To maximize the chance she’d hear something of use, Zaria targeted the exact center of the camp - where the legacy dungeon entrance was - with her scry. As before, she could see the entrance, a gaping pit that revealed stairs going down into darkness no light penetrated. There were only the two guards outside the entrance now, sitting at a table and playing a game of cards. Clearly, they weren’t expecting trouble.

Then the sounds rushed in. There were dozens of them, hundreds. She’d been right about the polished armor the Reclaimers favored - almost every one of them had it nearby and at hand, a perfect conduit for Zaria’s ears. She had planned to display text on her core for Vysala to read, but she hadn’t planned on the sheer number of voices. It would have overwhelmed a mind of flesh and blood. But for Zaria’s mind, she could process them all simultaneously. She just listened in on different conversations, letting them wash over her.

---

“Aerl, I know what you’re thinking, but this is a terrible idea,” a voice said, this one tight and drawn.

Aerl, whoever he was, responded in a pleading note. “I’m sure this will work. Come on. I just need access to the armory.”

The first speaker, still nameless, sighed. “You’re a damn good smith. But I’m telling you right now, it cannot be done. It’s not possible.”

“The myths say-”

“Damn the myths,” the first speaker said, and there was a sound of clattering metal, like something was being swept off a table. “Myths are not fact, boy. You know that.”

There was a slamming sound of flesh on wood. “Hungry Gods damn you, will you let me finish a fucking sentence for once?”

Silence followed for that conversation for a long moment, then the first speaker growled. “I should throw you in the stocks for that.”

“You won’t. Because you think this could work. Give me access to the armory. I’ll take two Uncommon weapons. I’ll go down into the dungeon, and I’ll throw them in the Legacy Crucible. If it works, we’ll have a new path to high end gear without relying on dungeons we’re not powerful enough to control. If it fails, we’re out two uncommon gear, and you can point the blame entirely at me.”

The only sound left in that conversation was the clang of keys changing hands.

---

Elsewhere, huddled around a fire, a man and two women spoke.

“-wrong,” one of the woman grumbled.

“It’s not,” the second woman said. “I know it feels wrong, but the Purification process works.”

“How can you be so sure?” the man said.

“Between us?” the second woman said, as the fire crackled around her words. “A cousin of mine underwent Purification.”

The first woman let out a derisive snort. “You don’t even have a cousin here.”

“Not here,” the second woman said. “Cal’borah.”

That caused total silence for a moment. “You have a cousin stationed at Cal’borah?” the man asked.

“They have a Purifier at Cal’borah?” the first woman asked, right on his heels.

“Yes to both. I’ve heard from him since he underwent Purification. Nothing’s changed. He’s still him.”

“I wasn’t even talking about Purification,” the first woman said. “Just the Bonding. But if Purification works…” she trailed off, thoughtful.

“I put in my name for it,” the second woman said. “The bond, at least. Gotta be Bronze before I go for Purification.”

“You do what you want,” the man said. “Me? I’ll stick to just a Herocore for now. Give it a couple more months, let them figure out the problems, then I’ll consider.”

“The gods have given us a gift,” the second woman said. “It’s blasphemous to doubt.”

The other two shuffled nervously, their movements punctuated by the roar of the flames. “It’s not that I doubt,” the first woman said.

“Right, right,” the man said. “No doubt here.”

“But… we’re talking about demons. There’s no blasphemy in-”

The second woman cut her off. “Relax, both of you. I’m not calling the Inquisitors. But do be careful with your faith. These are trying times. Remember, there are ears in the shadows.”

There was not much more interesting to the conversation after that.

---

Elsewhere still, four people talked over some wooden surface, sounds of scraping as they moved things across it, the sounds of parchment rustling punctuating every motion.

“At this point, we have to accept they’re not coming back. The Coven has a Copper group there. Do we request an Inquest from Cal’borah?” This man’s voice was as dry as the rustling of leaves in fall, and half as emotional.

“It’s one small village.” This woman spoke with a high, nasally voice. “What’s the point?”

“There was word of an anomaly present,” said the dry voiced man. “Something about a walking building, although that’s been distorted so much in the retelling it’s hard to tell what’s there.”

A new speaker cleared his throat. His voice was thick and hard, his words clipped. “That’s the work of your Iron Angel. I’m sure of that. We’ve dealt with her before.”

“Not very well,” said the final person in the room, a man with a harsh voice that sounded like it had been damaged by years of smoke. “Or she wouldn’t be our problem now.”

The thick-voiced man sighed. “Incorrect word choice, then. We’ve… encountered her before. And we’re ready.”

The woman with the nasally voice chuckled. “The Iron Angel can rain down fire and thunder, create machines that imitate animals, and now can create buildings that walk? Next, you’ll tell me she can give bad dreams to children and is the reason milk spoils.”

The smoker coughed. “Chyndra, you’re out of line.”

“Am I?” The woman’s voice grew louder, like she’d moved closer to the reflective surface. “So far, aside from the Bonding process, this Robert has been nothing but empty words and hollow promises.”

“I should think that was enough. Would you have more from me?” That was the man who spoke with the clipped voice. Robert. A name for the voice.

“Yes,” Chyndra said. “Your weapons. The Iron Angel has your thundersticks. We can push back against her.”

“Arcwand. Or gun, if you prefer, both work. I’d love to, but I do not have the authority to do that,” Robert said. “I’ll happily put another request in. If that’s what you wish, Rellah. I’m sure your commander will love to hear a Copper outpost is making demands of Drake enterprises.”

The paper-voiced man - so that was Rellah - sighed. “Not a demand, a request. The Bonds take time. Purification takes longer. Then there is the time to rank up. But with your marvelous weaponry… put a gun in the hand of a Tin, and he can fight Coppers as their equal. Put a gun in the hand of a Bonded Tin, and he can threaten a Bronze.”

“No he can’t,” Robert said. “The guns don’t overcome a two Tier gap. It’s a moot point. My employer will not be selling weaponry here. Not while there are still demon enclaves that can arm themselves. You do not want to see Sapient demons with Kalashnikovs, trust me. Let alone a damn 50 cal. End of discussion. Now. I’m leaving in the morning. Are there any requests you’d like me to actually take seriously?”

“What of the inquest?” Chyndra asked, her voice sullen at the denial of her request.

“I’m certain it’s the Iron Angel, but if you want me to carry an Inquest request at your behest-” from the lilt to Robert’s voice, he was proud of that particular turn of phrase, “I’ll do it. I think you’re wasting your time, and I’ll say as much, but that’s an internal matter for your organization.”

“Walking houses are not the strangest thing I’ve heard of,” Rellah said after a moment. “I’ll write the request.”

From there, the conversation moved to a discussion of grain shipments, and Zaria made careful note of their placement.

---

The last conversation that was important to Zaria, that wasn’t people grousing about food or arranging surreptitious meetings or arguing over whose turn it was on latrine duty or a dozen other things that felt unimportant to her, was in the legacy dungeon, deep beneath the ground.

“Unless you’ve magically found a way to spread Horinath’s Influence to here, there’s nothing I can do.” This voice wasn’t a man’s voice or a woman’s voice. It was too wet to be identified as anything any of the Sapient race’s throat would have produced, deep and slimy. Like if a toad had learned to speak.

“Can’t you try something?” This was a human, a man.

The toad voiced individual growled. Three times, simultaneously, as if it had three mouths. “Yes. I can try to get my Core’s influence here. So he can shut it down.”

The human took a few steps. “You don’t take that tone with me, monster. Your core may be a member of our organization, but you don’t get to - urk.”

The toad snarled. “You forget yourself. I am also a Reclaimer. I am also a member of your organization. And I do not need to watch my tone around you. Unless you’ve advanced since this morning?”

The man’s only answer was gasps and grunts.

“No, of course you haven’t. You mortals. Think that because the Dungeons will work with you now, you can treat them - and their Servitors - as if we were equals. I’ve swallowed better men than you. Your kind used to scream and flee me. And now you think you can question me?”

The man’s noises were growing weaker.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I tasted human flesh? I miss it. Insult me again and I will indulge myself.”

There was a heavy thump, followed by a rasping gasp and a series of coughs. Then the man spoke again, his voice hoarse. “I apologize. Please. But I must ask a follow up question.”

“Can you do so respectfully?” There was a rustling of cloth. “Good. I’m listening.”

“Is there any way for him to estimate how long until his influence reaches here? I don’t mean to rush him, of course. But just… the reports we’ve received from elsewhere indicate the Iron Angel can use this portal. Others with portals can use it as well. My commanders grow worried.”

“I like that tone on you. Sniveling. Keep it in your throat when I’m around.” There was a pause. “Seven days,” the toad said.

“Can Horinath send us reinforcements?”

The toad sighed from all three throats. “Right now, the only thing keeping his place secure is the lack of interest in this site. There’s a reason I am the only being of true power in the camp. Horinath’s mobs walking here? They would draw unwanted attention. So long as we remain unimportant, we are safe. Unless-”

Maddeningly, that was the exact moment the scry’s duration ended.

---

Zaria quickly relayed everything she’d seen and heard to Vysala. The witch sat there for a moment, looking thoughtful. “So… they have two processes for amplifying their people. The demon bonds and whatever purification is.”

Zaria nodded. “Which means we’ll need to deal with that. I’ll try scrying on the tent where I heard those people talking in two hours. I doubt they’ll still be awake and in there, but maybe there will be some documents I can see-”

Vysala was already shaking her head. “Scry in the Dungeon. We need to know what that Servitor down there is.”

“I will, but it sounds like it’s staying down there. I know where it will be. But in two hours, the meeting may still be going, and I may be able to see what’s on the desk. Might have been a map, too.”

Vysala chewed her lip. “Good point,” she said after a moment. “And this Robert person sounds like they’re dangerous. I’m glad they’ll be gone.”

“Yeah.” Zaria drummed her fingers on the table. “I want to try to figure out what an arcwand or thunderstick or gonne or whatever it’s called is. Maybe Cestmir knows. I’m going to use one of my scrys overnight to see if I can contact him remotely.”

“But we won’t be dealing with it,” Vysala said.

“No, we won’t.” Zaria practically giggled at the thought. “But we’re leaving no survivors when we do this, right?”

Vysala nodded.

“So if I can create damage that looks like it was done by a special kind of weapon only Robert has, the day after he leaves…” Zaria trailed off.

“It could work,” Vysala said. “Although they’ll probably blame this… Iron Angel, was it? They’ll probably blame her for it.”

“Probably. Although it did sound like the Reclaimers are getting pretty tired of the Iron Angel being a scapegoat. So still worth trying.”

“Undoubtedly.” Vysala sighed and rubbed her chin. “This might be tied to the dirtworlders Rahana mentioned. If you can communicate with Cestmir via scrying, that would be ideal. Although I’m really worried about the Iron Angel - if she’s behind the balehen drone, she’s aware of us and our existence.”

“And she’s an enemy of an enemy,” Zaria said. “Which doesn’t make her a friend, that’s stupid. But it does make her less of a threat right now.”

“You’re not wrong.” Vysala looked upwards. “Gods, if you’re listening? I swear I’ll make ten percent less anatomical references to you if you give us some fuck-damn answers.”

“Ten percent?” Zaria asked. “Keeping the bar low, are you?”

“I don’t promise the gods things they know I won’t deliver,” Vysala said. “Here’s hoping there are answers either in your future scrys or in the fight ahead.”

“That’d be nice. By the way, what’s Cal’borah?”

Vysala rubbed her temples. “Right, that. At least I have an answer there, although it’s not a good one. Cal’borah was a Reclaimer base built into one of the old Empire’s ruins. A Fissure emerged nearby, and we thought it wiped out. It’s at Hardness 1, last I heard. The Reclaimers have been containing it as a disaster site. Or so we thought. Looks like instead they just have been using the Fissure as a cover for their operations.”

“Noted,” Zaria said. “I think unearthing what’s happening at Cal’borah may have to be our long term goal.”

“Agreed,” Vysala said, then shook her head. “I don’t want to speculate too much until we have more information. Like I could guess the Crucible is some item that can upgrade items, but it’s hard to be certain from that conversation. I’d rather focus on the immediate. Can we figure out your upgrades?”

“Absolutely,” Zaria said, pulling up the menu. “I’ve been looking ahead and… I have ideas already.”