Wagered Whims: Zirian Chronicles, #0

Author’s Note

Dear Reader,

This book first appeared as All In, the prequel to the Sagittan Chronicles series. Since its initial publishing, I have updated the covers and edited the stories, but this time, I’m making a substantial change: I’ve re-named the entire series and each of the books.

Why? seems like a very reasonable question here.

In 2013, when I first began publishing this series, I was a scrappy 24-year-old (almost 25!) who had graduated from college during a recession and spent the first few years of my adult life juggling multiple jobs before getting my first full-time position. I was tired and broke, and I had been spending what little free time I had trying to learn how to write a book.

As part of my ideation process, I decided to use a star map I had from a 1970s edition of National Geographic to choose names for things—people, planets, places. Hence how I settled on the name Sagitta for the planet the series is primarily set on, and the Sagittan Chronicles for the series title.

It may not surprise you to learn that I knew absolutely nothing about astrology at the time, either. In fact, once near that age, I went to a dance, and a man asked me, What’s your sign? (which was apparently a pickup line), and I had no idea what he was talking about, so I responded, A stop sign lol.

So imagine my surprise when I attended my first book event, and someone asked me, Are you a Sagittarius? I had no idea what they were talking about and thought they were confusing my books with something else. But the same problem came up over and over again, until one day, a woman asked me if my book was a handbook for how to connect with her inner self, and I... I had no idea how to respond. Other than to say no.

As this was my first series, and I had moved my attention onto other things, I considered ignoring it forever. But in 2022, I decided I would rather bring the series as close to my current branding and standards as possible—and here we are.

If you’ve read the series before, please be aware that the stories are largely the same. I did do some revision, fixing some language, cutting some things that bothered me, and tightening the narrative at least a bit. But the story is largely the same.

If you haven’t read the series, I hope you find it at least somewhat entertaining.

All the stories,

Ariele

Chapter 1

Skeletons. As far as the eye could see.

They sat in the rows of chairs lined up across the marble floor. Rags hung from femurs and ulnas. Phalanges lay scattered across the floor. And the empty eye sockets...

A shiver skittered up Quin’s spine as he gazed at them from where he stood on a high dais in front of a shimmering Door. It felt like they were looking back at him.

It was too quiet here, too empty. And at the same time, not empty enough.

His boots kicked up centuries-old dust as he stepped forward. Pillars ran along each wall, supporting a high, vaulted ceiling with once-vibrant paintings of sprawling landscapes and half-naked silver-haired creatures with midnight eyes. Beside him, he noted a small table with a marble bowl on top. Two knives lay beside it, also made of marble. Cracked and faded stained-glass windows cast shadows of crimson and gold across the floor.

Quin strode down the steps of the dais, the sound of his feet echoing loudly in the stillness. The muscles in his neck tensed as he eased past the skeletons, avoiding the odd skull that had rolled across the floor. He noted their clothes were now rags, but their jewels remained, some scattered beneath the chairs, some hanging on necklaces in rib cages, and others resting against what used to be foreheads.

Except for his breathing and echoing footfalls, he heard no other sounds. Perhaps this place had once been a temple of some sort, a place of worship. But no one had maintained it for a long time—and who would, with such a large audience of bones? Paint peeled from the walls; broken bricks and pieces of plaster littered the floor; dust covered every surface.

Who were they? Why did they die? Perhaps he had landed in a cemetery or mausoleum, where mourners placed the bodies in the chairs and waited as the flesh slowly rotted away.

But why was there a Door in this specific room? Why would anyone choose to come here?

No, more likely there had been a catastrophe, something which had caused all these people to die at once.

He stepped into a hallway in much the same state of disrepair. He kept one hand close to the gun he carried on his belt; the other held a walking stick designed to look inconspicuous, while also strong enough to function as a weapon. Behind him, a hover camera followed, capturing everything he saw.

The hallway ended at a large wooden door carved with depictions of five-leafed plants, each painted a different color. Quin wondered if it would still open, or if the hinges were too rusted and old to work.

He unlatched it and then pushed as hard as he could. It creaked and groaned, and ever-so-slowly opened to reveal sunlight on the other side. He squeezed through the opening, letting out his breath to make his chest as small as possible. Somehow, he still managed to pop two buttons off his shirt.

The temple sat on a hill overlooking a vast city, with roads torn up and overwhelmed by grass and weeds. Old buildings, dirty and decrepit from disuse, spread out away from the temple, interspersed with homes, all with collapsed porches and sagging roofs. Tall trees stretched toward the sky, their leaves quivering in the brisk breeze, their trunks overgrown with heavy vines and thick undergrowth.

He shivered as a sudden gust brushed across his bare head. But he wasn’t cold. No, the shiver came from something else. Taking a deep breath, he centered himself and listened.

But there were no sounds—no cars, no construction, no laughing or talking, no machines or sirens. It was silent except for the wind.

Perhaps that was what he had noticed: the sound of emptiness.

He glanced up at the building he had come out of. A sign hung over his head. It took him a moment to parse out the letters as it was written in old-style Zirian. It read, Hemen Temple of Feeling.

Pulling out a piece of paper, he jotted a few things down: abandoned, piles of dead, Hemen Temple of Feeling, history?

Curiosity burned in his belly, but it wasn’t his job to determine what had happened here—it was simply his job to figure out where the Door led. With a glance over his shoulder at the ruined city behind him, he squeezed back into the temple. After all, there was no need to spend much time in an abandoned city if he didn’t have to. He had found a name and determined the location was safe enough; the archaeology team could take it from here.

The Door glittered and sparkled on the dais at the far side of the sanctuary. Quin strode rapidly toward it, trying to ignore how his steps thundered in the echoing room and the way the vibrations made the bones click in their chairs. He glanced over his shoulder as he walked up the dais steps—hundreds of empty eyes still stared back. Without hesitation, he stepped through the Door, leaving the eerie world behind him.

His current workspace blurred and fizzled into view as he reentered the Department of Archeology storage room at the Globe Center, located in downtown Pomegranate City. Bin after bin stretched out in front of him, filled with long cylindrical gray tubes sticking up haphazardly, each one housing its own closed Door.

He leaned his wooden staff against the wall, strode to the computer, and rapidly typed a few details about the Door and temple into the system. The hover camera buzzed in behind him, automatically initiating a download of the data it had collected. Then the computer spat out a small sticker.

The Door in question rose out of a cylindrical gray tube lying horizontal on the floor. Quin slapped the sticker on the tube. He would leave the Door open for now and then send a message to the archaeology team to come investigate whatever had killed the skeletons in the Hemen Temple of Feeling.

There you are! an excited voice called out from the other side of the room. I’ve been looking all over for you!

You can’t have looked very hard, Quin replied without turning his head. I’ve been stuck in this room for days.

What are you doing? John bounded into the room and gave Quin a weak punch on the arm. He was one of Quin’s lifelong friends and worked as a mathematician in the Door Room at the Globe. He’d been thrilled when he found out Quin’s new assignment was at the Globe. Though this was the first chance he’d had to hunt down Quin at work, it seemed.

Going through the ‘uncategorized’ bin, Quin said. It’s what I’m here for.

Didn’t someone just do that? John asked, frowning. Seems like it.

Six years ago, Quin said dryly. They’ve confiscated a lot of unregistered Doors since then, apparently.

What do they want you to do about it? John grinned, running his fingers along the tops of the canisters.

Figure out where they go. Quin dug through the tubes in the bin. Each tube was thirty-six inches long, weighed only a few pounds, and was painted in some shade of gray, varying from bluish to brownish. He had been working through the brownish ones, for lack of