I stared at the flickering Astral projections of Adler and Donutz, their words sinking in like a punch I hadn't braced for. The idea that their claim on me was tied to some bullshit "love" condition made my stomach churn, and not just because of the lingering dumpster stench clinging to my skin. Kristi stood beside me, her feathers bristling, looking like she was one snarky comment away from lunging through the projection to throttle them both.

"Love?" I echoed, my voice dripping with disbelief. "You're seriously trying to sell me on the idea that this—" I gestured vaguely at my bruised, bandaged body—"is because you love me? You beat the shit out of me, pissed on me, and tossed me in a dumpster. That's not love. That's a fucking felony!"

"Oh, come on, Alec-tater. Don't be so dramatic," Adler let out. "We didn't mean to go that hard. We were drunk, havin' a bit of a laugh! And you… you took it like a champ, y'know? Most humans woulda been cryin' for their mommies after one swipe. But you? You kept swingin' and kicking our asses." She grinned, sharp teeth flashing. "You almost got away from five delver prads, dude! That's why we like ya. You can take a beatin' and keep on tickin'. That's rare as fuck, genuine pack potential!"

"Like you?" I shot back. "That's not affection. That's you getting off on someone who doesn't break easily. I'm not your fucking punching bag!"

Donutz's projection tilted her head. "Hold up, darling. You're twistin' our words. Liking someone, lovin' someone—it's a very gradual scale, not a switch. We like you, Alec. A lot. Me and Cap, we see potential in you. Most prads in Ferguson would see you as a walking liability, a level three human with no gear and a shitty mana reload rate. But us? We don't give a shit about that! We wanna make you stronger. Free you from all the crap that's holdin' you back."

"Free me?" I laughed. "Really?"

"Yea mang," Donutz sighed, crossing her arms. "We don't expect you to be some perfect delver, we don't expect you to have high grades to move forward, or for you to kiss our boots like the Strand bitches expect from their pets." She shot a pointed glare at Kristi, who growled low in her throat. "We like you for you, Alec. For the stubborn bastard who stood up to us and flung pepper in Cap's face. For the guy who's still standin' after everyone mauled you. That's why I bound you—to keep you safe from the real controlling' cunts out there."

"Safe," I repeated, my voice flat. "You think I feel safe with your tag on me? With you Voicecasting into my head, tracking me like I'm your lost luggage? You don't even know me!"

Adler snorted "We know enough! You're a fighter. You've got guts. We respect guts. Ain't that right, girls?"

"Damn straight," Donutz nodded along with a chorus of 'hear, hear' from the other bikers. "Look, Alec, we ain't sayin' we're in love with you like some mushy rom-com shit. But we like you enough to want you with us. To train you up, level that skill of yours, make you someone who can stand toe-to-toe with any prad in this shitshow of a doomed world infected with Systemfall and crawling with dungeons. And yeah… Maybe we got a bit rough, but that's how we roll. If you just backed down, lowered your eyes, cried, begged for mercy we would not have bothered with you. We'd like to know ya, that's why we're calling you!"

Kristi, who'd been simmering beside me, finally exploded. "You're delusional! Both of you! You think you can justify assaulting him, claiming him, because you 'like' him? That's not how it works! You're just five washed-up delinquents who can't handle the fact that you're irrelevant outside your little biker gang fantasy!"

Adler's projection snarled. "Fuck you! You don't get to lecture us about morality when your family practically owns Ferguson and treats humans like exotic pets. At least we're honest about what we want. You're just playin' the good girl to score points with Daddy."

"Enough!" I snapped, my patience fraying. "Adler, Donutz, let's get one thing straight: you don't love me. You don't even like me. You like that I don't die easily. That's not the same thing. And if your tag's condition is love, then it's a fucking joke, because what you did to me isn't anywhere close to it."

Donutz's expression softened, just a fraction, her eyes studying me through the static. "Alec, you're wrong. We do like you—more than you think. Maybe it's not love yet, but it's somethin'. And out here, in a world full of selfish cunts who'd chew you up and spit you out, that's worth more than you know." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You think you're gonna find two prads in Ferguson who'll care about you even a smidge as much as we do? Good luck. That town's a viper pit—I'd know cus I grew up there. Every prad is either owned by the Strands or clawin' their way up the social ladder! A level three human with an unbreakable claim mark ain't exactly prime real estate."

Kristi's claws dug into her palms, eyes blazing. "He doesn't need your pity or your so-called 'protection.' He's not some helpless stray you get to collar because you're bored. Alec's got more strength in him than your entire pack combined!"

"I didn't say that he's weak," Donutz shook her head. "Alec's a strong boy. I know the town rules as well as you do, Kristi—he's got a week before he's kicked out. If you want him so bad, then all you have to do is like him more than me, plus find another prad who'd share such feelings and also love you as much as I love my Captain. It's too bad that you've never bothered to make your own pack, hrrmmm? Too bad that you're just a stuck up, heartless rich beerch who doesn't love anyone, eh?"

"Ha ha, buuuuuuurn!" one of the wolves laughed from behind.

"You think you're gonna swoop in and save him from us? You can't even save yourself from your own liminal curse, loser," Adler said.

Kristi flinched, just barely, but I caught it. Whatever nerve Adler had hit, it was a deep one.

"Right then, you knobs. Here's the deal," I said. "I don't belong to you. I don't belong to anyone. And if your tag's condition is finding two prads who care about me more than you do, then I'll take those odds. Because frankly, the bar's so low it's buried in the dirt. You don't get to decide my worth, and you sure as hell don't get to decide my future."

Adler's projection flickered, her grin faltering for a split second before snapping back into place. "Big words, tater. But words don't mean shit when reality comes knockin'. You'll come crawlin' back to us when Ferguson chews you up and spits ya out. And we'll be waitin'—with open arms, ready to embrace you, to take you on the open road."

"Mhmmm. We're offerin' you a place where you don't have to bow to anyone. Where you can be strong, free, you. But if you're set on this path… well, we can't force you to see sense." Donutz smirked. "Mathematically speakin', findin' two prads in that town who'll give a damn about you and each other without wanting anything in return? That's a probability so close to zero it might as well be a myth. Aight, I'm running low on mana. We'll call you later, kay? Kay. Toodles. Smoochies!"

The projections began to fade, their outlines dissolving into silver sparks.

"See ya later, Alec-tater..." Adler's voice lingered for another second before fading to static that fell silent.

"Fuck, FUCK, FUUUUUUUUUCK!" Kristi growled. "I cannot believe those fuckers!"

Her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

I stood there, speechless as Kristi's tough exterior cracked before my eyes. Gone was the fierce raptor who'd chased me through the school hallways, replaced by someone who looked genuinely hurt, broken. Her feathers drooped, and she turned away quickly, but not before I caught the glimmer of moisture on her scales.

"Hey," I said, my voice softer than I'd intended. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she snapped, wiping at her eyes with the back of her clawed hand. "Just... I hate them. I fucking hate them so much."

I wasn't sure what to do. Comforting a crying raptor wasn't exactly in my limited social playbook.

"What did Adler mean?" I asked carefully. "About your liminal curse?"

Kristi stiffened, her tail going rigid. "Nothing. She meant nothing. She's just a dumb beerch who likes hurting people!"

Her voice had a brittleness to it that contradicted her words. Whatever Adler had hit on, it wasn't nothing.

"Look," I said, running a hand through my hair. "This has been a really shitty day. For both of us, I think."

Kristi let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah. You could say that."

The farmhouse creaked around us, the wind chimes outside creating their eerie symphony. The reality of my situation was sinking in—no grandfather, no place to stay, a magical claim I couldn't possibly remove.

"So," I gestured at the ruins around us. "Home sweet home, I guess. Slightly more burned down than advertised."

Kristi looked around, her composure gradually returning. "You can't stay in this decrepit farmhouse, Alec."

"Don't have much choice," I replied. "Unless you're offering to put me up at the Strand mansion?"

She gave me a look that said that wasn't going to happen.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

We made our way back to my car in silence, the eerie wind chimes fading behind us as we left the junkyard farm. Kristi seemed lost in thought, her earlier tears replaced by a distant, resigned expression.

The Tempest groaned to life as I turned the key, its familiar rumble somehow comforting. I pulled away from my grandfather's bizarre memorial to madness, heading back toward the main road.

"I'm going to stay at the Hare Krishna temple," I said after we'd been driving for a while. "They might help with this claim mark, and I need a place to sleep."

Kristi nodded, too defeated to argue. Her earlier fire seemed extinguished, replaced by something that looked uncomfortably like depressed acceptance.

"They're strict," she said finally, her voice flat. "But they're fair. It's probably your best option right now."

The sun was beginning to set as we crossed back through the barrier obelisks into Ferguson proper. The town looked different in the twilight—more magical, with magitek streetlights flickering on and spellwork runes glowing softly on building facades.

"Take a left at the next intersection," Kristi directed. "Then right at the stoplight. The Strand estate is just past the park."

I followed her directions until we pulled up to a massive wrought iron gate set into a tall stone wall. Beyond, I could see a sprawling mansion that looked more like a fortified castle than a home, with manicured gardens and what appeared to be a private lake. The Strand family crest—a raptor holding a golden globe in its talons—was emblazoned on the gate.

"This is me," Kristi said, opening her door.

"Thanks," I said. "For today.

"Why? I… I didn't do shit," she let out.

"You were more welcoming than anyone else here," I said. "And I do consider you a friend."

She paused, one foot on the ground. "Don't thank me. I haven't helped you at all. I'll see you tomorrow, in class." Her voice dropped. "If you insist on showing up."

"Want to trade Pradstagram numbers?"

"Okay," she let out, pulled her phone from her backpack. She opened the app and tapped her phone on mine.

I clicked accept contact in the app.

With that, she slipped out and approached the gate. A security guard—a dog in an immaculate uniform—nodded to her and the gate swung open. She didn't look back as she walked through.

I sat there for a moment, watching her disappear into the Strand estate, before putting the car in gear and heading back toward town. According to the GPS on my phone, the Hare Krishna temple was on the eastern edge of Ferguson, where the town met the forest.

The temple itself was a rather curious building. It looked like a repurposed old, medieval-style Orthodox Slayer's cathedral featuring a vaulted basilica, fortified thick walls and very narrow, slit-like windows. Its white stone walls were adorned with intricate carvings, and basilica magisteel capped top caught the last rays of sunset that also painted the mountains behind it orange-pink. The parking lot was well-maintained, with spaces for about forty vehicles and surrounded by lush, ancient pines.

I parked the Tempest and sat for a moment, gathering my strength. My body ached, my mind was exhausted, and the day's emotional whiplash had left me drained. But I had nowhere else to go.

The temple's interior was cooler than outside, filled with the scent of incense and the soft sound of chanting from a distant room. Orange and gold decorations adorned the walls, depicting deities and spiritual scenes I didn't recognize. A few tall pradavarian monks in saffron robes moved quietly through the space, some reading, others cleaning or meditating.

A gray, tall, wolf pradavarian woman approached me, her movements graceful. She wore the same orange robe as the others, but hers was particularly meticulously arranged. Her fur was neatly groomed, her eyes a calm, perceptive blue. Wooden prayer beads clicked softly between her fingers as she walked.

"Namaste," she greeted me, her accent somewhat Slavic. "I am Sister Zheniya. Do you seek enlightenment this evening, or perhaps something else?"

"Something else," I admitted. "I need a place to sleep. My grandfather's house... it burned down."

Her eyes widened slightly, taking in my battered appearance.

"I see and smell that you carry many burdens, friend," she said, her voice gentler now. "You have indeed come to the right place. Come, tell me more."

We walked together to a small garden courtyard, where stone benches surrounded a simple fountain. She gestured for me to sit, then settled across from me, waiting patiently.

"My name is Alec Foster," I began. "I just arrived in Ferguson today. My grandfather, Daniel Foster, was supposed to be living at Old Foster Farm on Blackwater Road, but when I got there, the house was burned down, and he was gone. Left a message saying he'd 'departed to the city of System Wizards' or something."

"I see," Sister Zheniya tilted her head, her ears perking up slightly. "And now you have nowhere to stay?"

"Exactly. I've enrolled at Ferguson High, but..."

"But there is more troubling you," she finished for me, her nose twitching and eyes flashing slightly. "You carry a claim mark. Forced upon you, yes?"

I nodded, relieved that I didn't have to explain.

"The Skid Marks gang," I confirmed. "This morning at a gas station outside town. And apparently, the condition to remove it is... complicated."

Sister Zheniya nodded, continuing to work her prayer beads between her fingers. "The temple can offer you shelter, young one. We have rooms for those seeking a path. But I must be honest—our help with the claim mark would require commitment to our ways."

"So I've heard," I sighed. "Full devotion for full removal."

"Yes. This is the way. But even as a guest, you would need to follow certain rules. No meat, no intoxication, no gambling, no... Physical relations with the opposite gender. Early rising for meditation, assisting with temple duties, respecting the sacred spaces."

"I can do that," I said. "At least until I figure something else out."

Sister Zheniya studied me, her gaze penetrating. "Come. Let me show you our temple, and explain what life here would be like, even for a temporary guest."

She led me through the temple complex, pointing out the meditation halls, the communal kitchen where monks and volunteers prepared vegetarian meals for humans and special, protein-infused meals for prads, the simple dormitories where devotees slept on narrow cots. As we walked, she explained the daily schedule—waking at 4 AM for the first meditation, followed by chanting, study, service to the temple, more meditation, and finally retiring at 9 PM.

"It is a simple life," she said, "but one of purpose and peace. Even for those who stay with us briefly, the discipline can be... clarifying. The meditation we teach helps delvers sharpen their skills, to become more attuned to their souls."

We ended our tour in a small, spare room with a single bed, a wooden chair, and a small window overlooking the garden. A stack of orange clothing sat folded on the bed.

"This can be your place for now," Sister Zheniya said. "The washrooms are at the end of the hall. Dinner is in the grand hall in thirty two minutes. It will be announced by a gong."

"Thank you," I said, feeling grateful despite the austerity of the accommodations.

"Sit," she said, sitting down on the stone floor. "I will assess your binding."

I sat in a lotus pose next to her.

Zheniya reached out, gently taking my wrist with one paw. Her touch was cool and clinical as she turned my arm to examine my hand. I couldn't see anything there—no mark, no rune, nothing visible to the naked eye—but Sister Zheniya closed her eyes in concentration.

"Assess binding," she murmured, her prayer beads stilling in her other paw.

Her eyes suddenly ignited with silver light—the universal sign of a pradavarian using their Astral sight—but instead of the calm assessment I expected, she let out a sharp yelp and released my arm as if it had burned her. The silver light flickered and died as she scrambled back, putting distance between us.

"Sister Zheniya?" I asked, confused by her reaction. "What's wrong?"

Her expression had darkened considerably, her earlier serenity replaced by something like alarm mixed with disgust. She rubbed her paw against her robe as if trying to cleanse it.

"This binding..." she said, her voice lower now, almost a growl. "It is not what I expected."

"What do you mean? What did you see?"

She shook her head, her ears flattened against her skull. "The temple will not be able to unbind this mark, young Alec. Not as you are."

"But the border guards said—"

"This binding was created by an incredibly high-level Binder." She studied me with new wariness. "The devious condition set upon it is the exact opposite of our temple's principles."

"Love," I said, remembering Donutz's words. "The Prad who bound me said the condition was love."

"Yes. Love. Not just love for another. An equilateral relationship triangle. Carnal attachment. Absolute possession. Pure desire. The binding draws power specifically from the type of conceptual connection our order renounces." She stood up with a sigh. "It is a limitless binding forged from pure, absolute [[[Love]]]. A Dagaz Rune, which isn't easily broken and will only strangle your soul more with time as long as your Binder lives. Whoever set this mark upon you is a cruel genius wielding the dark power of the Infinite Superstore Dungeon."

I sighed.

"You may volunteer at the temple as a novitiate to be granted a bed and food," she said after a moment's hesitation. "But you would not be aided with… the mark. Not without you joining our order as a full-time monk and fully sacrificing your ability to love another being forevermore. Are you prepared for such a sacrifice?"

"No," I said.

"Then, I am sorry, Alec Foster. I cannot aid you."

"Thanks for trying," I said.

She nodded, her blue eyes kind but serious. "Rest now, then enjoy dinner."

With that, she left me alone in the small room. I sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the orange robes, the bare walls, the simplicity of it all. At least it was something.

The dinner gong's resonant tone echoed through the temple, its vibrations seeming to ripple through my aching body. I changed into the orange robes left for me—simple cotton pants and a loose shirt that smelled faintly of incense and detergent. The fabric was soft against my many wounds, a small mercy after all of the bullshit.

Following the flow of orange-clad devotees, I made my way to the refectory—a large, open, white hall with long wooden tables arranged in neat rows. The walls were adorned with paintings of blue-skinned deities and spiritual scenes, their vibrant colors contrasting with the otherwise austere décor. The air was thick with the aroma of spices, legumes, and fresh bread.

I joined the line at the serving table, where smiling monks ladled food onto metal thali plates with separate compartments. My tray soon held a colorful array: yellow dal, fluffy rice, spiced mixed vegetables, a small salad, and a piece of flatbread that a cheerful pradavarian informed me was called chapati.

The room hummed with quiet conversation and the occasional soft chant. Despite my exhaustion and the strangeness of my surroundings, my stomach growled appreciatively at the sight of real food. I found an empty spot at one of the tables, sitting somewhat apart from the others, conscious of my outsider status.

The first bite of dal surprised me with its complex flavor—earthy, spicy, and somehow comforting. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until food touched my tongue. I began to eat with single-minded focus, barely registering the movements around me.

Someone sat across from me with a deep weary sigh. I looked up, and the spoon slipped from my fingers, clattering against the metal plate with a sound that seemed to echo in the sudden silence of my mind.

Nessy Whitepaw was sitting across from me, holding her own tray. Her black and white curls gleamed under the soft lighting, the distinctive angel wing pattern on her forehead somehow more pronounced against the orange fabric. Her ocean-blue eyes—up close and even more vibrant in person than in her videos stared right into my soul.

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