March 28, 2026 — 1:38 am

Alfric had once been in love with demiplanes, and then he had visited one, and realized that he was only in love with the idea of demiplanes.

They were like fish tanks, in a way. Alfric, as a young boy, had adored aquariums, particularly after visiting the Dondrian Zoo, which had the Piscine House where all kinds of exotic creatures had swum behind thick windows. He’d bought a set of books called The Lake on a Table and The Ocean in a Glass, and as he’d read through them — he was only eight or nine years old and they were quite advanced — he’d begun to despair.

Aquariums were not actually like having a lake on your table or a piece of the ocean in a bubble on your shelf. They were delicate, careful things which required incredible amounts of time and attention. Air, heat, nutrients, salinity, acidity, water circulation, all these things needed careful balancing and monitoring, and once you had your aquarium set up, you couldn’t be away from it for too long, not unless you left someone careful instructions. Most of the problems with an aquarium could be solved through some combination of ectads and entads, with a few of those being more or less a requirement, particularly the vent stones, which were called ‘bubblers’ for aquarists. Alfric had kept a few tanks, for roughly two years, learning as he went, but the carefully engineered environment grated on him, and he found himself wanting to keep a bigger tank that would feel more natural and less curated. The larger tank hadn’t actually helped though, because it needed more thought and care. It was a more complex system to be tended.

When Alfric had first heard of demiplanes, his reaction had been more or less the same. The idea painted in his mind was of new worlds, most of them the size of a hex, but some even larger. The world might have been explored, but there were still wild pockets, bubbles of newness and wonder.

The first one he’d been to, which belonged to a family friend, had felt wild. An enormous castle had been built along one edge of it, and a river flowed by the thick stone bricks, painting a bucolic scene. A large meadow could be reached by crossing an arched bridge, and the grounds continued on after that into woodlands. They had been there for a wedding, whisked in by the owners, and had been given the grand tour, which had taken quite a bit of time. A hex was twelve miles across, more or less, which sometimes seemed like not that much, but amounted to more than a hundred square miles. The tour had taken them an entire day, with more walking than a young Alfric was used to, and he’d marveled at everything the owners had thought to put into it. They had made one section of it a ‘map’ of the world in miniature, set inside a large lake, with different buildings in the styles of the cultures of the world. Alfric’s favorite feature had been the ‘folly’, a set of deliberately constructed ‘ruins’ that were meant to replicate something that had been overgrown after being abandoned eight hundred years ago.

When they’d gotten home, his father had complained that it was entirely too much money. Four dozen people lived within the demiplane, almost all of them employees of the owners, or family members of the employees. Most of the things that Alfric had found so enchanting were used once or twice a year, if that. But what his father had found most galling was the sheer amount of time, effort, and money that went into keeping the place running.

Demiplanes almost always came with their own internal ‘sun’, a ball of light that moved through the sky as if on rails, showing none of the seasonal drift and variation of the real world. Light alone wasn’t enough though, if you wanted a forest. You needed weather, or at least a way to water the plants, and circulation was a major issue for both water and air. The river that Alfric had admired wasn’t a natural thing, it took enormous amounts of work to make something like that, either a portal of some kind, or a tightly controlled system of water generation and destruction, or something.

So Alfric came to understand demiplanes as being something like terrariums or aquariums, controlled spaces that needed careful monitoring and intervention to keep running. When he visited his second demiplane, this one belonging to an uncle, he looked at it with a much more critical eye. This one had a larger community, ten thousand, spread out into small villages, living idyllic lives that were mostly supported by entads to give them food. Most of the machinery that made the place ‘work’ was artfully hidden, but Alfric had been on the lookout for it. Even if he couldn’t see the exact bit of artifice, he could see where artifice must have been used, and he’d gotten to know aquariums well enough to see that someone was behind the scenes making the lake have a workable ecosystem. That particular demiplane also needed to have more in the way of solutions, since the sun didn’t orbit anymore (if it ever had), leaving sunlight at a perpetual fifth bell. A large tarp was deployed to create a fake night, which was quite noticeable.

It was after they’d visited that Alfric’s mother, Ria, had given her thoughts, which ran in totally different directions.

Demiplanes were, essentially, the dregs of the old ways of living. They were fiefs, tiny kingdoms, outside the direct reach of Inter or any other nation, as much as attempts had been made to bring them under control. Much of the reason for why demiplanes were the way they were came down to how disconnected they were from the rest of the world, exempt from the Editors’ attempts at instituting change, with no magical census, no voting, or anything like that.

It was all made worse by the demiplane ‘core’, which very definitely could be owned and controlled. The core was what allowed entrance to and from the demiplane, and put bottlenecks on immigration and emigration that were managed by a single person or group of people. Once established, and especially with a surfeit of entads, a demiplane could be ruled over by a singular figure or small group. If it became known that something untoward was going on within a demiplane, Inter would do their best to bring the hammer down, but that largely had to come in the form of taxation and embargos, which were difficult to enforce, and depended in part on the demiplane owners having assets and business outside the demiplane itself.

Alfric’s mother hadn’t thought that was what their ‘uncle’ had been doing, she was more worried about the appearance of the thing. A chrononaut becoming wealthy enough to own a demiplane, which happened at the level of wealth where talking about things in terms of rings was almost meaningless, and especially lording over ten thousand people who had their movement in and out of the demiplane limited, was a problem when it came to the image of chrononauts as a whole. The demiplane was run as a democracy of sorts, and certainly no one was prohibited from leaving, but ultimate control did rest with Alfric’s uncle.

In some sense, Alfric thought that, too, was like an aquarium. Try as he might to provide a good home for the fish, shrimp, snails, and whatnot, he was ultimately their master. They weren’t thinking creatures, no, but the feel of it was a bad one, like he had trapped the creatures for his own amusement.

When Verity had related what Cate had said, he hadn’t really understood what it meant for a demiplane to be ‘fossilized’ or ‘dead’, or what this one being ‘living’ might mean. It was intriguing though, and rekindled feelings that he’d had as a boy.

He listened closely as Verity recounted her first few days.

~~~

“What does it mean for a demiplane to be living?” asked Verity.

They had adjourned from the overlook into the ‘palace’, which seemed as though it had been carved into the side of a rocky mountain. It was rough and raw carving, but the interior was splendid, and Verity was hoping that the village was just as nice.

She wasn’t staying in the demiplane, of course. She wasn’t going to live in the village.

The palace was filled with things. There were plants all over the place, dozens of them, ferns in colorful red and blue ceramic vases, but also a few creeping vines in brass pots, and at least one tall tree that seemed to have had more of the palace carved out above it to accommodate its height. Tapestries were hanging from the walls, flashy sculptures sat on equally flashy tables, and where there were no things cluttering up the space, there were vibrant tiles on the floors that crept halfway up the walls. Everything gleamed and shimmered, the lighting soft and welcoming. The chairs were large and fluffy, and made Verity feel small, especially since she didn’t seem to be able to find a way to sit that was dignified. Cate managed it effortlessly, of course.

“Demiplanes grow, by their nature,” said Cate. “They breathe. Can you imagine men fishing off the coast of Plenarch, pulling up fish which they recognize only as dead or dying creatures? Fish which are not seen eating nor swimming, only those gasping for breath. A demiplane is the same way. The ones that are known to the world are those which are dead — which have been killed, in fact.”

“And this one lives,” said Verity. “Somehow?”

“Somehow,” nodded Cate. “There will be more on that in due time.”

“But when you say that it lives … it grows?” asked Verity. “How large is this one?”

“Twenty miles across,” said Cate. “But it’s in its infancy, and will grow, a mile every decade.”

Verity frowned slightly. “A mile … of diameter?”

“Just so,” said Cate. “Which, yes, means that the area it encloses increases mightily year over year. In a century, it will have doubled in size. A century after that, it will have doubled again.”

Verity hadn’t been asking about math, she’d only been seeking clarification. Cate’s eyes had lit up at the thought of the growing demiplane though, her happiness at the prospect clear. It was that more than anything that put to rest the idea that Cate was doing this for truly nefarious purposes. She believed in the future of this place, the community that she had built.

“Now then,” said Cate. “We’ll move you to the village eventually, in less than a week, usually, unless you choose to stay in the palace.” She smiled. “It’s past the witching hour. There was some question in my mind about whether we would make it, but it seems our departure went unnoticed. I assume you’re tired?”

“I am,” said Verity. She was feeling less sharp than normal, and it seemed that her tiredness had only been kept at bay by the fear she’d been feeling. The need to sleep was starting to come over her.

“Then I’ll see you to your room,” said Cate. She stood from her seat, and Verity felt no choice but to follow. “You’ll have a roommate, for the time being. I made my last pass through Inter today, and the rooms I normally use are crowded.”

“Ah,” said Verity.

She was supremely conscious of the entad book she’d been carrying with her, now on the floor inside the blanket, which was in turn inside the bag. In one of the book’s pages was the cup, which contained a ring that led to extradimensional storage, which in turn led to more extradimensional storage, which ultimately led to Lutopia One, where her friends had been disassembled so that they wouldn’t count as people through some entad arcana. If she never went to get them, they were effectively dead, and her getting them depended upon her being able to get into the book.

Already she felt like she was close to cracking. It was a level of stress and tension that she hadn’t ever felt outside of a major performance, even including the dungeons. She wasn’t good at lying, and knew she wasn’t good at lying, but this was what was being asked of her. She tried to keep stoic, which was what she’d learned best, but all it would take was Cate saying ‘by the by, let me take that book from you’ for Verity to break completely.

The roommate, whose name was Cherry, was asleep, a mass of red hair peeking out from beneath the covers. Cate’s final instructions were whispered to Verity, pointing out the bathroom, with apologies and assurances that better lodging would be available before the week was out, once Verity had decided where it was she wanted to live.

Once Cate had gone, Verity had a fair bit of internal debate about whether or not to spring open the book right there and then. She was worried though, perhaps because of all the talk about spying and the verifiable fact that it was possible, if you had enough money and power. The time to spy on someone was the first moment they thought they were safe.

It was impossible to get to sleep, and when Verity woke up, she was mildly surprised that she’d actually managed it.

The other girl was already awake and brushing her hair. She had a nightgown on, and was giving Verity a curious look.

“You weren’t here last night,” she said.

“No,” said Verity. “I was a late arrival.” She sat up. She’d slept in her clothes, and felt worse for it, clammy and rumpled. “My name is Verity.”

“Cherry,” said the girl. She had a light lilt to her speech, an accent that was hard to place, though the red hair was characteristic of Cairbre. “I think you’re not supposed to ask people how they ended up here, but you can tell them, if you’d like.”

“Ah,” said Verity. She paused for a moment. “And are you going to tell me?”

“Mrm,” said Cherry, giving a small smile. “I wanted to start over.”

“That’s it?” asked Verity.

“I had an enormous amount of debt,” said the woman as she brushed her hair. “Truly eye-watering.” She smiled again, the smile of relief. “And now, it’s not my problem.”

Verity looked at her. Cherry was, in Verity’s estimation, not much older than twenty-five years old. That left the obvious question, which Verity wasn’t sure she wanted to ask. It seemed rude to probe, but then, the woman had been probing her.

“How did you get into so much debt?” asked Verity.

“I was an architect,” said Cherry. “I still am, actually. Do you know, they give you money to build houses? I started early, I had vision, and with every house I’d completed, they gave me more money. But I was just a small piece of it really, the person who designed everything, I wasn’t actually constructing things, though I was on site to make sure that it was all as I’d placed it. Well, after finishing another of those houses, a great cantilevered thing with a nice silhouette, I had enough money that I could found my own company. I would be the tip of the spear, the architect with great vision, and I would have the best employees, poached from among those I had worked with.”

“And … that led to ruin?” asked Verity.

“Oh, the company did fine for a time, but we were still contracting,” said Cherry. She seemed happy, in spite of recounting her doom. “I thought that it would be better not to be, to make the houses and sell them after. But no, that didn’t lead to my doom either. What happened was that I had a string of successes, houses that I’d designed which sold very well, and each time, the banks would be willing to loan me a bit more money. Each time, I would put it all into the next house, making it bigger and grander and more in line with a sense of vision that I had started to believe in a bit too much. Then I made the last house, constructed from special entad materials, with a team of hundreds, a soaring edifice with beautiful grounds, tricks of perspective and light, sweeping balconies — it was a thing of wonder. And it didn’t sell.”

“Ah,” said Verity. “And eventually, when it became clear that it wouldn’t sell, the banks came after you.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“And it’s over now,” said the woman. “Gods, I wonder how many times I’m going to have to tell that story.” She gave Verity a little smile. “How was it? What needs work?”

“Er,” said Verity. “I think that it’s good, overall, perhaps more description of the buildings?”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” nodded Cherry. “Now, I won’t say that you owe me a story of your own, but I do suspect that it will be of some interest to people. Not all stories are so easy to share, I know. Getting too big for my britches and slapped down as though by the hand of the gods, that’s something I can sheepishly explain. And here, I’ll build new houses.” She kept brushing. Verity’s mother had been a big believer in brushing hair. “So if you’re not comfortable giving me the story of how you got here, do you know what you might want to do? Your vocation, in this place?”

“I’m a bard,” said Verity. “I suppose I’ll continue being a bard.”

“A tavern bard?” asked Cherry. “Or of the adventuring class?”

Verity gave a polite laugh. “I don’t think there will be much for adventures here.”

Cherry gave her a look. “I’m not sure that I’m supposed to be the one to tell you.”

“You have to tell me now,” said Verity. “You can’t say ‘I’m not sure I should tell’ and then not tell. It’s cruel.”

Cherry laughed. Verity wondered — not that it was important — but she wondered whether this was one of the eligible women that Cate had mentioned. “Fine, fine. Cate says that we’re in a demiplane, and that this is a special kind of demiplane.”

“She said that last night,” said Verity. “Shortly before I went to sleep.”

“Yes, but do you know what’s at the border of a normal demiplane?” asked Cherry.

“No,” said Verity. She furrowed her brow. She had a guess, but it was only that.

“A wall, usually,” said Cherry. “You place your hand against it and it’s as firm and hard as an expanse of steel. But here, it’s permeable. So soft, in some places, you’d be hard-pressed to know that you’d gone beyond it. And once you do go beyond, there are both creatures and treasures to be found.”

Verity was silent for a moment. “Like a dungeon?”

“Not particularly, I’m told,” she replied. “But I never did dungeons, have no interest in dungeons, and mostly plan to build houses, both to the whims of those who want them, and on my own, in the hopes that people move into them.” She sighed. “No money. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”

Verity gave a slow nod. “And we’ll have our own rooms, soon?”

“Soon,” nodded Cherry. “The early houses will be all the same, entad-made, but I’ll have enough tools to be a one-woman building crew within the day, and then the first of the custom houses will go up. Do you happen to know what you want?”

“No,” said Verity. “I really don’t.”