They cleared the Dust Sea by evening of the second day, emerging onto relatively normal Wasteland terrain. Everyone breathed easier once the oppressive atmosphere of crystallized guilt was behind them. Even Jiko noticed the difference, though he couldn't feel the psychological weight the others described.
According to Ven's maps, they were three days from the Forgetting Depths now. Close enough to start planning their approach, far enough that they could still be intercepted.
They made camp in the ruins of what might have been a school once. The walls were covered in faded pre-Severance murals, children's artwork preserved by accident across eighty years of apocalypse. Someone had drawn a sun with a smiling face. Another had painted a family holding hands. Simple images from a simpler time.
Devin stared at the murals while preparing the evening meal. "They had no idea what was coming. The kids who drew these. One day they're painting happy families, the next day reality breaks and morality becomes currency."
"Ignorance is efficient," Jiko said. "Knowing about the Severance beforehand wouldn't have helped them survive it."
"Maybe not. But at least they'd have understood why the world was ending." Devin stirred the pot of reconstituted stew. "That has to count for something."
Lyra sat nearby, working on repairing her torn clothes with needle and thread from Ven's pack. She'd been quiet since the Dust Sea, processing both her injuries and her revealed history. The group had accepted her presence but with wariness, especially from Marik, who kept one hand near his blade whenever she was close.
The Cartographer was doing his evening ritual of cataloging the day's observations, writing in his journal by memory-light. Ven was checking their supplies, doing calculations that made her frown. And Marik stood watch, scanning the horizon for threats.
It was Ven who broke the relative peace.
"We have a problem," she announced. "Food."
Everyone looked up.
"We're running low," Ven continued. "I did the math. With six people instead of four, we'll run out two days before we reach the Depths. Maybe sooner if we need to take detours."
"Can we forage?" Marik asked.
"Not in this terrain. The Wastes don't provide. We'd need to find a settlement, trade for supplies." Ven looked at the Cartographer. "Which means using resources we don't have or trading things we do have."
The Cartographer closed his journal. "We have the guilt-jars from the caravan. Those are valuable."
"They're also our only significant trade goods. Use them for food and we'll have nothing when we reach the Depths." Ven hesitated. "Unless we trade something else."
"Like what?" Devin asked.
Ven looked at Jiko. "Like Jiko's services."
Silence fell. Everyone was looking at Jiko now, calculating expressions on every face.
"Explain," the Cartographer said carefully.
"There's a settlement half a day west of here. Small place, maybe fifty people, run by a warlord named Kess. I've traded there before." Ven pulled out her map, pointing. "Kess is a former carrier, still carries significant guilt from his enforcement days. If we offer to have Jiko absorb some of his Marks in exchange for supplies, he'd probably accept."
"You want to advertise Jiko's abilities?" the Cartographer said. "Make him even more of a target than he already is?"
"I want us to not starve. And it's one small settlement, isolated. Word won't spread quickly."
Marik frowned. "It only takes one person with a fast horse to reach the Testimony. We'd be painting a target on Jiko's back."
"The target's already there," Lyra said quietly. "After Ember's Rest, after the carriers' caravan, people know something strange is happening. A blank who can absorb guilt without limit. The rumors are already spreading."
"She's right," Ven said. "Hiding is becoming less efficient than leveraging. If we're smart about it, we can use Jiko's abilities to gain resources and allies. Build a network before the big factions catch up."
The Cartographer was thinking, his expression troubled. "It's a risk. But Ven has a point. We can't hide forever, and we need supplies." He looked at Jiko. "Your thoughts?"
Jiko examined the situation logically. They needed food. He could provide a service in exchange for food. The risk of exposure was real but probably manageable in the short term. And testing his abilities in controlled circumstances would provide useful data.
"I'll do it," Jiko said. "On one condition."
"Name it," Ven said.
"I want to understand the value of what I'm offering. Not just practically, but economically. If my services are worth enough to sustain us, I should know exactly how much." Jiko looked at the Cartographer. "Teach me the economics of the guilt-trade. I want to understand the market completely."
The old man smiled. "Finally asking the right questions. Yes, I'll teach you. It's time you understood exactly how valuable you are."
They spent the next hour in intensive education. The Cartographer pulled out notes, diagrams, and sample Shards, walking Jiko through the complex economics of moral currency.
"The guilt-trade operates on three principles," the old man began. "Supply, demand, and consequence. Supply is theoretically infinite because humans constantly generate new guilt through their actions. But accessible guilt is limited because most people hold onto their Marks, afraid of losing their moral identity."
"Why would they be afraid of that?" Jiko asked.
"Because Marks are proof you're human. That you can feel, judge, regret. Remove all your guilt and you become blank, like you. Most people would rather carry the weight than risk that transformation." The Cartographer drew a diagram in the dirt. "Demand comes from two sources: people who want relief from guilt, and people who want to weaponize it. The former vastly outnumber the latter, but the latter pay better."
"And consequence?"
"Every guilt transaction has consequences. For the seller, losing their Marks changes who they are, for better or worse. For the buyer or carrier, absorbing guilt slowly destroys them unless they're very careful. For the market, each transaction shifts the moral weight of society slightly." He looked at Jiko. "You break this system because you remove consequence. Guilt goes into you and just disappears. No corruption, no crystallization, no cost."
"Making me infinitely valuable," Jiko said.
"In theory. In practice, you're as valuable as people believe you are. Right now, you're a rumor. A curiosity. But if you demonstrate your abilities publicly, prove you can absorb unlimited guilt..." The Cartographer's expression was grave. "You become the most dangerous person in the Dominions."
"Because I could collapse the entire guilt-economy."
"Exactly. Every power structure depends on guilt having consequences. Remove that, and the Iron Testimony loses its control mechanism. The Choir Sanctum loses its moral superiority. The merchant guilds lose their primary commodity." He gripped Jiko's shoulder. "You're not just valuable. You're revolutionary. And revolutions are violent."
Jiko absorbed this information, filing it alongside everything else he'd learned. He was a threat to the established order. His existence challenged the fundamental economics of the post-Severance world. That made him both invaluable and incredibly vulnerable.
"I understand," Jiko said. "We proceed carefully."
They set out at dawn, heading west toward Kess's settlement. The journey was uneventful, just endless Wasteland punctuated by ruins and the occasional Echo sighting in the distance. Lyra walked with Jiko again, her presence both comfortable and strange.
"Can I ask you something personal?" she said.
"Yes."
"Do you ever wonder what you'd be like if the Cartographer hadn't removed your guilt? If you'd grown up normal?"
Jiko thought about it. "No. I can't imagine being different than I am, so wondering seems pointless."
"I wonder about it constantly. What I'd be like if I could feel love, or grief, or real happiness. If I'd have friends, a family, connections that mattered." Lyra looked at the group ahead of them. "You have something like that, even if you don't feel it. They care about you."
"They care about what I can do for them."
"Maybe at first. But Marik doesn't have to help you navigate rough terrain. Ven doesn't have to share her rations. They do it because they want to." She smiled sadly. "That's what I envy. You're building connections without even realizing it."
"Are you?" Jiko asked.
Lyra was quiet. "I don't know. I helped the Testimony hurt people. That probably makes me irredeemable, feeling or not feeling aside."
"The Cartographer says redemption requires change. You changed. You chose to stop hurting people."
"But I don't feel bad about what I did. Doesn't that matter?"
"I don't know," Jiko admitted. "Morality is confusing."
"Isn't it?" Lyra laughed. "Two blanks trying to figure out ethics. We're probably the worst people for the job."
They reached the settlement by midday. It was smaller than Ember's Rest, maybe forty structures clustered around a central well. The walls were lower, more symbolic than defensive. A handful of guards watched from posts, but they looked bored rather than vigilant.
Ven approached the gate first, greeting the guards with the easy familiarity of someone who'd been here before. "I'm here to see Kess. Tell him Ven has a business proposal."
The guards exchanged glances. "Ven the broker? We heard you lost your memory of your first trade."
"I did. Doesn't mean I forgot how to work." She gestured at the group. "These are my associates. We need supplies, and we're offering something valuable in exchange."
The guards looked at Jiko and Lyra, noting their blank status with visible discomfort. "Two blanks? Kess isn't going to like that."
"Kess is going to love what we're offering. Let us through."
After a tense moment, the guards opened the gate. The settlement inside was rough but functional. People stopped to stare as they passed, their expressions ranging from curiosity to hostility. Blanks weren't welcome in most places, and two of them together was unusual enough to draw attention.
Kess's building was in the settlement's center, a pre-Severance structure that had been reinforced with scavenged metal. Guards flanked the entrance, both carrying Mark-detectors and what looked like guilt-powered weapons.
Ven approached confidently. "We're here to see the warlord."
"State your business."
"Trade proposal. Specifically, relief from guilt in exchange for supplies."
The guards' interest sharpened. "Wait here."
They disappeared inside. Jiko used the time to observe the settlement's economy. People were trading in the market square, mostly mundane goods but occasionally guilt-jars or memory-Shards changed hands. The atmosphere was tense, fearful. Everyone moved with the wariness of people who'd seen violence and expected more.
"This is a hard place," Devin murmured. "Kess rules through fear."
"Most warlords do," Ven replied. "But he's pragmatic. If we offer something he wants badly enough, he'll deal fairly."
The guards returned. "Kess will see you. The blanks stay outside."
"The blanks are the offer," Ven said firmly. "They come, or we leave."
The guards looked uncertain, then one shrugged. "Fine. But if they cause trouble, we shoot first."
They were led inside to a large room that might have been a gymnasium once. Now it served as throne room, armory, and living quarters all at once. At the far end sat a massive man, easily six and a half feet tall and built like pre-Severance concrete. His arms were covered in black Marks, so many they formed solid sleeves of guilt from wrist to shoulder.
Kess the warlord looked at them with eyes that had seen too much and felt all of it.
"Ven," he said, his voice like grinding stone. "Heard you got damaged in the Wound. Sorry for that."
"I survived. That's what matters." Ven gestured at the group. "I'm traveling with researchers and carriers. We need supplies for a week's journey. In exchange, we're offering guilt relief."
Kess's attention fixed on Jiko. "That one's blank."
"Both of them are. But this one is special." Ven pointed at Jiko. "He can absorb guilt without corruption. Unlimited capacity, no crystallization risk. I've seen him take two hundred Marks without showing strain."
The warlord's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. "That's not possible."
"It is. I can prove it." Ven looked at the Cartographer, who nodded.
"Demonstrate," Kess said.
The Cartographer stepped forward. "Choose one of your guards. Have them transfer a Mark to Jiko. You'll see it disappear without him gaining any visible weight."
Kess gestured, and one of his guards approached Jiko. The man was covered in moderate guilt, maybe thirty Marks. He looked nervous but pressed his hand against Jiko's arm.
"Transfer one," Kess ordered.
The guard focused, and Jiko felt the familiar sensation of guilt flowing into him. A single Mark's worth, the guilt of having abandoned a friend in danger. It entered him, dispersed, vanished into the void. The guard's arm showed one fewer Mark.
But Jiko's skin remained unmarked.
Kess stood, crossing the distance in three long strides. He grabbed Jiko's arm, examining it closely. His expression shifted from skepticism to something like hunger.
"How?" he demanded.
"He was born without the capacity to feel guilt," the Cartographer explained. "No moral framework to attach weight to. The guilt enters him and has nowhere to manifest, so it just disperses."
"Where does it go?"
"We don't fully understand. But it doesn't affect him."
Kess released Jiko's arm, stepping back. "I'm carrying maybe eighty Marks. Heavy ones. Guilt from twenty years of enforcement, war crimes, necessary evils." He looked at his black-stained arms. "It's killing me. Slowly, but certainly. I've got maybe five years before I crystallize."
"Jiko can take it," Ven said. "All of it. Make you clean."
"For what price?"
"Supplies for six people, two weeks. Plus information about Iron Testimony movements in this region." Ven's voice was steady. "And safe passage through your territory."
Kess was quiet for a long time, looking at Jiko like he was evaluating livestock. "That's too cheap. Eighty Marks worth of guilt relief would cost ten times what you're asking on any market."
"Consider it a demonstration of good faith," the Cartographer said. "We're building a network. Help us now, and when our research produces results, you'll be first to know."
"What kind of results?"
"Understanding of how guilt works. How to control it. Maybe even how to eliminate it entirely." The old man smiled. "Imagine a world where guilt isn't currency. Where morality doesn't have physical weight. That's what we're working toward."
Kess laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "You're talking about destroying the entire social order. The Testimony would kill you for even suggesting it."
"They're already trying. But with allies, we might survive long enough to succeed."
The warlord was thinking, his scarred face working through calculations. "If I do this, I'm putting a target on my settlement. The Testimony comes asking questions, I'm implicated."
"You can say we forced you," Ven suggested. "Say we threatened your people, demanded supplies under duress."
"Lying to the Testimony is dangerous."
"Is it more dangerous than crystallizing in five years?"
Kess looked at his arms again, at the black Marks that were slowly killing him. Jiko could see the calculation happening, the weighing of risk versus reward. This was what economics really was: desperate people making impossible choices.
"Fine," Kess said finally. "I'll take your deal. But I want insurance."
"What kind?" the Cartographer asked.
"The other blank. The girl." Kess pointed at Lyra. "She stays here. Collateral. If you betray me, if the Testimony comes because of you, I keep her."
Lyra went pale. Marik stepped forward, hand on his blade. "That's not part of the deal."
"It is now."
Ven looked at Lyra, then at Jiko. "Your call. She's under your protection."
Everyone was looking at Jiko again, waiting for his decision. Lyra stared at him with barely controlled terror, knowing he could trade her away without feeling a moment of guilt about it.
Jiko examined the situation. Leaving Lyra was inefficient. She had knowledge about the Testimony, and another blank perspective was occasionally useful. But refusing might cost them the supplies they needed. It was a pure utilitarian calculation.
Except.
He thought about Lyra in the Dust Sea, lost and crying. Thought about her admission that she'd helped the Testimony capture blanks because she'd been afraid to die. Thought about her choice to stop, even knowing the consequences.
She'd made a moral choice without moral feeling. Just like him.
"No," Jiko said. "She comes with us."
Kess's expression darkened. "Then no deal."
"Then we find supplies elsewhere." Jiko held the warlord's gaze. "You can keep your guilt. I won't be complicit in holding someone captive."
"You're a blank. You don't care about captivity or freedom."
"I care about consistency. I told Lyra she could travel with us. Breaking that agreement would make my word meaningless. If my word is meaningless, then any future deals I make are worthless." Jiko stepped forward. "So you can have your guilt removed now, or you can crystallize in five years. Your choice."
The room was silent. Kess stared at Jiko with an expression somewhere between respect and fury. Then, slowly, he laughed.
"You've got balls, blank. I'll give you that." He looked at Lyra. "Fine. She goes with you. But you owe me. Remember that."
"We will," the Cartographer said quickly, before anyone could complicate things further.
"Then let's do this." Kess sat down heavily, extending his arms. "Take it all. Every Mark. I want to be clean for the first time in twenty years."
Jiko approached, placing his hands on Kess's arms. "This will take a few minutes. The amount is substantial."
"I don't care how long it takes. Just do it."
Jiko focused, and Kess began to push. The guilt flowed like a river, eighty Marks worth of violence and cruelty and necessary evil. Jiko felt it entering him:
I burned their village because they refused to pay tribute.
I executed prisoners because feeding them was inefficient.
I let my own men die to maintain control.
I enjoyed the fear I caused because fear meant power.
On and on, sin after sin, the accumulated moral weight of a warlord who'd done terrible things in the name of survival. It poured into Jiko, three hundred and forty Marks now, the voices adding to the chorus already stored in his void.
When it was done, Kess's arms were clean. Completely clean, the black Marks erased as if they'd never existed. The warlord stared at his own skin in wonder, then disbelief, then something like joy.
"It's gone," he whispered. "All of it. I can't feel the weight anymore."
"You never felt it," the Cartographer corrected gently. "Guilt doesn't have physical sensation. The weight you felt was psychological."
"Then psychologically, I'm free." Kess looked at Jiko. "Thank you. I mean that. You gave me back my life."
"You paid for it," Jiko said. "No thanks necessary."
They left the settlement an hour later, packs full of supplies and a map marking safe routes through Kess's territory. The warlord had been generous once his relief settled in, offering more than they'd asked for.
As they walked away, Lyra fell into step beside Jiko.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For not trading me."
"It was the logical choice."
"No it wasn't. Trading me would have been simpler." She looked at him. "You stood up for me because it was right. Even though you can't feel that it's right. That means something."
"Does it?"
"Yes." Lyra smiled. "You're building morality from scratch, Jiko. And you're doing it better than most people who have all the feelings. That's remarkable."
Jiko didn't know how to respond to that. So he just nodded and kept walking, carrying three hundred and forty Marks of guilt without feeling a single one.
But somewhere in the void where his conscience should have been, the voices whispered. And for the first time, Jiko thought he might be starting to understand what they were saying.
Not the words. But the weight.