The tiny, frail-looking man looked disappointed, as if the meeting that he had just come out of had gone badly for him. The larger man behind him looked smug, as if he had just pulled the wool over his smaller companion's eyes.

The truth was entirely the opposite. The smaller man, a changeling named Taruke, had just conned the larger man, Dalian Peterson, the current majority shareholder of the Bellagio hotel and casino in Las Vegas, out of a significant portion of his ownership. Dalian was still the greatest single share owner, but it was the changelings, specifically several of Taruke's masks, that collectively owned the majority of the hotel.

The human millionaire was already on his way to fiscal ruin, and he did not even know it yet. In fact, he thought life was pretty good right now.

Beside the human, his secretary – a recent replacement of the distinctly inhuman kind – snickered to herself and to her real boss, the currently short Taruke.

“It was a pleasure, Mr. Oswin,” Peterson said, trying and failing to mask his inner smugness. “Tell your boss that I look forward to working with him more.”

“Oh... um, yes, I will,” Taruke replied, feigning a distracted response.

Minutes later and out of sight, Taruke shifted to another, if similar, form and began his walk through the desert heat towards the next hotel on his list, Caesars Palace. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, two seemingly ordinary Asian men, father and son, passed him in the opposite direction. Their goal was simple: make a fortune in the casinos. This was their fourth hotel that day, and the little green lights on their hands had already won them a half billion in total.

The hotels of Las Vegas would literally pay the very changelings that were buying them to buy them. And within two weeks, every major casino, every stage, and almost every possible place to have fun in that city would be theirs. Taruke smiled. <<Easy as pie.>>

Change.ling synthesized a yawn of boredom. This job was not as fun as the digital changeling’s normal duties, which included hijacking porn websites and animating virtual whores so that there was no such thing as free porn anymore. ‘/Change.ling: Yes, this doesn’t even compare./’ Basically, his task was to infiltrate the computer indicated to him and force the numbers drawn by the randomness generator to be a specific combination. It supposed that it was for the good of the hive, after all, but he had never been a material individual. In fact, he had never even been alive in the first place. It supposed that this was a good thing, what he was doing, but that “Jackpot!” animation flashing over its avatar’s head was really starting to bother it.

Greed, as a well-dressed Chinese man in his sixties, was having fun; this was his kind of place. Even though he had rigged the games to be in his favor, there was still some thrill to it. Sometimes, he even won jackpots without Change.lng’s help, which was even more fun.

The only buzzkills were the eyes watching him as he wandered from machine to machine. Many were envious of his ability to hit jackpot so often, which was not so bad. Envy, while classically considered a negative emotion, actually had its roots in lust and desire, giving it a savory, smoky flavor that changelings enjoyed. It was not the envious eyes, however; it was the two disgusted, distrusting, and hateful pairs that sent shivers down Greed’s spine.

Rosaline and Victor were watching him. Greed sighed; maybe he had been too obvious? Either way, it was time to make contact.

The praetorian - an oddly fitting title considering the Roman theme of the hotel - walked towards one of the very high-stakes roulette wheels. This was one of Greed’s favorite games, as it took some skill to influence the outcome the way he wanted it to. It also tended to be more profitable than the slots if he really played hard.

Rosaline, as if summoned by his mere presence, takes the spot next to him at the wheel. Greed, ignoring her presence as if she were a stranger, started placing his bets. Five thousand dollars on black, five thousand on even, fifteen thousand on the first twelve, and twenty-five thousand on straight up six were his choices, and technically, he could win all four at the same time. Offering a little kindness, he whispered to his female table companion, “I feel lucky going with black. Won almost every time.”

“Thanks,” She replied, catching on. “Let’s see if I can ride your luck.” She placed three thousand on black.

The wheel began to slow, so the dealer called out, “No more bets.” Eventually, with a slight magical nudge from Greed, the ball lands on the black six, meaning that all of their bets pay out. Greed scooped up his winnings, $940,000 in total, or $890,000 in profit. Rosaline, only having bet on a wager that payed 1:1, merely doubled her money to $6,000.

“Well, you sure know how to pick your bets,” Rosaline said, seeing the sizeable winnings that Greed had accrued.

Greed stroked his cufflinks, which were shaped like lucky crickets. “Of course. I’m a very lucky cricket. Even so, my odds for all of that were less than three percent. Or they should be. Living in a world of pure imagination tends to make dreams come true, after all.”

The roulette wheel was spinning once again. Greed placed down six bets, of which five of them could win together. He noticed that Rosaline did not bet.

“No more bets,” the dealer calls. As the wheel slowed, Rosaline notice the tell-tale flicker of magic emanating from Greed’s hand, barely visible in the smoky air and faster than a bolt of lightning. In fact, it was too fast for most humans to notice, and they did not. The ball stops at the red eighteen, and his largest five bets pay out with over a million in winnings. The dealer was somewhat annoyed that he was being cleared out like that.

Rosaline said, “You-”

Interrupting, Greed replied, “Yes, I am a cricket who dreams of winning.” He nudged her with his elbow. “You could call me Tānlán Diàobāo,” said Greed, giving the Chinese words for ‘The Greedy Changeling’, “but most call me Greed. I know who you are; we met in a restaurant in Cuba.” Throughout his conversation with her, all the emotion in his voice was faked, as he literally felt nothing towards her due to his heart freezing. He could not care less about her, but he still had to look passibly human. He grimaced, one of remorse versus pride. “And I must apologize for my crude behavior. While my words served the purpose they intended, part of my training magically disconnected me from my non-magical empathy. In short, I failed to consider the ramifications of my words on your state of mind, only caring about how much they could earn us from your boss.”

He watched the gears turned in her her head, knowing the moment the idea he was trying to impart clicked. She laughed; it was not one of joy, but empty reflex. “I never thought I’d see the day.” She paused momentarily. “So you really revealed yourself after all. You know, I might not have very much first hand experience, but I’ve heard enough about your kind. I wasn’t really surprised by what you did, in fact I fully expected such a thing from you. In fact, I’m more surprised you actually kept to your terms of the alliance and revealed yourself to me, I thought I was going to have to keep watching you out of the corner of my eye all night. So congratulations, my Pretty Little Lie, you’ve succeeded in surpassing my expectations.” Greed was mildly offended that she would think that they - well, at least he - would violate the letter of an agreement. It was bad for business.

As she spoke, Rosaline slid a thousand bucks worth of chips onto red. Greed matched the bet on black. “With that said, I feel it safe to assume your timing has a reason. So, Mr.Root-of-all-Evil, what’s next?”

“No more bets,” called the dealer.

“Winner buys drinks for the other with the prize money?” Greed suggested. “I’ll even let you hold my hands.” He raised his hands, unlit, to prove that he was not influencing the roulette wheel. “But in all seriousness, my King is not here on the casino floor at the moment; his current dealings are taking longer than we expected. And we are not without honor; backstabbing only works if your victim can’t stab back. It’s bad for business all around and, no offense, but your boss’s arsenal is, well, stupidly huge.” The ball landed on red, and Rosaline claimed her winnings. “So, what’s your poison? As I said, loser buys the drinks. Or, if you're feeling more adventurous, I’ll let you taste the very emotion you’re feeling right now. What do you say?”

“An appletini, please.”

Greed snorted mirthfully. “Appletini... Sure thing. Did you know that the bearer of the Element of Honesty, Applejack, was once shrunk by poison joke? I’ll be back.”

Greed left the table for the drinks. At the bar, he ordered Rosaline’s drink and a shot of very strong vodka, which he then dumped into a whiskey glass. As he walked back, he hooked a finger over the rim of his glass and excreted a mixture of emotions into it. A glowing white layer formed on the top, while the bottom of the drink took on a supernatural clarity that surpassed even distilled water. Arriving back, he handed Rosaline her untampered drink. “Cheers,” declared Greed just before downing half of his drink. Silence fell between them. He set out his bets, then collected his winnings once the round was over.

Then, very slowly he spoke, paying extreme attention to her emotions and her expressions. “So, I’m curious as to how you knew this brand new face was me. Were you told, or did you discover it on your own?” Her emotions spiked on the latter.

“Do you track mana-flow, emotions-” emotion spike, “-or the magic within us? Or is it a matter of perception, to where you literally sense through our transformations or the modifications to our souls?” Nothing, but he knew that he had to continue to rule out everything. “Is it your boss’s little shadowy friends telling you the who-what-when-where-why?” There was a different emotion that spiked: subtle confusion.

“No idea why they have refused to make deals with every changeling who tried. Last question, and I mean no harm by it, but do you like working for Mr. Divinci, knowing that he has what amounts to a slave collar around your mind and soul?” Yes, apparently she did. “No, don’t answer that. And thank you, you have been most helpful.”

Rosaline did not trust Greed in the slightest. Why would she? However, Greed was slightly confused when she actually took a sip of the drink after only running her finger around the rim. That said, the colorless shine on her finger during that action definitely screamed ‘magic’ to his instincts. He supposed it was some sort of purification spell, which was possible in theory, but would be quite complex in practice, especially with an already toxic alcoholic drink. Even rarer was the ability to channel external magic without a horn or modified phalangeal bones, but zebras could do it, so why not her?

Rosaline let out a small, ladylike, derisive snort and answers, “Nothing quite so complicated, though I’m not surprised in the least that the Shades won’t even give you the light of day. I’m actually a little surprised they didn’t try and attack you outright - they tend to be very territorial - but I suppose you only met a few of the smaller ones. The ones of them who matter know the value of subterfuge. No, the reason I knew of is rather simple - it’s part of what makes me unique. There was a reason your kind could never truly infiltrate the Empire, and Gryphons aren’t the only ones who can feel you, though I will admit they tend to be better at it than us - at least when it comes to hunting anyways.”

Greed mentally amended that statement. ‘Chrysalis could not infiltrate Sombra’s Empire; they did not want to, either.’

Rosaline concluded, “And let me answer you last question with another question; is a woman really a slave if she asks for the collar herself?” She takes another sip of her drink and casually slides $200 on red seven. Then, as an after thought, she adds, “Then again, it doesn’t really matter in the end does it? What’s done is done, c'est la vie, and to be truthful, I don’t regret my decision in the slightest. What about you though? Does it gall you to have given up your very soul, your identity, everything that makes you, you in the service of your master’s ineffable whims?”

Greed slid a bet on the middle dozen just before the dealer called an end to the betting. “Though it tends to be more effort than it is worth, there is a way to close yourself to the collective.” His hand flashed, forcing the ball to land in the sixteen slot. Greed collected his money, much to the scowling Rosaline’s ire. “My king has always said that the door is always open, you just have to choose to walk away. I think that a slave is a slave, no matter how free, and that we are both happy in our chains. Did you know that mine look like vines burrowing into my soul? Your chains, from the sound of it, are the words he speaks rather than any magic he weaves. Food for thought.”

Greed tilted his head to the side upon receiving a communication from Taruke. In the distance, he could see his son stand and start moving towards the private room with Victor. “My king is coming. Let’s go collect your king and my son, Wrath. Lord Rex has an interesting gift for you, Rosaline, as well as one for your boss.” He stood and held out his unfinished drink. “Want some? It’s passion and epiphany with hundred-proof vodka. One hell of a kick, I say.”

Rosaline looked at the drink as if she were seriously considering taking a sip. Eventually, she declined Greed’s offer. “What a depressing view of the world you have, though I suppose it’s not all that inaccurate. If you look at the world with that sort of logic then all men are slaves, and the illusion of freedom is the greatest chain of them all. Lead the way I suppose, age before beauty after all.”

Greed gasped in mock offense. “Hey! I’m only two years old! Well, technically sixty-seven, but becoming a changeling ‘resets the clock’, so-to-speak. I have another eighty years to go, thank-you-very-much!” The duo stood and left the roulette table, taking their winnings with them. Rosaline followed closely behind Greed, not wanting to take her eyes off him for even a minute. ‘Not that it would help, of course. I could kill her without even looking at her.’ He shoved aside his thoughts of homicide. “You want a little history lesson while we walk? Course you do; it’s good for business. Well, the hive recently had a little split. There are now fourteen smaller faction colonies - thirteen in the United States, one as permanent residents of Canterlot, Equestria. Most of the factions stay pretty much independant, both fiscally and politically. It’s for our safety; if one faction is lost, it doesn’t pull down the rest of the hive. Queen Siva, King Rex’s youngest daughter, her faction is one of the largest outside of the central Atlanta Colony and lives here in Las Vegas.”

Looking over his shoulder, he spots a particular changeling. “Rikatzyk! Hey!” The addressed changeling, a dealer at a nearby blackjack table, looks up, annoyed at being called out. “He’s my kind of guy, a money maker and blood spiller for LV. Now this here hotel we’re in, they own it. Well, a controlling faction of it. From a legal standpoint, the LV hive owns most of the city. Not as strong of a personnel presence, mind you, but it’s enough. The last thing you should know about us has to do with Lord Rex and Lady Chrysalis themselves There’s this... well, title is as good of a word as any. My point is, they have it; it’s not really a word, more of a concept. It can’t be spoken in English - you don’t have the right mouth parts for it. The closest literal would be ‘the eternal progenitor.’ We changelings consider that to be the highest ranking authority we have, even if the other kings and queens are equally powerful. Ah, we’re here.”

The two of them enter the private room rented for them. Victor and Wrath are already there. Taruke, as Rex, follows them in. “Ah, hello Rosaline. I trust you are doing well? Victor.” The council member posing as their king nodded politely to the living shadow.

“We are well enough,” Victor replied for them both, “though I can’t say the same for the poor residents of Havana, Cuba after our last meeting. Hopefully, this one won’t have such a high civilian casualty rate as ‘collateral damage’, hm?”

Taruke spoke, “My Doctors all the way in Atlanta linked a few deaths and medical complications to that. Though those people were barely hanging on anyway, you sent many people to an early grave. I hate grief. Do try and restrain yourself. If you cannot, the moon always has a vacancy.” He paused, realizing what he just said. “Wait. That came out wrong. I meant that you should add altitude to where you go burn off your stress. Or you could go down into the Earth.”

Taruke drew from his pocket the flash drive containing the censored portions of the archives that the changelings were willing to share. He tossed it to the dark unicorn. “The reduced Archives, as promised. There are spells in there for heat and pressure resistance, if you want.” With more magical fanfare than our own version, Victor pocketed the flash drive into his shadowy hammerspace-esque place. Really, try hiding something up your sleeves when every time something goes in and out, it is accompanied by a few seconds of swirling smoke.

“Now, I believe we have a game to play. I told you in my email that I had two gifts, one for each of you. However, I am not going to just hand them to you. You are going to play them off of me.” Taruke pulled out an envelope labeled ‘The Demon’s fear’ - fitting considering the contents - four-and-a-half foot pole of shiny black metal. Beside them, Jerry of R&D slipped out of the false world with a couple boxes of equipment - something for later.

“Ignore him for now; I’ll explain that later. This envelope contains some spell work for what at first glance appears to be a simple trigger spell. However, it is toggleable soul magic, meaning that while ‘on’, the output spell you give it will react to whatever condition is set regardless if you are unconscious or incapacitated by anti-magic.” After his explanation, the human-formed Taruke reached out his hand to touch the metal air tank that Jerry had brought. There was a very slight pinching sensation, which he intentionally over reacted to by hissing loudly. Then Taruke pulled his hand away, revealing a crimson handprint staining the metal. “A slight stinging hex triggered by being within an inch of a critical mass of iron, and a forced flameless transformation on contact, dissolving the skin. This is the fey’s weakness to iron.” Flames engulfed Taruke’s hand, restoring it to its pristine state. “I took the liberty of filling it in with a weakness to ‘crosses within fifteen feet’ and set it to irritate your skin on the side of your body that the cross is located. Feel an itch? Scream in agony.

“This...” Taruke touched the metal bar, willing the fabric to unfurl into the black dress it had been tailored into, “... is shimmer fabric. It’s completely bulletproof and mostly blunt-damage resistant, spell resistant, and it acts as a faraday suit. It also changes colors. Shimmer fabric is easy enough to make and almost as tough as dragonhide, though definitely not fireproof, but was in the black archives because of it’s rather disgusting ingredient requirements. This is made from changeling chitin extracted while the poor guy is still alive. Ponies would kill him doing it. My docs use a little anesthesia and a few hours later, I walk out with a box of chiten that was just growing on me. Yes, Rosaline’s new body armor is made from yours truly.” By that, Taruke meant that the fabric was made from both himself and his persona’s real self, Rex. “And mine...” Taruke lifted the collar of his suit, “is made from my girlfriend.”

“If I’m to win them from you, then they not really gifts, are they?” asked Victor.

“You could win them at no cost to you,” Taruke quickly replied.

“Regardless, I thank you anyways. Every good play needs props, and it seems that the whole world will soon see quite the performance.” The shadow reached for the deck of cards on the table and sent them spinning through the air with his magic. Once reshuffled, the deck was cut and distributed two cards per person. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? How about to start, we play a down home favorite? Left of the dealer calls the ante.”

Wrath piped in, “Sir, should we ask?”

Taruke, knowing, nodded. “Yes. Victor, how about a slight change of rules? You do not know what passes between us on the link. We could be cheating, for all you know. Wrath, you’re out.”

The young praetorian nodded. “Yes, sir.” He returned his cards to the deck and stood. Jerry flipped through space and Wrath took his place by the machines.

“I propose a two-on-two match of Texas Hold ‘Em, in which the players in each team know their partner’s cards. The teams also share a stack of chips, and if either has the winning hand, they both earn the pot. Other rules are unchanged,” Taruke explained.

“That sounds interesting enough. I agree. Let’s set the limit at four hundred chips for now, we wouldn’t want to run out too soon, now would we? Go ahead, set the pot.”

The false Rex nodded. “Let’s start the night off light. We’ll build up from there. Let’s start out at...” The faces of all three changelings became very neutral as Taruke slid the chips into the pot. The trio began meditating, controlling their emotions so that their magic did not react. Meanwhile, the whole finance division started watching through their eyes, directing their actions as legion. For the more empathic individuals, it made the changelings seem about as emotional as rocks while simultaneously allowing them to maintain their ability to make value judgements based on emotional cues. While describing it might have taken some time, in actuality, the change came near instantaneously. “$20,000,” Taruke finished in a droning voice.

Victor and Rosaline, it seemed, had settled upon a different defense strategy. They chose to hyper-exaggerate their emotions, especially the negative ones. The legion of poker players wondered if that strategy would be of any use. Sure, it made reading them hard, but it would exhaust them mentally to swing their emotions that much. And with every emotional swing, their relative playstyle and skill would swing in unison as their values and priorities changed. “What’s the small blind?”

Again in a drone, legion replied, “Five thousand dollars.”

The first game proceeded with cautious bidding as they got used to each other’s play style. The money flow started favoring the changelings ever-so-slightly at first. Whenever the changelings talked about anything other than the game, their voices sounded human instead of mechanical-esque. Their bodies were perfectly still during a round of play, and their chip stacks were always neat, whether bluffing or not. On the other hand, Victor’s strategy and mannerisms, like his emotional defense, were extremely inconsistent, making them nearly impossible to predict. Both parties found the other to be the best poker players that they had ever faced, and soon the stakes had risen to the point that they were casually making multi-million dollar bets.

About twenty minutes into the game, Wrath opened a little box that came with the machines. It contained an emerald larger than anything found on Earth. The jewel radiated a distinctive magical signature that felt almost ‘sticky’ to the senses. When he held the gem out, it hovered on its own above the pot. At the same time, faux-Rex finally added the dress and the envelope to the pot.

Taruke then promptly folded, even though his hand was good. “Keep playing, Greed. Victor, one of the reasons I asked to meet you is that I wanted to showcase two of my inventions. I want your opinion. This,” he pointed to the jewel, “is the T.I. complex, the baby brother to what hopefully will be our alternative to the Elements of Harmony. Those,” he pointed to the machines, “are ordinary, completely non-magical air scrubbers and re-oxygenation systems, bought on the internet.” Taruke shot a beam of magic from his finger, striking the gem. The walls around their table flickered and faded to black. The lights went out, with the exception of the emerald’s glow. It was only when gravity seems to drop by two-thirds that Victor realized what was going on in there.

“This is the Torture and Interrogation complex, a temporary prison to isolate the user and victim from the rest of the universe. Major emphasis on temporary; we appear back exactly where we were when the spell finally runs out of power in about thirty minutes. Unlike the large-scale version, which is a suicide-spell, this version has four exits. First, the outlast the time limit, which is why we brought air.” The air scrubbers hissed as Wrath turned them on, releasing very clean air. “Second, wait until a changeling pulls this bubble universe back to our own. Our link acts as an anchor, but only so long as at least one of us is alive. Third, kill us all, and the bubble will pop against the surface of some universe. It’s a crapshoot where you end up. Four, commit suicide, which is-” theoretically “-not an option for a true immortal like a god... or Discord. So?”

Victor and Rosaline were silent, realizing that they were effectively trapped, floating somewhere in the multiverse and had to depend entirely on the changeling trio for their survival for the next half hour. “This is... indeed most impressive. Though it seems incomplete, the implications of such a thing are staggering. If you intend for it to do as advertised though, it needs some work, and I’d be more than willing to provide assistance towards a mutually beneficial goal. As staggering as this work is, it seems to have a few too many weak points to imprison a god.” Victor glanced at each of the three changelings, and his implications were clear. “You have my approval, if that’s what you are searching for. Now, I believe you said something about a second invention to show to me?”

Taruke knew that it was not time yet for the next stage of their plan, so he did two things. First, he tapped into the time-space magic within the jewel and throttled the passage of time forwards. Like in their main false world, though time’s direction was immutable and its passage absolute, its velocity was know to be variable and controllable. The second thing Taruke did was the time-honored tradition of verbally delaying. “A moment, a moment. I'll get to it in a moment. The T.I. complex is incomplete, but also designed for a different purpose. Gods are a physical part of the universe, and Discord is a being beyond even that. The full version has additional soul and time-space components, and is suicide to use because of it. I assure you, it is much stronger. Strong enough? Well, the math says yes... I would place my money on borrowing the Elements for now.

“And yes, I do have... Not an invention that I could show you, but a nearly fully realized concept. I wanted your opinion on it before I started. By happy accident, we discovered that magic can be directed by circuitry in a computer, and vice-versa. Now, while we have made leaps and bounds in magic-to-digital – there's no free porn anymore – the digital-to-magic end has much better commercial applications, and is the greater investment and greater risk.” It was almost time. “Combine a handheld computer, an Equestrian gemstone, and an artificial changeling fang needle, and you have a synthetic unicorn horn. The fang gives it the ability to draw on life force or magic, whichever the user has, and without which, it must be charged manually by another magic user.” Their king was ready. “I wanted to know if you or your contacts would buy it if it was made. They could be made to look like anything, a phone, a necktie, a gun, a pocket watch...”

Taruke drew out a pocket watch labeled ‘R.V.W.’, which stood for ‘Rip Van Winkle.’ The changelings thought that it was fitting considering that its purpose was merely a distraction for the memory prevention spell to take hold. And although everything Taruke had said about the artificial horns was true, this watch was completely unrelated.

“...like this,” Taruke said. “You just push the button, or whatever trigger, and-”

He clicked the button.

The watch cover opened.

Light filled the room.

The spell took hold.

<<Now.>>

The changelings froze in place to preserve the illusion.

They waited.

Victor and Rosaline never commented on the time spent waiting. They were too distracted by the highly hypnotic lights shining in their vision.

Their king worked.

Their king succeeded.

The magic snapped out of existence. “-bam, a spell,” Taruke finished. “So?”

“Intriguing,” Victor declared. “I must say, it’s remarkably similar to a concept of my own involvement enchantments. However, if you’ve developed it as much as you say you have then I don’t see any reason why-”

He cut off, but the changelings hardly noticed. In between each of their shoulder blades, they felt a horrible stinging, reminiscent of a bullet wound. They were falling, falling so fast. Sally-Anne. Pain. Agony. Cannot breathe! Darkness!

Silence. The link went dead. They could not hear each other’s thoughts.

Victor spoke something.

He spoke something else. He was also afraid.

“...must return... all... haste.”

Tremors. They were shaking. Taruke shook the most of all, for he knew the silence. “All... ready... on it.”

The T.I. complex dropped, instantly returning them to the physical world. “Good... bye...”

They grabbed their things.

They tremored.

They twisted.

They were gone.

And so was their king.

There was a man in a tower with a gun. He had no idea that he had sixteen days to live, or that he had just killed himself. The gun smoked, but it was not his body that fell.

Author's Notes:

*Ding* have a chapter.

This one took forever. I have no idea what IB's schedule is like, but it forces us to write so slowly! I actually have the next four chapters in the editing stages at the time of posting this. The chapter titles are:
"Poke it With a Stick"
"Firefly Night"
"The Bone Man and the Murder Princess"
and "The Forgotten One II".

These four chapters cover a 19 day period from June 18 (two days before this chapter) to July 7th.

And for those of you who are writing spinoffs, know that the events of July 7th will shake the world, probably more so than the "Autumn of myth", when many gatekeepers will form (and you can start posting your stories).