Questions

Fate closed the book, head filled with all manner of questions and runaway thoughts.

Was that what his Facet was? Yang?

Was he the reincarnation of some omnipotent being from the beginning of time?

But why would Neptul have needed to erase his memories? And where was Prechat?

Was there another Facet like his, undocumented and originating from the yin of this creator god?

Unfortunately, there was no way to answer any of these questions. But one thing was certain, his Facet wasn't yang.

One thing science had proven time and time again was that every Facet had one true name, one that resonated with it and encapsulated every aspect of it with a word.

False names could fool the ignorant, but a true name was recognizable immediately, especially by the owner of the Facet.

It was this enigmatic sense of what was right that told Fate that "yang" was not his Facet. It might have a passing relation, but they weren't the same thing.

And that didn't even go into the widely-known origin of Facets.

Every Facet was the result of a bloodline of one or more of the Nine Races. This book also alluded to that; Fate had reason to suspect that the evolution these "Fragments" were going to undergo would result in Facets.

How then, could two non-human entities have them?

Fate supposed they could create them, but what was the point? Facets made lives longer, and the author made it clear that Prechat and Neptul wanted short, happy lives free of such strength.

And if they wanted such power, why not keep their original powers? Why work their infinite power into Facets?

There were theories that the world of Ziobrun was created by one Facet or more long ago, so Prechat would still have that, but how could that compare to birthing all of reality?

In the end, Fate was left with many, many more questions than answers. He started to suspect that whatever feeling had drawn him to this book was just some cosmic joke left by a bored Arch-Mage.

He had half a mind to toss the book across the room in a fit of anger, but even now that urge was present. But instead of an urge to read, it was an urge to keep the book for later.

He could only sigh and stow it in his book ring with the multitude of other books he needed to get around to reading.

'Guess I should sleep,' he thought, fatigue suddenly setting in. 'Let's just hope Kravoss isn't having some weird dream.'

Fate awoke late in the morning and hopped into his normal weekend routine, eating a meal at the cafeteria and heading to work so he'd have the afternoon free.

He finished the last of the one hundred wand cores and a half a dozen extra by the time his shift was over, and bade farewell to Old Man Travis as he headed into town.

'What do you wanna do, Kravoss?' Fate asked his Familiar. 'I'm feeling studied out. I need something to relax.'

'Maybe it's time you take Freyn up on his offer for sword training?' Kravoss asked.

'Next weekend,' Fate replied. 'I'm still sore from being tossed around like a ragdoll by Helga.

'Then we should see a play,' Kravoss suggested eagerly. 'The one I watched was immensely enjoyable.'

'Hmm…'

Fate couldn't think of anything better to do, so he and Kravoss went to the closest theater, called "The Golden Dracok," and bought tickets for what was currently playing.

The play was called "The Metal Melancholy of Mitchell Manthrew," which sounded interesting enough.

Fate bought some popped corn for him and Kravoss to share and took a seat in the middle row. The Dracok sat on a booster seat provided by the theater to see what was happening. The lights dimmed and the crowd hushed as the curtains opened, starting the play.

A young boy with a shaggy head of blonde hair and nice clothes stood in the center of the stage, staring straight ahead and doing his best to ignore the audience.

With a stuttering start, he set the scene.

"It's the year 80,747," the boy said nervously. "Metal Mages are seen as terrible people with the cahpabilty – the capability to bring ruin to the Empire. They were scorn-ed, mocked, beaten, bullied, and in suhvere cases, killed, either by the police or the people.

"Their powers were seen as corruptive, destructive, capable of laying low an entire army through rust or their own weapons and armor. They could crumble buildings, render farming tools useless, and in some instances, control people with their Skills.

"They were seen as a threat to the livelihood of the industrial Empire as well, their abilities making machines obsolete, taking jobs from the commoner and money from the nobles.

"Empress Hedren Settan was but another heir to the throne back then and was powerless to help her people's plight, though she tried greatly.

"Our story starts with Mitchell Manthrew, a boy who just celebrated his 18th birthday, and is ready to start his Awakening ceremony."

The boy ducked his head and hurried off stage, the stage dimming as actors and props were put into place. Fate felt bad for the little guy, but was also impressed.

He would've struggled with a few of those larger words only a few months ago. Noble education was undeniably better, he concluded.

As for the year the boy mentioned, history class had taught Fate that the current Settan Calendar started at the year zero, when the Settan Empire was first founded. The current year was 201,225, which helped put into perspective how old the Empress was.

Old Man Travis wasn't exaggerating when he said she was tens of thousands of years old.

The lights brightened. The scene was one familiar to Fate.

Thanks to the work of an unseen Mage, the stage was currently shaped to look like the interior of a church. It was a smaller church, the stage just big enough to fit two-thirds of the inside, and lined with pews placed before a dais.