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But the Pool was also not random in its machinations. She was reasonably certain now that while, yes, it did indeed lie for fun, it still never did so without purpose.

"To the Pool," Mistress Yaki had once told her, "everything is a game. No matter how grave the circumstance, no matter how frustrated I become with it, no matter how benevolent its other intentions might be: the Pool will always seek to play with me, first and foremost. It is a most troublesome child, to be sure."

But that was also what made it so powerful in its own unique way. The more Anya had learned about Forges throughout history, the more convinced she'd become that their quirks and eccentricities were deeply connected to their strength.

In fact, she'd begun to believe that the stranger a Forge was, the more powerful it become.

But only in the right hands, of course. Which was the real problem, wasn't it?

If she truly wanted to become the new mistress of the Pool of Trenoy, then she would have to play games.

And she would have to master them, too--to an extent that even Mistress Yaki had never been able to.

Which was why Anya was reassessing that illusory hand being extended toward her.

There was no mastery without risk. Not with any Forge. But especially not with the Pool.

Perhaps the true answer here was not to balk. Not to play it safe.

But to immerse herself in the illusions. Whatever madness the Pool intended to show her. Perhaps she just had to look at it directly and try to see through it from within.

She took a deep breath. The "Mistress" was simply waiting for her. Quiet and smiling. Warm and familiar.

Anya wasn't sure she'd ever felt so terrified as she did right now.

But she took the hand, and the world warped around her.

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Fresh blood splattered across the far wall as the Blade of Perdition diced up another intruder. The third in as many weeks. Always trying to be stealthy, not realizing that his automated defense systems could detect them even through those invisibility powers they were so proud of.

When would they learn, these Andanatt fools? How many more minions must they lose?

Luann eyed the mess with exasperation. Human chunks all over the workshop. The head was preserved, though, so the adjustments he'd made to the Blade were working well. That was good.

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When the illusion spoke, it sounded like real words reaching her ears. "Hello, my dear," it said in Luughian.

But Anya was far from awed or pleased. Anger gripped her instead. "What are you trying to pull, you stupid puddle of water? Stop imitating Mistress Yaki this instant."

The illusion of the Mistress shook her head. "I am no imitation, Anya. I placed a piece myself within the Pool upon its creation. I may be flesh and blood no longer, but this is truly me, at least in part."

Anya's ire did not subside, but she didn't know how to respond, either. Could that really be true? Or was it just another of the Pool's lies? The endless trickery. Agh.

"You were there at the Pool's birth," said the illusion. "You may not have understood what you were seeing, but you saw it nonetheless. I was never quite the same afterwards, yes?"

She didn't want to acknowledge it, but Anya knew there was truth in that. The Pool had been the Mistress' first attempt to create a Fusion Forge, and it had been quite rough on her, looking back.

The Silent Serpent had gone much more smoothly by comparison.

"How is Kurata?" said the Mistress. No. The illusion said that. The Pool.

Anya merely remained quiet.

"You are not still quarreling with him, are you? After all this time? Even if you do not believe me to be real, you must know that I would want my successors to get along."

"Shut up," said Anya, albeit weakly. The Pool was so skilled in deceit. It could weave lies out of the truth. She had to keep a clear head. Not be taken in. Regain control of the conversation. "If you really are the Mistress, then why are you only appearing to me now? I have been struggling with the Pool for years."

"You were not ready, my dear."

She scoffed. "And now I am?"

"Perhaps. Shall we find out together?" And the Mistress extended her hand forward.

Anya stared at it, knowing that the illusion was probably so complete that she would even be able to feel the Mistress' touch, too.

But she held back. She would not be deceived again. That was the Pool's most dangerous quality. If she let it take the lead, she could very easily become lost to the rest of the world.

That was the main reason why the Mistress had made the Serpent in the first place: because the Pool had a habit of trying to manipulate even her.

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No, she had been biding her time. Researching as much as she could. Especially on the subject of Trenoyis, the ancient god of Reflection. There was also a town called Trenoy in Luugh, but Anya had visited it many times and found nothing of particular note there, other than a monument dedicated to Trenoyis.

It still made little sense to her why the Mistress had named it after Trenoyis. She'd asked several times before the woman's passing but never gotten a clear answer.

The Mistress had often been like that, unfortunately. Enigmatic in the extreme. Talking in riddles for seemingly no reason.

At first, Anya had thought that was just because the Mistress wanted her to use her brain and figure things out for herself. And perhaps that had been true, in part. But toward the end of her life, it had become increasingly clear that the Mistress, for all her brilliance, was simply unwell.

And even after all these years, Anya was still trying not to linger on those memories too much. There was nothing productive to be accomplished. And they were too painful, besides.

The mother she'd never had. Calculating but never cruel. Eccentric but never careless.

Such brilliance gone to waste. Cut short by her own hand.

Afterwards, Anya had researched the subject of suicide among geniuses throughout history. It was a topic she'd already heard plenty about in passing--even from the Mistress' very own lips--so she knew that it was a point of academic interest, but she hadn't realized until then just how pernicious the issue truly was.

Apparently, brilliance was as much a curse as it was a blessing.

And in some ways, perhaps that knowledge was making Anya more hesitant. Supposing she truly did achieve her objectives with the Pool, might she then end up just like the Mistress and so many others? Or worse, even? There were plenty of examples to choose from.

Here and now, though, such worries were the furthest thing from her mind, because all she could focus on was what was in front of her eyes.

The elaborate illusion cast by the Pool.

The Mistress was standing there. Radiant and shining in white. As if she herself were emanating light. And younger than she'd looked before her death, too. Younger, even, than Anya currently looked.

Anya's mouth hung open as she stared, thoughts racing. What was the Pool doing, showing her something like this?