While an unlog could happen anywhere, it was tradition to be in the church when it arrived. The le on the elevated ptform in front of the pews had been moved aside, and a single cushion sat, awaiting Natalie.

  “It shouldn’t st more than a few minutes,” Elder Britt said. “It’ll feel longer, but only in your head. When you e back, take as long as you o pose yourself. We’ll all be waiting.”

  Oddly enough, Natalie’s nervousness had disappeared the moment the old, bespectacled priest had arrived t Natalie away. The festivities were, obviously, not happening with the church itself, but rather, outside. Exactly as he had said, when Natalie swung open the big church doors to leave—her unlog plete—everyone would be lined up, ready to gratute Natalie.

  She’d attended a number of unlogs oher side of this event. Some people walked out eted after their unlog, some relieved, and once—Daisy Spruill—sheet-white, whiatalie still didn’t have an expnation for. She’d gottely the css people had expected, some variation of Baker, so what had that been about?

  “Natalie?”

  Natalie startled. She realized she hadn’t replied. “Yes, Elder Britt. Thank you.”

  An encing squeeze on her shoulder, then Elder Britt departed. The empty church echoed with sile was odd, being here, alone, in the dark. Moonlight trickled through the big gss windows, providing just enough illumination to not bump into the pews as she walked down the aisle.

  She stepped onto the ptform, then stared down at the cushion. She was supposed to sit, and wait. Unlogs arrived at midnight, which would be a few minutes from now, and not a sed ter; if Natalie were standing, she’d fall. If she were seated, her body would keep itself supported through the fugue.

  Feeling a bit odd—and the empty, moonlit church making the experience surreal—she sat down and gazed around at the empty pews. Like most churches, Tinford’s stru was the fi of any building nearby. Tinford wasn’t impoverished, but if a perso by the elegance of the a church, they’d assume a level of affluehat was incorrect for the middle-of-own.

  She’d been sitting and staring just long enough for her thoughts to wander, when—

  ***

  Her eyes shot open.

  She’d known to expect the sleek metal face, the automaton, but the abrupt transition from real-world to dream-world sent a shiver down her spine.

  Natalie studied her visitor.

  The automaton’s form was androgynous, like all of theirs were. This one leaned a hint more femihan mase. Cobalt blue ats traced her body like artfully pced veins, and two of the same stark lireaked from her upper cheeks and down, to her , imitating thick trails of tears.

  There was a stark inhumanity in her form, despite the simirity—the facade of being a human. She wore an expression of plete detat, her cobalt irises—the same color as her ats—seeming to gaze through Natalie rather than at her.

  Despite her nakedness, her body was smooth and g faithfulo human form. Her breasts were rounded, smoothed down, small humps without the expected tips. Even still, it was a more feminine form than most: enough to suggest ‘woman’ rather than ‘man’.

  She exuded a sense of cool detat. The automaton waited patiently for Natalie to e to terms with what she was seeing. It took a sed. Natalie had only seen drawings of automatons, before, and never one in person. They were startlingly rare and only found in cities near dungeorances. Even then, Aradon, the capital, only had a smattering.

  Nobody knew what the automatons were, or how they’d e ience, much less The Bestower, the assistant who guided all men and women through their unlog. Some said this automaton—not seemingly a kin to the others, for all her appearance—was a goddess taken a familiar form. Not a real automaton at all.

  Valhaurian teags had little to say about The Bestower. That, holy, was one of the eeriest parts. Official Valhaurian teags had plenty to say about everything. Too much. Plenty tradig. But The Bestower? Silence. As if it would be bsphemous to theorize.

  “Hello, Natalie.”

  The automaton’s voice was devoid of emotion. That, also, wasn’t normal. The automatons who mahe Exge, for example, were supposedly amiable people … if they could be called people.

  “Uh,” Natalie finally replied. “Hi.”

  Natalie was standing. She’d ood up from the pillow pced down for her in the church, but she was standing anyway. It had been an instant, uling transition. She turned in a circle, taking in her surroundings. There was little to remark on. Unlog ceremonies were hardly new, and they varied little between person to person, besides what csses were offered. Natalie had a fair enough idea what to expect.

  A bck void sprawled around her. She stood on a surface that resembled a bck pond. Tiny ripples radiated out with each shifting of her weight. While the material looked like water … there was something off about it. And, obviously, water shouldn’t support her.

  She didn’t spend long marveling over the oddity of her enviro. She had more important things to focus on.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” the automaton asked, coolly. Her voice was as impassive as her expression, and only slightly less uling.

  Natalie had always been irreverent, by nature. Frequently, she failed to find solemness fitting to situations that deserved it. Here, though, she didn’t o bite down on a sarcastic reply—it didn’t even rise up. Having a versation with a maybe-god, and the determiner of the rest of her life, pulled a grave demeanor out of anyone, she guessed.

  “Yeah,” she said. “You, uh, hand out csses.”

  The Bestower’s lips quirked, and another shiver went down Natalie’s spi seeing amusement curl—the barest hint—oomaton’s face. People didn’t talk about The Bestower much, and when they did, it was with more or less what Natalie herself was feeling: distinease.

  “Hand out csses,” she—they?—echoed. “Mm. More or less.” She seemed amused by how Natalie had put it.

  The Bestoroached Natalie. An arm’s length away, she tilted her head and ied her. Natalie had no idea what judgments she made. Could this creature read Natalie’s thoughts? Nothing indicated that she could, but the paranoid idea stuck.

  “Well,” The Bestower finally said. “Are you ready?”

  Natalie he creature’s scrutinizing iion of her havi her wordless.

  The Bestower stepped to Natalie’s side, then raised a hand in a slow, assured motion. It reminded Natalie of the way Elder Britt might gesture for a gregation to rise.

  A pilr sprouted from the gssy bck water, in pace with The Bestower’s hand, sending ripples shooting across the phey bounced harmlessly off Natalie’s shoes. Natalie watched the pilr rise, fasated.

  “I’m afraid I have little variance for you today,” The Bestower said. “You gave me little leeway.”

  Gave? It was an iing way to phrase it, but Natalie didn’t think a question-and-answer was oable.

  “First. The Berserker.” The pilr fiaking shape, resolving to a plinth with a finely carved great-axe h a few inches above it. The plinth, and the axe itself, was the same smooth gray, hewn from the same sto rotated in a slow circle, showg the ey of the carving. “A warrior who els their fury into powerful, relentless attacks. A berserker has incredible offeential, but at the cost of defensiveness, and clear-sightedness.”

  The Bestower spoke the words in a bnk tone. Not bored, but removed, as if she were avoiding iing her voi any particur way, as to keep from influeng Natalie’s decision.

  As for Natalie’s thoughts on the offered css … it was, as she’d known it would be—as everyone had known it would be—a melee-type fighter css.

  There was a lot to think about when it came to deg which of the three choices she would pick. This was, without exaggeration, one of the most important decisions she’d ever make. But she would rather know all of her choices before she got into the weeds. She would avoid puzzling over each as they came. She wahe whole picture, first.

  The Bestower must’ve sehis through Natalie’s nod, so she moved on.

  The sed pilr sprouted. “The Juggernaut.” The pilr was the same as the previous, but the symbol was different: this time, a one-handed hammer, and behind it, a tower shield. Like the axe, it rotated in the air, slowly. “A heavily armored fighter, able to endure immense punishment. The erstone of a party, and a master of arms.”

  The Bestower waited for Natalie to take in her words, then nod. She raised her hand o time, summoning the st of Natalie’s choices.

  “Finally,” she said. “The Adept.” A carving of a fist floated above the plinth. “A student of martial prowess, with power and agility in equal measure. Weave through attacks while delivering your own. Indepe, graceful, and deadly.”

  Graceful? Natalie thought. That wasn’t a word she’d use for herself. But not all csses were a one-for-one. Some deviated from what ‘fit’ with a person … sometimes by a signifit amount.

  Natalie looked at the three options provided to her. They were, more or less, what she’d expected. Even the adept didn’t stray from her current fighting style to a meaningful degree.

  Bizarrely, she was disappoihe choices were underwhelming. Which didn’t make sense; csses were what you made of them. And none of the options seemed bad to begin with. Stock-standard options. The kind found in adventuring parties across the world.

  “Or,” The Bestower said. “I could offer you something else.”