The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

Miss Gertrude Collins was having an extremely wonderful twenty-four hours. The previous night she had met with Derek Moss and had a lovely steak dinner. Afterward, they had gone on a walk with Tim and allowed the pre-teen to talk excitedly about his training with Randidly Ghosthound. Apparently, they would soon be traveling far to the South to choose a small chunk of land for Tim himself to engrave. So Gertrude had delightedly answered Tim’s questions about the most aesthetically pleasing landscapes.

At the end of the date, Derek had squeezed her hands a little too tightly and given her a lingering peck on the lips that had Gertrude practically floating home. Along the way, she scolded herself playfully for behaving like she was one of the children she taught but couldn’t shake the stupid grin from her face.

One unexpected positive about the System was that you weren’t obligated to even make an attempt to fall asleep in order to be functioning the next day; you would probably function fine with or without sleep. So then Gertrude allowed herself to experience a hormone-fueled explosion of lesson plan production that often deviated into slightly scandalous daydreaming. The lesson plans were a project that had been half-finished for several weeks, so she was quite pleased to make a sizeable dent in it.

And the reason that Gertrude stopped working on that project was not that she ran out of steam, but rather that the smell of raspberry scones from the bakery next door wafted in through her open window early the next morning. She then went to the window and leaned out of the street, breathing deeply through her nose. A few passing moss spirits noticed her and made a beeline for Gertrude, spinning playfully around her head.

So with moss spirits in tow, she walked down and bought herself several fresh-from-the-oven baked goods. She kept them in a wicker basket until she left the shop and then began to rapidly devour everything she had bought.

By the end of the street, her basket was empty and Gertrude shook her head ruefully. An unexpected negative from the System was how quickly you could finish an amount of food that would have been perfectly satisfactory before the System. But still, she supposed it was balanced out by the fact that your body was impossibly efficient at burning fat.

Then she toured the parks where Kharon’s huge throng of students was being taught, pleased to see that engagement had tripled from its previous levels based on the recommendations she and other education experts had given to Kharon’s government. Teachers put on demonstrations and the students gathered around to watch and ask questions. Gertrude had walked around and helped where she could, finally feeling like what she did here truly mattered.

Then she had a lovely lunch of cucumber sandwiches with Tatiana, at which she had confessed that she still sometimes felt… a little starstruck when she was interacting with Randidly. Tatiana had rolled her eyes, poured Gertrude a tall coffee, and then began to tell her the story of the night that she and Randidly first met.

“I don’t mind admitting that at that time, I was the head of a group of high-end escorts servicing Zone 1’s elite,” Tatiana had said. “And Randidly was making big waves in the metal smelting circles across the entire Zone. So I was brought in to try and schmooze him. I had planned to make conversation with him, but he stayed locked up in a sunroom with two of the older metalworkers and just talked about chemical reactions and melting points for most of the night. By the time he had finished, the party was winding down and most of the other people were spreading apart. And then, right as I try talking to him-”

Tatiana gestured like she was throwing something underhand. “Somepne attacked with a Mana grenade. And Randidly’s attention switched so fast from me to that bomb that I knew exactly how little of an impression I had made on him. And the intensity of his gaze as he looked at the grenade… Calm as a cucumber, Randidly grabbed the unstable bomb out of the air and tossed it into the pool: we were at a penthouse suite. The resulting explosion destroyed the pool and ruined several of the floors of the building. The owner was livid.

“And Randidly Ghosthound walked away as though this was the most normal thing in the world. At that time, violence wasn’t quite as… normalized as it is now. So while most people were still fleeing and in shock from the explosion, he had returned to work. I think the next day he developed the schematics for a new drone. The attack didn’t even register on his radar. That’s just who he is.”

Gertrude had scratched her cheek and responded dryly, “...This isn’t making me feel any less nervous about meeting him.”

Waving a hand airly, Tatiana laughed. “Just know that Randidly Ghosthound does indeed possess the male trait that his ears are tuned to several specific subjects and very few others. At the same time, he is currently using his hands-on knowledge to guide Kharon, the Order Ducis, and by extension, the rest of the world, to the use of images. I understand that you are nervous about this meeting regarding the Academy Keystones, but practically, it means that Randidly will be very focused on the details of this project to further his own goals. As long as you don’t say anything outlandish, his attention won’t actually be focused on you. He will be very sure of his own ideas.”

As Gertrude considered this and nibbled on another sandwich, Tatiana shook her head helplessly. “I’ll be honest, by the end of it you might want him to focus on you a bit more. The great Randidly Ghosthound has a habit of making broad and grand goals without considering the details of how such things will be accomplished. I can assure you that your meeting will simply involve Randidly dumping a lot of work on your plate and then leaving to train.”

So despite her nerves regarding the meeting, Gertrude Collins was having a great day. She arrived five minutes early in the small terrace on the Western edge of Kharon where Randidly Ghosthound had agreed to meet her and was somewhat embarrassed to see that he was already there. And true to Tatiana’s word, he didn’t seem to notice Gertrude until she arrived next to his table.

“Oh good, you are here. Sit down,” The Ghosthound said, nodding toward a chair. After she had sat, the Ghosthound steepled his fingers. His expression was serious and his eyes were bright as he looked directly at Gertrude. “As the Keystones will be the guidelines to shape a student’s paths, they are critically important to Kharon Academy’s development. The identity of the Keystones will shape everything that follows. So… what are your ideas for the ideological flaws to address here?”

“Eh?” Gertrude Collins blinked. She shifted slightly in her seat. The combination of the intensity of Randidly’s gaze and her rising heart rate meant that it took a few seconds to catch up with what he was saying. And in the end, what he was saying was that Tatiana had been very wrong about this meeting.

Some part of Gertrude Collins began to panic. Why had she spent last night drawing up lessonplans?!?!

The Ghosthound reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. Some of the tensenesses in the air fell away. “Unfortunately, I was rather… indisposed yesterday due to some of my training. I’ve recovered now, but I haven’t had the chance to consider the issue fully yet. So, I thought a brainstorming session might be useful. Have any ideas?”

“Eh?”

Randidly sat and waited for Gertrude to gather herself well enough to answer. Her mouth was very dry.

*****

“You’ve fought them before, right? And beat ‘em, the way I heard it. What’s eatin’ ya then?” Hank drawled. He leaned back so far that his chair was only on two legs, with his cowboy boots up on the table. Currently, he looked entirely too pleased with himself.

Alana didn’t answer for a while, instead pushing open the windows to the balcony of the small room they were currently sharing. The cool winter air felt good on her skin, pushing at her partially buttoned shirt and cooling her sweat. Then she stretched a hand out the window and made a fist. The surrounding air stirred with the weight of her image. Even her fist had meaning.

Twisting her arm, Alana offered her palm to the sky and for a split second orange flames blazed upward. Whether it was a signal or a way of channeling her emotions, she didn’t really know. It simply felt good to blaze a little bit right now. Then she clenched her fist, stifling the fire.

She turned away from the window and looked at Hank. He flipped his revolver around, gripped the barrel, and tried to use the grip to hook the neck of the whiskey bottle that was just out of his reach. Rolling her eyes, she walked over and slid the bottle over to his side. “I feel fairly confident about beating them. Which is why I find my attention straying toward Randidly. Have you felt the edges of it? His image?”

“The one he keeps bottled up?” Hank poured two glasses and offered one to Alana.

She took it and sipped at the liquid. It burned her throat pleasantly, reminding her of her life before the System. To suppress those memories, she shot the rest of the glass and set it back down on the table with a grimace. “Perhaps, but it doesn’t make it any less alarming for those that know what they are looking for. Your image is too easy-going about its interactions with other images; you miss some obvious things.

“While the world below is a chaotic mess of image fragments flying around and impacting each other during the fights, a third of the sky is unnaturally still. I can’t get that monstrous motionlessness out of the mind. Just how strong has he become…? And that’s why I’m worried about the match tomorrow.”

“Because yur distracted?” Hank asked. He nudged the whiskey bottle toward Alana’s empty glass with the barrel of his revolver.

Alana shook her head and crossed her arms. The cold air continued to slip through the open window and lightly brush her hair. “Not distracted, not exactly. Although I do think that Paolo and Kayle want to win more than I do, precisely because I always beat them individually in the past. But no, the reason I’m worried is about the story that we were telling the world. In the past, Randidly was always the gatekeeper of strength. Donnyton tried to catch him and he trounced us.

“But now the Ghosthound has taken a step back. And I was practically ordained by him to take his place as the strongest on Earth. I have been ambassador and preacher to his use of image for years. If there is a Path that the Earth can take toward strength, I currently stand at its gates. Paolo and Kayle will want to destroy that impediment for the sake of everyone. They need to destroy it and shred the lock.”

Easing himself forward, Hank soon sat with all four legs of his chair on the ground. He took a deep gulp of his whiskey before he spoke. “You think yur loss here will be good for Earth. But fuck ‘em. If they can’t earn the victory themselves-”

Alana flicked Hank’s forehead playfully before he could work up a head of steam. “Oh shush. I’m not going to throw the match for the good of Earth. I respect both Paolo and Kayle too much for that. And as Randidly pointed out in the past, it isn’t always for the best for the planet to be universally confident in what it has been doing. A world needs… something sinister. An obvious villain. Or perhaps its better in this case, what the Earth needs is a Cerberus.”

“A gatekeeper,” Hank said quietly. He took his time and enunciated every syllable. Then his mouth twisted like a confused earthworm. “But why do ya worry cause of this image stuff?”

Alana simply nodded, meaning to affirm his initial word. Rather idly, she reached over toward his repeater, which was sitting on the table. She picked it up and carefully measured the weight with her left hand. “Because I’ve left Donnyton. I now work with you, freelancing for the Orders. I no longer stand at the pinnacle of martial privilege on Earth. As I take another Path, that image as gatekeeper weakens.”

“Trainin’ with me dragging ya down?” Hank grinned at her with a bright spark in his eyes.

Alana wanted to point the repeater at him and make a bang sound with her mouth, but understood that he wouldn’t find it as funny as she did; he was very serious about gun safety in other people’s actions, to an insufferable degree. Which was rather difficult to take, considering that he regularly used the barrel of his revolver to adjust the jaunty angle of his hat.

She set the gun down on the table. “My image is shifting. But someone needs to act as a gatekeeper. It might be accurate to say that my image wants my role as Cerberos to be slain so it can completely become the prophet of Randidly Ghosthound. Right now, the weight of the world’s eyes pins my image to Donnyton.”

“Huh?” Hank poured himself another glass of whiskey.

“Images are complicated. Can you not sometimes feel how its easier to develop your image if you and everyone else simultaneously think the same thing about it…? Well, I suppose you have the benefit of being a very one-note character in the eyes of the public.”

Hank snorted but didn’t seem to mind her comment. “Then jus stop lettin’ the people dictate your image. Also, why are ya talkin’ so much tonight?”

“Didn’t we already cover that I’m nervous? I’m a human being too.” Alana said. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

Hank stood up from his chair. “Then I can-”

“Easy, cowboy. You’ve already taken your shot tonight.” Alana grinned wickedly at him. She raised her leg high into the air and jabbed the big toe of her right foot against his chest as he made to stand. Hank didn’t resist and allowed himself to be pushed back into his seat with a dissatisfied expression.

Alana turned away and walked back to the window. When she spoke again, she changed the subject. “You’ll tell Dinesh and Tykes during your 3rd place match tomorrow?”

“I reckon’ they’ve thought it themselves already.” Hank nodded. They both were still for several minutes, listening to the cold wind carrying in the noises of Kharon humming busily with life. It was a reassuring soundtrack of peace.

Alana hoped Kharon would stay like this for a long time.

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