. I had pushed for a memory of Felstrife experiencing suffering to test whether I could control the sort of information I was receiving. I wasn't sure if it had worked until I attempted to call up a memory of Felstrife happy, and there, resolving in half of my sight while the orcs continued to beat at one another in the other, were those same young hands, but this time holding a perfectly preserved daisy between two sheets of waxed paper.

I have you, I hissed in triumph.

When the ballroom eventually came back to me, I was rewarded with yet more good news: not only did I now have the tools to explore Felstrife's past properly, but my chest had become tight in a way that had nothing to do with hunger or pain.

Soon, yes, very soon... I would elevate.

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