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“I don’t think people can be broken up into such easy categories as good and evil,” Hector finally said. “If they could, the world would be a lot simpler.”

“And that is exactly the point,” said Royo. “Actions are good or evil, not men. And yet, perhaps some acts that many would consider evil are not truly so--the seizure of power, being the relevant example to this conversation.”

“Hmm...”

“I think, therefore, that more good people should realize: if you have the opportunity to seize greater power without incurring too great a cost, then you should take it. Because certainly, if you do not, then someone else will.”

“...I suppose I agree,” said Hector, “but it’s the ‘without incurring too great a cost’ bit that worries me. Who’s to say what too great a cost is, really?”

“Who’s to say, you ask? Why, the only ones who can say, obviously! The fortunate or unfortunate ones who find themselves confronted with the choice! They are the ones to say. And do not fool yourself--they will have their say. They will make that decision. To the boon or cost of everyone around them. Such is the way of the world.”

Hector fell quiet again.

Royo felt as if he could go on, perhaps more specifically about the virtue of ambition and the far-reaching benefits to be gained from a culture which fosters it in their youth, but in the end, he reminded himself of his concerns about overreach and decided to hold his tongue.

Then he noticed the ghost wander up behind the young man. That ghastly visage still turned his stomach, but he tried to not let it show on his face. The ardor-infused goggles hopefully helped with that.

“I shall take my leave,” said Royo. “It was a pleasure speaking with you.”

“Ah--same here.”

And he walked away. A part of him had wanted to ask about the ghost, among other things, but Royo thought it was too early to probe for that sort of information. Moreover, he worried what the ghost would think of him, what the ghost would tell Hector of him.

They unsettled him, those intangible phantoms. He almost didn’t want to know more about them, and instead wondered if it wouldn’t be better to simply avoid them as much as possible.

Probably not, he eventually figured. Remaining comfortable in ignorance was not how he preferred to live his life.


Chapter One Hundred Fifty-Five: ‘O, attentive Hunter...!’
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Boy, these Hun’Sho were an odd bunch. The more he talked to them, the more perplexed Diego Redwater became. Even Yangéra could agree with him on that count.

“Could you perhaps show us a dance from your homeland?” asked a very slender Hun’Sho woman by the name of Hirkosa. Her Mohssian was quite good--but then, such seemed to be the case with every Hun’Sho to whom Diego had spoken. “We would be more than happy to do the same in return.”