Three weeks into his message running career, August had developed what he privately called "The Route"—a mental map of Edgeharbor that included not just the official delivery addresses, but the best places to overhear conversations, the buildings that might have information about the Disputed Zones, and the people who seemed to know more than they were supposed to.
He'd also developed a reputation.
"Philistine's here," Maya called out as August entered the monitoring station. It had become a regular stop, even when he didn't have official deliveries. "Let me guess—no messages, but you're hoping someone will say something interesting about the southeastern quadrant?"
"I prefer to think of it as being thorough," August said, settling into the chair across from her desk that had somehow become "his" chair over the past few weeks. "A good message runner knows his territory."
"A good message runner delivers messages and minds his own business," Maya replied, but she was smiling. "You're lucky I like having someone to talk to who doesn't immediately change the subject when I mention anything more dangerous than weather reports."
Maya had become August's best source of information about the Disputed Zones, partly because she genuinely seemed to enjoy having someone who listened to her stories, and partly because August had learned that bringing her coffee from the Academic District's better shops made her considerably more talkative.
"Speaking of which," August said, placing a steaming cup on her desk, "anything interesting happening out there today?"
"You're incorrigible." Maya took a sip and sighed appreciatively. "But since you asked, we've been tracking some unusual energy signatures about sixty kilometers southeast. Could be a new Forsaken emergence, could be Foundation activity, could be equipment malfunction. Hard to tell from this distance."
"Any plans to investigate?"
"Not our jurisdiction. Anything beyond the fifty-kilometer perimeter gets reported to Regional Authority, and they decide whether it's worth sending a survey team." Maya pulled up a display showing a map dotted with various colored markers. "See these red zones? Active Forsaken territories. Yellow zones are unstable—reality distortions, temporal anomalies, physics working wrong. And the purple zones…"
"Let me guess. Arthur territories?"
"Areas where Arthur Solvain has been active recently. We don't go there." Maya pointed to a cluster of purple markers in the far southeast. "That's his usual operating area. He seems to prefer the deep zones, where the worst things live."
August studied the map. "Has anyone ever tried to contact him? Officially, I mean?"
Maya laughed, but there wasn't much humor in it. "About five years ago, the city council decided they wanted to establish formal relations with Arthur. Sent a diplomatic team out to find him and make an offer—resources, support, official backing in exchange for cooperation with city defense."
"What happened?"
"Three of the five team members came back. They were… different. Couldn't explain what they'd seen, couldn't describe what Arthur had done to them, but they all resigned from city service within a month. One of them left the city entirely. The other two spend their time in the Lower Market, drinking and staring at walls."
August felt a chill. "And the other two team members?"
"Never came back. We assume they're dead, but…" Maya shrugged. "In the Disputed Zones, dead doesn't always mean gone."
"You make him sound like a monster."
"I make him sound like what he is—a person with enough power to reshape reality, who's been alone with that power for years. That's not someone you approach casually." Maya fixed August with a steady look. "Why all the questions about Arthur? This is more than just curiosity."
August had been dreading this moment for weeks. Maya was too smart not to notice his obsession, and he was a terrible liar. But he also couldn't tell her the truth without sounding completely insane.
"I think I might know him," he said finally. "From before. Before the Severance Wars."
It wasn't exactly a lie. He did know Arthur, in a way. He'd created him, written his backstory, decided his fate. That had to count as knowing someone, right?
Maya raised an eyebrow. "How old are you, exactly? The Severance Wars ended fifteen years ago."
"I was young. We both were. I'm not even sure he'd remember me." August looked down at his hands. "But I keep thinking… maybe if someone who knew him before all this happened tried to reach out…"
"You're talking about going into the Disputed Zones to find Arthur Solvain." Maya's voice was flat. "You realize that's basically suicide, right?"
"Not necessarily. I have adaptive immunity. I might be able to survive things that would kill other people."
"August." Maya leaned forward, her expression serious. "Your Foundation makes you immune to repeated harm. It doesn't make you immune to being completely destroyed on the first attempt. And out there in the deep zones, complete destruction is a very real possibility."
"But—"
"No." Maya stood up and walked to the window overlooking the city. "I've been monitoring those zones for three years. I've seen what comes out of them. I've seen what happens to people who think they're prepared for the impossible. Your Foundation is impressive, but it's not a guarantee of survival."
August joined her at the window. From here, he could see the edges of the city, where the protective wards faded and the wild zones began. In the distance, the landscape seemed to shimmer and shift, like a mirage made of broken reality.
"What if he's in trouble?" August asked quietly. "What if he needs help?"
"Then that's tragic, but it's not your responsibility." Maya turned to face him. "Arthur Solvain chose isolation. He chose to operate beyond any authority or support structure. If he's in trouble, it's because he put himself in that position."
"Or because someone else put him there."
Maya was quiet for a moment. "You really think you knew him?"
"I think I knew who he used to be. Before the power, before the isolation, before…" August gestured vaguely toward the wasteland beyond the city. "Before all this."
"And you think that person is still in there somewhere?"
"I have to believe that. Otherwise, what's the point of any of this?"
Maya sighed. "You know what? Fine. But if you're serious about this—and I really hope you're not—then you need to understand what you're talking about. Come on."
She led him to a secured section of the monitoring station August had never seen before. Maya swiped her identification card and ushered him through a door marked "Authorized Personnel Only."
The room beyond was filled with displays, recording equipment, and filing cabinets that looked like they contained the kind of information people weren't supposed to have.
"This is everything we know about Arthur Solvain," Maya said, gesturing to a wall covered in documents, photographs, and what appeared to be technical readouts. "Official reports, witness statements, energy signature analyses, psychological profiles—fifteen years of trying to understand someone who might be beyond understanding."
August approached the wall slowly. There were photographs—distant, blurry, but unmistakably showing a tall figure surrounded by distortions in the air itself. Reports describing impossible feats: entire Forsaken hordes simply ceasing to exist, landscapes reshaped in minutes, reality itself bending around a single individual.
And there were the psychological profiles. Cold, clinical assessments that painted a picture of someone increasingly disconnected from human society, operating by logic that made sense only to him.
"The early reports are different," Maya said, pointing to a section labeled "First Emergence Period." "When Arthur first appeared, witnesses described him as heroic, determined, someone fighting for the protection of others. Look at these accounts."
August read through the early witness statements. They described someone who seemed genuinely concerned with saving lives, protecting settlements, working with local authorities. Someone who could have been the hero August had tried to write.
"What changed?" he asked.
"Time. Isolation. Power." Maya pulled out a thick file. "This is our psychological assessment, compiled over years of observation. The working theory is that Arthur's Foundation doesn't just allow him to manipulate reality—it requires him to exist partially outside normal reality. The more he uses his power, the less connected he becomes to baseline human experience."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning the Arthur Solvain who first emerged fifteen years ago might not be the same person who operates in the deep zones today. He's been shaped by his power just as much as he's shaped the world around him."
August stared at a photograph taken six months ago—the same incident Maya had described to him on his first visit. The figure in the image was tall, imposing, but there was something wrong with the space around him. The air seemed to bend, reality itself appearing unstable in his presence.
"This is what you'd be trying to reach," Maya said quietly. "Not the person you remember, but what that person has become."
August was quiet for a long time, studying the evidence of Arthur's transformation. Finally, he asked, "Do you think he can still be saved?"
"I think," Maya said, "that's the wrong question. The right question is: do you think he wants to be saved? And are you prepared for the possibility that the answer is no?"
August thought about the entity on the bridge, wearing Arthur's face while speaking words Arthur would never say. About the story he'd written, where Arthur died alone and tragic because August had thought that made for better drama.
"I have to try," he said finally.
Maya nodded slowly. "I was afraid you'd say that."
"Will you help me?"
"I'll help you prepare. Information, supplies, route planning—whatever you need to maximize your chances of survival." Maya's expression was grim. "But I won't help you go. That's something you'll have to do alone."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. If you go through with this, there's a very good chance I'll never see you again." Maya returned the files to their cabinet. "And August? If you do find Arthur, and he's not the person you remember… don't try to save someone who doesn't want to be saved. Just come home."
August nodded, but he knew it wasn't that simple. He'd written Arthur's story once, and it had ended in tragedy. If he was going to rewrite it, he'd have to be willing to face whatever Arthur had become.
Even if it destroyed them both.