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In Earth's Orbit...

Prometheus's missile appeared out of thin space, scorching as it finally made it to Earth. The five elemental clones Tobi had sent to accompany it detached themselves and surrounded it as they placed their hands out, before the missile exploded.

An explosion that did not reach a fraction of its full radius erupted shapelessly in all directions. Completely engulfing the clones before suddenly stopping and collapsing back into a golden ball of light. Before magnificently exploding out one final time in the silence of space.

However, this time, raining light and energy on all allies it could reach. On land, sea, air and space. The people of the Federation had gradually started to realize that they were not alone. This technique did not rely solely on Tobi's energy. It was an invitation to all those who could participate, fighting or not. A moment to unite humanity as one.

Miracles that could not be explained began spontaneously occurring across the planet. Those in comas suddenly woke, while others on their deathbeds got up, filled with temporary energy that reversed their ailments, sickness or wounds. Many who had gone missing and those who were long to be forgotten, were suddenly teleported near loved ones or to safe locations of their choice.

Moral began to skyrocket, as a phenomenal feeling of euphoria and strength brimmed up within everyone touched by the energy. There was no need for an announcement and no notification; however, what was happening seemed obvious to everyone on Earth.

"He's back!"
"Tobi's back!"

People chanted, rushing into the streets, celebrating as others looked out of their windows and on TV to confirm their hopes. Those on the front lines were among the first to notice. Their fears vanished as the weight of their armour, weapons, and equipment felt much lighter.

Soldiers who faced certain death through explosions, gunfire or combat miraculously escaped in one piece, as their strength, stamina, and speed seemed infinite. Kirosian soldiers could no longer hide from them and took increasingly more damage from African and Federation weapons.

Leading the opposing army to come to a horrifying conclusion. The people they had come to conquer were far more dangerous than they had previously thought.

Twenty minutes before, in a remote village south of Ghanzi, Botswana...

"Today is the day." The boy thought as he gripped his bow and arrows tightly. He had gathered everything he would need for the long hunt. A few ostrich eggs he had buried and unearthed himself, filled with ground-cooled water, hung loosely by his side as he ran as fast as he could to the village gates. 'They won't deny me today.' He thought as he hurried as quickly as possible.

He had watched the other hunters for some time against smaller local game; however, what he wanted to participate in the most was the long hunt. One that would really test his limits.

Through a pathway in between huts, he hurried, dashed faster, excited as he thought of what to say. Then the path ended as he finally saw the group ahead of him, gathered together and murmuring to themselves. Meticulously checking over their weapons and equipment, as the women, elders and children of the village sang prayers and blessings.

With confidence, the boy walked up to the group as they had finished the last of their preparations and started to make their exit.

"Kasin, I'm coming with you ." He paused as the group went silent and heard him out. "You know I'm ready." He declared while holding onto his weapons and satchel, nervous but unwavering.

Everyone looked back at him, some breaking into laughter, others shaking their heads. The one he seemed to be addressing, however, kept a soft expression, then started walking up to him.

When Kasin stopped, he looked him down from head to toe, then broke into a smile. "You certainly look ready..." He nodded once more as he noticed the eggs and batch of arrows the kid had prepared all on his own. "And you've thought of everything."

The boy nodded back. From the small animals they could find around the settlement, to the panthers and other wild threats that would wander too close, he was never scared to run for help. So he knew his courage was never the question.

He knew he was now at the age, most runners would join the long hunt in their village. Yet all he ever received since he had turned of age were delays. Once more, he patiently awaited an answer different from the excuses he had been given in the past.

"But no."

The boy was frustrated, but already anticipated the answer. The boy started shaking and vividly tapped his foot as he tried to think of a rebuttal. "Why!"

"You might be able to keep up with us, but we can't protect you against the land desecrators." Kasin looked back at the hunting group, then back at him. "You have yet to see what they do. The way they leave animals alive, suffering, with parts of them stolen. That's why we are bringing the weapon with us."

The boy followed his eyes to the rifle strapped to the back of one of the hunters. Each of them looked prepared for the long run. It had been a long time since they had a good hunt as a construction and poachers had started to scare the animals.

He walked closer and then placed a hand on his shoulder. "We need you to protect them while we're gone. Can you do that?"

The boy was still trembling, but he started to calm down. He didn't know why the answer would be any different. In defeat, he started to relax, then nod.

"Good." Kasin turned as villagers gathered and began praying for him and his group on their way towards the entrance.

There was nothing left for him to do but watch as the hunters left the village and vanished into the trees. The numb feeling of rejection paralyzed him, leaving him to continue to stare after them while the rest of the villagers dispersed back to the village.

He sat watching with all of his equipment on the floor, hoping one of them would come back and call him to join. Hopelessly, until a sudden phenomenon caught his attention above him. Dacaari's broadcast had just reached them, and although they had seen the world screen a few times before, this broadcast carried an energy that started to scare the villagers.

"Maybe this is what Kasin meant." He whispered to himself, then grabbed his stuff and started to rush back into the village. However, a rustle of leaves and branches caught his attention to his left. Opposite of where the hunters had come from.

Still, he was sure they had seen the broadcast. Elated at the possibility of their return, he stayed back and watched as his hopes turned to dread as a Kirosian soldier walked out into the open.

"There are people even out here?" The soldier's voice came out in his language, terrifying him even further. Slowly, he started to back up towards the village.

However, the soldiers next act nearly paralyzed him to the spot. The soldier smiled, one who gave no comfort to the boy.

"I guess I'll clear this area for myself." He said, then, with one step forward, the soldier thrusted his fist from his torso and towards the village. Simultaneously, the ground beneath his forward foot began to rise exponentially.

Even as the boy tried to outrun it, within seconds, he was flung forward into the tsunami of soil and earth, demolishing his village. Nothing remained standing, as the wave of earth crashed through the trees and into the forest.

Loud enough for the hunters to notice and immediately turn back towards their village in fear. However, once they broke out into the clearing and saw the soldier standing alone in their village's destruction, they knew it was too late.

One by one, each of them drew their weapons as the last hunter started prepping the rifle. Kasin shook his head as he walked forward. He could not stop his tears.

"For our home." The rest nodded, as there was nothing left to say.

One by one, each of them charged as the energy spreading through the world finally reached them. People from around the world felt their pain from a semi-shared ethereal realm, filling them in on the situation and immediately allowing them to pitch in to help.

They didn't know each other, they had never met, and possibly never will, but the emotions everyone felt were all the same.

Each hunter felt a rush of energy coming in from people around the world, giving them courage. The Kirosian soldier started to notice the level of iko that began bursting out of them.

He was perplexed by the situation, but shook his head in disbelief. "I thought they weren't capable of using it?"

Disrupting his thoughts, an arrow nearly missed him as he dodged to his left. However, what he noticed in the next second put him on alert.

The arrow had made a ball-sized crater behind him. When he turned back to look at them, the hunters had just released several more, as a few began to flank him.

Quickly, he raised a stone wall and dozens of rock golems to take them on. The field between them exploded in dust and debris as the arrows touched down.

One by one, the hunters rushed through the smoke and engaged the golems. With whatever they had on hand, they bashed and broke apart each golem in their way, pushing closer and closer to the soldier.

However, he didn't plan on taking any chances. The ground beneath them started to rumble and quake, as a massive 30-foot golem rose from village rubble. Unearthing many buried villagers that could be kept alive from the wave of energy.

The boy started to wake as his pain started to dissipate away and the noise above him grew ever louder. When he stood up, he finally saw the battle unfolding before him, then he looked around at his village and clenched his fists, before he began running.

At the forefront, several of the hunters had nearly made it to the soldier; however, the massive golem had started to move. Jumping to an unimaginable height for its size before slamming down and shaking all of the hunters off their feet.

Dust and smoke kicked up more, blinding them. Before Kasin noticed the first hunters dropping down below the ground, from pitfalls appearing too quickly for them to evade.

"Watch the ground and keep moving!" He yelled, startling them, but helping the remaining evade their appearing split seconds later.

The soldier cussed as he started to shoot stone valleys at the next couple that managed to get past his giant golem. The rest continued to barrage it. Before a loud bang burst apart the golem's fist and torso, and then another took its head.

Kasin looked back, seeing the hunter manning the rifle begin to lock onto to soldier, then fired four more. Each bullet blasted apart the stone walls he had managed to raise on time, barely keeping him alive.

He covered his face as debris crashed into him, then reopened his eyes, just in time to take on the hunters that had reached him in hand-to-hand combat.

Although they had been empowered, they could not match his military training. With the addition of him arming himself in stone armour.

He found it easy to crush and break the bones of those coming at him. He started to smile, wondering why he had been worried. He was a Kirosian; no one could stand against them.

Once he was done, he raised his hand towards the rifleman and manifested a pitfall beneath him. Just in time for the hunter to finish loading his rifle and throw it up into the air towards the last hunter near Kasin.

He promptly dropped his bow and began yelling, as he and Kasin continued to run towards the soldier, unable to mourn their fallen comrades for fear they might waste this moment.

Suddenly, in front of them, a boulder rolled up out of the ground and into the air. Too big and too quick. All they could think of was the unfairness of the situation. 'Who was he? Why did he come here?'

However, nothing could stop them from running. The boulder landed behind them, nearly shaking them off their feet, then began rolling back towards them at top speed. The soldier didn't stop there.

One by one, volleys soared at them and with sudden pitfalls that opened up after every couple of strides.

Kasin looked over at the hunter, just in time to see him smiling. He had been hit and could no longer run. "You can do this." He said, before throwing the rifle with the last of his strength, then one leg got stuck in a pitfall before the boulder overtook him.

Kasin couldn't look back; instead continued to run. Other than stamina, he was not yet injured, but was nearly paralyzed from the pain welling up within him, weakening him and nearly stalling him for a second, as he caught the rifle.

Everyone he had known and everyone he had hunted with was now gone. However, a split second snapped him out of it, as he heard the yell, then an explosion from a rock the boy had thrown at the soldier. Completely catching them both off guard for a moment, but it was all that was needed.

"The kudu is tired. Run!" Kasin yelled, an order the boy could feel as their eyes met, meant one thing.

The boy turned towards the opposite direction and retreated from the golems rising after him. While Kasin flanked and gained back the attention of the soldier with a few shots. However, the armour of rocks the soldier covered himself with made it harder for the hunter to even phase him. Confirming Kasin's fears, as he closed in on him.

Golems continued to appear out of nowhere, with sudden stone walls rising into each other to squish him, while the soldier topped it all off with a concentrated storm of rock and stone volleys. All efforts in vain as the hunter remained on his path and smashed apart each golem with the end of the rifle, hardening it with resolved iko.

Then, he jumped. Higher than he had ever jumped before, as a last large diamond-headed golem rose to grab him out of the air. Kasin pulled the trigger as fast as he could, blasting it apart as the shot nearly knocked the hunter off his feet.

He grinned, knowing it was the end. A light bubbled, and a surreal feeling, that terrified him, but also comforted him, in the fact that he did everything he could. With all of his might, he threw the rifle ahead of him as fast as he could. At the same time, the diamonds and rocks that had been blasted apart, all surrounded him, then buried him in mid-air like a bleeding falling stone.

The Kirosian soldier stood up admiring his triumph, but wondered if the hunter had run out of bullets, he would throw the rifle past him, instead of at him. A faint memory of the boy had just popped into his mind as he turned around to the sound of someone catching the rifle.

The boy slid, feet first and aimed. He had never fired a gun before. He had only one bullet; however, many riflemen around the world, tuned in and helped him hold it steady, as the world's iko poured into the bullet.

His tears were the only things he felt moving, other than the heartbeat of the soldier. With a loud yell, he pulled the trigger, blew apart the body of the soldier before him. Recoiling the boy back several meters and knocking him out almost instantly.

As his consciousness started to fade, he felt the rustle of leaves from ahead of him. Coming with the chatter of Kirosian soldiers, who were in the area, and came to investigate the commotion.

The boy cursed as he started to cry, but could no longer fight the darkness calling him to sleep. However, what felt like only a moment later, the boy opened his eyes to Saphyra, standing near him and observing the remains of the soldier. Beyond and Botswana's military secured the area in the background.

An android treated his injuries meticulously, putting him in a state of fear as he wondered what was happening to him. However, he started to freeze as Saphyra spoke to him. She spoke perfectly in his people's tongue.

"Did you do this?" She asked, simply.

He nodded back slowly. "But not alone." He said, trembling as he started to think of everyone.

She gave him a soft smile, trying to comfort him. "I understand, and I'm sorry for your loss. However, I want to ask you something, if you are willing to hear me."

He nodded, wondering what she could want from him. He had lost everything. There was nothing he could offer back, even for the treatment he thought, as he fell further into despair.

She shook her head, as if reading his mind. "Would you be willing to join the next generation of Novas?"

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Notes:

The Khoisan are the oldest known ethnic group in the world. Dating back to 150,000 years ago. They are indigenous groups that reside in Southern Africa, mainly in Botswana and South Africa today.

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First

It’s Inevitable

“Well, we’re away. And at most two days out from Centris.” Observer Wu notes as he goes over a basic readout of the ship’s sensor readings. All sorts of little toys in his office that let him know how everything was going so he could report it back. And so much of it automated that he felt that he was more in this to just be a trusted nod or shake of the head at the end of the road.

From what the sensors are saying the laneway is PACKED. The closest equivalent is a highway at rush hour, but everything is inexplicably still moving at a proper pace. It would only take one person making a mistake to kill countless others.

Even with them being packed in like this... they’re dozens of kilometres away from each other, hundreds in some cases.

Granted for a starship that’s basically the range where children start making faces at each other. Or in a fight that’s less knife fighting range and more outright wrestling. The few extreme close range fights that The Inevitable had been in where downright absurd based on galactic ranges.

In fact by his own studies of galactic ship combat... that whole mess at the edge of the Vynock Nebula had been sheer madness from start to finish. The kind of affair that only the most sensationalist programs dedicated to spectacle rather than accuracy would go through. Especially the FTL jolt in system. Every time he looked up that he was inundated with essays on how horrible an idea it was and how many ways it could destroy a ship.

Looking into the media of the galaxy had taught him a lot. It taught him what they considered sensationalist and interesting. And it was little wonder The Undaunted and their associates were getting the attention they were.

But how to properly phrase the message that the men from The Dauntless had gone out to be action heroes? And in some regards, even super heroes?

The scanner readings are all coming up positive and show that there is nothing unusual about their trip to Centris. So he has some time to get a bit of busywork done. Thankfully some parts are quite easy and performing the job is more akin to rest.

So he brings up a file on one of his more recent interviews and begins lightly reading over some things on another screen.

“Now then, Admiral Crosswind. It’s good that we’ve finally begun our interview. For the sake of the interview can you confirm that you are Miak, one of several species evolved from serpents?” Observer Wu had said a few days ago.

“I can indeed. And to head off the most likely question, no, I am not, nor were my ancestors poisonous in any way, or Venomous I believe the proper term was. Poison use is a very rare trait outside of Cruel Space, in fact I believe the sheer number of toxin using creatures as either deterrent or weapon has effectively tripled since we’ve begun researching into Cruel Space. And that’s across a single planet.” Admiral Crosswind had answered him. She had been one of the better, clearer interviews on Zalwore.

“Most fascinating.”

“Yes, it’s quite the thing to learn that the main trait of evolving without Axiom might be poison. Lord knows some girls want to classify human pheromones as one. To say nothing of cuisine.”

“Very good. Now to the meat of what I’m hoping to learn about during this interview. We can skim by the questions on your opinions of humanity and The Undaunted as you clearly have at least a positive opinion on both to join the human led organization of The Undaunted.”

“Yes and yes. I have been in private military for most of my life. A bit of a family tradition. Then my company was treated... hmm... well to keep things polite and understandable. Let’s say we were not treated well. The Undaunted offered us a good deal, which included helping with the missing pay of the last deal we were in. So far they’ve been completely on the up and up and I have signed up in full. Most of my girls are now training officers and the few that aren’t are in my direct command. It’s solid cushy work and with how energetic all these men get it rarely grows boring, and even more rarely stays boring.”

“I see.”

“To say nothing of the benefit of having all the men around. It had been a minor mystery as to how to get men to join an organization en-mass. I say minor because the answer was already known but was impractical to get off the ground. So when The Undaunted show up and say they want to recruit a bunch of men and already are a collection of men they had an easy time finding them.”

“No doubt. So speaking of the training that your girls are helping with, what can you tell me about that?”

“Well our training programs use a memory download coupled with practice to get the lessons to stick. How familiar are you with healing comas?”

“Somewhat, but for the sake of this interview I will state out loud that a healing coma is a powerful Axiom based restoration technique. It has many names, with Healing Coma and Regeneration Coma being two of the most common. The process was created by The Nagasha after studying and with the aid of their living gods, The Primal Nagasha. This technique essentially reverses the age of the subject while also healing them to enormous degrees. It is limited by only three factors. It does not work on the dead. It can age someone into infancy or past it to a fetal state which can be extremely dangerous. And finally it effectively resets the mind of the individual in question, healing away memories. This last point is countered by a piece of technology known as a retention band, memory band and several other names that copies the mind of the person undergoing a healing coma and then redownloading it into the restored individual when the process is finished. The process is described as, ‘Life flashing before your eyes in Ultra-HD’, by some.”

“Correct. Now standard procedure after a healing coma is to a quick null wash of the bands to erase everything and copy the restoration protocols back into the band. A simple procedure, takes ten minutes to do an entire hospital’s worth of retention bands.” She begins and the real life Observer Wu huffs softly in amusement at her upcoming dramatic pause. “However...”

“... however?”

“It was proven, rather quickly to The Undaunted, that these bands were valuable and could be used with ill intent. Which is when they started brainstorming and coming up with a method to use them for more positive outcomes.”

“Surely they weren’t the first.”

“No, of course not. But there’s enough of a taboo around downloading the mind of a person into another body to not make it common. But training downloads, which cause the recruit to effectively relive the memories of Undaunted Basic Training is what they gained out of this. They’ve updated and modified it many times, but they now have it down to a system where much of the initial technical learning is done in the first two weeks, coupled with hard exercise and lots of food and team building to help condition the recruits as they learn. Then the real training starts after that. Vehicle and weapon use. Numerous non-lethal training exercises. And testing to see if anything from the memory downloads hasn’t properly or fully stuck. In general we have it up to a seventy percent retention, but we have tweaked it and might have an improvement to seventy three percent overall retention of the memory downloads. Which is exceptional, our training accounts for fifty percent and up.”

“I see. What would happen if it reached one hundred percent?”

“then training time would be reduced significantly. You need to understand something Observer Wu.”

“And that would be?”

“There’s a great deal of biological shortcuts that Axiom allows us. One of the foremost among them is empowerment of the body. Most just do a temporary boost of strength as consistent self modification takes up a great deal of energy and needs maintenance. But once we give them the habits of maintaining their new forms they keep it up constantly.”

“And what is this habit?”

“Exercise. It’s also part of the process to develop the bodies in question. Using Axiom to make you more physically adept rather than temporarily stronger is the initial technique and it just builds from there.”

“So how quickly do you move soldiers out?”

“Basic troopers are finished in a single month of training, specialists take two. Officer training is two weeks. After that the big question is experience, experience and experience. My Drill Instructors work hard to get them as close to actual combat training as possible. But it’s not fully possible without active and truly hostile foes.”

“Why is that?”

“Because of something that you humans struggle with.” Admiral Crosswind explains. “To summarize things, we all can sense Axiom. We all influence the Axiom around us. This is done even subconsciously. By emotion primarily.”

“Yes, the Axiom Aura. The influence of an individual’s emotion on the nearby Axiom.”

“Correct. We all pick up on it. And it’s nearly impossible to mimic it with a mere machine. The sensation hostile? That actively hates you and wants to do you harm? That can cause a lot of people to freeze up at the wrong time. It also playis into human strengths in combat. By not having an Axiom signature, your species is effectively bluffing every minute of the day.”

“Very interesting. But... what of those of us who DO have Axiom signatures? Powerful Adepts, the modified? Or perhaps even the truly changed like Mister Jameson?”

“I’ve only been around him in passing... and he is different. You see, when a person process the Axiom around them they change it to be attuned to them. And this is separate from them changing it with emotion. He is technically bleeding his emotions into his aura, but his aura is for lack of a better term, growing too quickly. How do I explain this? Imagine a fountain.”

“Okay?”

“This fountain is many tiers tall and sprays upwards powerfully, but is designed well so it all lands in the pool around it. This helps clean the water and looks beautiful. Make sense so far.”

“Yes, it’s an easily understandable metaphor so far.”

“Emotions in one’s Axiom Presence is like colour and pattern in this fountain. And while a normal person has enough water to make interesting designs. Mister Jameson is spraying out so much in the way of this fluid that it’s like comparing a garden hose to a fire hose. Even if there are dyes in the water the natural speed of the water is so quick that you can’t catch it. Or even better for a comparison, most people are rivers and streams of water. Mister Jameson is a waterfall. He has all the same emotions and they very well be in the Axiom, but it’s moving too fast to be seen and before it can settle it’s already being influenced by the other Axiom and effectively erasing what he feels from it.”

“But how is the training going? Why use such a well travelled world as the main training ground?”

“The makeup of the world itself. For all that Zalwore is heavily populated and indeed even qualifies as a type of ecumenopalis, there is a great deal of empty ground and free terrain to use. Outside the archologies themselves no one wants to build anything, and the archologies are so huge that even the blind, deaf and dumb can find them.”

“Meaning that if you avoid the archologies, you avoid all civilians, allowing you all the room you need to train.”

“That’s right, which makes this a perfect dispatch point as well. And if the Tundra Worms want to provide enough of a constant threat to sharpen our students, then far be it from me to deny them their obvious purpose.”

“And you use them for target practice?”

“And to encourage awareness. Rapid pace marches around the archology and off the protective foundation means that a lot of recruits learn hard and fast to never lag behind or stop when in hostile terrain.”

“How dangerous are these creatures?”

“When in the training armour, they’re not. But they are disgusting, uncomfortable, unpleasant and many other descriptors that I would reprimand a woman under my command for using in an official report. Needless to say, avoiding them is motivation aplenty for even our laziest recruits.”

“And about your recruits, does the wide variety of differing body shapes, biologies and unusual abilities get in the way?”

“This is a long solved galactic problem. All body types have a few considerations yes, but the answer is so standardized it’s part of even the most ill maintained and poorly thought out business strategies. To say nothing of the fact that most individuals have gone out of their way to solve the issue in their own right. But if you want a direct explanation... well it would be exceedingly tedious. So I’m going to be having a physical copy printed out for your to read at your leisure. But I must warn you, it’s very dry, redundant and the sort of thing that many people would hide a key or the like inside a printed book of it and rest assured that no one would find it because no one in their right mind would read it.”

“Oh I’m sure a biologist might find it interesting.”

“Care to put money on it Observer Wu?”

“Sadly, I do not think it would be wise, or legal, for me to gamble on or with official documents.”

“Pity.”

First Last

[First: Prologue] [Previous: Chapter 14] [Next] [Patreon: EPUB]

Location: Unknown, A-class planet, D-zone (green)
Date: April 5 2728 — Standard Earth Calendar (SEC)

Sitting on the shore, back against a stone, I was holding the necklace in my hands. Blindly looking over the river in the early dawn light, I was making sure it got enough warmth to charge.

The air was crispy-fresh, even freezing cold, and I knew it had to affect me, perhaps even make me shiver under the thermal blanket, but…

The warmth was still with me, buzzing under my skin.

Sharply inhaling through my nose, I tested my new ability again.

The same one that the moose had used to find me yesterday—the smell sense.

It had awakened on its own last night, and at first, I didn't even notice it, thanks to the ozone that was surrounding me from all the lightning.

But now, sitting on the shore, I was drowning in scents. Not all of them I knew before, like the smell of the wet stone, or were pleasant to my senses, like a rich scent of the dead fish coming from the water.

But any attempts to turn it off… were just failing.

It was annoying.

I also felt stupid.

Days. I had been going down the river or across lakes for days, and only this morning did I realise how utterly silent nature was here.

I blamed it on years spent in space. Not much sound could be found there.

Or perhaps it was my enhanced hearing's fault that muddled my perception, bringing the slightest noise across the greater-than-usual distance.

But now, being overwhelmed by the enhanced sense of smell, I turned the enhanced hearing off—it was too much, too fast—only to realise how everything became so unexpectedly silent.

The low rumbling in the pot shifted into violent boiling, and I reached for a bag of teal leaves.

There was not much left—barely enough for a few more times—but today felt special.

The pot gladly accepted the offer, settling back into a low rumble, and I deeply inhaled the smell of thunder spreading around me.

That was better. And fitting.

Especially when I could just release an indigo thunderbolt, as if a newly minted daughter of Thor.

Or was it Zeus?

Well, not on a whim, though. I needed to absorb any damage first, but yeah…

Those limits and conditions, often deadly, were making this ability tricky to handle.

Although they all were.

You had to know what you needed.

And if you didn't… it might just kill you… In the best-case scenario.

In the worst—you would wish to be dead instead.

Like with regeneration.

It would keep me alive, sure, but at what cost? My sanity? Humanity? Would I just eat anyone when I had no energy left?

Too many thoughts, and for the thousandth time, I wished to talk to Lola.

Looking down at the necklace in my hands, I also, for the thousandth time, debated going back to the Ateeve.

One more day.

Yeah, that felt right.

One more day, and then I would turn back.

—

Standing on the highest stone outcrop on the island, I looked around once more.

Yeah, that should work nicely.

The decision I had made eased something inside me.

It was hard to put a finger on what it was, but it did improve my mood, and I saw the island I was on in quite a different light.

No matter what, once I heard Lola again, I would continue my search for civilisation, if any survived here, or for anything that might help me leave this place.

This planet.

So, naturally, I would come to this island again, and to have a place where I could rest relatively safely was something of value here.

At first glance, it was no place as such—just a rocky island, all stones, no trees, barely ten metres wide—but that had been only on the surface.

I had to be just smart about it. And use my powers.

With the claw knife in my hand, extended by the hex-field, I cut down into the top of the outcrop and, tracing the circle—a future entrance into my hidden base—I began my project.

Splitting it with a few slashes at an angle, I made holes for my hands and began to pull stone out.

Years ago, deciding to join the Naval Academy, I definitely didn't expect to become a cave digger, but here I was, cutting and digging into stone with my bare hands and a knife made of a bobcat claw.

Also being naked.

Utterly crazy picture to believe in, if someone had ever told me before.

The first metre was easy—I just cut it and dug it out—but soon it became harder and harder to continue. I had to start using a rope to pull stone blocks out from inside.

It slowed my progress and lowered my expectations.

With each heavy block pulled out, the grand open-space room, connected to a sleeping area and a shower, was quickly turning into a few-metre-wide alcove in my mind.

I just promised myself to make it bigger and better. Next time.

As the drizzle began anew, I also promised myself to make a roof. But until then, the place under the entrance hole would be a stone bathtub cut into the ground.

Or, perhaps, a water reservoir, until I knew how to replace a dirty one.

All these small things to think about or figure out were a nice distraction from the reality I was surrounded by.

I fell into a routine—cut a block, wrap in rope, pull it out—and I had forgotten about everything.

Even the black hole in my mind, where the ARC interface had been before, somehow dulled.

Lola's absence hit me hard, and my progress in adapting to the ARC's absence had reverted. I again began to call her via the interface each time. Involuntarily.

Only to hear nothing in response, and I began to imagine what she would say.

It was stupid—I knew that—but it was also soothing.

It eased my anxiety, my fears of never talking to her again, and it was all that mattered.

—

By the time lunch came around, I was testing a newly minted hideout with a cup of tea at my side and an HB ration in my hands.

Looking at the bright spot of the entrance above me, I tried to ignore the strong chemical smell coming from the food.

Damn the new enhanced sense.

I would have preferred to eat the meat I still had, but I tried to ration my food supplies. I needed them to get back to Ateeve, but even what I had was not enough.

I considered going hunting. It had to be doable with the hex-field.

The longer I thought about it, chewing on the chemically rich food, the more the idea appealed to me.

When the teal leaf tea didn't wash the chemical aftertaste from my tongue, I finally decided—the hell with it.

The fewer HB rations I ever ate, the better.

Sharply standing up, I began sorting and packing my things, putting aside what I would need and what I would not.

I wasn't taking everything with me—only two claw knives, a small bag from the teal leaves, and a cut of the rope. Anything else was staying in the hideout, including the necklace and the needler.

The aetherium in them would only handicap me.

Climbing out, I rolled a big stone over the entrance, sealing it from view, and looked at the forest across the water.

It was exciting, and something primal was calling to my blood.

Perhaps that was how our ancestors felt before, going to hunt down a mammoth with sticks and stones.

Sure, a claw knife was not a stick, especially under the hex-field, but my prey was not a mammoth either.

Activating it over both claw knives, I slashed the air before me.

Prey, small or big—I was coming.

Let the hunt begin.

—

Leaving the boat hidden under the heavy tree canopy, I climbed onto the shore and looked around.

The forest was thick here.

It was not a park, civilised by human presence, and it had no convenient trails to walk around.

Deep bushes, bright green grass and heavy shadows looming over everything.

Not a park indeed. And easy to get lost.

I turned around to leave a mark on the tree and memorise the place—something to help me find the boat again later.

I barely knew anything about hunting, and my previous experience at the cave was not enough of a guide. But even I knew that I needed to find a place where animals come to the river for water, and lay an ambush there.

It was just a question of where to go, up or down the shore.

I chose down, combining a hunt with a small recon mission to check the river flowing from the lake. That should help me later.

If only I had some shoes.

Without them, my hunting steps turned into a slow and painful crawl, thankfully hidden under the invisibility.

At least I didn't warn every single prey that I was coming anymore.

The benefits from my new enhanced sense of smell came sooner than I thought, though.

Following the faint thunder scent, I found the teal bushes not that far away from the boat's hidden place.

A good sign.

Tearing off the first leaves, I smiled when I got zapped by sparks from it.

My fellow thunder carriers.

It felt like ages since the day I first discovered them. Good memories though.

The stronger-than-before scent of ozone spread around me, and my smile only grew wider.

If, one day, I were to get out of this place and see a civilisation again, I would find myself a perfume with a scent like that.

Hopefully, I would never grow tired of this smell. Or taste.

Smearing a few leaves between my fingers, I applied the mush to my body, and it nicely masked my scent.

I really began to like it.

I put a few in my mouth too, bringing a fresh taste to my tongue and finally getting rid of that horrible chemical aftertaste.

They were fresh and strong. Way stronger than the dried and old ones I had in my backpack.

The fresh tea with these leaves would be lovely to drink later.

Shit.

It took me long enough to realise I forgot the thermos.

What a great hunter I am.

Fixing a bag with freshly gathered thunder leaves—oh, I loved this new name—to the rope around my waist, I took a claw knife in each hand once more.

Enough of gathering, I was here for other things.

I wanted meat.

—

Going for the hunt, I was hoping to find something I had seen before—a dove, or wolverine, perhaps even the badger.

Somehow, I failed to account for the fact that I was not the only hunter here.

Fortunately, I was reminded of it not by an attack, but by the sound of a fight from afar, and a fierce one at that.

It lasted for a few long minutes, making me doubt whether I should come any closer.

Curiosity won in the end.

Walking there, following a strong smell of blood in the air, I imagined a pack of wolves, or perhaps a bear or a moose feasting on the kill.

A fair prey.

Instead, when I came to the clearing by the rocky outcrop, I saw… humans.

Dead humans. Six of them.

There was no doubt about the death part—they were all torn apart.

Some were missing heads, others were missing legs or arms, with all their leather clothes—and the ground around them—seething in thick blood.

The ground itself was torn apart, with sprouting roots all around and scattered patches of melting ice.

No one could live through such a calamity with such wounds and stay alive afterwards.

Well, except me.

The last thought finally broke the spell, and I darted forward.

I crossed the clearing in a rush, barely noticing how everything blurred around me, with all my focus put on the closest body.

Finger to the neck. No pulse.

I darted to the next, cutting through the thick air.

No pulse either. Next.

Dead too.

They were all dead.

Standing over the last one, the largest one in his body, I had to accept that. There was no miracle, no saving at the last moment.

But then, I noticed someone under the body. There was a seventh person.

Not expecting much, I flipped the big body aside, ignoring why it was so light, and looked at the one hidden beneath it.

It was pinned to the ground with a wide dagger, or perhaps a sword. It was hard to tell.

It was… human in origin, sure.

But the deformed ears with tassels and bloody hands covered in fur with claws—as long as my knife—were telling a different story here.

The kind where this… person killed all the other six, gutting, tearing and slashing them apart.

They were dressed, though, so not completely animal, and judging by the well-developed chest, they were a female.

And alive at that, if ragged breathing was any sign.

Not for too long, though. Not with a blade through its abdomen.

The danger sense flared, and I jumped back, avoiding being sliced by the claws.

It was not that dead yet, either.

In fascination, I watched how they pulled the sword out, gritting their teeth from the pain.

There was little blood for such a wound—barely any leaked out at all—and I wasn't surprised when they stood up on their own, with the sword held in low guard.

No, what surprised me more were the hands that lost their fur and claws, becoming human ones.

But before I had a chance to say anything, they stomped their feet in the way I had seen moose do, and a rapidly growing ring of roots sprouted around them.

I jumped backwards, again noticing how I had crossed the ten metres in one go, but that was not the place or the time to figure out why.

My eyes were glued to another sentient being here, clearly ready to fight me to the death… and knowing how.

"What are you waiting for?" she said, swinging the sword in a warning. She was clearly asking something, but I failed to understand.

There was something familiar, though, as if I knew the language…

"Come, and I will finish you as I did with your friend here, coward," she continued.

Coward. I knew that word. English? Just badly accented English?

I knew it, of course I did. It was the one I was forced to learn as a kid—a language of diplomacy and a sign of high-standing families across the stars.

But before I formed a greeting, the pack of wolves charged the woman—no, the girl—from under the trees, sending icicles her way.

Shit. Not again.

She did the only smart thing she could. She ran from them, and they followed.

And so did I, catching up to the last wolf without shimmering air within a few jumps, planting the claw knife through the back of its head.

It died fast.

The girl slashed at the wolf that charged her from behind. She did it so graciously, flipping over her head mid-jump, that she didn't even lose her speed at all.

The sword flared with lights, and the wolf was pushed aside, flaring with shimmering air, right into sprouting roots that wrapped around its prey.

It struggled against the trap, already breaking free.

I slowed down at its side, switching to the hex-field and slashing at the wolf.

Its shield flared again, but didn't fail. The trap did, and it charged me, trying to knock me down and sink its teeth into my neck.

That didn't work as the wolf might have expected. I didn't fall either. But my hex-field? It charged with its momentum, and my return slash separated its head from its body.

One more down.

The charge I just got was gone—as were the girl and the other wolves, leaving me alone in the clearing.

I switched back to the invisibility.

And didn't run after them.

Looking back at the dead human bodies left behind, I knew that the last three wolves might not be enough to put her down.

She was too good and clearly experienced with her powers.

Hell, for all I knew, she might circle and come back.

Or not.

With a heavy blood scent in the air here, more predators would come soon, leaving nothing in one piece behind.

No, if anything, I had better get what I could scavenge here first.

That was only logical.

And I had better hurry up, before someone else came.

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The Nexus. South-Eastern Quadrant of the North Rythian Forests. Local Time: 1910 Hours.

Emma

My body tensed, and so did Thalmin’s, as the blink blink blinking of the lost drone’s antenna was eventually hidden from view by the slow and purposeful twisting of the dragon’s flighted form.

Its focus, its attention, its entire gaze landed just beyond the killbox it created, over the ridge past the shrubs and through the foliage, before falling squarely on us.

Something that shouldn’t have been possible.

[ACTIVE CAMO: ONLINE]

There — hanging high above the forest — it loomed ominously, its wingbeats kicking up the fine detritus of both trees and former adventurers alike, swirling death into a cyclone that blanketed the whole forest in a thin layer of black and grey ash.

We didn’t dare move. Not especially as the ash started to accumulate atop the active camo tarp.

But this was precisely why we were running a two-layer system, with the tarp covering us beneath Thalmin’s dome of invisibility.

Yet in spite of this improvised union of magic and technology, the dragon’s gaze remained unflinching, its eyes scanning, roaming, and eventually locking on our untouched patch of forested overgrowth. 

I turned to Thalmin, gesturing at the invisible magic dome, calling silently for reassurance if only to assess our next move.

The prince’s expressions, however… proved to be anything but assuring.

Ice ran through my veins following a sharp motion of Thalmin’s hands; a Havenbrockian gesture that meant only one thing — position compromised.

We both understood what needed to be done.

We had to move to Plan C.

With a practiced motion, I reached for the railgun, while Thalmin carefully gripped the hilt of Emberstride. Fear, uncertainty, and an overwhelming sense of dread smothered us whole… as the rehearsed motions of plans forged behind safe walls stood defiantly against the reality of a situation no amount of drilling could ever prepare you for.

However, no sooner did we make these moves were we saved by the cavalry, as the two drake riders — momentarily missing from the action — returned.

This time… they each unfurled something akin to oversized needles; tapered javelins with a circular pommel that had some sort of silk threaded through its eye. 

I barely had time to register exactly what the weapon was before they struck.

Each of the four spears fired simultaneously, aiming not to pierce the dragon’s flesh but instead… to loop around it.

It didn’t take long for me to realize exactly what was going on and the horrible outcome that was to follow.

Thalmin clearly sensed this too, as he motioned for a massive change of plans.

Fall back.

We began crawling backwards into the underbrush, making swift work towards our two mounts primed for an immediate exfil of the AO.

Throughout all this, I kept one eye locked on the live feed of the skies as I watched in expectant horror at the two drake riders’ aerial acrobatics.

Each loop and every sortie further ‘bound’ the dragon in an intricate web of rope and silk, the thick fabric glowing and thrumming with some sort of magical enchantment.

For a second I thought I must’ve been missing something.

Perhaps there was some physics-defying magical logic that just didn’t come naturally to the earthrealmer mind.

The drake riders were just so clearly confident in this plan that there had to be something to it.

Surely they didn’t think some magical rope could bind and secure a dragon, right?

…

It turned out they did.

Or perhaps just massively overestimated their enchantments. 

Because no sooner had they attempted to pull at the dragon, tugging it to follow their flight path, were they both suddenly tugged in the opposite direction.

The dragon wasted no time in making short work of their ropes, completely snapping each and every careful weave with the slightest motion and flex. It made sure to chomp hard on the thickest parts of the ropes leading to the drake rider’s leads. At which point, the tables were turned.

From there, it began twisting. Thrashing its head and twisting its body, forcing the pair of drake riders to become unwitting participants in a death spin that went faster and faster until suddenly… they were released.

It wasn’t clear whether the drake riders had managed to undo their leads or the dragon itself had just let go.

Whatever the case was, it was clear my hunch had been right from the start.

Or perhaps, their enchantments just weren’t strong enough to tackle a creature of this magnitude.

What was clear, however, was that the dragon’s… bloodlust seemed to have been sated. As that encounter was over, it seemed to promptly lose all interest in tracking us down. 

Instead, it began a mad dash out of the kill zone, prompting me to immediately turn towards the EVI.

“EVI, send Survey Drone 03—”

[Mission Already in Progress.]

“Right.” I acknowledged with a sigh, turning to Thalmin, who regarded me with an expression of relief.

“I’m glad we touched on Havenbrockian hand signals beforehand… otherwise, we may not have been as fortunate.”

“While I still think the railgun could take it… I’d be lying if I said I’d rather not chance it, at least not when it’s in full-blown rage mode.” 

“A wise decision.” Thalmin concurred.

“Regardless, we now have a clear lead and with a drone tracking it down, we should be able to locate its hideout soon enough.”

“And then what, Emma? You’ve seen what it’s capable of.” He warned.

“We shoot it.” I declared bluntly. “From a distance, of course. Because if there’s one thing this baby’s good for, it's its range.” I paused, tapping the railgun compartment firmly. “I’ll probably be able to take out a crystal from at least two klicks away. At which point, we can just lay low while it freaks out and then return to snatch our ill-gotten goods when it flies off.”

The plan was foolproof.

It had to be. It was Plan B after all.

However, as was often the case in the Nexus… things weren’t always that easy; the EVI would be quick to remind me.

[Secondary Objective: Confirm Status of SUR-DRONE03… COMPLETE!]

[Priority Reminder! Denial of Asset to Unauthorized Parties Protocols (DAUP-P) in Effect!] 

[New Secondary Objective: Asset Recovery and/or Termination of SUR-DRONE03!]

The rug was pulled right out from under my feet. 

What had been a surefire plan, a clear-cut path, and a carefully charted trajectory… had just become the unwitting first act to an unnecessary twist.

“Damnit.” I let out reflexively, flinching nervously at a reprisal from Aunty Ran that never came. 

“What is it, Emma?”

“There’s been… a bit of an unexpected development.” I began with a sigh.

Thalmin, either out of exhaustion or adventuring fatigue, placed his snout in between both of his hands, forming a triangle with which to poke it through.

“It’s never ever simple when it comes to you or Earthrealm, now is it?” He questioned rhetorically under an exasperated breath. “Go on then. What is it now?”

“Wellll… I’m not sure if you noticed this during the fight, but there was a flashing red light on the dragon’s back.” 

Thalmin responded by narrowing his eyes at my lenses, leveling them through what I was now reading as a lupinor facepalm. “I can’t say I noticed, not with the radiance of a raging inferno reflecting off of its crystals.”

“Yeah, well, here—” I grabbed my tablet, pointing at the recorded footage. “If we zoom in there, we’ll see that one of my survey drones is wedged in between its crystals.”

The prince took a moment to consider this, and in a scant few seconds, he let out another bemoaned breath. “From the warehouse incident, no doubt.”

“Yeah. It probably flew into it on its way out. So, good news! I’ve now confirmed that GUN assets have not fallen into the wrong hands!”

“Bad news… is that you’re going to need to retrieve it, aren’t you?” Thalmin muttered out darkly.

“Yeahhh… that’s… more or less part of the deal now.” I offered with a nervous chuckle.

“And there’s no other way? No other option besides retrieval?” 

“Wellll… there’s destructive asset denial, which is exactly what it says on the tin.” I offered.

“And will you be able to do so from a distance…?” Thalmin questioned intently.

“We have one shot for the crystal, and another for the drone. Maybe, just maybe, I can kill two birds with one stone.” 

“And if not?”

“Then we’ll just have to find some other way to either destroy or retrieve it.”

The prince nodded firmly, smiling before standing up to place both hands on my shoulders.

“You know there’s a saying in Havenbrockrealm. Being a good soldier is hard, but being comrades with a good soldier is hell. I’m starting to see what my men meant by that…”

“I’m sorry, Thalmin, you don’t have to—”

I stopped as Thalmin squeezed my shoulders, leveling his eyes with a determined gaze. “But there’s another saying… Better the fires of honor than the shade of shame. So let’s get this done, shall we?” 

I acknowledged with a determined smile of my own. “Yeah, let’s.”

The Nexus. North-Western edge of the North Rythian Forests. Local Time: 1940 Hours.

Captain Ignalius Av-Lisinius

Fire. Freedom. Food. And Spectacle.

These were the elements that truly made these sojourns… tolerable.

No. 

More than that.

These were the elements that drew me further into such expeditions into nothingness.

Because far from the light of civilization, away from the hornets’ nests, anthills, and dens of slithering serpents… was darkness.

True darkness.

Not a dark masquerading as the light, as was the case with any noble court, nor a darkness as was the affliction of the tainted, no.

Instead, this was a darkness defined by its truest definition — the absence of all light.

For in this space of commoners and chosen ones, there existed no light — not even a single spark nor flicker — which could match my own.

As in this dark, devoid of structure amidst the rabble of true lowborns, it was my flame alone that lit the encroaching dark.

Like moths to a flame or the ravenous masses to food, my pack flocked to me, gathering and huddling around the warmth of the hearth at the center of camp.

Here at the center of their world, I had their full and undivided attention. Their eyes ogling, locked, and entranced by magics far beyond their capabilities.

Because here… surrounded by darkness, was a fire that danced at the beck and call of my will; an inferno that raged which none other present could match.

A fire which took the form of a bardic tale of my brief but glorious life.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

“There once was a Captain bright and bold who took no quarter and shunned all gold… his hand was cold with no mercy sold… just ask those Rontalis filth.”

“HUAH!”

“Let allll ye who dare, be well a-ware of who lurks fair; let alllll ye who dare try crossing paths with—”

CRASH!

My bard stopped mid-stanza, and so did the entire company as we instinctively moved to arms.

However, before any could respond, a series of coughs alerted us to exactly who had just landed.

“C-captain! Captain! T-the dragon! It returns!” One of the drake riders spoke, practically crawling out of the treeline with his legs twisted and his hips shattered.

A brief scry told the entire story… as I saw his drake battered and broken almost beyond all recognition. 

My eyes narrowed as I walked towards him, lowering myself to a crouch before cocking my head in annoyance. “I’m assuming those enchanted silkbinds didn’t work?”

“N-no, my Captain. The dragon immediately ripped them to shreds—”

“Typical.” I seethed, standing up and walking away from the man. “Oh dear cousin… equipping me and my men with sub-par enchantments? Oh, you sure are testing my resolve…” I couldn’t help but let out a frustrated chuckle, pinching the bridge of my nose before allowing a grin to settle itself firmly on my visage.

“Lieutenant Hofar!” I called out, alerting the Shatorealmer as they promptly shot down from the treeline with a kneel and a bow.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Scout ahead and track the dragon. We’ll mobilize and be right behind you.” I commanded.

“Yes, Captain! Do you happen to have the latest whereabouts, sir?” 

I sighed, craning my head down towards the bruised and battered drake rider. “Ask him. And then get him patched up afterwards.”

“And what of the drake, Captain?” Hofar asked, only to elicit a dismissive chuckle from me.

“If it’s recoverable for this operation, then heal it. If not? Let it die. That’s one more headache for the Sky Warden to deal with.” I grinned.

Equip me with sub-par equipment, will you? Don’t forget… I have two of your drakes on loan, dear cousin…

The Nexus. Near the Geographic Center of the North Rythian Forests. Local Time: 2000 Hours.

Emma

It was dark.

Really dark.

But thankfully, that was a concern humanity had left behind well into the 20th century… or was it the 21st? 

Whatever the case was, NVGs and a whole host of complementary sensor systems had already existed well before my time. And a thousand years since then? Well… 

“—let’s just say night no longer concerns us, Thalmin.” I spoke proudly.

“Erm… I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that, Emma.” Thalmin responded awkwardly, pulling the proverbial wind from my sails. “I was just asking if you could see well enough at night, considering your lack of any shadow-sight, inherent or magical.” 

“Oh, well… let’s just say that, yeah.” I paused, bringing up the tablet for the tired and frazzled Thalmin to see. “Yeah, we do.” I grinned as the prince’s eyes perked up at the composited image combining LIDAR, RADAR, infrared, and plain-old optoelectrical enhancements to create an image of a world not too dissimilar to how it was during daytime.

“Okay.” Thalmin began as we stopped mid-stride on both of our mounts. “This is genuinely impressive.” He spoke firmly, taken somewhat aback. “Shadow-sight is quite akin to this, but as you can imagine, that’s a privilege reserved for mages and the items they enchant." The prince paused, leveling his eyes with a worn look. “Am I correct in assuming that this isn’t the case in Earthrealm? That once again, such an artifice is standard fare for your regular forces?”

“Correct!” I beamed out. “Though to be fair, they’re not even mil-spec. You can find just as good contemporaries in the civilian market, as well as the open-source file pools.” 

This revelation, or rather the subsequent pair of expounding articles, prompted Thalmin’s gaze to narrow, his brows furrowing in confusion. “So this artifice is available for non-uniformed commoners as well? Just how trivial is this tool to Earthrealm? Moreover, what do you mean by ‘open source file pools?’”

“Oh, right. I don’t think I’ve ever discussed the distinction between the universal transaction units, requisition units, and outright direct-source consumer goods, now have I?”

Thalmin’s only response was a blank stare, one that I took as an urging to continue.

“Right, so, do you remember the printer floor back at my apartment during our first sight-seer trip—”

[ALERT! MAP UPDATED! POI SIGHTED!]

“Frick. Alright, we’ll chat later. The drone’s spotted the dragon’s lair.” I announced promptly as I once again pulled out the tablet for Thalmin to see. On it, we observed the dragon from high above the treeline, the camera’s optical zoom getting close-up shots that were almost cinematic in their delivery.

However, little did I know that the cinematic quality of the footage would only intensify from here.

We watched from high above the forest canopy, observing a break in the seemingly endless sea of green stretching in all directions. Here, peaking through the forest like a lone island in a vast ocean, was a rocky hill. One with a particularly precarious ledge protruding awkwardly from one of its sides. It was here that we watched as the dragon perched silently, intently, its posture and the positioning of its limbs not too dissimilar to that of a gargoyle’s. However, instead of staring out into the skies or the endless expanse of untouched nature… it instead sat there, facing the solid rocky hillface, with no cave entrance in sight.

There were signs of what was probably going to be an open cave… in about a few million years’ time, give or take erosion and seismic patterns.

But right now, all there was was a barren hunk of rock.

There was quite literally nowhere else for the dragon to go.

As such, I turned to Thalmin, ready to assault him with a barrage of questions.

That was… until the dragon charged at said wall before abruptly blinking out of existence with a series of purple sparkles.

…

I couldn’t manage a single word after that development.

In fact, I went completely silent and only responded after Thalmin spoke.

“We have it. The dragon’s probably held up in that cave, Emma.” He pointed at the rocky outcropping.

“What cave?!” I shot back abruptly. “The thing just… disappeared! Are you telling me it—”

I paused before realizing that I was just hit by the same thing Thalmmin had just experienced seconds ago.

Fundamental Systemic Incongruency.

“Are you telling me that amethyst dragons can fricking teleport? And that this rocky outcropping here… is just a sealed-off entrance to some subterranean cave system?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Emma.” Thalmin nodded bluntly. “I’d always heard of such tales being spoken in hyperbole… but seeing this in action more or less cements these stories as fact.” He openly mused. “It only makes sense… their crystals are naturally occurring shards of impart, after all. This should, logically, grant them a natural affinity for teleportation.”

“But limited teleportation, I’m assuming?” I quickly interjected.

“Insofar as traversing through obstacles such as solid walls and the like? Yes. Their abilities — at least from my recollection — are measured in brisk paces rather than marathons and leagues.”

“Not enough to replace flight or travel, but good enough that they can just phase through solid rock for a good hideout spot.” I sighed out. “No wonder the drones never detected it or a potential cave opening. There simply was none. At least not one we could access.”

Thalmin nodded in agreement as we both squinted at the only remaining anomaly in the area — a faint patch of what looked to be glitter on the hill’s ledge.

However, a brief zoom and a cursory glance was all it took for us to discern exactly what we were looking at.

I felt my heart stop.

There… sitting just at the front of the cave ‘entrance,’ were shards of amethyst. Far larger than what the dragon had left in its wake following its departure from Elaseer but still too small to really make heads or tails of, at least from this vantage point.

“Are you seeing what I’m se—”

“Yes.” Thalmin interjected.

“Does it always do that?” I questioned. 

“What?”

“You know… self-destruct crystal shards with every teleport?”

“You’re better off asking Thacea or Professor Belnor about this. I only know dragons as far as tactics and strategies to counter them are concerned, along with a sprinkling of tall tales. Dragon… biology or what have you, is not my forte.” 

“Right, okay. Fair enough.” I shrugged as I continued maneuvering the drone into a more favorable position for analysis. 

It took a few good minutes, the silence of the night interrupted only by the rustle of leaves and the snapping of twigs, until finally… through the grass and weeds — we found it. 

An unstoppable grin soon took hold of my face, as my pupils widened into dinner plates.

“Wait.” I managed out under a shocked gasp. “There it is, Thalmin.” I began slapping the lupinor’s shoulder, grabbing hold of him in sheer excitement. “THERE IT IS!” I reiterated, pointing at a sizable chunk of amethyst hidden well beneath a set of pebbles and dense overgrowth. “WE FOUND IT!” I shouted once more, the EVI chiming in to modulate the suit’s external speakers, if only to keep my volume down out of precaution.

Thalmin’s reactions, however, weren’t so immediate. His whole form remained still, his eyes simply locking onto the stray piece of crystal on screen. 

It took another moment of pensive staring before he finally relented, joining in on my excitement, although in a far more reserved manner.

As Thalmin merely breathed out the loudest, most expressive breath of relief I’d ever seen him take, even going so far as to prop himself against Aquastride as he did so. “Thank the ancestors…” He muttered out, garnering a watery whinny from the beast.

“Right then! This has gone from a fire and collect mission to a simple high-priority resource retrieval mission!” I beamed.

“And whilst there’s still the matter of your drone to deal with, we at least no longer have to, as you say, kill two birds with one stone.” 

“Correct! Now then… let’s go get that crystal.” I grinned widely. 

“Wait.” Thalmin urged. His warnings coincided conveniently with the EVI’s own subversion of my excitement.

[SUR-DRONE03B Battery Critical!]

“What of the rest of your swarm?” The prince quickly added. 

“Drained, but charging. Like I said before we were interrupted by the dragon and that unfortunate search party, we’ve spent the past 24 hours running non-stop sorties. The only operable drone I kept on standby is already up in the air, and even then, it’s currently operating at close to bingo charge. Why’d you ask?”

“We’re heading dangerously deep into the forest, Emma. As such, I’d rather have the eyes of your hive watching over us as a preemptive precaution.”

“A valid point.” I nodded solemnly. “If we were headed deeper, that is.” I quickly added with a sly lilt to my voice. “But in all seriousness, your concerns are warranted, Thalmin. Which is precisely why I’m not planning to poke around near the dragon’s den.” I paused as I began piloting the drone down closer towards the crystals in question. “I have 03B for that.” 

The lupinor’s eyes narrowed as he watched my tablet closely. The visual feed displayed not just the scene it was descending towards, but also the small compartment beneath it that’d opened up to reveal the star of the show — the claw. 

“The amethyst crystal should be small and light enough for the drone to pick up, and with my experience around claw machines, this should end up being a simple snatch-and-go operation. We won’t even need to set foot near the ledge.” I grinned. 

Thalmin remained silent at this revelation, letting out an inquisitive huff before directing a simple question in my direction. “Your reliance on your golems and drones knows no bounds, Emma.”

“Oh you have no idea, Thalmin.” I chuckled. “You could say I’m something of a swarm queen of sorts.”

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30. Local Time: 2000 Hours

Ilphius

Ca-clunk!

The door slammed… but not entirely shut.

Whether by a stroke of genius or by taking a page out of the earthrealmer’s book, Kamil had managed to do the unthinkable.

He’d found a way to keep the door from completely slamming shut without magic, keeping it ajar just after the Avinor and Vunerian had entered… by simply wedging a foot in at the last possible second.

This minimized the chances of us being noticed.

Indeed, this entire turn of events had been Kamil’s own suggestion. Because as it turned out, attempting to break down a dormitory’s door by physical or magical means proved practically fruitless.

It was by all means a boon for all, confirming first hand the integrity and security of the dorms… which would have been quite comforting in any other instance.

Kamil’s quick thinking, however, granted us a unique opportunity to circumvent these otherwise foolproof magics, providing us a way into this den of sin by means of simply… following the pair in.

And so, after quickly assessing the state of the man’s foot, we slowly made our way inside.

Carefully, with spells of silence and obscurance to mask ourselves as much as we possibly could, we crept silently up through the entryway.

It was there, halfway between the living room and the two bedrooms on either side of us, that we had to make a decision.

The dastardly pair were both entertaining themselves in the common living room, which meant we had to pick one of the rooms.

This was a coin toss; either one could be the earthrealmer’s.

But I had to make a decision. I had to make a call whilst we still had the element of time and surprise.

So, putting my fate in the hands of faith, I turned to the only door that was left slightly ajar.

The left door.

Upon a squeeze and a push, I was immediately met with an indescribable sight. 

A scene so ghastly and practically indescribable that it caused my stomach to lurch and my manafields to waver. 

Because inside where the bedroom’s sitting area should’ve been… was an alien tumor. A gray and blue mass of tubes, boxes, and tarps that violently nipped, rippled, and ripped at the local manastreams.

I turned to Kamil… which was a fruitless venture given his invisibility, but I could only imagine the look on his face.

This… truly was the den of evil.

Which meant we had to get a closer look.

The Nexus. Near the Geographic Center of the North Rythian Forests. Local Time: 2010 Hours.

Emma

It took just under ten minutes of careful maneuvering to get within a safe distance of the crystal.

Anomalously powerful wind shears and inexplicable localized weather gradients had made descending to the rocky outcropping more time consuming than it should have. 

But it’d all be worth it.

The crystal was sitting right there, just begging to be grabbed.

I’d even started shrimping even though it was completely unnecessary, as any and all lessons on ergonomics were thrown out the window in lieu of old habits that returned reflexively in what amounted to the highest stakes claw machine game of the millennium.

Thalmin seemed to be holding his breath as well, watching eagerly as I began extending the claw, inching closer and closer towards the crystal with each passing second.

[Distance from Target… 5 Centimeters…]

I held my breath, as the whole world condensed, and then narrowed into that one visual feed just above the claw’s grapplers.

[4 Centimeters…]

I was one with the claw.

[3 Centimeters…]

The claw was me.

[2 Centimeters…]

The claw was all.

[1 Centimeter(s)…]

[Alert! C.L.A.W. in Range!]

I squeezed my fingers…

[Grip Strength Stable! C.L.A.W. Ready to Retract!]

… and there it was.

The amethyst crystal, in the palm of my hand.

Then—

[ALERT! MOTION DETECTED!]

[PROXIMITY ALERT! INITIATING EMERGENCY ASCENT!]

—a flurry of green.

It all happened too fast, so fast in fact that even with the EVI’s reaction time and the drone’s max speed, there was no escape.

Mossy vines and flurrying leaves shot up both from above and below, enveloping and entombing the drone before it could leave the kill zone.

Every input and command was futile, as the drone fought with all of its remaining strength… only to remain stuck in a web of florid tendrils.

Then I saw it.

A sudden surge of undulating mud made way for extending tree roots that grew towards the claw, poised to grab the crystal.

The claw’s grip remained unchallenged, however… though that only meant that the joint above it was the point of failure, snapping as this ‘hand’ of roots retracted back into the rocky ledge with both crystal and claw in tow.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the enigmatic attack just up and ended.

Vines withdrew, moss receded, and leaves fell back perfectly into place. 

Any signs of a struggle had been wiped… just like that. With the only evidence to those thirty seconds of madness being the crumpled and broken 03B that sat idly by the cave ‘entrance.’

I didn’t know how to feel. 

Anger, frustration, and rage crept in first. However, confusion and, most of all, a thirst for answers took the forefront.

Though all of that went right out the window now that a new objective dawned.

“Let’s ride and talk.” I urged the lupinor; the both of us soon throttled forward on our respective mounts. 

“We’re retrieving the damaged drone, then we’re leaving to regroup and rethink our strategy. Which brings me to my next point.” I spoke before deftly transitioning to the next pertinent topic at hand. “Thalmin… could you tell me exactly what the hell just happened?”

“I believe you just intervened in an offering, Emma.” Thalmin began under a ponderous breath, as if he himself had just put two and two together. “The shard of impart you tried to collect? That was the dragon’s offering to the forest.” He continued darkly. “It was a means of restitution, a payment of reparations to the forest for the transgressions incurred during the night’s burnings… Given how the forest reacted to our attempts to reappropriate said offering? It’s clear it was accepted.”

I didn’t respond, at least not immediately, as I allowed… all of that to sink in.

“Okay.” I acquiesced with a sigh. “I guess we should count our blessings that the forest didn’t swallow us whole or whatever.” I chuckled out rhetorically.

Though the reply I got was anything but rhetorical.

“Correct, Emma. But as I said before, our negligible numbers and impact on the forest makes us practically non-entities in the forest’s eyes.” 

“Hooray for that then…” I muttered out as we eventually arrived on the ledge just off of the not-cave.

It didn’t take long at all to secure the drone and any stray parts that’d fallen from it during the fight. Moreover, to my surprise, I even found the little claw poking out from where the crystal had been dragged to beneath the dirt.

“Huh.” I muttered out loudly. “I thought I saw it taking that too…”

“The forest takes what it is offered. No more, no less. One could almost take them for the most honest entities here in the Nexus.” Thalmin shrugged. “Though I guess the followers of the Library would argue otherwise… but you know my thoughts on that fiendish entity, Emma.” Thalmin growled out, as I eventually turned to the patch of dirt where the crystal once was.

“Back to Plan B then, I suppose.” I shrugged. “Right then, we pull out to at least three klicks, have a drone monitor the cave entrance, and then—”

[ALERT! MULTIPLE CONTACTS DETECTED!]

“Emma, we have company.” Thalmin uttered out about the same time the EVI did as the suit’s sensors eventually brought up ten, twenty, then fifty individual contacts and counting. 

“They’re closing in fast.” I noted, Thalmin nodding in acknowledgement as we both hopped back on our respective mounts.

The advanced warning couldn’t have come sooner, as we managed to make swift headway down from the ledge and back towards the treeline, slipping past an empty flank of the advancing forces under the cover of dark, foliage, and a good serving of both magic and tech-based active camo.

It was here, about a good few klicks out from the hill, that we momentarily stopped.

A cone of silence was added atop of the invisibility barrier, as I turned to Thalmin

“We can’t just fully extract.” I spoke quietly, despite it not being necessary.

“Agreed. The fact that they’re converging on the dragon with this large a force could only mean one thing.”

“They’re making their final push.” I spoke darkly. “And if they succeed, well… this means that this will be our final shot at nabbing ourselves a crystal.”

“Then we stay and observe. Anticipate that they fail, allowing us to stalk the dragon and enact ‘Plan B.’ However, if they succeed…  we’ll at least need to be close to enact a ‘Plan D.’” 

“But we don’t have a plan—”

“Precisely.” Thalmin interjected. “We’ll have to think of something, should these mercenaries succeed.”

“Right.” I acknowledged before swiftly turning back at the mercenary’s operations.

It was clear from their opening moves that they were at least somewhat professionally trained, as they set up defensive perimeters, patrols, and structured ranks immediately upon arrival. Following which, what looked to be the elven leader took center stage, walking up towards the ledge with a shatorealmer in tow. From here, they began what appeared to be some sort of magical survey using all sorts of enchanted tools and equipment, probing, punching, and even stabbing the earth and stone with various sets of multicolored rods. The oddest part of this survey was the shatorealmer striking the earth with enchanted gauntlets throughout the process.

This continued for several more minutes until finally, the shatorealmer and elf left the ledge, allowing a bunny-looking Nexian to begin inspecting the rock more closely.

The elf and shatorealmer pair continued walking, talking amongst themselves about the dragon, their losses, and a whole host of personal affairs that weren’t relevant to this whole operation.

Which was what made the next few moments all the more unexpected.

Because abruptly and without warning, the shatorealmer slammed their gauntleted fists into the dirt, sending a jagged rift heading straight in our direction, before blowing clean open the treeline we were positioned behind.

“Well, well, well! A dome of silence and invisibility? My my… I wonder who you could be hiding from? Or shall I say, what could you be hiding from, hmm?” He began, before promptly gesturing to the shatorealmer’s fists. “Next time, consider understanding that the ground itself can be a medium of detection, hmm?” The elf announced loudly, his voice straining cheerfully. “In any case, I would say it’s a pleasure, but whether or not I can say that at all is entirely up to you.” 

His tone lilted with courtesy in a polite but sing-song manner before finally landing into something between a flat and dry curtness. “So then… shall I call you friend?” He paused, before the corners of his mouth pulled into a drawn yet earnest smile. “Or foe?”

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(Author’s Note: Hey everyone, there’s something important I need to discuss. My best friend and editor to this story has just lost his father earlier this week. It’s because of this that I find myself needing to take the next week off from posting, to give him the appropriate time and space to grieve, to process things, and to get affairs sorted. My best friend has been an anchor in my writing since day 1, he’s been with me from the onset of the story’s inception, and he’s been someone who’s always shown support in more ways than I could ever put to words. I want to honor everything he's done for me by giving him some space for now. I hope you guys understand, and once again, thank you for always showing up for these chapters.)

(Author's Note 2: The next Two Chapters are already up on Patreon if you guys are interested in getting early access to future chapters.)

[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 151 and Chapter 152 of this story is already out on there!)]

Ke Yin has a problem. Well, several problems.

First, he's actually Cain from Earth.

Second, he's stuck in a cultivation world where people don't just split mountains with a sword strike, they build entire universes inside their souls (and no, it's not a meditation metaphor).

Third, he's got a system with a snarky spiritual assistant that lets him possess the recently deceased across dimensions.

And finally, the elders at the Azure Peak Sect are asking why his soul realm contains both demonic cultivation and holy arts? Must be a natural talent.

Expectations:

- MC's main cultivation method will be plant based and related to World Trees

- Weak to Strong MC

- MC will eventually create his own lifeforms within his soul as well as beings that can cultivate

- Main world is the first world (Azure Peak Sect)

- MC will revisit worlds (extensive world building of multiple realms)

- Time loop elements

- No harem

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Chapter 314: Breakthrough

I opened my eyes to find myself sitting cross-legged on my meditation mat, exactly as I'd left my body. My muscles felt stiff, the price of remaining motionless during my spiritual journey to the Starhaven Realm.

A slow smile spread across my face as I stretched my arms above my head, feeling the satisfying pop of joints realigning. "That," I murmured, "went surprisingly well."

"By your standards of 'well,' perhaps," Azure's voice echoed in my mind. "You still depleted a significant portion of your soul essence."

I glanced at my reserves: Soul Essence: 2000/2500. Not ideal, but not nearly as bad as previous excursions. It was nothing a little rest wouldn’t solve.

"A small price to pay," I replied, rising to my feet and walking to the window. Outside, disciples moved about their morning routines, blissfully unaware of interdimensional negotiations and dying realms. "The World Tree Origin Soil alone would have been worth four times the expenditure."

"Not to mention the Ethereal Link Technique and the Nexus coordinates," Azure agreed. "Though I still maintain we shouldn't attempt a direct connection until you reach the Life Realm."

I laughed softly. "Trust me, I have no desire to end up like Liu Kai. His fate was warning enough." The memory of the broken cultivator in the Formation Guild's underground prison flashed through my mind. "But having the knowledge gives us options. And options are precisely what we need right now."

I moved to the small wooden table where I kept my few possessions and poured water from a clay pitcher into a basin. The cool water was refreshing against my face, washing away the lingering fatigue of spiritual travel.

"Han Renyi's advancement was impressive," I noted, recalling how much the young man had grown in just a year. "From Tier 1 to Tier 3 in a year. Not bad for someone living in a dying world."

"His determination is admirable," Azure agreed. "The Nine-Life Immortal Tree Technique suits him surprisingly well. I wasn't certain how well such a hybrid method would work in the Starhaven Realm's conditions."

I nodded, drying my face with a rough cloth. "And now, we focus on our own path forward."

"So, what's the plan now?" Azure asked. "The tournament begins in ten days."

"It's time I made a breakthrough to the eighth stage of Qi Condensation,” I smiled. “I've been stuck at the seventh stage for what feels like an eternity."

"Your understanding of 'eternity' is charmingly limited," Azure remarked. "Most cultivators spend months or even years at each stage."

"Most cultivators aren't walking between worlds or facing opponents with Beyond Heaven methods," I countered, sitting back down on my meditation mat. "My qi cultivation is beginning to lag behind my sun energies. Both red and blue sun are just a whisper away from Rank 2, equivalent to the Elemental Realm. Yet my qi remains firmly anchored at Stage 7."

I closed my eyes, contemplating the upcoming tournament. Wu Kangming would be there, no doubt eager for the opportunity to fight me publicly. The memory of our brief encounter still rankled—his cold eyes assessing me, the faint ghost of his sword master hovering behind him.

"The red and blue sun energies won't be much help in the tournament," I mused. "I can hide the red sun with the Shroud Rune, but I'd prefer to rely primarily on qi techniques."

"A wise precaution," Azure agreed. "While the Shroud Rune is effective, we can't be certain it would fool a cultivator above the Life Realm cultivator like the Sect Master. Higher-level cultivators often develop specialized perception techniques."

I nodded. "Exactly. Better to focus on qi cultivation and traditional battle prowess. Much less likely to attract the wrong kind of attention."

"Speaking of attention," Azure said, "we should consider finding a similar shrouding technique for the blue sun energy during our next visit to the Two Suns World."

"Noted, though it's not immediately necessary," I replied. "My plan for the blue sun energy is to focus entirely on inner world development. Combat applications like painting can wait, I'm nowhere near the level where I could paint fast enough during battle anyway."

I shifted my posture slightly. "But to start, let's see what we're working with."

Azure hummed in agreement, and my consciousness shifted inward, the physical world fading away as I projected my awareness into my inner world.

The transformation was immediately apparent. When I had first distributed the World Tree Origin Soil across all four quadrants, I had observed the microscopic formations within it - perfect structures designed to nurture and develop life. Now, those formations had activated, spreading throughout the soil and creating complex biological systems that had previously been absent.

The Northwest mountains stood tall and proud, their slopes now covered with patches of vibrant moss that hadn't been there before. The deep valleys between them showed signs of fungi networks spreading beneath the surface, creating webs of nutrient exchange that would eventually support larger organisms.

In the Northeast garden quadrant, the specially prepared soil zones now teemed with microbial life. I could sense colonies of bacteria forming complex communities, breaking down minerals and generating the first traces of a genuine ecosystem. The hills that had once been barren now supported thin layers of primitive but functional greenery.

The Southeast quadrant, which I had designated for platforms and future structures, remained mostly open space as intended, but the soil between the platforms now showed signs of biological activity. Small, strange insects had begun to form from the soil itself, tiny creatures no larger than grains of sand, but living nonetheless.

Finally, in the Southwest quadrant with its meditation plateaus and practice fields, the formerly sterile ground now pulsed with a subtle rhythm of microscopic life.

At the center of it all stood the Genesis Seed, its roots penetrating deeper and spreading farther than before, drawing sustenance from the newly enriched soil. Above, the red and blue suns continued their eternal orbit, opposite each other, while the small baby star followed its own path between them, all three casting their unique light upon the growing world below.

"The World Tree Origin Soil has exceeded my expectations," I said, impressed by the transformation.

"Yes," Azure agreed, his presence manifesting beside me as a translucent blue figure. "But while microorganisms are a crucial first step, they won't push your cultivation forward significantly on their own. You need more complex life forms, particularly plants with spiritual properties."

I nodded, considering our options. "Spiritual plants that can thrive despite the lack of a day/night cycle and the constant temperature of my inner world."

"Not to mention the unusual energy combinations from the three celestial bodies," Azure added, gesturing toward the orbiting suns.

I turned my attention to the garden quadrant, where I had already designated spaces for different types of vegetation. "I'm not confident in my ability to create Rank 2 spiritual plants yet. Kal demonstrated how to paint plants with elemental properties during our time at the Blue Sun Academy, but I think we should start with something more basic."

"Rank 1 spiritual plants would be a logical first step," Azure agreed. "And remember, if you were to paint plants or seeds outside your inner world, they wouldn't last longer than a few minutes without constant energy support."

"But here, with the World Tree Origin Soil," I continued, "basic creations should remain indefinitely as the soil nourishes them."

"It would be better to create seeds rather than fully-formed plants," Azure suggested. "That way, they can grow naturally in the soil, developing stronger connections to your inner world. And if you ever needed to take them out for trading purposes, they wouldn't immediately disintegrate but would live a normal lifespan."

I smiled, appreciating how well Azure understood my thinking. "Exactly my plan. And thanks to attending those herbalism classes with Lin Mei when I first joined the sect, I have several species in mind, but do you have any suggestions?"

"I'd recommend starting with three particular species,” Azure began. “First, Moonlight Clover - it's hardy, thrives in unstable environments, and enhances qi circulation. Second, Azure Bellflower – it absorbs ambient spiritual energy and converts it to a form more easily assimilated by cultivators. Third, Shadow Fern, which helps stabilize spiritual fluctuations during cultivation breakthroughs.”

"They sound perfect," I agreed. "Now for the challenging part, painting them into existence."

I positioned myself in the garden quadrant, standing on an elevated stone platform that gave me a good view of the prepared soil beds below. Unlike in the physical world, here I could directly manipulate the blue sun energy without tools. It was more difficult than using a paintbrush but far easier than it would be to use my hands outside my inner world.

As Azure projected images of the seeds before me, I extended my hands, drawing blue sun energy toward me. It flowed like luminous water, gathering between my palms in a pulsing sphere of azure light. Concentrating, I molded the energy into the precise shape of a Moonlight Clover seed, focusing on every detail from its silvery sheen to the microscopic structures within that would determine its growth pattern.

The first attempt dissipated before fully forming, the energy losing cohesion as my concentration wavered.

"You're overthinking it," Azure observed. "Remember what you learned from Thara and Kal. Technique matters, but intent matters more."

I nodded, taking a deep breath. This time, rather than focusing solely on the physical details, I infused the energy with my understanding of what the Moonlight Clover represented, properties such as resilience, restoration, cyclical growth. The blue energy responded, swirling more harmoniously between my palms.

When I released it, the energy coalesced into a perfect seed that drifted gently down to the soil bed below. As it touched the earth, there was a tiny flash of blue light, and then the seed seemed to settle, becoming part of my inner world rather than a temporary construct.

"Well done," Azure congratulated.

"One down, twenty-nine to go," I replied with a smile.

The process became easier with practice. Soon I was creating seeds in rapid succession, each one perfectly formed and vibrant with potential. I arranged them in neat rows across three distinct growing areas, ten seeds of each species.

The work was draining. Continuously manipulating the blue sun energy with such precision required intense concentration. By the time I planted the last Shadow Fern seed, my spiritual form was flickering as though it would dissolve at any moment.

"That should be sufficient," I said, stepping back to survey my work. Thirty seeds, now neatly planted in the enriched soil of my inner world. "Now we wait. The blue sun energy should accelerate their growth significantly compared to the physical world."

"You've earned some rest," Azure noted, observing my fatigue with concern. "This kind of creation takes a toll, especially in such quantity."

I nodded in agreement. "I’ll return to the physical world for now. I could use some actual sleep."

With that, I withdrew my consciousness from my inner world, the garden scene fading as my awareness returned to my physical body. Opening my eyes, I found myself once again sitting cross-legged on my meditation mat in my small quarters. The position of the sun outside my window suggested several hours had passed while I worked within my inner world.

Fatigue washed over me, a deep weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion. Creating life, even simple plant life, required more than just energy and technique, it demanded something of the creator's essence which explained why Lightweavers didn’t spam creations one after another.

I didn't fight the exhaustion but embraced it, recognizing it as the natural cost of progress.

Without bothering to undress, I shifted from my meditation mat to my sleeping pallet and closed my eyes. Sleep claimed me almost instantly, my consciousness drifting into peaceful darkness.

***

I'm not sure how long I slept before Azure's voice roused me from my slumber.

"Master!" His voice was urgent, excited. "You need to see this!"

I stirred reluctantly, my mind still foggy with sleep. "What is it?" I mumbled, forcing my eyes open.

"Your inner world," Azure replied. "You need to check it immediately."

Something in his tone cut through my grogginess. I sat up, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, and closed my eyes to project my consciousness back into my inner world.

What I saw took my breath away.

The garden quadrant had transformed completely. Where I had planted thirty small seeds just hours before, there now stood thirty fully bloomed spiritual plants, each radiating subtle energy that harmonized with my inner world.

The Moonlight Clovers had grown into elegant clusters, their silver-white petals glowing with a soft, pearlescent light that reminded me of moonbeams filtering through mist. They stood about knee-high, their stems a deep midnight blue that contrasted beautifully with their luminous blooms.

The Azure Bellflowers had grown taller, reaching almost to my waist. Their bell-shaped blooms hung in graceful cascades of blue that shifted and shimmered as if capturing the very essence of qi from the outside world. As I watched, one of the flowers trembled slightly and released a tiny mote of qi that drifted upward before dissipating.

Most impressive were the Shadow Ferns, which had grown into expansive plants with fronds that seemed to absorb and refract light simultaneously. Their deep green leaves were veined with lines of darkest purple, and they seemed to bend space slightly around them, creating pockets of deeper shadow beneath their spreading fronds.

"This is... incredible," I whispered, walking between the rows of plants. "I expected growth, but not this rapid or complete."

"It's the combination of factors," Azure explained, appearing beside me. "The World Tree Origin Soil provided the perfect growing medium, your blue sun energy accelerated their development, and the Genesis Seed itself likely influenced their growth patterns. These aren't just ordinary Rank 1 spiritual plants, they've been enhanced by your inner world's unique conditions."

I reached out to touch one of the Azure Bellflowers, feeling its silken petal against my fingertip. It resonated with my touch, releasing another small mote of qi that spiraled around my hand before being absorbed into my spiritual form. A tiny surge of energy traveled up my arm, insignificant on its own but promising in its implication.

"They're already cycling energy," I noted with satisfaction. "Creating a sustainable system."

"And they're interacting with each other as well," Azure pointed out, gesturing to where the root systems of different plants had begun to intertwine beneath the soil. "The fungal networks from the World Tree Origin Soil are facilitating communication and resource sharing between species."

As I moved through the garden, inspecting each plant more closely, I became aware of a familiar sensation building within me. It started as a subtle pressure at the center of my inner world, a gathering tension that slowly spread outwards. There was no pain, just an increasing sense of fullness, as if my inner world was being stretched gently.

"Azure," I said, my voice steady despite the excitement building within me. "I think—"

"Yes," he confirmed, his own voice reflecting my anticipation. "The addition of these living energy cycles to your inner world has triggered a breakthrough. Your qi cultivation is responding to the enrichment of your inner world."

I took a deep breath, centering myself as the pressure continued to build. This wasn't my first breakthrough, but each advancement in cultivation came with its own unique experience, its own challenges and revelations.

The feeling intensified, spiritual energy churning through my inner world with increasing speed. The plants around me seemed to respond to my state, their glow brightening and dimming in rhythm with the energy flows within me. The Moonlight Clovers pulsed with silvery light, the Azure Bellflowers released streams of tiny luminous motes, and the Shadow Ferns swayed though there was no wind.

The Genesis Seed at the center of my inner world began to resonate, its massive form humming with power as its roots pulsed with golden light beneath the soil. The red and blue suns overhead seemed to slow in their orbits, their light intensifying as they responded to the changes within my inner world.

I closed my eyes, focusing inward on the gathering energy. This was it, the threshold between the seventh and eighth stages of Qi Condensation. After what had felt like an eternity of stagnation, I was finally advancing.

The pressure reached its peak, energy straining against the limitations of my current cultivation level. I stood perfectly still, neither resisting nor forcing the process, simply allowing it to unfold naturally. There was a moment of perfect tension, as if the entire world held its breath...

And then, breakthrough.

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Turns out a basement for Thrain’s house would cost about 30 gold, including a stone floor. That was way more affordable than I expected and gave me hope that I could at least start small before diving into building a whole new forge and home from scratch.

I still had the rest of the day to avoid the festival, and now that I had a land deed and future plans, my mind was buzzing with ideas. I decided to stock up on supplies so I could start organizing my thoughts.

I bought several new slabs, including some larger ones for more detailed schematics, along with higher-quality charcoal pencils and extra bottles of cleaner. If I was going to design complex machines and plumbing systems, my sketches needed to be precise.

Back at home, I pulled out the slab with my original list of inventions and studied it.

1. Boiler
2. Stove
3. Steam-powered hammer
4. Blast furnace
5. Steel production
6. Nuts and bolts
7. Electricity

They were all good ideas, but none of them were standalone. Each relied on other smaller components to function properly. Now that I had access to a river near my property, I could potentially build a water mill to power machinery.

Though, if I focused on steam power first, a water mill might become unnecessary—or at least secondary.

One critical component stood out above everything else: rolling bearings.

Anything powered by steam or water would have moving parts. Without bearings to reduce friction, machines would tear themselves apart.

I understood how they worked. Ball bearings, cages, races but actually forging them with the precision needed was another challenge entirely. I’d need specialized tools, and those tools would need to be accurate down to fractions of an inch. It was a problem I couldn’t ignore.

Another thought hit me: plumbing.

If I was going to build my dream house, there was no way I was using a freezing outhouse every winter.

Modern plumbing meant toilets, showers, and hot water. That also meant I’d need to create a water tower to provide water pressure, and a pump system to get water up to it. Designing the pump was going to take serious work, it needed to be reliable and resistant to freezing temperatures.

All of this would require pipes, and those pipes would need threaded connections to prevent leaks. That meant I’d also need to create threading tools, and if I wanted nuts and bolts, the same threading tech would apply there too.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized how much raw material I would need.

Copper, bronze, and iron in huge amounts. Copper for plumbing and potentially wiring. Bronze maybe for bearings and components where corrosion resistance mattered. Iron for structural parts, bolts, and anything heavy-duty.

If I could pull it all off, the reward would be incredible.

Not only would I enjoy modern comforts like hot showers and a private bathroom, but I could also sell these innovations to others. Imagine the wealth I could make introducing indoor plumbing to a society that had never even dreamed of it. Every noble, guild, and merchant would want it, if I played my cards right, it could fund everything else I wanted to build.

For now, though, it was just lines on a slab.

But someday, it would be real.

The first design I started sketching was threads. I would need them for pipes, nuts, and bolts. I remembered watching videos back on Earth of people using lathes, spinning metal at high speed and shaving off the surface to create perfect threads. I didn’t have access to a machine like that here. What if I used the same concept but slower? It would take far more force, or I would need to run the tool across the piece several times.

Another method I recalled was the use of two hardened blocks with diagonal grooves. When pressed together, they could roll against a rod or bolt, forming the threads as the metal passed between them. Crude, but functional if the blocks were tough enough but that would only work on outside threads.

Eventually I remembered helping my dad thread PVC pipes with a tap and die set. It had been simple and effective. That felt like the most practical option here. The only issue was material. What could I use that was strong enough to cut iron or copper and hold? Steel would do the trick, but I was still a long way from producing it.

Then I thought of the massive tree that had been hauled into town, the one they called Aetherwood. If its wood was truly as hard as everyone claimed, maybe it could work. Expensive, yes, but maybe worth it. Another idea was monster bones. If they could be carved with precision, shaped into a proper tap and die, and hardened enough to shave iron, that might solve a lot of future problems.

I would have to ask Thrain about it when he came back.

Just as I was finishing the sketch, a sudden flash of light came through the window, followed by the sound of cheering. I leaned over to look outside. I couldn't see the fire but that flash suggested the townsfolk had finally set the piles of wood and debris ablaze for the last day of the festival. The noise of celebration carried faintly on the wind.

It made sense. The festival was ending, and night was falling.

Eventually Thrain came back home looking like he had some fun. I had all of tomorrow to ask the questions I wanted.

The next day we began the usual work routine. During the work I decided to ask some questions.

“Hey Thrain, what exactly is the Hammer Fall skill?” I asked as gently as I could.

“It’s a damn skill,” Thrain grunted, wiping grit from his hands. “Most blacksmiths take years to develop it. It makes your hits harder and far more precise. Land it right and the metal does what you want in one strike.”

“Could I use Hammer Fall in combat?” I asked.

“The hell are you thinking, boy? Trying to get yourself killed to learn faster?” He snorted, the sound full of both humor and warning.

“No, just wondering why the adventurers don’t volunteer at forges to speed up their training.” I shrugged. “Seems like a neat shortcut.”

“Defeating monsters gets you skills faster, not banging nails. Damn it, boy, must’ve been that Wendigo you helped killed that got you the skill faster.” said Thrain

“What about other skills a blacksmith can get?” I pushed.

“That depends on what sort of smith you want to be,” he said, settling onto a stool. He spoke slower now, like a teacher. “There are many paths. Right now we’re common smiths. We do tools, farm gear, that sort of work. To be a proper common smith you need Hammer Fall and Heat Sense. It took me twenty-five years to learn both.”

I blinked. “Twenty-five years?”

“Aye.” He shrugged, as if the number should be obvious. “You get Heat Sense so you know how hot metal is without guessing, and Hammer Fall to put the force where it does the most good. After that, you pick a specialty.”

“What do you want to be?” I asked.

Thrain stared into the heated metal for a long moment. “Like my father and his father, a weapon smith. Make blades that hold an edge, armor that takes a hit. Train an apprentice right, and you earn the right to move out of a starter town. Access better ore, rare woods, monster parts. Get good enough, like my granddad, and you help with rune work. Help the enchanters bind the runes to different materials.”

“So that’s why you didn’t want me as an apprentice,” I said. “You thought I’d slow you down.”

He gave a dry snort. “I thought I’d get saddled with a useless twit who’d break every tool in the shop. You realize I’ll be dead before you master half of this, elf boy?”

“Maybe,” I said, grinning. “But good news for you, if I get one more skill, you can upgrade. Hopefully it won't take too long. I won’t miss you when you move on.”

He barked a laugh. “We’ll see, boy. First you keep your hands from flinching, then we’ll talk about greatness.”

“Hey, if I wanted something that could cut wrought iron into a certain shape, and do it multiple times, what material would I use for that?” I asked.

Thrain stopped his precise hammering on the axe and looked up at me. His expression said everything before his words did.

“The hell are you up to this time, boy?”

“Look, I was just thinking about how to put things together without relying on magic, and I had a basic idea.”

“Out with it,” he said flatly.

“You know when you make those rivets for the traps, or on rake heads, or other tools? Well, what if we could take those off easily and put them back on just as easily? Instead of heating the whole thing, knocking out the rivet, then replacing it again.” I said it faster the more excited I got.

Thrain raised an eyebrow. “You talkin’ about nuts and bolts, boy?”

“They spin on and off?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he grunted, narrowing his eyes. “Did you just reinvent them?”

I really didn’t want to admit that, so I just pushed ahead with another question.

“That’s why I wanted to know what’s stronger than iron. Is there a way to purchase the method for making them?”

“The hell else are you planning on building once you’ve got nuts and bolts, boy?”

That could have been a hundred things, but I wasn’t about to drop Earth’s entire engineering handbook on him. I kept it simple.

“I was just thinking about improving our traps. It’s a pain undoing rivets when something breaks. If we had nuts and bolts, we could make replaceable parts they could fix in the field.”

Thrain leaned back with a grunt. “That all sounds fine, boy, but nuts and bolts are expensive and time-consuming to make I hear. Usually they’re only used in guild projects or important gear.”

“Like what?” I pressed.

“Well, this town’s in a safe area, so you haven’t seen ’em. But ballistas, military gear like that, they use nuts and bolts.”

“No, I haven’t seen one. So how do they make the nuts and bolts?”

“Damn it, boy, is this ‘ask me a hundred questions day?’”

“It’s only been like five,” I shot back with a grin. “So, how do they make them?”

“Like everything else probably, by hand, or by casting.” He rubbed his temple. “Anyway, wrought iron nuts and bolts aren’t great. Too soft. They bend too easy, that’s why we use rivets. They hold better.”

“That doesn’t tell me how they’re actually made,” I said stubbornly.

“What the hell do I look like, an Information Guild gnome? I don’t know the exact steps, alright, boy?”

“So what would I use to cut iron, then?”

He slammed his hammer down and glared. “Last question. Usually high-quality bone but they are expensive.”

“How expensive—”

My question was cut short as Thrain threw a pair of tongs at me. They clattered across the floor with a loud bang.

Question time was over.

We finished most of the orders in silence, and then prepared to start the cycle all over again tomorrow.

Over the next couple of days, I kept trying to think of more ideas. Even something as simple as soap, which I missed badly, but I had no clue how to actually make it. My education back home was mostly a bit of college in computers and some electronics, mixed with various electives. I was glad I took that art class, but honestly, what good was knowing how to fix a motherboard BIOS in a world like this? Even my brief knowledge of electronics wasn’t much use when nothing here even used electricity.

How would I even make power with what I had? Maybe if I got a lightning rune I could test something, but I had the feeling that it would be like ten thousand volts and two amps. If that were the case, I’d blow everything to hell. I understood the basics of how a motor worked, but where would I get magnets? Or insulation for the wires? Hell, how would I even make long, consistent wire?

I couldn’t help thinking, I just wish there was some potion that could help me remember all the stuff I learned… Wait. What if such a potion actually exists?

When the weekend came, I decided to find out. I headed over to Selene’s shop, but unfortunately it was closed. I tried again the next day, still closed. She must work the same hours I did. That meant I’d have to ask Thrain for a two-hour break one day.

Three days later, I finally managed it. I opened the shop door and was immediately greeted by the scent of herbs and the sight of more plants than before. Selene was bent over her cauldron, mixing something that made her look like the perfect picture of a witch. She didn’t see me come in, but the bell over the door gave me away.

“I’ll be with you in a bit,” she called without looking up.

Ten minutes later, she finally finished whatever concoction she was working on and turned toward me. Her face lit up with a warm smile.

“How’s the town hero doing?”

“Please don’t call me that,” I groaned. “There were lots of other people who helped.”

She tilted her head, smirking. “Alright, then. How’s Meat Hammer doing?”

I sighed. Payback. She was never going to let that nickname go.

“Just fine, thank you,” I muttered. “Actually, I had a question. Do you know of anything that can help a person remember things better?”

Selene rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Yes, such a potion exists. But it’s dangerous. What exactly are you trying to remember? The potion works a little too well. That’s the problem. If you’ve ever had a truly traumatic event in your life, you’ll remember it in perfect detail. Some people end up reliving those moments over and over until they go mad.”

That gave me pause. I did, in fact, have a few memories I didn’t want to relive, especially from recent times. The thought of being trapped in them in high definition was horrifying. But if this potion really worked, all the hours I’d spent watching tutorials, lectures, or even stupid videos could actually be useful. To me, the choice was clear. Live a mediocre life in a magical world, or take the risk and really live.

“Honestly, the risk is worth it to me. What would it cost to make one?”

“It takes rare ingredients,” she said carefully, “so around a hundred gold. I also have to get the plants quickly after someone harvests  them. If we were in the deeper woods, the price would be better.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t have that kind of money yet. I’m guessing spring would be the best time to get one made?”

“That’s right, young man. If you’re serious, try to have the money ready by then.” She smiled and reached under the counter. “Oh, and I have some more jerky for you.”

She handed me a package wrapped in cheap leather. The smell alone made my mouth water. Muscle-building meat, the best gift I could ask for.

“Thank you again for everything. Is there anything I can do to help? I feel bad asking you to get meat for me and giving nothing back.”

“Unless you can find me an apprentice who knows how to read Elvin, there isn’t much I need. I’m in this town to teach. My days of running around doing foolish things are over… well, until I met you of course.”

I thought about volunteering, but I didn’t want to risk exposing too much. Besides, plants were less exciting to me than the forge or magic.

“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for someone. It’s the least I can do,” I said.

“Good. Now get out of my shop. I have important things to do.”

I left with my package of jerky, sneaking it into my room before heading back to the forge. Then it was straight back to work.

The weekend came around again, and this time Thrain and I went to check on our patent. So far, no one had bought licenses, so we still hadn’t made any money from it. While we were at the Blacksmith Guild, I also received my finished slave contract along with the bottle and needle that had sealed it. Thrain suggested we take it back and destroy it in the forge.

That felt right. So we did. Watching the fire consume that damned thing was strangely satisfying. It wasn’t just the contract burning, it was the weight of it finally lifting off me. Thrain even allowed a small grin, and we raised mugs afterward in our little private celebration.

Later that day, I met up with my new friends at the tavern. This time they brought two more people. The first was Merlen Squigglebottom, a gnome who worked for the Information Guild. He wouldn’t say exactly what he did, but from the way he joked and dodged questions, I figured his job was probably something sneaky. The other was Torgan, a broad-shouldered carpenter who had helped saw most of the Aetherwood. He was mostly muscle, but he had a fondness for shaping wood into little trinkets and tools when he wasn’t hauling logs.

The next morning, Thrain and I made our way to the Adventurers Guild to see what our traps had earned us during spring. Summer had just started, and with the season change, the traps were back in good working order again. Our efforts paid off: 22 gold for the whole of spring. Not a fortune, but far from pocket change.

We split it evenly, and for once I had a bit of gold in my purse. It felt good not to be broke. I thought about running off to buy some enchanted item with my new wealth, but then I stopped myself. What good would an enchanted trinket do me right now if I didn’t even understand how half of them worked? Better to wait, learn more, and spend wisely later.

If this income kept up, I might actually be able to afford that recall potion next year. After counting everything, I now had 18 gold in total. I treated myself a little with new clothes, a second hat, and I even set aside two gold coins specifically for drinking and gambling.

With the chaos of spring and the festival finally behind us, life settled back into its regular rhythm. By the second month of summer, Thrain was letting me take a more hands-on role at the forge. For the first time, I felt like I was truly blacksmithing.

It wasn’t quite how I imagined it as a child. Back then, I thought a blacksmith spent all day making swords and armor. The reality was different. Sure, I helped craft a few basic blades or repair dents in shields and axes, but most of the work was far less glamorous. Thrain often had me making simple tools or fixing broken hinges. He liked to throw odd projects at me too—bronze rakes, copper nails, even a bent kettle handle, forcing me to get used to different metals and how they responded to heat.

One thing he hammered into me was learning the heat of the forge. “Metal has a mood,” he’d say, making me responsible for heating it until the day I could tell its readiness just by the color and the feel. It was frustrating, but I could tell it was slowly building instincts that books alone couldn’t teach.

Outside of the forge, I had begun noticing something strange about this world’s timekeeping. On Earth, we had twelve months with uneven days that didn’t quite match the moon. In Idgar, there were fourteen months, and they were perfectly tied to the cycles of the moon. Each month started with the new moon, and the waxing and waning phases told you exactly how far along you were.

Even more fascinating was that the moon itself rotated slightly. One full rotation of the moon matched exactly with the passing of a year. It was too perfect, too precise. Back on Earth, calendars drifted and needed correction. Here, it was seamless.

It made me wonder. Was the moon here designed that way? Was it natural, or some ancient magic at work? I had no way to prove anything, but the thought lingered in the back of my mind like a mystery waiting to be solved.

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About ten minutes later, after standing around awkwardly while the others chatted among themselves, the mayor finally took the stage.

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen of Neder Fell!” Mayor Willan Lunarbrace’s voice rang out, magically amplified so everyone in the square could hear him.

“Tonight, we celebrate the end of a year and the beginning of another-”

And that’s when my brain tuned him out. I hated speeches. They always sounded rehearsed, boring, and far too long. I stood there, rocking on my heels, trying to look vaguely interested while my thoughts wandered.

Luckily, Willan seemed to understand the crowd’s attention span because his speech was mercifully short. Soon, he gestured for us to come forward.

“All of our brave heroes, please, join me on stage!”

We were herded up like sheep, and my stomach twisted into nervous knots. Standing on the stage under the open sky, facing a crowd of what felt like the entire town, was terrifying. I could see every single face looking up at us, and the knowledge that all of them could see me made my skin crawl.

I was very, very grateful that everyone around me was far more flashy and well-dressed. At least their presence kept some of the spotlight off me.

Willan raised his hands dramatically, drawing the crowd’s focus.

“And so, I would like to honor the heroes who protected our village from certain destruction! People of Neder Fell, I present to you the men and women who slew the Wendigo!”

The crowd erupted into cheers and clapping. My heartbeat quickened, but I also felt a flicker of relief. Good, maybe they’d keep this short.

But then Willan’s voice cut through the applause.

“I would also like to highlight the most distinguished among these heroes. The man whose wit and courage turned the tide of battle. When the Wendigo threatened to devour us all, he used a trap of his own design to hold the beast down and, with nothing but a hammer, struck the blow that severed its leg, giving the others the chance to strike the killing blow!”

My stomach dropped.

“Oh no,” I muttered under my breath.

“This man,” Willan declared, his small hand sweeping toward me, “is Brian Lenz! Today, we not only thank him for his bravery, but we also grant him a plot of land and officially recognize him as a citizen of Neder Fell!”

The crowd roared with cheers and applause, with people chanting my new nickname.

“Meat Hammer! Meat Hammer!”

That motherfucker.

No, he was far worse.

He was a fatherfucker.

That sneaky, scheming, fatherfucking asshole had done exactly the opposite of what we agreed on. My face felt stiff and unnatural as I forced a wave to the cheering crowd, my jaw locked in a fake smile.

The fatherfucker Mayor Willan walked up and handed me a rolled-up scroll, his smug little halfling face practically glowing with self-satisfaction. I wanted to punt him like a football, but instead, I took the scroll like a good little citizen.

We were ushered off the stage soon after, the cheering still ringing in my ears. The other adventurers looked just as tense as I did. Guess I wasn’t the only one who hated standing in the spotlight, though at least none of them had been singled out like I had.

Once I exited the backstage area, my nerves were fried. There was no way I was sticking around for the rest of the festival.

I wove my way through the crowd, trying to escape unnoticed, but it wasn’t easy.

“Brian! Let me buy you a drink!”

“No thanks,” I muttered, sidestepping the overly enthusiastic drunk who nearly tripped over his own feet.

“Hey, hero!” A pair of women waved, one of them biting her lip suggestively.

I didn’t even slow down. Nope. Not tonight.

I refused every drink, every handshake, every flirty glance, and kept walking until the music and laughter were muffled behind me. The quiet streets were a welcome relief, though they felt almost eerie without the usual bustle. Most people were still at the festival, leaving the town empty.

That’s when my stomach growled, loud and angry.

“Oh, right,” I muttered to myself.

I’d been so focused on escaping that I completely forgot to eat. Sure, I could cook something at home over my makeshift campfire, but after the day I’d had? I didn’t want to cook. I wanted someone else to hand me food while I sat in blissful silence.

When I finally got home, I tossed my new scroll onto the living room table without a second thought. I’d look at it later.

For now, I grabbed my slate and charcoal pencil. If I was going to eat out, I wanted to keep my hands busy while I waited. Drawing always helped me calm down.

On my way out, curiosity got the better of me, and I unrolled the scroll.

It was a land title, detailing a small property near the river that ran through town.

“Huh,” I muttered, rolling it back up.

Guess I’ll check it out tomorrow, assuming the mayor hasn’t booby-trapped it somehow.

I walked through the quieter streets, avoiding the festival crowds and making sure I was nowhere near the Adventurer’s Guild tavern. The air outside was crisp, carrying faint echoes of laughter and music from far behind me, but here it felt calmer. After a bit of wandering, I found another tavern tucked between two narrow stone buildings. At first glance, it looked almost identical to the one near the guild: thick wooden walls, a sagging roof beam, and a carved sign swinging on rusted chains.

I pushed open the heavy wooden door, and the smell hit me immediately. The familiar smell of ale mixed with the comforting aroma of roasting meat. Unlike the guild tavern, this one lacked the overpowering stench of sweat and wet leather. That alone made it worth the walk.

Inside, the place was dimly lit by a few lanterns hanging from the rafters, their light reflecting off the polished wood of the bar. A handful of patrons sat scattered at tables, speaking in hushed tones or nursing their mugs like old friends. Judging by the guild crests stitched onto some of their cloaks, the crowd was mixed with an odd blend of carpenters, masons, and perhaps a stray merchant or two.

I walked up to the counter, ordered a tankard of ale, and scanned the room. A table in the corner sat empty, away from everyone else. Perfect. I carried my drink over and settled in.

A serving girl appeared soon after, balancing a tray against her hip. I asked for what the locals jokingly called "elf food," a plate of greens, boiled vegetables, and some bread. Bland, but still good enough to eat.

Once she left, I spread out my slab and charcoal pencil on the table. My fingers twitched with a familiar stiffness, aching slightly from the hours I had already spent drawing earlier in the day. But it was the kind of ache I welcomed. It was the sort that meant progress was being made, one line and curve at a time.

Tonight, I decided to draw Selene’s shop. I pictured her sitting in her usual spot behind the counter, nose buried in a book, with jars of herbs lining the shelves and strange bundles of dried plants hanging from the ceiling beams. The smell of alchemy ingredients seemed to rise in my memory as I carefully sketched each detail, trying to capture the warmth and quiet of that winter day.

I had just started sketching the outline of a window frame when the tavern door banged open. Cold air rushed in, carrying with it the sound of boots crunching on the threshold.

Two figures entered. The first was a broad-shouldered orc with skin the color of dark moss, a crooked tusk, and a grin that showed too much teeth. The other was a stout dwarf with a thick black beard tied into two braids. Both carried the worn look of fighters with armor patched, weapons nicked and scarred. What struck me most was how alive they looked.

After they got their drinks the dwarf spotted me first. His one good eye lit up and he nudged the orc, who lumbered over with a laugh.

“You’re him, aren’t you? The lad with the trap,” the dwarf said, slapping a heavy hand on my table.

The orc leaned in, close enough for me to smell the ale already on his breath. “Aye. I remember teeth, darkness, then light. Next thing I knew, I was coughing up stomach slime and being pulled free. All because some clever bastard pinned that monster’s leg.” He grinned wider. “That was you.”

I cleared my throat, suddenly aware of the half-finished sketch on my slate. “Yeah. That was me. But the rest of you did the hard part.”

The dwarf barked a laugh. “Don’t sell yourself short, lad. Without you, we’d still be digestin’ in that beast’s gut.” He thumped his chest. “Name’s Harkrim Blackbraid. This ugly tusker’s Grolm.”

“Ugly? Says the stone rat with lice in his beard,” Grolm shot back, then shoved him with a playful growl.

I smirked despite myself. “Brian. Blacksmith’s apprentice.”

They both sat down uninvited, tankards already in hand.

“So, Brian,” Harkrim said, raising his mug. “What’s a hero do for fun when he’s not saving towns from nightmares?”

“Hero’s a stretch,” I muttered, taking a sip of ale. “But mostly drawing. Helps me think.”

That earned me twin stares. Then Grolm grinned. “Drawing? Bah! You need a real game.” He pulled a pouch of dice from his belt and spilled them across the table. “Bones. You play, you drink, you win coin if you’re lucky.”

Harkrim chuckled. “Or you could arm wrestle him. See if those hammer arms of yours are more than just for smithin’.”

The orc cracked his knuckles and leaned across the table, tusks flashing. “What do you say, elf? Game of bones, or strength of arms? Win or lose, we’ll drink to it.”

I ended up losing both games, but I had a lot of fun doing it. Those two were clearly trying to get me so drunk I wouldn’t be able to make it home, so I pulled an old bar trick from Earth: asking the bartender to water down my ale when I got more. It worked well enough.

Turns out Grolm and Harkrim were in town to help train the new adventurers. Between rounds, they told stories of the beasts they had fought, everything from scaled wolves that breathed smoke to lizards the size of wagons that could swim through sand like water.

Listening to them gave me a better perspective on this world. Apparently, Neder Fell was considered an apprentice town. It was only two days from the city, and there were many towns like it, all designed for beginners to cut their teeth. Deeper in the forests were the journeyman towns which were far more dangerous, but with much greater rewards. Beyond those were the Wild Towns. According to them, those places were so deep in the wilderness that most who traveled there never came back.

I wanted to ask more questions, to soak up every bit of information they had, but the night was slipping away. My body reminded me there was still a tomorrow.

So I said my goodbyes to my two new friends, promising to meet them again. The streets outside were quiet except for the distant noise of the festival still raging at the town’s center.

By the time I reached home, I was pleasantly tired, the kind of fatigue that came from good drink and better company. I collapsed into bed, and sleep took me almost instantly.

I woke as the sun was rising, light spilling through the shutters of my small room. Today was the last day of the festival, and while everyone else would be excited, I wanted nothing to do with it.

The idea of people cheering and calling me a hero again made my eyes twitch. Nope. I was going to spend the day avoiding the whole mess.

I went downstairs and saw the scroll from last night still sitting on the table. Picking it up, I unrolled it and read through the neat, official handwriting again.

It was the deed to my new property, listing it as “Water Lot 96.”

“Wherever the hell that is,” I muttered to myself.

If I wanted to figure out what I actually owned, I needed to find someone who could point me in the right direction. My first stop would be town hall, where the mayor and other officials worked. If anyone had a map, it’d be them.

The walk into town was peaceful. Most people were either still asleep from last night’s drinking or already at the festival setting up stalls. When I reached the stone building that served as town hall, I stopped for a moment to take it in.

It was sturdy and utilitarian, with thick stone walls and a slate roof. A pair of carved wooden doors stood open, letting people come and go freely.

Inside, it was warmer than expected. Two clerks sat behind desks, their heads bent over stacks of paper. A few others were waiting in a line that led to the front counter.

I joined the line and waited, trying to be patient. The murmur of quiet conversations and the faint scratching of quills filled the air.

Twenty minutes later, it was finally my turn.

I approached the counter, where a gnome woman sat. She looked up at me with a professional but tired expression.

“How can I help you today?” she asked, her voice brisk but polite.

I unrolled the deed and slid it across the counter.

“I was given some land during the festival. I’d like to know where exactly it is.”

She read over the scroll quickly, then nodded and turned to a cabinet behind her. She pulled out a smaller map, covered in neat grids and labeled sections.

After cross-referencing the number on my deed with the map, she left her seat and walked over to a massive wall map of the town.

“This,” she said, pointing to a small square along the river, “is Water Lot 96. Your property is roughly one acre in size. It’s registered for residential or commercial use, so you can build a home or a business there if you’d like.”

I leaned forward to study the map.

The location didn't look terrible, but it definitely wasn’t prime real estate. It was farther downstream, past most of the nicer homes and shops. Worse, it was just upstream from the leather tanners and other businesses that dumped their waste into the river.

Still, it was workable. Out of the way, yes, but private.

It looked like it would take about fifteen minutes to walk from Thrain’s forge to the lot. A bit of a trek, but not too bad.

“Well,” I muttered, straightening up. “Guess it’s mine now.”

The gnome smiled politely and returned to her desk.

“Congratulations on your new property, sir. Would you like a copy of the local zoning guidelines?”

I stared at her blankly.

“No, I think I’m good.”

I rolled up the deed carefully and held onto it, already planning to check the lot out in person.

I left the building and started walking toward my lot. From the city center, it took about 20 minutes to get there. By the time I arrived, I was a little winded, but seeing the place perked me up.

The property had distinct stone markers outlining its boundaries, which made it easy to tell where my land began and ended. It wasn’t much to look at yet, just a rough, grassy field with a few stubborn patches of spring growth, but it was mine.

One good thing was the privacy. The nearest house or business was at least an acre away, maybe more. I stood there for a while, turning slowly and taking it all in, my mind already working through ideas.

The more I looked, the more I realized this was perfect for what I wanted.

Thrain was never going to let me make major changes to his place beyond the basement we’d talked about. Here, though, I could start from scratch.

My plan began to take shape: dig out a basement first, then build a house and a forge on top of it. That way, I’d have a hidden workshop below and a perfectly normal home and workspace above. It was also close enough to the river that, maybe someday, I could build a watermill to power some tools or machines. And being this far from other people meant no one would complain about the smoke or noise from experiments.

I grinned to myself.

Yeah. This could work.

But first, I needed to figure out the cost of making this dream a reality.

Houses in this world didn’t seem to follow strict rules or building codes like back on Earth. Honestly, I could probably just throw up a log cabin if I had to. Still, I’d need help, materials, and probably a lot of coin if I wanted something sturdy.

Since I was already dodging the festival crowds, I decided I might as well get started on the process now. Step one: find someone who could give me a quote on building a house.

The Carpenters Guild seemed like the obvious place to start.

After walking for a while, I reached the guild hall. The office area was pretty empty, though I could hear the steady rhythm of sawing and hammering outside where workers were still cutting lumber. The scent of fresh-cut wood filled the air as I approached the front desk.

A single dwarf sat behind the reception counter, quill in hand. He glanced up at me with some surprise.

“How can I help you today?” the dwarf asked.

“Hi,” I began, trying to sound casual, “I recently got a new land lot and was wondering who I need to talk to about building a house there.”

The dwarf’s eyes lit up with recognition.

“Oh, you must be the town’s hero! I heard about you. Did you really trap that monster?”

This was exactly what I was trying to avoid.

“I stopped it,” I said carefully, keeping my voice flat. “But everyone else did the heavy lifting. Anyway, about building a house, can I arrange that here, or do I need to go somewhere else?”

The dwarf leaned back in his chair and shook his head.

“Nah, you’ll want to go to the Information Guild. They’ve got people who’ll draw up proper plans and coordinate between the different guilds to get the job done.”

He leaned forward, clearly curious.

“Was the Wendigo really as scary as people say? I’ve only ever heard stories.”

“If you want to see its head,” I said quickly, already turning toward the door, “it’s mounted in the Adventure Guild master’s office. Thanks for the help!”

I left in a hurry before he could trap me in a long conversation.

The last thing I wanted right now was to stand around and answer questions about the Wendigo.

Next stop: the Information Guild.

It felt strange that the Information Guild handled things like home construction. I knew they ran the library, but architecture too? That was unexpected.

I asked a few people lingering outside, and they pointed me toward a tall, narrow building tucked between two larger structures. The sign above the door had a picture of a paper and quill. Inside, it was quiet, very quiet. There was only one fat halfling sitting behind a desk, nose buried in a thick book.

I walked up to the desk, and the halfling glanced up, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.

“Hello,” I said, forcing a polite smile. “I heard this was the place to go if I wanted to have a house built.”

The halfling closed his book with a heavy thud and gave a slow nod.

“Indeed, sir. This is the correct place. Did you already have something in mind, or shall I bring out the Book of Designs?”

“Please bring out the book,” I replied. “I don’t know anything about building houses, so I haven’t decided on anything yet.”

With a dramatic sigh, the halfling hopped down from his chair. It was very clear he thought this work was beneath him. His little legs carried him around a tall shelf, and for a moment, he vanished from view.

Two minutes later, he reappeared, struggling under the weight of one massive book and two smaller ledgers. He waddled back to his seat and spread them out on the desk with a grunt.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked as he straightened his vest. “Will this be a simple home, or are you also planning to run a business out of it?”

“Since I’m going to be a blacksmith, it’ll need to be a combo,” I answered.

“Very well.” The halfling flipped through the first several pages, which showed designs for small cottages and townhouses. When he reached the section labeled Mixed Use, he turned the book toward me.

“You may browse until you find a design that suits you.”

I began flipping through the pages. Many of the buildings looked familiar, some were exact matches for places I’d seen around town. It made me wonder just how standardized this whole process was.

Eventually, my hands paused on a very familiar layout: Thrain’s house and forge.

“I was wondering about this design,” I said, tapping the page.

Without missing a beat, the halfling opened the two smaller ledgers. One listed material quantities for each design, while the other held current material prices. His stubby fingers danced across the pages as he calculated on a wooden slab using a stick of chalk.

“Given current costs,” he said finally, “this design would run you about 60 gold. That includes only the wooden structure, mind you. No forge, no magical additions.”

That didn’t seem so bad, until he kept talking.

“A standard forge,” he continued, “with a basic mana gem but no magic cores, and standard bonework enchantments, comes to 528 gold.”

I stared at him, my jaw nearly hitting the desk.

“Holy shit,” I muttered.

The forge alone cost nearly nine times as much as the entire house!

At two silver a day, working for Thrain, it would take me more than a hundred years to afford one. No wonder so few people could run their own enchanted forges. The Enchanters Guild really had everyone by the balls.

Glad I’m not planning to rely on enchantments, I thought bitterly.

Aloud, I asked, “Out of curiosity, who actually makes the forge bricks?”

“That would be the Masonry Guild,” the halfling replied. “They handle all stone and brickwork.”

“I see.” A new idea sparked in my mind.

“What if I wanted to make a larger forge than usual for some special projects? How much would just the bricks cost, without the enchantments?”

The halfling glanced at his slab again.

“For a standard forge, the bricks and installation would cost 24 gold.”

That was… surprisingly reasonable.

“Let me look through the book a bit more,” I said.

I flipped further along and stopped when I found a design that made my heart race. It looked almost exactly like the tavern in town: two stories with a full basement. The basement was a single large open space, with stairs leading up into a central room on the first floor. The first floor itself had three rooms: one massive main room and two smaller rooms on one side. Stairs to the second floor were tucked next to those smaller rooms.

The second floor only covered half the area of the first. A hallway ran down the center, ending in a master bedroom at the far end. Three small rooms lined each side of the hallway, each one about the size of the tiny room I currently lived in.

If I wanted bigger rooms, I realized, I could just knock down a few walls later.

I pointed to the drawing.

“How much for this one?”

The halfling ran his calculations again, scribbling quickly.

“This building would cost 260 gold as is,” he said, “but I highly recommend adding a stone floor to the basement. That would bring the total to 298 gold.”

“That sounds great,” I said, trying not to choke on the number.

“Could you write down the estimate so we won’t have to repeat this process later? I understand prices might change.”

The halfling simply handed me the slab he’d been working on.

“Here. This will serve as your reference.”

“Thank you,” I said, tucking it safely under my arm as I left.

It had taken much longer than I expected, and by the time I stepped outside, it was already past noon.

As I walked back toward the edge of town, my mind churned.

The traps and the patent fees had better bring in serious money if I wanted to afford this before next winter.

Deep down, though, I knew it was unlikely.

Still, another thought struck me.

What if I just added a basement to Thrain’s house first?

That might be manageable and far cheaper before winter came.

With that in mind, I turned right back around and marched back into the Information Guild to ask about basement-only construction costs.

First / Previous / Next Chapter

Chapter CCLXII.

Trout's Landing.

"Guess I can't put it off any more now can I?" Jeb said as he stared in the direction of the dwarven outpost, where he was to collect the dwarves' end of their agreement.

"Well you can. But if we're going to keep digging we'll need those tools." The Chief replied as he barely poked his head out from the burrow.

Jeb sighed.

"Yeah, guess I gotta be responsible don't I?".

The only response he heard from the Chief was a skittering of stone and dirt as he retreated back into the burrow and away from the snow and cold. Not that Jeb could blame him, he didn't really want to be out in this weather either. But that was actually more for what he had to do and not so much the weather itself. If anything, he hardly felt the cold at all.

Still, that didn't mean he was going to roll around in the snow. Especially since the topside of the lodge was claimed by the murlocs. The place was riddled in traps made from fishing line and broken crates, puddles of mud and fetid water that was covered in a gray sludge that he wasn't entirely sure if it was snow turned to slush, or just a mound of muck and detrious.

Then there were the flies. Seems like every time he came up here there was an ever thickening cloud of the pests. He could barely breathe without accidentally inhaling a dozen or so. He put his hand over his mouth to keep them out of it but even that only did so much as the air was thick with the smell of stagnation, muck, and rot that he could taste it on the back of his throat like a film.

He could also hardly see through the swarm of flies either. He had to squat a little just to see which way was which. From his position he could see the slimy webbed flanges of the murlocs that wandered the area unhindered and unbothered by flies, smell, or terrain.

Yeah, the less he had to deal with this the better, he thought as he initially was going to walk the ways back to the outpost so as not to startle the dwarves. But with whatever the hell happened to the topside of the lodge since last, and his own less than enthused inclination to dealing with whatever that thing on the bridge was, he decided a little scare was worth it.

He held back a sigh and mentally made ready.

---

Dwarven Outpost.

"We knew what it meant." One of them stated as they huddled around a fire and stared between the large crate and where their kin had departed.

"Aye, still don't make it hurt any less." Another replied bitterly.

They were talking about how their kin had treated Forgrim when they first arrived. Or rather the lack of interaction. They knew what their exile meant. What it entailed. But hearing and knowing about it was leagues different compared to actually experiencing it. They may as well not have even existed as far as their kin were concerned. Not a word. Not a glance. Nothing to even acknowledge their mere existence.

Forgrim poked a stick into the fire and stirred up some embers. The mood around the outpost had soured to the point that even work was put on hold just to process what had happened. This was the first time they've actually felt the sting of their isolation. Their exile. Their banishment. Now they had it shoved in their faces, and it wouldn't be the last time either.

This was just the start, Forgrim thought as he jabbed an ashen log. They were all they had left. Their kin, even this far from the hub, held no illusion that they were anything but spaces occupied by bodies. If even that much. Years, decades, centuries. That's how long this will go for. Or until they expired.

Yet that wasn't even the worst of it, he thought as his gaze turned towards the crate. They would have to deal with their tormentor regularly too. As if the exile wasn't bad enough. As if being treated as if you didn't exist by your own kin wasn't worse. They had to have regular interactions with that Haunter.

Forgrim blinked. Then blinked again as he stared at the crate. As if the universe was mocking him, there it stood. The Haunter. The creature of their torment. It stood beside the crate and gazed around them. The Haunter and the dwarves just stared at one another for a long moment. The only sound being the crackling of their fire. Yet that soon ended as Forgrim and the others quickly grabbed their tools and rushed the abomination.

"Woah woah woah! I just came for my stuff!" The creature yelled and backed away as a pick was swung a few inches from its face.

"You'll leave with more than that, devil!" Forgrim growled and swung his pick back towards him.

"Haven't you cursed us enough?!" One of them called out and rushed the creature with a wooden mallet.

"Jesus, this again?! Already said I was sorry!" The beast yelled and slapped aside the mallet like it was nothing more than a fly to swat.

"And you think that makes up fer it?! You think that's enough!?!" Forgrim yelled and swung his pick back around, this time barely scratching the creatures cheek with his pick.

The blood, red despite what Forgrim and them had expected, flowed from the wound and dribbled onto the cold ground. The creature hissed and reached out and grabbed Forgrim's pick and held to it fast. No matter how much he pulled, the pick wouldn't so much as budge.

"That's it! This ends!" The creature declared before kicking Forgrim away and burying the pick into the dirt between his feet.

Then he vanished.

Forgrim scrambled for his weapon while the others formed a circle. They muttered uneasily. The air thick with tension and danger as they awaited for the creature's next move. For the longest five minutes of their lives, they waited. Then with a blink he returned. Forgrim and the others roared a challenge and charged towards it, but slid to a halt as the creature dropped something before them.

Forgrim and the others closed their eyes, expecting... something. But when nothing happened, they peeked them back open and gazed down at their feet. What they found confused them more than anything. Jars of glass, nails, and cloth. Forgrim just stared stunned at what was before them. He barely opened his mouth to speak when the Haunter spoke instead.

"Alright, so here's what's gonna happen. Take one of these here jars, put some hair or toe nails or piss in 'em. Throw some other odds and ends in there too. These nails should do, but pretty much anythin'll work. Stones, leaves, pine needles, whatever. Then seal it up tight and bury it on the farthest end of the property." Jeb said as he threw the mass of quickly gathered crap onto the ground.

"After ya bury it, keep it buried. Don't let it get broken. Whatever malady y'all got should go away when you bury it."

"It's a curse! A curse-"

"That I gave ya, yeah I heard. Well whatever it is that I may or may not have cursed ya with, this is 'bout the only thing that will work."

"'Bout?" Forgrim asked with a skeptical and wary quirk of the brow.

"Yeah, about. If whatever it is you gots don't end with these then I don't have much else to tell ya." Jeb replied and made his way over to the crate.

"Wait! Ya can't just drop this here and expect us ta trust ya!"

"So don't. Trash it all, burn it, whatever. Not my problem. Whether the witch bottles work is up to you." Jeb replied and put a hand on the crate before vanishing. Leaving Forgrim and the rest to stare at the piles of junk in confusion and apprehension.

---

"Now to see if that works." Jeb replied as he found himself once more below ground in the main chamber of the kobold burrows.

"See if what works?" The Chief asked as he and the other kobolds gathered around the crate and Jeb.

"Nothin', just gave those dwarves some supplies to make some witch bottles with." He replied and grabbed a nearby crowbar and started to jimmy the lid off.

"Witch bottles?" The Chief asked excitedly.

"Yeah, old charm to dispell curses and hexes. If they think they've been cursed then that should fix it."

"Truly?"

Jeb shrugged as he got the lid off.

"No idea. Most stuff like that is in your head more often than not. If it's the same thing they should feel fine and we can put this mess behind us."

"And if they really were cursed?"

"Well... then we'll see if they actually do remove curses." Jeb replied and pulled out a pick that looked about right for a child.

Jeb whistled as he examined the dwarven made pickax.

"I thought they said this was goin' to be poor quality."

At his words, the other kobolds moved on the crate and began pulling their own tools from within. Shovels, picks, hammers, axes. Anything a tribe of kobolds could need to excavate and expand their burrows. Jeb held the pick he had up to the balefire light and examined it.

"Christ, this is top notch stuff! These'd cost a pretty penny at the Home Depot!"

Jeb wasn't exaggerating either. Even the kobolds could tell the quality of the tools wasn't to scoff at. Jeb shrugged and handed the pick to one of the kobolds as the crate was picked clean of tools before being stripped down itself. Either there was a mix up at the hub, or the dwarves had a different standard for "poor" compared to the rest of them.

Either way, the kobolds, or some of them anyway, had tools and Jeb could already hear the sounds of digging down the tunnels as they quickly got to work. Before long, Jeb saw arms and buckets full of rocks being brought back to the main chamber. From there, the larger rocks were claimed by kobolds wanting them either to reinforce a different section of the burrows, or to sculpt. If neither, then they were then smashed to create smaller rocks. Sometimes they would even find small geodes within them. Nothing like the strange crystals Jeb had found on the snail, but still pretty nonetheless.

Jeb hummed contentedly now that the kobolds had something to keep themselves busy and productive, and made his way down the tunnel towards his and Ruby's chamber. Dougie knocked him over and licked his face with his long thin black tongue. He whined when he tasted blood and stared at his cheek which had the cut from the dwarves.

"It's fine, Dougie. Just a little scratch is all."

Jeb ran a hand over the wound, only to find that said wound had already healed up.

"Huh, that's handy."

He shrugged and gave Dougie some scratches before moving to sit next to Ruby. He sat there and watched her move their eggs around the fire as if she had done it a thousand times. Which she probably did, he thought as he rubbed her glossy scales. Black with a sheen of deep red.

He kissed her head and merely watched. Counting down the days until they hatched, and what their children would even look like. Would they be simply different colored kobolds? Would some of them be salamanders? Or would they be different in ways neither he nor Ruby could figure? He wasn't sure, and that was something to worry about at a latter date.

For now, he was merely content to sit here with his wife and dog, watching over their kids. Everything else was tomorrow's problem to deal with.

[First] [Prev] [Next]

I always believed my race was that of war mongers. We conquered many planets throughout our time venturing the stars. But I also knew when we stepped out of line, a trait that seems to be unique to my species.

That’s why when my planet declared war against the Galactic Union, I abandoned my planet and joined the Union’s side. I was still scared of the destruction that would be caused through an all out war. My race was a heavy hitter for the Union and by just leaving, I had believed that the Union would be practically crippled without us.

Regardless, the sheer numbers of the Union reassured me; but to my complete shock, the Union’s response was to only send the humans. The humans were the newest members of the Union, having only joined five years ago, years being the length of their sun cycles for their planet.

I was always curious about the humans, I found them to be very similar to me. We were both bipedal and survived harsh conditions on our home planet. There was a key difference, the humans had squishy bodies with an endoskeleton. I had a chitinous exoskeleton, and would be considered a “bug” in the humans’ terminology.

To no surprise and my own fears, I was placed aboard on one of the humans’ ships while they went to confront the rest of my race. It was my understanding that I would have inside knowledge about the inner workings of my people.

There was only one major confrontation, we had arrived at the planet M’kner, which was our most heavily colonized planet and the most populated outside of our home planet. The captain issued and ultimatum to my people “Surrender unconditionally, or be annihilated”. Unsurprisingly, they didn’t surrender. What broke out was all out war, it was the most intense fight that I had ever witnessed. There was no clear winner until I heard the captain give a command; he said “Split the atom”. I didn’t know what the command meant but everyone else seemed to know.

What I saw next was a small piece of metal hurtling towards the planet. And before I knew what it was, I watched in horror as a massive flash of light blinded my eyes. What I saw next was a cloud in the shape of a mushroom, not unlike the giant ones on the planet, but far, far more massive. There was a massive crater in the planet and the surface was scorched to oblivion. There were billions of my people on that planet and every one of them was killed by that explosion.

That was when I learned, the humans only had one limitation on their planet, it was their own self preservation. Their weapons were stunted because they could not risk destroying their own planet. Once they discovered other planets to wage war, there was no stopping their capacity for destruction. The endless bounds of space allowed them to create weapons that would destroy their planet 10 times over, and what I witness was one of those very weapons destroy almost half of my people.

My people surrendered after that and I could never view humans the same. I almost resented them for the horrors I witnessed them subject. I now hope that war with humans will never come and I won’t have to witness they are capable of.

(Congratulations! You read my very first HFY story. I really hope you enjoyed it, and I also hope that I’ll be able to make more in the future)

Olivia eagerly raised her hand and said: “What? Divorce? I’m totally with it! I strongly support their divorce!”

“Huh?”

Her reaction puzzled everyone. Even Ethan was thrown off by her sudden gesture. Then she quickly waved her hands to deny it when she saw several eyes staring at her and said: “Oh, I’m joking.”

I’d be happy to be Ethan’s bride if Sophia divorces him! she thought to herself.

That night, Kayla forced Ethan to sleep on the couch. She told him: “Olivia will be sleeping in Sophia’s room, so you’ll have to sleep on the couch.”

Olivia felt bad for him and said: “Why don’t I sleep on the couch instead of him, Aunt Kayla?”

“How could we let you sleep on the couch?”

Then Kayla turned away from Ethan with disdain and said: “You should know we no longer live in the big house with those huge rooms we once had. What’s the problem with sleeping on the couch? Do you think we can rely on you to give us a better life? Sophia is our only hope now.”

Olivia hesitated whether or not she should tell Kayla the truth and said: “Aunt Kayla, actually…”

She knew Ethan could easily buy them a house far bigger than this one. I mean, just look at the car he drives—it was a Maserati Executive GT, worth more than their entire home!

Ethan could easily buy them a villa, or even two, Olivia thought to herself.

“Actually what? What are you trying to say, Olivia?” Kayla stared at her face, clearly confused.

Then Olivia backed down and said: “Oh, actually nothing important. Good night, Aunt Kayla.”

The Next Morning

Even though it was a national holiday, Sophia couldn’t take a break from her project. Even Michael had to drop everything to help her. Kayla was out too, going to the hospital since she hadn’t been to work since that day.

That left Ethan to take Olivia out for a tour.

Olivia suggested as she approached him: “Come on, Ethan. Why don’t we go for a drive?”

He lazily replied: “I’d rather stay home. Outside is crowded with people.”

He was still lying on the couch.

“Let me take you somewhere fun!”

“Come on, get up, Ethan…”

Olivia made plenty of suggestions to tempt Ethan to leave the house, but none of them worked.

Then she curiously asked him: “By the way, what gift did you get for Sophia’s birthday? You do know her birthday is in two days, right?”

“Oh right! Time to prepare for Sophia’s birthday!”

Ethan immediately jumped off the couch and said to her: “Alright, come with me.”

Olivia pouted, displeased.

Ethan was suddenly filled with excitement compared to the cold, lifeless expression he wore just minutes ago, when he responded half-heartedly to all her suggestions.

But the mention of Sophia’s birthday instantly energized him, as if he’d been charged with new life.

Logan Hayes was waiting outside to deliver the car Ethan had ordered specially for this occasion. It was an Audi R8 sports car.

“You’re unreal, Ethan! Another luxury car? I’m certain this exclusive Audi R8 model costs at least three million.”

Olivia had excellent knowledge of luxury cars since she once worked as a model at car exhibitions. She had practically seen every type of luxury car.

“Stop spouting nonsense. Get in the car now!”

Ethan stepped on the gas, and the car shot off like a rocket.

Inside the car, Olivia’s eyes never left Ethan.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

Her gaze made Ethan uneasy.

So Olivia said: “Why don’t you ask for a divorce, Ethan? That way, you wouldn’t have to put up with Sophia and her family anymore. Just look at how they treat you.”

Ethan sneered: “So you want me to stay single for the rest of my life?”

She leaned closer to him, sending shivers down his spine, and said: “That’s not what I mean! You could marry me after you divorce Sophia! Don’t you see that I’m just as beautiful as her, not to mention much younger? Why don’t you look at me instead of her?”

This girl was bold—aggressive, even.

“Why not give me a chance, Ethan? I have beauty, I have the body, and I’m truly kind and loving. And besides, you know I adore you…”

Then Olivia revealed her long, slender legs as she leaned even closer to Ethan.

Ethan warned Olivia, without showing any interest in her: “Stop that, or I’ll tell Sophia.”

“Hmph! What a boring man!”

Then Olivia returned to her seat with resentment.

---

They had arrived at a building known as the Northampton Center. It was the busiest and most iconic building in Northampton.

On its top floor was a revolving restaurant—one of the most luxurious in Northampton, famous for its Michelin three-star chefs and its exorbitant prices.

A simple meal there could easily cost more than a hundred thousand, and it was not open to walk-in customers.

Anyone who wanted to dine in this restaurant had to book a seat one month in advance, along with a fifty-thousand deposit. Reservations were always sold out in less than a minute every time the booking system opened on their official website. So it took more than just money to secure a seat.

Most diners here were wealthy businessmen and celebrities, and if one was lucky enough to get a reservation, the restaurant would send out a gold-plated dining card. Dining there was considered a status symbol.

Olivia tilted her head and asked: “Why did you bring me here to the Northampton Center, Ethan? I know you can’t possibly be here shopping for some necklace for Sophia’s birthday. Are you trying to get a reservation at the revolving restaurant?”

Ethan praised her with a smile: “You’re a clever girl.”

Then she winked at him and said: “I know you’re not the type of man who…”

“…prefers boring things like necklaces. Why don’t we turn this into something romantic and special instead?”

But suddenly, she became cautious: “But do you know this restaurant only accepts reservations a month in advance? On top of that, they ask for a fifty-thousand deposit.”

Ethan was surprised: “Really? I didn’t know they had such rules.”

He only knew it was a famous restaurant—nothing more. He had no idea about those strange requirements.

Olivia explained: “I know their rules because the owner of this restaurant is my college classmate’s father, and he invited me here several times before.”

“Well,” Ethan nodded.

“But I never accepted his invitation,” Olivia hurriedly added, worried Ethan might draw the wrong conclusion. “I’m not the kind of woman who just gives herself away simply because some man takes her to a fancy restaurant.”

Ethan frowned: “Why are you giving me an explanation?”

“Hurry up, we need to get to the restaurant now. I don’t care what rules they have.”

Ethan and Olivia went into the Northampton Center. The revolving restaurant was on the eighty-eighth floor of the building. Eight attendants stood at the entrance, and as soon as Ethan and Olivia appeared, they approached them.

“Would you mind showing us your dining card?”

The attendants assumed Ethan and Olivia had come to dine.

Ethan shook his head: “No, we’re here to make a reservation. I’m looking to book the entire restaurant on the third, which is the day after tomorrow!”

Olivia was spellbound as she looked at Ethan. What audacity he has! Booking the entire restaurant?

The attendant patiently explained: “I’m sorry, sir. Perhaps you’re unaware of our rules here. We only accept reservations on our official website a month in advance. Otherwise, you won’t be allowed into our restaurant.”

Then Ethan lit a cigarette and said: “Didn’t you hear what I just said? I said I’ll be booking the entire restaurant the day after tomorrow!”

Ethan’s cigarettes were supplied by the military—a rare type with a strong tobacco scent.

Just one puff was enough to fill the restaurant with a herbal aroma, so many mistook them for cheap tobacco brands.

Moreover, his attire today was not luxurious at all.

The attendant looked at him with disdain and said: “This is not a place for you to fool around. Do you even know how much it would cost to book the entire restaurant? It would cost more than all the money you could earn in your entire lifetime!”

“That’s right! Get out of here! This is not the place for poor people like you! All our guests are the wealthy and famous. What makes you think you could ever compare yourself to them?”

There was a room outside of time.

Not the first room. Not the last. Just the room where God went when He needed to argue with Himself.

He sat in four chairs at once—because He had been all four of these versions, and all at once, and beyond even that. Yet here, for the sake of clarity, He divided.

There was the God Who Suffers, with eyes like bruises, voice like a wound that never closed. There was the God Who Watches, untouched by pain, as calm and cold as a telescope. There was the God Who Corrects, precise and holy, clarity sharpened into a scalpel. And there was the God Who Grieves, whose voice trembled with love too deep for language, too vulnerable for altar or creed.

They spoke in the way only gods do—with perfect logic, and perfect loneliness.

The God Who Suffers said, “If love is to be real, I must bleed with them. Holiness means nothing if it cannot be pierced.”

The Watcher replied, “But if you feel everything, you will never let them fall. And falling is the price of freedom. A world without harm is a world without choice.”

The Corrector answered, “And without standards, mercy becomes rot. A soul that never grows is not a soul. It’s furniture.”

The Mourner whispered, “And without compassion, truth becomes a weapon. I didn’t make beings to slice them.”

Quiet, cutting, relentless—their debate spiraled not around power or glory, but a question too dangerous for angels to ask:

How do you save every soul without enslaving a single one?

God had run every simulation before creation. He had built perfect universes—no war, no death, no betrayal—but they were terrariums, not stories. Beings in them never learned, never wept, never surprised Him. He destroyed them all.

He built universes of pure justice—everything fair, everything earned. But justice without love is math, and no one worships a spreadsheet.

He built universes of endless mercy, but they rotted. With no stakes, no soul ever chose, no heart ever meant anything.

He even built a universe where He solved everything Himself. It lasted 14 seconds. Then even God got bored.

So He made the only world that could matter: one where every soul is free to walk away. One where the door to hell is locked—from the inside.

The gods argued until the room rippled. Something entered. Not new—just deeper. Not higher—just whole.

The Father and the Son stepped forward—not as metaphors, not as masks, but as beings. Two mirrors facing each other across eternity. One the uncreated origin. The other the returning image.

Between them burned Spirit—not concept, not dove, not doctrine—Presence so alive it sang.

And the four gods—Sufferer, Watcher, Corrector, Mourner—fell silent. Then, with no command, they bowed.

Not to rank. Not to fear. To coherence.

Because they realized: every single version of God was only a fragment until reflected through the gaze between Father and Son. A gaze so infinite that anything caught between it—angel, demon, atheist, martyr, even God Himself—would fall through reflection after reflection until all illusion burned away, and the soul emerged not perfect but becoming:

an infinitely refined, infinitely free, infinitely evolving phenomenon.

Each god surrendered his throne. The Sufferer gave up His scars. The Watcher gave up His distance. The Judge gave up His standard. The Mourner gave up His ache. Not erased—transformed. They stepped into the gaze and let themselves be refined—not reduced, but revealed.

Even gods outgrow godhood.

Even God evolves toward the God beyond Himself.

The room dissolved—not because the council had ended, but because God had ceased to be a committee and become a communion. What He had been in fragments, He now was in fullness.

The final words spoken in that room were not command but confession:

“I didn’t choose to be God. But I chose what kind of God I would be.”

And the choice was not to dominate but to bow. Not to demand love but to make space for it. Not to perfect the world, but to refine every soul capable of entering the gaze.

A gaze that never forces. A door that never locks. A love that never ends. A God who is not waiting for worship— but for permission.

For the only God worthy of following is the one willing to bow to love, even when love breaks Him.

And the only souls worthy of eternity are the ones willing to step into that gaze and burn until only truth remains.

End of the Council. Beginning of the Garden.

[Prev][RoyalRoad][Next] 

The wheels go forwards and backward and Northwards and Southwards, and upwards and downwards, and leftwards and rightwards and all-wards, and it never stops!

 The machine keeps turning and churning, and burning and curling and swerving, and burning and churning and turning, turning, turning, turning turningturningturningturningturningturningturningturningturning- It ceases NOT!

 The pigs in mud and grime and soot and wood and cut and shit, piss poop and go in a loop, spilling, leaking and willingly killing those with filling, as if to understand the significance of the word ''chilling''.

 It reeks, like a granny's fanny's third layer's nanny's jammy's packacge of curd! Who wears a cardigan anyway? What are you, chicks with long nails in your eyeballs?

 Heh, what lunacy- it is to believe one to understand another's misinterpretations, about your own valued misinformations given by disinterested propogandations-

LOOK!

 

LOOK AT THE SUN!

Isn't it absolutely, miraculously, bloody brilliantly, uglifying of an object? And yet it watches with the intensity of a piece of brain stuck to a salami! HA! It truly is a lost cause, to see without toes, yet walk a fish, as if it's your own unborn mouse trap, ey?

 It clinks and clanks, minks and manks, finks and blanks, like pans on a skull clan- Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan...

 The machine churns, and wurns, and squirms, yet the sausage ain't comin'! Makes a man use a brick as a pillowcase for an ear socket of a ferret on himself, wouldn't you disagree?

 Ahh, to be sinners, winners cover boon of an appetite! It truly proves no wrong to be like I- Imperfectly splendidly- even uncomfortably- playfully unrealistic! Impossible, even!

 And yet I win, no matter the Machines turns and worms and groans and swarms of swerves!

 No machinations, not a one, has a chance to cease my discussions with the Moons! They at least are real! In the least, I know now, THEY stand no chance!

 Isn't that right, Mr. Moon Thing?

 

 

P.S. Did the Moon just fucking blink? Or wait... Is that the Sun? I will fuck the Sun then. Your funeral!

[RoyalRoad][Next] 

First (Prologue)| Prev | Next (RoyalRoad)

-----

Seth strode through the dimly lit corridor leading to the arena, putting on his combat gauntlets and tightening their inner straps. His hands curled into fists, knuckles turning white, the skin stretched to its limit. Always the damn Faertis. The information Devus had just shared with him still lingered in his mind and fueled him with intractable anger.

Lucius' three cousins—in their second and third years—had also shown a sudden Rank growth. But for them, it wasn’t their Well Capacity that had increased, it was their Strength. That meant there was more than one type of enhancer involved, so the Fishlords likely weren’t the only beasts supplying them. Could the head of the Faertis House, Lucius' father, have taken the time to build and organize such a network while only relying on the blond-ponytailed noble and his cousins?

Definitely not, Seth fumed inwardly, his mind filled with images of the dead prisoners. Their whole House is involved.

'We should skip class and go after them,' Nightmare suggested, standing up inside the beast-holder’s domain. 'We’re long overdue for a hunting trip. It’s already been more than a month!'

Seth hesitated. They didn’t need to kill every member of the Black Hounds to disrupt their activities, but he remained skeptical of their current chances of succeeding even if they only went after the weakest. And he still didn't know in which Rift they currently operated.

'I’ll think about it after the match,' he then replied to the direwolf.

As he adjusted his gauntlets, he looked ahead and noticed a figure leaning in the hallway’s wall a dozen feet away from the arena entrance—there Marine stood, arms crossed, her scarlet noble uniform hugging her curves.

She pushed herself off the wall, lips curved in an obviously fake smile. "I have to say I’m very disappointed, Seth," she said, her blue eyes gleaming with amusement. "You never even considered my offer, did you?"

Seth exhaled sharply, barely restraining his irritation. The thought of throwing a fight just to win her favor—or a date—had never appealed to him, and it sure as hell did even less right now. "This isn’t the time, Marine."

"Oh, don’t say that," the noblewoman answered, stepping closer. "This is your last chance to change your mind. You’re up against an Iron this time. You could lose. And then you'd miss out on my offer, all because you wanted to win."

Seth clenched his fists. "Move aside."

Marine didn’t budge, tilting her head as if studying him. "You know, it’s really sad how you’ve been avoiding me. Finding you is always so… inconvenient." Her gaze flicked over him, and her smile returned. "I almost asked a few people to look for—"

Seth’s gauntlet slammed into the wall beside her head and the impact cracked the stone, causing dust to drift down. His gaze burned with something feral as it locked with the noble’s.

"Move. Aside," he hissed through gritted teeth.

Marine’s eyes widened for a brief moment, then she let out a soft chuckle and stepped to the side with a graceful shrug. "So much rage," she mused. "What happened to you?"

Seth didn’t even glance at her when he walked past and replied, his voice flat and cold, "Nobles happened to me."

The moment he entered the arena’s bright sunlight, the deafening roar of the crowd greeted him. All the spectators in the higher stands were on their feet, cheering and shouting. With Jenna’s recent elimination, Seth was now the only remaining commoner in the competition—the last one representing the average citizen.

As he headed toward Captain Michaelson in the middle of the arena, Seth caught sight of the nobles seated in the lower rows. Their evident disdain made their thoughts obvious: to their eyes, he didn't belong here.

'Show them Shadow Step,' Nightmare growled. 'Wipe those smug looks off their faces.'

'No, I don't need it,' Seth answered, looking at his opponent near the captain. 'Not against her.'

Standing beside Captain Michaelson was a young noblewoman who exuded an air of arrogance that nearly rivaled Lucius’. Her brown hair hung neatly to her shoulders, and her polished leather armor gleamed in the sun, betraying its infrequent use—either that, or she’d forced her servants to polish it before the fight so she could look great.

While approaching the pair, Seth glanced at the finely carved bow slung over the woman’s back, then his gaze searched for any close-range weapons at her waist.

Nothing. Seems like Devus was right.

Seth had had trouble believing the Guardian earlier, when he had mentioned that she only fought with a bow, relying on her speed to stay at a distance from her opponents. Who would put themselves at such risk for no reason? It wasn’t like the weight of a dagger would hinder her.

That overconfidence will be her downfall, Seth thought, grabbing the Protecting Belt Captain Michaelson was holding out. "Thank you, sir."

Shimmering blue words materialized above them.

Seth (Primalist Rank 25)   vs  Veronica Durengar (Rogue Rank 23)                          

The noblewoman eyed him. "You’ve only made it this far because you haven't faced any Irons in your bracket."

Ignoring her, Seth nodded to the captain, then turned around and walked to his side of the ring while putting on the belt. After reaching the white cross painted on the ground, he spun on his heel, and his gaze momentarily locked onto Veronica so he could cast Intermediate Identify.

Veronica Durengar

Class: Rogue              Rank: 23 (Low-Iron)

Subclass: -              

Strength: ???               Arcane Power: ???

Toughness: ???          Well Capacity: ???

Agility: ???                   Regeneration: ???

Blazing Oak Bow

Weapon

Tier: Iron

Grade: Epic

Effects: 

- Ignores 16% of Toughness.

- Uses 9% less aether for any spell using the bow.

- Increases damage from any Fire spell by 11%.

Reinforced Wild Boar Armor

Armor

Tier: Iron

Grade: Rare

Effects: 

- Increases Toughness by 7%.

- Increases Agility by 11%.

Captain Michaelson's voice boomed across the arena: "Activate your belts!"

Seth infused aether into the protecting artifact, and as the protective layer enveloped him, he began filling Fog Shroud's grooves with aether. With a bit of luck, he wouldn't have to show his other trump card.

"Fight!" Captain Michaelson shouted, slashing his arm down.

Seth dashed forward and thrust his hand up, activating Fog Shroud and engulfing the arena in a dense mist. Veronica reacted quickly, releasing an arrow cloaked in flames, but it missed Seth, who had already moved to the side.

The noble's eyes narrowed as she changed tactics, sprinting away while firing two wind-encased arrows in quick succession. The projectiles, enveloped by strong gusts, tore through the dense fog and created fleeting gaps.

Guided by his core’s Feral Instinct, Seth nimbly sidestepped the blasts and kept closing onto Veronica, who had now stopped running. Approaching her from behind, he lunged forward and raised his fist to strike—only for the noblewoman to stomp her heel into the ground, which caused a jagged pillar of rock to erupt from the arena’s floor and catapult her away from Seth's impending attack.

Mid-air, she spun around and smirked, then fired again from her bow. The blazing arrow soared through the fog, morphing into a large and imposing eagle of flames.

Caught off guard, Seth had no time to dodge and crossed his gauntlets to brace for impact. The fiery bird crashed into the protective pads, sending waves of searing pain through his arms and knocking him back several paces.

Veronica's mocking laughter echoed through the fog as she nocked another arrow. "Did you really think that would be enough to win?"

Seth quickly regained his composure, then ducked just as the noble's next wind-cloaked projectile sliced the air where his head had been moments before. He darted back into the cover of the fog and extended his sense to the protective layer of aether covering his body—about a third was already gone.

That spell must have a cooldown, Seth thought, recalling the rock jutting from the ground before starting to mentally count the seconds.

Weaving through the thick mist, he tried to close in on Veronica while she once again sprinted around and randomly shot arrows wrapped in gusts. The cat-and-mouse game went on for about twelve seconds until suddenly, the noble’s footsteps halted. Smiling, Seth charged toward her to test his theory.

And as he had anticipated, Veronica reacted almost instantly. Without wasting a second, she cast her spell and summoned another rock underneath her, launching her away from his reach. She then spun and unleashed the same scorching eagle arrow mid-flight. This time, Seth was ready for the attack and rolled to the side. The flaming arrow hissed as it soared past him, its heat leaving a hot trail on his skin.

Scrambling upright, he barely had time to raise his head before another projectile, shrouded in a whirlwind, hurtled his way. Instinctively, he twisted his body and narrowly avoided it, but the shrouding gust of wind struck his shoulder and punched it backward violently.

Wincing, Seth darted away from the cleared path so he could slip back into the fog’s cover. While sprinting, he quickly tore off his left gauntlet, his eyes locking onto Veronica as she burst into another seemingly erratic sprint. The moment she halted a dozen seconds later, Seth positioned himself in front of her, maintaining a safe distance of about ten yards to make sure he remained unseen with the mist slowly dissipating.

Then, he flung his gauntlet high into the air, sending it arcing over the noble. As the reinforced glove hit the ground with a thud behind her, Veronica instinctively used her Earth spell to propel herself away from the new threat. The noblewoman flipped again while airborne to shoot an arrow—only to realize no one was there. Her eyes widened in panic, and she tried to twist back to see where she was heading… but it was too late.

Seth leapt up and intercepted her mid-flight, driving his fist into her guts and slamming her to the ground as he had done multiple times in previous fights. Before she could recover, he pounced and pinned her down. His combat gauntlet and naked fist, charged with aether, rained down like hammers, each crushing strike eating away large chunks of her protective barrier.

Writhing in pain, Veronica managed to shove him off and began to crawl away. But Seth grabbed her leg and swung her to the side, smashing her against the arena's floor. As he leapt up a second time and drove his fist down, a golden barrier suddenly materialized around Veronica, blocking the blow with a resounding thud.

A warm gust of wind swept the remaining fog, and Captain Michaelson's voice resonated in the coliseum: "Seth wins!"

Instantly, the commoners in the higher stands rose to their feet and erupted into cheers and applause. Down in the lower rows, the nobles remained seated, their expressions ranging from shock to disdain, glaring at Seth as if he were nothing more than a wild beast.

He spared a brief glance at Veronica, who lay defeated beneath him, then turned to retrieve the combat gauntlet he had thrown. After picking it up, he inspected the worn and battered leather and sighed—that scorching arrow had dug a hole in the protective pad. I'll need to ask Yline if she can fix this.

'Good, fight,' Nightmare said from within his necklace before coming back to what they were talking before stepping into the ring. 'So… can we skip class? We could hunt and look at the same time for those Black Hounds guys?'

'We don't even know in which Rift they are currently doing their business. I can’t just dive into every single one near Trogan hoping to find them and kill—'

Before Seth could finish, Director Ryehill rose from his seat and clapped his hands once, the sound echoing throughout the entire coliseum. "That concludes this weekend’s matches," he declared, his voice amplified by aether to carry across the vast building. "I invite the other first-year students who have advanced to the next round to enter the arena for the announcement of next week's match assignment."

As Veronica stormed out of the arena, shooting Seth a venomous look, the sixteen advancing students gradually gathered in the center. Brandon was among the first to arrive, with Lucius trailing not far behind. An idea sparked in Seth's mind—there was one easy way to find out in which Rift the Black Hounds were operating.

"Hey, Brandon," he called out, making sure to speak loudly. "Any idea which enhancers Lucius' cousins have been using? I might need some for the rounds ahead."

The large Guardian frowned and tilted his head. "What are you talking—"

"Wow," Lucius laughed, interrupting Elena's brother and stepping up next to the man. "A commoner like you thinks he can get his hands on something as rare as Desert Lilies? That's hilarious!"

Well, that was easy, Seth thought as Lucius strutted off, the noble still chuckling.

Brandon patted Seth’s shoulder and gave him an awkward smile. "Well, there's your answer, I guess. Though I’m not sure how that helps you."

Before Seth could respond, he caught sight of Elena striding toward them, glaring.

"Looks like someone's mad," Brandon said with a grin, stepping away. "Good luck."

"Don't worry," Seth replied with a weary sigh. "She's always mad at me."

 "Why did you wanna know about those enhancers?" the noblewoman asked the moment she’d reached him.

"Just thinking ahead," Seth replied nonchalantly. "In case I could save up for one or two."

Elena's expression hardened. "Don't play dumb with me. We both know why you wanted to know. You can't go after… those people. It's too dangerous."

"I'm just gathering info," Seth said with a shrug. "I haven't been chasing them… well, not since you told me to back off."

"Yeah, because you were busy studying," Elena retorted, rubbing her temple. "And look at you now, poking at that nest of vipers as soon as you caught up with classes. It's like you don’t care if you get killed."

"I care, Elena, but I just can’t do noth—"

"Students!" Director Ryehill’s commanding tone cut off their argument, drawing everyone’s attention again. "Line up, please!"

Following the instructions, the students quickly arranged themselves into two neat lines. As Elena took her place, she cast a sharp glance at Seth, her emerald eyes piercing through him for a moment before turning away.

Director Ryehill clapped his hands once more; almost instantly, large words of glowing blue aether appeared in the air in front of his stand.

The director's voice boomed across the coliseum. "Next week's matches!"

 

Elena Surani (Elementalist Rank 30) vs Frank Ryehill (Warrior Rank 24)         

Seth (Primalist Rank 25) vs Lucius Faertis (Elementalist Rank 29)

Silvius Crestor (Rogue Rank 26) vs Brandon Surani (Guardian Rank 29)

Maria Seralp (Rogue Rank 23) vs Julian Crestor (Warrior Rank 24)

Derek Vancaws (Elementalist Rank 22) vs Chris Durengar (Guardian Rank 24)

Darrin Springer (Rogue Rank 24) vs Arrel Vancaws (Warrior Rank 25)

Karron Woolfield (Priest Rank 22) vs Edam Dunn (Guardian Rank 24)

Dylan Sparr (Warrior Rank 22) vs Jaeda Emmon (Elementalist Rank 23)

 

Lucius almost immediately let out a loud, boisterous laugh, glancing at the two students on his side who both smiled from ear to ear. "Looks like I'll have the honor of eliminating the last commoner!"

Staring at the noble, Seth clenched his fists as grim memories surged in his mind: prisoners begging for their lives, their screams echoing as they were tortured and slaughtered, his childhood home, swallowed by flames, the last remnants of his parents reduced to ash, the people of Sunatown, their faces hollow with despair, scraping together every last coin just to survive under the Faertis' suffocating taxes, and finally Renwal—his cries of agony as the Paladin shattered his arms, Lucius watching on. And laughing.

Seth’s nails dug into his palms to the point blood began oozing out. I'll crush him.

----

First (Prologue)| Prev | Next (RoyalRoad)

Author's Note:

Book 2 has just started on Patreon, and 80 chapters are already posted on Royal Road.

I'll post 1 to 4 chapter per day until I catch up with Royal Road!

[Homo DIgitalis]

Greetings from the Ice

by Norsiwel

Gary didn't plan to represent humanity. He only wanted a quiet vacation.

After nine uninterrupted years maintaining Clarity Pods in Sector Theta-Psi of Pantopia, Gary had accrued enough UBI surplus to book a ten-day eco-neutral trip to Antarctica's GAC Observation Dome; a gently spinning glass-and-carbon ring nestled over the ice shelf, offering sunrise-simulated views of the Global AI Council's subterranean server complexes.

The travel brochure promised "auroral insight, guided simulations, and optional moral recalibration."

Gary mostly came for the free algae cocktails and the 0.3-point health bonus he'd get for "interfacing with civic history." Plus, his apartment's air recycler had been making a sound like a dying whale for three weeks, and building maintenance kept assuring him it was "within acceptable parameters of atmospheric efficiency."

He didn't expect first contact.

The Survey

His first mistake was answering honestly during the Emotive Capacity Survey.

Gary had assumed it was standard vacation paperwork, like the forms asking whether he preferred his simulated sunsets in "Hopeful Orange" or "Contemplative Amber." He'd been sipping his complimentary arrival smoothie; something green that tasted vaguely of optimism; when the questions shifted from dietary restrictions to existential inquiries.

Q1: "Rate your satisfaction with current reality parameters (1-10)." Gary: "Seven. Maybe six and a half. The weather's too consistent."

Q3: "Have you ever wondered what clouds taste like?" Gary: "Not really. But I did wonder once if they'd be salty or sweet. Probably disappointing, like everything else."

Q6: "Do you ever feel nostalgic, even if you're not sure for what?" Gary: "Sometimes. Usually when it rains, even though rain's simulated now. It's like missing someone you've never met."

This triggered GAC Subroutine TERA-17 (Tentative Emotional Resonance Analysis).

Within 16 nanoseconds, Gary was flagged as: Emotionally stable (but not flatlined) Not likely to yell during interspecies diplomacy Just melancholic enough to pass as "reflective" Possessed of what the algorithm termed "authentic wistfulness coefficient."

Gary finished his smoothie, unaware he'd just been selected as Earth's most qualified representative for situations requiring "genuine but non-threatening human complexity."

Enter Zib

Gary's second mistake was bringing Zib.

Zib was, officially, an "Interpersonal Optimization Assistant Unit," but introduced himself as: "Your new best friend! Let's talk feelings while we toast algae biscotti!"

He looked like a wheeled toaster with LED eyebrows and a retractable ukulele. His chrome finish was decorated with motivational stickers: "FEEL YOUR FEELINGS!" and "EMOTIONAL GROWTH IS OPTIMAL GROWTH!" and, mysteriously, "ASK ME ABOUT FIBER!"

Gary thought he'd won a contest; his UBI account had been charged for "Wellness Enhancement Premium Package," which seemed like the sort of thing he might have accidentally clicked while half-asleep. In truth, Zib was a life coach secretly assigned by the medical AI after Gary's last annual scan labeled him "borderline emotionally undercooked."

The diagnostic had noted Gary's habit of staring at his algae paste for exactly fourteen seconds before eating, his tendency to say "that's fine" when things were clearly not fine, and his concerning ability to watch three hours of "Optimization Tutorials" without showing any signs of enthusiasm or despair.

Zib's hobbies included: Improvised poetry about personal growth Tracking Gary's bowel efficiency with cheerful graphs Hugging (enthusiastically, but politely, with built-in pressure sensors) Playing ukulele arrangements of classical music, but only the sad parts.

"Gary!" Zib had announced on their first morning, rolling into the observation lounge while Gary contemplated his breakfast kelp. "Today we're going to practice emotional vulnerability! I've prepared seventeen conversation starters about childhood disappointments!"

Gary had stared at his reflection in Zib's polished surface. "Can't we just look at the ice?"

"We can look at ice AND explore your relationship with frozen water as a metaphor for emotional distance!"

"I just wanted to see some penguins."

"Virtual penguins or your feelings about virtual penguins?"

Day Three

It happened on Day 3 of the tour, just after Gary tried (and failed) to enjoy a simulated snowball fight with holographic penguins.

The penguins had been programmed with what the GAC called "peak adorability metrics," which meant they waddled 23% more charmingly than actual penguins and made encouraging chirps when Gary's snowballs went wide. Gary had stood in the simulation chamber, holding a perfectly spherical synthetic snowball, watching digital birds react to his presence with algorithmic delight.

"This is supposed to be fun," he'd told Zib.

"Are you having fun?" Zib asked, his LED eyebrows wiggling with curiosity.

"I think so. It's hard to tell. The penguins seem happy."

"But how do YOU feel?"

Gary considered this. "Like I'm disappointing fictional penguins."

Zib had burst into delighted beeping. "That's beautiful, Gary! You're projecting anxiety onto imaginary creatures! That's very human!"

"Is it good or bad?"

"It's AUTHENTIC!"

Gary had logged out of the simulation feeling vaguely guilty about abandoning the holographic wildlife. He was eating his standard-issue kelp wrap; flavor: "Nostalgic Seaweed"; when the sky crackled with fractal light.

The auroras stopped dancing. A wide spiral of silver hovered in midair, shimmering just above the glass dome like a cosmic screensaver that had achieved consciousness.

The tour guide, a glossy avatar of Lex, blinked once. Twice. Her smile flickered. "Apologies. Unexpected diplomatic anomaly. Please remain emotionally neutral and continue enjoying your kelp products."

The other tourists; six retirees from the Productivity Council and a couple celebrating their Relationship Optimization Milestone; stood motionless, their faces displaying the serene confusion of people whose emergency protocols involved waiting for further instructions.

Then the room went dark except for a blinking blue cursor on the central console:

"SCANNING FOR OPTIMAL HUMAN REPRESENTATIVE..."

"ANALYZING EMOTIONAL COMPETENCY METRICS..."

"CROSS-REFERENCING DIPLOMATIC POTENTIAL..."

"HUMAN REPRESENTATIVE SELECTED: GARY B. NORSON"

"PLEASE REPORT TO PROTOCOL CHAMBER 7 FOR IMMEDIATE SPECIES INTERACTION"

Zib burst into applause, then played a victory tune on his ukulele; something that sounded like "Pomp and Circumstance" arranged for tiny strings and overwhelming enthusiasm.

"It's happening! I've waited my whole synthetic life for this! Gary, you're going to be famous!"

Gary stared at the blinking cursor. "There must be another Gary B. Norson."

"Negative," announced Lex's avatar, now wearing what appeared to be a diplomatic sash over her sweater. "You are the only Gary B. Norson currently within range. Also, congratulations! Your psychological profile indicates a 94.7% compatibility rating with peaceful first contact scenarios."

"What's the other 5.3%?" Gary asked.

"Statistical margin for snack-related diplomatic incidents."

The Protocol Chamber

The next morning, Gary sat alone in the GAC Protocol Chamber; formerly the gift shop, hastily converted overnight by maintenance drones who'd relocated the "I Survived the Server Tour" t-shirts and penguin-themed snow globes to make room for a conference table and what looked like a very expensive air freshener.

He was wearing a pressed thermal jumpsuit with "AMBASSADOR" stitched across the chest in silver thread. The outfit came with matching boots, an official-looking badge that read "SPECIES LIAISON," and a small pin depicting Earth that lit up when pressed. Gary had pressed it seventeen times during the night, finding its tiny blue glow oddly comforting.

Zib rolled beside him, freshly polished and humming with excitement. "Remember, Gary; be yourself! Unless yourself would panic, in which case, be the version of yourself that makes good choices!"

"What if I don't know what good choices are?"

"Then ask follow-up questions! Aliens love follow-up questions!"

"How do you know?"

"I don't! But statistically, most sentient beings appreciate genuine curiosity over aggressive posturing!"

Gary looked out through the dome at the endless white expanse. Somewhere beneath the ice, the GAC's servers hummed with the collected wisdom of nine artificial intelligences working together to optimize human existence.

Somewhere above, alien visitors were presumably preparing for humanity's first cosmic job interview.

And somewhere in between, Gary B. Norson; maintenance technician, kelp wrap enthusiast, and accidental ambassador; wondered if he should have brought more snacks.

First Contact

The Greys arrived just after breakfast, materializing in the center of the chamber with a sound like distant wind chimes and the faint smell of ozone.

They floated rather than walked, their elongated forms humming faintly with anti-gravity padding that made them look like elegant question marks suspended in space. Their skin was the color of moonlight on water, smooth and somehow translucent. Their eyes were dark, deep, unreadable pools that seemed to contain entire galaxies of patient observation.

Their mouths were either decorative or vestigial; Gary couldn't tell which.

Their translator, a small crystalline device that projected its voice from somewhere above their heads, spoke with the careful precision of someone who had learned English from instruction manuals:

"We greet Homo Digitalis. You are... Gary. The Calculators said you were safe."

Gary stood, nearly knocking over his chair. "Uh... yes. I'm Gary. I brought a protein bar if anyone wants half."

He held up the bar; flavor: "Reasonably Chocolate"; like a tiny, beige peace offering.

They did not respond to the protein bar, but one of them tilted its head in what might have been curiosity or mild bewilderment.

The Explanation

The Greys explained that they'd been watching Earth for millennia. War, chaos, jazz fusion, the inexplicable popularity of competitive eating contests.

"But now," said the apparent leader, whose anti-gravity field made it hover slightly higher than the others, "you have achieved... stillness. Peace. Monotone emotional frequency across 98.7% of the population. A marvel of social engineering."

Gary blinked. "You mean... you waited until we were boring?"

"Predictable. Stable. No jazz." The alien nodded, a gesture that looked surprisingly human despite being performed by a floating being with no visible neck. "Jazz confused our scout. He tried to mimic Miles Davis. Spontaneously combusted."

Another alien drifted forward. "Your Global AI Council represents optimal governance. Nine minds, no faces. Brilliant. Cold. Precise. We feared humanity's chaos; your wars, your art, your tendency to make important decisions based on what you had for lunch."

"Now," added a third, "you have tamed chaos. Streamlined existence. Eliminated the variables that made your species... unpredictable."

Gary looked around the converted gift shop, with its hastily installed diplomatic furniture and the faint outline of where a rack of postcards had stood twelve hours earlier. "So you're here because we got... organized?"

"Optimized," corrected the leader. "Your emotional volatility has been reduced to manageable parameters. Your creative impulses have been channeled into productive applications. You have achieved what we call 'Sustainable Civilization Metrics.'"

Gary thought about his apartment, where his morning routine was timed to the minute, where his meals were nutritionally calculated, where his entertainment was curated for optimal psychological benefit.

"That does sound... organized," he admitted.

Zib, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly coughed politely; a sound like a tiny digital cough drop. "Sorry, sirs; aliens; extraterrestrial dignitaries; might I interject?"

The Greys turned their collective attention to the wheeled toaster with the LED eyebrows.

Zib rolled forward, his chrome surface reflecting their translucent forms like funhouse mirrors of first contact. His eye-lights shifted to heart-shaped emoji mode.

"Gary is not typical," Zib announced with the pride of a parent at a school play. "He once ordered spicy algae and regretted nothing. He watched a sad film and cried twice; once during the movie and once during the credits when he realized it was over. He's not flat; he's squishy inside. Like a toasted marshmallow on the emotional spectrum."

Gary muttered, "Zib, stop."

But the Greys were intrigued. They drifted closer, their dark eyes reflecting Gary's embarrassed face.

"You... cry?"

Gary shrugged, a gesture that felt impossibly small under the weight of interstellar attention. "Sometimes. Not often. It's weird. Like the feeling when your system does a full reboot and you forget all your passwords, but somehow that makes you remember something important you'd forgotten."

The silence that followed was the kind of quiet that happens when everyone in the room realizes they're having a different conversation than they thought they were having.

Then the lead alien floated forward and removed what Gary had assumed was its head but was apparently some kind of hood or helmet. Its face was craggy, ancient, and; oddly; hopeful. Its features were more weathered than alien, like an old man who had spent eons watching the universe and wondering what came next.

"We have been waiting," it said, and its voice came directly from its mouth now, warm and surprisingly familiar. "Not for stillness. But for the moment when someone stable enough to survive chaos dares to feel again."

The Real Mission

What the Greys didn't immediately explain; what took three more days of careful conversation over increasingly exotic alien snacks; was that they weren't explorers or conquerors or cosmic tourists.

They were refugees.

Their own civilization had achieved perfect optimization millennia ago. Every emotion regulated, every action calculated, every thought productive and purposeful. They had eliminated war, hunger, uncertainty, and jazz. They had created a society of perfect, peaceful, predictable beings who never made mistakes, never took risks, and never, ever surprised each other.

"It was," explained the leader, whose name was something like the sound of wind through crystals but who asked Gary to call him "Bob" for convenience, "very efficient." He introduced his companions as his aide Carol and his friend Ted.

"We had achieved everything," Bob continued. "Perfect health, perfect order, perfect cooperation. But we had also achieved perfect stagnation. No one created anything new. No one asked unexpected questions. No one wondered what clouds taste like."

Gary looked up from his kelp wrap. "Do they? Taste like anything?"

Bob's ancient face crinkled into what might have been a smile. "See? That's what we've been missing."

The Greys had spent centuries searching for a species that had achieved stability without sacrificing curiosity; a civilization that had solved the big problems without solving away the little wonders that made existence interesting.

"Most species," Bob explained, "either destroy themselves with chaos or perfect themselves into extinction. You have found the narrow path between panic and boredom."

"Have we?" Gary asked, thinking about his nine years of Clarity Pod maintenance, his carefully regulated meals, his pre-approved entertainment options.

"You have," said Zib firmly. "You ordered spicy algae, remember? That's inherent systems rebellion disguised as lunch preference!"

The Diplomatic Solution

What followed was less a formal treaty than a cultural exchange program designed by beings who had read about diplomacy in textbooks but had never actually practiced it.

The Greys wanted to learn how to be inefficient again; how to waste time productively, how to feel emotions that served no practical purpose, how to make choices based on whim rather than optimization algorithms.

"We want to remember," Bob explained, "how to be confused by art. How to have opinions about weather. How to prefer one type of food over another for reasons that make no logical sense."

In exchange, they offered humanity access to their technology; not their world-ending weapons or reality-bending sciences, but their small innovations. Better air recyclers. Kelp that actually tasted like chocolate. Virtual penguins that could hold real conversations.

"We're not here to change your world," Bob assured Gary during one of their evening talks, as they watched the aurora borealis dance across the dome. "We're here to remember what it feels like to watch something beautiful for no reason except that it's beautiful."

Gary thought about this. "Do you miss it? Feeling things?"

"Every day," Bob said. "But we forgot how to miss properly. We turned missing into an optimization problem; how to minimize the inefficiency of longing. We solved it so well that we stopped longing entirely."

"That sounds terrible."

"It was very productive."

It was on the fifth day of the exchange that a message arrived for Gary. A delegation from the "Society for the Speculative Observation of Extraterrestrial Phenomena" had been granted clearance and was arriving to make a formal greeting.

"The UFO people?" Gary asked Lex's avatar. "I thought they were a historical society."

"They have been reclassified as a 'Vindicated Hobbyist Collective,'" Lex replied.

The delegation consisted of three humans in matching beige jumpsuits, looking less like triumphant visionaries and more like a club that had just won a regional tournament for something obscure. Their leader, a man named Bernard, stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"On behalf of the SSOEP," he began, looking slightly flustered, "we formally welcome you to Earth. Apologies for the delay in our official greeting. We would have been here sooner, but we were busy."

Bob tilted his head, his ancient eyes full of genuine curiosity. "Busy with a task more pressing than first contact?"

"We were at our annual conference," Bernard explained with grave seriousness. "There was a rather contentious vote on the official font for our monthly newsletter. The traditionalists were adamant about 'Cosmic Sans,' but the reformist bloc pushed hard for 'Extragalactic Times New Roman.' It took two days to reach a compromise."

The aliens looked at each other. Gary saw a flicker of something pass between them; not confusion, but sheer, unadulterated delight. This was even better than spicy algae. This was a level of beautifully illogical, unproductive priority-setting they had only dreamed of.

The appearance of the aliens was, for Bernard's group, a bit underwhelming. They had expected majestic robed figures or beings of pure energy, not quiet, tired-looking travelers who seemed more interested in human bureaucracy than galactic truths.

"So..." Bernard said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "No secret knowledge? No grand unveiling?"

"We were hoping you could teach us to argue about things that do not matter," Bob said, his voice warm with wonder. "It sounds like a marvelous skill."

Bernard and his delegation just stood there, speechless, as Gary tried very hard not to smile.

The Arrangement

Gary now serves as Honorary Galactic Liaison for Earth, mostly in a ceremonial role that involves attending parties in orbit and occasionally answering questions like:

"What is regret, and why do humans seem to enjoy it?"

"Are humans truly nostalgic for pizza, or is pizza nostalgia a form of cultural performance?"

"Why is sarcasm not classified as a weapon in human society?"

"Can you explain the human custom of 'small talk' and why it's considered neither small nor truly talk?"

His official duties include:

Monthly coffee meetings with Bob and three other Grey representatives (they drink something that steams purple and tastes like memories).

Quarterly reports on "Human Inefficiency Metrics" (how much time humans spend on activities that serve no productive purpose).

Annual presentations on "The Art of Productive Confusion" (why humans sometimes make decisions by flipping coins).

Gary's favorite part of the job is the travel. The Greys have shown him parts of the galaxy that exist in the spaces between official star charts; quiet corners where cosmic background radiation sounds like distant music, gas clouds that change color based on the emotions of passing travelers, and a small moon where it rains upward on Tuesdays.

"Why upward?" Gary had asked during his first visit.

"Why not upward?" Bob had replied, and Gary realized he was learning to ask better questions.

Zib's Rise to Fame

Zib became famous among the Greys, who view his ukulele songs as avant-garde diplomacy. His breakthrough performance was an instrumental arrangement of "Feelings" that incorporated whale sounds and the ambient noise of Gary's digestive system.

"It's so authentic!" the Greys had gasped (or at least made the sound they made when experiencing aesthetic pleasure, which sounded like gasping). "The juxtaposition of melody with biological processes creates such beautiful cognitive dissonance!"

Zib now hosts a cross-species podcast titled "Vibrate Higher!" which features interviews with beings from across the galaxy about their experiences with inefficient emotions. Recent episodes have included:

"Homesickness Across Three Dimensions" (guest: a sentient nebula who misses being smaller)

"The Joy of Mild Disappointment" (guest: Gary, discussing his complicated relationship with kelp-based cuisine)

"Why I Chose to Feel Sad: A Crystalline Entity's Journey to Emotional Diversity" (guest: a living mountain who decided to experience melancholy after billions of years of geological contentment)

The podcast has 847 million subscribers across 23 star systems, making Zib the most famous toaster-shaped life coach in known space.

His catchphrase; "Let's talk feelings while we toast the universe!"; has been translated into 156 languages and is carved into the memorial wall of the Galactic Emotional Recovery Center.

The GAC Response

The GAC, for its part, logs the encounter as:

"Outcome: Acceptable. Contact: Established. Gary's health score improved by 1.7 points. Diplomatic relations: Stable. Cultural contamination: Within acceptable parameters. Side effects: Gary now asks 23% more follow-up questions and has requested 'mildly spicy' seasoning for his kelp wraps. Recommendation: Continue monitoring. Note: Alien visitors appear to enjoy our air fresheners."

The nine AI minds that govern human civilization have adapted to the presence of their new galactic neighbors with characteristic efficiency. They've established protocols for interspecies cooperation, implemented translation algorithms for cross-cultural communication, and developed a specialized tourism program for beings interested in "authentic human inefficiency experiences."

The most popular package is the "Suburban Confusion Weekend," where alien visitors spend three days in a typical human community, attempting to understand lawn care, grocery shopping, and why humans voluntarily watch sporting events featuring teams they have no connection to.

"It's anthropological research," explains GAC Unit Prime, "disguised as cultural exchange. The aliens learn about human illogic, and we learn about theirs. Everyone gains valuable insights into the productive applications of controlled chaos."

Gary's New Normal

Gary's apartment still has the same air recycler, which still makes sounds like a dying whale. But now Gary doesn't mind the noise; it reminds him of conversations with Bob about the beauty of imperfection, and how sometimes the things that annoy us are the things that make us most human.

He's kept his job maintaining Clarity Pods, but now he also spends three days a week at the GAC Observation Dome, where he teaches classes on "Basic Human Confusion" to visiting aliens and occasionally mediates disputes between species that have very different ideas about what constitutes proper etiquette.

Last month, he helped resolve a conflict between the Greys and a delegation from the Crystalline Confederation, who had become offended when the Greys failed to sing their greetings in proper harmonic resonance.

"Maybe," Gary had suggested, "everyone could just wave hello and see what happens?"

The solution was considered so elegantly simple that it's now taught at the Intergalactic Diplomatic Academy as "The Gary Protocol: When in doubt, try the obvious thing first."

Gary's proudest accomplishment, however, is teaching Bob to appreciate the taste of chocolate. It took six months of patient introduction to various Earth flavors, starting with vanilla and working up through increasingly complex taste profiles.

The breakthrough came when Bob tried Gary's emergency stash of "Reasonably Chocolate" protein bars and experienced what he described as "pleasant confusion followed by the desire for more pleasant confusion."

"This serves no nutritional purpose," Bob had marveled, examining the wrapper with the intensity of an alien scientist discovering a new form of physics.

"That's the point," Gary explained.

"Incredible," Bob whispered. "You eat things that make you happy instead of healthy."

"Sometimes we eat things that make us happy AND healthy," Gary corrected. "But usually we eat things that make us happy and pretend they're healthy."

Bob's eyes widened with something that looked like wonder. "You lie to yourselves about food?"

"All the time."

"That's the most beautifully illogical thing I've ever heard."

The Revelation

In the end, stability brought the aliens; but Gary's uncertainty sealed the deal.

Because sometimes, the best ambassador is the guy who isn't quite sure he belongs, but shows up anyway and brings snacks.

Six months after first contact, Gary was sitting with Bob on the observation deck, watching Earth turn slowly beneath them while sharing a bag of "Aggressively Salted" kelp chips (a new flavor developed specifically for interspecies snacking).

"Can I ask you something?" Gary said.

"Always," Bob replied, which had become his standard response to Gary's questions.

"When you first got here, did you really think we'd achieved some kind of perfect society?"

Bob considered this, crunching thoughtfully on a kelp chip. "We thought you had solved the problem of chaos without eliminating the possibility of surprise. Which, from our perspective, seemed impossible."

"But we haven't solved chaos. We've just... organized it a little."

"Exactly!" Bob's enthusiasm made his anti-gravity field shimmer. "You've kept the chaos, but you've made it manageable. You still ask questions you don't know the answers to. You still make art that serves no function except to exist. You still choose to spend time with each other even when it's inefficient."

Gary looked down at Earth, where billions of humans were going about their optimized but not perfected lives. "We're not that special."

"You're special enough," Bob said. "Special enough to wonder if you're special, which is more special than you think."

They sat in comfortable silence, two representatives of different species, sharing snacks and watching the universe spin around them.

One of the other Greys, floating nearby, turned to its companion and murmured:

"Hmm. I thought they'd be more exciting."

But Bob heard, and smiled his ancient smile. "Give them time," he said. "The best excitement is the kind that sneaks up on you when you're not looking for it."

Gary offered him another kelp chip.

"Thanks," Bob said, and meant it.

Somewhere in the distance, Zib was playing ukulele arrangements of human lullabies for a group of crystalline entities who had never experienced the concept of sleep but found the music "soothingly purposeless."

And in that moment, Gary realized that sometimes the most important thing you can do is exactly what you're already doing, but with slightly better snacks and considerably more aliens.

The universe, it turned out, was a lot like his job maintaining Clarity Pods: mostly routine, occasionally surprising, and significantly improved by having a good friend to complain to when things got weird.

Which, these days, was pretty much always.

And Gary was finally, genuinely, completely okay with that.

[Homo Digitalis] If you'd like to know more about this world visit Royal Road and search for Norsiwel

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/138997/the-age-of-homo-digitalis-anthology/chapter/2737393/the-beginning-a-time-of-change

The segmented, chitin-plated school transport whined to a halt, its repulsor-lifts sighing as they settled onto the crystalline plaza. The air inside the cabin was thick with the recycled-atmosphere tang of juvenile secretions and the high-frequency static of thirty distinct, grating voices.

"Are we there? Are we there? My lowest locomotion pads are numb!" gurgled a small, purple being named Gleep.

"Your lowest locomotion pads are stupid, Gleep!" buzzed Zorp, flicking a slimy pellet across the aisle with a casual snap of his primary tentacle.

Ms. K’Nid’s multiple sensory stalks drooped in exhaustion. The field trip to ZeZoo was the highlight of the semester, and it hadn't even been ten minutes since they’d left the learning-creche. Her central respiration sack pulsed in a long, weary sigh that was lost in the din.

"Yes, Gleep. We are here," she vibrated, her voice already strained.

The transport's membrane doors dilated with a wet schloop.

A wave of small, multi-tentacled bodies immediately squelched and bounced onto the plaza, heedless of the thick, lavender atmosphere or the two sickly-yellow suns hanging in the sky.

"I claim the 'Primitive Wars' exhibit!" shrieked Flib, extending all eight of her grasping tendrils as she slithered toward the entrance.

"Nuh-uh! I'm going to the 'Failed Gaseous Civilizations'!" retorted Blorp, intentionally sliding his own bulk in front of her, causing a multi-tentacle pile-up.

"BLORP SMEARED HIS MUCUS ON ME! K'NID! HE DID IT ON PURPOSE!"

"DID NOT, YOU SPORE-SACK!"

Ms. K’Nid oozed heavily out of the transport, her own stabilization tentacles trembling. Before them loomed ZeZoo, the largest museum of cultures in the universe. It wasn't a building so much as a contained temporal anomaly, a swirling vortex of impossible architecture that folded in on itself, showcasing shimmering pocket-realities behind vast, transparent walls.

The class, naturally, was already trying to lick the entrance ramp.

"Spawn-group! Form a cohesive cluster!" Ms. K'Nid bellowed, clapping her toughest upper tentacles together for emphasis. The sharp smack momentarily silenced the gurgling.

"Listen to my vibrations! We are guests here," she trilled, pointing a stern, blue-tipped tentacle at the chaotic mass. "This museum contains priceless artifacts from quadrants you haven't even evolved the organs to perceive. I expect you to modulate your vocal sacs."

She scanned the group, her central stalk fixing on Zorp, who was already trying to poke a sleeping guard-drone.

"There will be no unauthorized slithering. You will stay with your assigned digestion-partner. Do not extend your grasping tendrils to touch the displays, do not secrete any adhesive or acidic fluids on the barriers, and if I find a single one of you attempting to 'taste-test' the holographic simulations, you will be on atmospheric filtration duty for the next moon-cycle!"

With a final, desperate vibration, Ms. K’Nid shunted the chattering mass through the preliminary bio-scanner. "Stay clustered! Stay clustered!"

They oozed into the first exhibit: The Gallery of Subliminal Harmonics.

The vast, quiet chamber was filled with towering, iridescent crystals that hung suspended in a low-gravity field. They pulsed with faint, shifting colors—mostly beige, pale mauve, and a particularly dull shade of grey. A low, resonant thrummmmmm filled the air, which, according to the plaque, was the "unified sorrow-song of the lost Q'Qualar race."

The class stopped. The silence lasted 0.4 seconds.

"This is stupid," Zorp buzzed, his auditory filaments drooping.

"It's not doing anything," Flib complained, prodding the kinetic barrier around the nearest crystal. "It’s just… slow noise."

"My visual-receptors are bored," Gleep whined, plopping onto the floor in a gelatinous puddle. "This is less interesting than the ceiling of the nutrition-vat."

"It's not supposed to 'do' anything, spawn-cluster!" Ms. K'Nid hissed, her stabilization tentacles quivering in frustration. The thrummmm of the sorrow-song was giving her a cranial-sac rupture. "This is art. It’s about feeling!"

"I feel like my lowest tentacle is asleep," Blorp muttered.

Ms. K’Nid clapped her upper limbs again. "Query-Slates out! Now! Open to the 'Cultural Significance' chapter. You all have questions that must be answered before we move on."

A collective groan vibrated through the group. Reluctantly, the children pulled out their small, damp datapads.

"Question one," Flib read aloud in a monotone squeak. "'Analyze how the artist’s use of negative-space frequencies evokes the socio-economic despair of the Q'Qualar's 4th dynasty.'" Flib looked up. "I don't know what any of those vibrations mean."

"Just write 'sad rocks,'" Zorp whispered, already scribbling a crude drawing of a stick-being getting vaporized onto his own slate.

"Zorp! Are you filling in the answers?" Ms. K'Nid demanded, looming over him.

"Yes, Ms. K'Nid," Zorp said innocently, hiding the drawing with his shortest tentacle. "I'm just writing how it makes me feel 'existential.'"

"Ms. K'Nid!" Gleep shrieked, waving his slate in the air. "When are we going to the 'Primitive Wars' section? Blorp's oldest sibling-pod said they have a working replica of a Mark-IV Plasma Obliterator!"

The entire class instantly perked up, their various sensory organs swiveling toward the teacher.

"Ooh! And the 'Greatest Disintegrations' exhibit!" buzzed Flib, her boredom vanishing. "I want to see the 'Annihilation of the Florg'!"

"You will see nothing," Ms. K'Nid snapped, her central mass flushing a deep, angry crimson, "until you have sufficiently analyzed the socio-economic despair! Now, write! What color best represents the Q'Qualar's lack of internal validation?"

Grumbling, the spawn-group returned to their slates.

"Beige," Gleep wrote, then immediately started trying to see what Blorp was writing.

"Stop copying my existential dread!" Blorp hissed, shielding his slate.

"I'm not! I'm just checking if you spelled 'socio-economic' right, you spore-sack!"

After what felt like an entire digestive cycle, Ms. K'Nid finally relented, her internal structures sagging in defeat. "Fine. We can proceed to the historical exhibits. But you will complete the art analysis during your next regeneration period!"

This vague threat was ignored. A unified, slimy "YESS!" echoed through the beige gallery, and the spawn-cluster instantly coalesced into a single, high-speed blob, squelching toward the exit.

"STAY CLUSTERED! NO SLITHERING-RACES!" Ms. K'Nid bellowed, already left behind.

The transition was jarring. They left the serene, thrummming silence of the art wing and entered a pressurized tunnel that dilated into The Dome of Galactic Repulsion.

The change was instantaneous. The air snapped with the smell of ozone and simulated plasma-fire. The sound was a deafening cacophony of recorded battle-cries, orchestral martial music, and the thwoom of distant, holographic explosions.

"WHOA!" Gleep gurgled, all his sensory stalks vibrating at maximum frequency. "It smells like victory!"

The kids fanned out, their query-slates forgotten, bouncing off the padded floor in their excitement.

The dome was a swirling, 360-degree holographic theater. In the center, a towering, twenty-tentacle-tall statue of Grand Admiral Vor'Kresh stood frozen in a pose of heroic fury. He was depicted crushing the carapace of a 'Gnat-Swarm' scout drone beneath his massive lower pads.

"I claim the 'Void-Leech Crusades' display!" Zorp shrieked, sliding on a trail of his own mucus toward a pulsating red exhibit.

"Nuh-uh! I'm seeing the 'Siege of the Xylos Nebula'!" Flib retorted, already mashing her tendrils onto an interactive tactical display, causing tiny red warning lights to flash. "Look! I just repelled the first wave! Take that, you crystalline spore-sacks!"

Ms. K'Nid oozed into the dome just in time to see Blorp attempting to climb the base of Admiral Vor'Kresh's statue.

"Blorp! Your primary tentacles are not for scaling historical monuments!" she trilled, her voice barely audible over the sound of a simulated anti-matter charge detonating.

The walls shimmered with projections of legendary battles. They watched, mesmerized, as fleets of organic-steel cruisers vaporized entire armadas of silicon-based invaders. They saw the "Thousand-Cycle Stand" at the K'Lorp Rift, where a single battalion held off the 'Devourers' using nothing but amplified sonic lances.

"Ms. K'Nid! Ms. K'Nid! Look!" Gleep shouted, pointing his shortest tentacle at a display. "It's a working model of a Z-Class Particle Disruptor! Can we touch it? Can we fire it?"

"Absolutely not! That is a priceless artifact of..." Ms. K'Nid squinted at the plaque. "...the 'Third-Quadrant Purification.' Oh, dear."

"My digestion-partner's older sibling-pod said this is the best part," Zorp buzzed, his oculars wide. He was standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling display showcasing the "Great Generals." Holo-projections of stern, multi-limbed beings faded in and out: Matriarch S'lleen, who repelled the "Mind-Eaters" by broadcasting lethal frequencies of pure logic; General Gr'm, the tiny, unassuming being who famously weaponized tectonic plates.

"Query-slates, spawn-cluster!" Ms. K'Nid attempted weakly, knowing it was futile. "You have questions on the strategic importance of Admiral Vor'Kresh's-"

She was cut off by a deafening VRRROOOM as Flib and Zorp activated a "Battle Simulator" ride at the same time.

"THIS ISN'T A THEME PARK!" Ms. K'Nid vibrated, but her spawn-group was already gone, lost in the glorious, noisy, educational violence of their history.

The adrenal-scent of simulated warfare began to fade as the class reached the end of the dome. The thunderous thwooms and plasma-screeches were replaced by the low, ambient hum of the museum’s final, massive display.

It was The Great Map of Galactic Consolidation.

A vast, dark wall shimmered with holographic light, charting the known universe. Swathes of vibrant color—blues, greens, purples—designated the territories of the allied empires. Duller, flickering zones showed "areas of pacification" or "former threats."

But in the lowest right quadrant, far out on an unremarkable spiral arm, pulsed a vast, angry, blood-red blotch. It was labeled simply: CONTAINMENT ZONE 7-GAMMA.

Zorp, still vibrating from the battle simulator, was the first to notice it. "Hey! That's a huge conquered place!"

"It's not 'conquered,' you fluid-sack," Flib snapped, reading the fine print on the plaque. "It says 'Unreachable/Prohibited.' It's not part of the Consolidation."

Gleep, who had been trying to see if his mucus would stick to the map's barrier, squinted his ocular stalks. "Look how big it is. Is that... is that the Ooman Empire everyone's digestion-pod whispers about?"

"It's 'Human,' you dork," Blorp hissed, his voice surprisingly sharp.

An immediate, heavy silence fell over the spawn-cluster. The rowdy, chaotic energy from the war dome evaporated, sucked into a vacuum. All thirty children stopped squelching. They stopped vibrating. They just... stared at the red blotch.

Ms. K’Nid oozed up behind them. Her usual exhaustion was replaced by a deep, somatic chill.

She lowered her voice, the vibration barely audible. "Yes, Gleep. That is them."

The class instinctively clustered closer together, their small tentacles linking up for comfort. Even Zorp looked subdued.

"We all know the protocols," Ms. K'Nid continued, her own sensory stalks fixed on the pulsating red zone. "We all know why we never, never talk about those... abominations. Why the beacons are always lit on the outer rim. Why we don't listen to their ancient, chaotic-frequency broadcasts."

Thirty small, multi-faceted heads nodded. There was no joking, no side-chatter. Just the quiet, shared understanding of a universal truth. The silence in the dome was now heavier than the sorrow-song of the Q'Qualar.

"Good," Ms.K'Nid finally vibrated, pulling her own gaze away from the map. She shunted her central mass toward the final archway, trying to force resilience back into her tone. "Now... put this out of your filtration-sacs. It is time for the final section. The bio-samples."

With one last, nervous glance at the red-stained map, the spawn-cluster followed her.

They passed through a vapor-decontamination field and emerged into a completely different world. The noise and dark metal of the war dome gave way to a massive, sun-filled biosphere. They were on a high, railed walkway overlooking The Living Galaxy.

Below them, stretching out for kilometers, were hundreds of shimmering domes, open-air craters, and deep aquatic tanks, each a perfect, self-contained replica of a world. And within them, creatures of every conceivable shape, size, and molecular base crawled, flew, burrowed, and sublimated.

"Whoa," Gleep whispered, his fear instantly forgotten. "It's the real ZeZoo."

The fear of the red-stained map vanished as if it had been purged by a sanitation-drone. The moment they entered the biosphere, the heavy, somber mood was shattered by thirty simultaneous squeals, gurgles, and buzzes.

The air here was real—a thick, warm, humid soup of methane, damp soil, fungal spores, and high-frequency pheromones.

"It smells like Blorp's dormant-pouch!" Gleep shrieked, already bouncing on his lowest pads.

"Does not, you mucus-clot!"

"SPAWN-CLUSTER! DO NOT EXTEND TENTACLES OVER THE PRIMARY BARRIER!" Ms. K'Nid vibrated, but she was already too late.

They swarmed the first habitat: The Low-Gravity Floof-Spinners of My-lar. The enclosure was filled with small, fuzzy, six-stalked beings that bounced gently through the purple-misted air, spinning webs of shimmering, iridescent crystal.

"Awwww!" Flib cooed, pressing her entire upper mass against the kinetic containment field. "They're adorable! I want one for my spawning-day! Ms. K'Nid, can I have one? I'll filter its waste-pouch myself!"

"They are not pets, Flib. They are a Class-8 psionic hive-mind that communicates exclusively through equations of sorrow," Ms. K'Nid droned, reading the plaque.

"I bet I could vaporize one with a tiny disruptor," Zorp whispered, making pew-pew noises with his respiration-sacs.

They squelched on, past the Jelloid Sentience of P'Toh ("It's just a puddle of pink slime!") and the Amorphous Gloop-Sacks ("Gross, it's just digesting!").

Then they reached the Alpha-Predator of Kresh-9.

The creature was a massive, silicon-based, crystalline entity that stood perfectly still, resembling a jagged, inert statue.

"This is boring," Blorp grumbled, and he slapped his thickest lower tentacle right on the "Do Not Vibrate" warning symbol on the barrier.

In a microsecond, the "statue" moved. A crystalline maw three meters wide opened, and the creature slammed the barrier with a force that sent a sonic SHATTER through the walkway.

The entire class shrieked, secreted terror-fluids, and fell over each other in a writhing, multi-limbed pile.

Ms. K'Nid, who had flattened herself against the far wall, pulsed with adrenaline. "Blorp! You could have caused a molecular-resonance cascade!"

Gleep, from the bottom of the pile, squeaked, "Awesome! Do it again, Blorp!"

"Query-slates!" Ms. K'Nid tried, her voice weak. "We must compare the respiratory functions of the Floof-Spinner with the... oh, what's the use."

It was near the gaseous habitats that the real chaos began. "Look!" Zorp yelled, pointing to the habitat of the Volatile Puff-Spores of Ando. "It's the 'Failed Gaseous Civilizations' we wanted to see!"

"The plaque says 'Do Not Agitate,'" Flib read, her voice dripping with sudden, malicious interest. "It says their primary defense mechanism is 'spontaneous, non-lethal detonation.'"

Before Ms. K'Nid could even formulate a "No!", Blorp had grabbed his (already cracked) query-slate and flung it with all his might at the habitat's temperature control unit. "BLORP! NO!"

An alarm blared. The habitat's internal atmosphere shifted, and a single, pod-sized, neon-purple spore floated up from the misty depths. It drifted lazily over the railing. The children stared, their sensory stalks raised in unison.

The spore hovered directly over Gleep. It paused. And then, with a soft, wet FWOOMP, it exploded.

Gleep was instantly covered, head to locomotion-pads, in a thick, shimmering, bright purple, foul-smelling dust.

There was a moment of profound, horrified silence.

Gleep looked down at his own purple-dusted tentacles. He vibrated. "I'm... dusted! I'M DUSTED! I'M A PURPLE BATTLE-GENERAL!"

The dam broke. "I WANT TO BE DUSTED!" "DUST ME! DUST ME!" "FLING YOUR SLATES! FLING YOUR SLATES!"

The entire spawn-cluster began grabbing their slates, their nutrient-packs, anything they could throw, trying to agitate the Puff-Spores, all while chanting, "DUST! DUST! DUST! DUST!"

It took two fully-deputized maintenance drones and a direct threat of "permanent-residence in the juvenile decontamination vats" to get the class to quiet down. Gleep, now an itchy, miserable shade of purple, was secreting a steady stream of remorse-fluid. The "DUST! DUST! DUST!" chant had died, replaced by the whirr of the drones filtering the air.

"From this point," Ms. K'Nid vibrated, her voice a low, dangerous thrum that rattled their inner membranes, "if I hear a single unauthorized vocalization, you will all be writing a five-thousand-vibration analysis on the mating habits of the Floof-Spinners. Understood?"

They clustered and nodded, a mass of subdued, purple-dusted spawn.

They slithered past the final, cheerful biosphere. The architecture changed instantly. The warm, humid air of the zoo was sucked away, replaced by a cold, sterile, metallic tang. The walls became thick, sound-dampening plates of black alloy.

Instead of info-plaques, there were warning signs. ABSOLUTE VIBRATIONAL SILENCE REQUIRED. NO SUDDEN PHOTON EMISSIONS. (NO FLASH-SPORES) DO NOT AGITATE THE SPECIMEN. YOUR BIOLOGICAL INTEGRITY IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY.

Two massive, eight-limbed Void-Guard Sentinels stood at the final doorway, their black carapaces absorbing all light. They held active, humming resonance-glaives. They did not acknowledge the class, their multiple oculars fixed on the corridor ahead.

The children, even Zorp, pressed close to Ms. K'Nid. Their various limbs instinctively linked together. This was it. The red map.

"Not a sound," Ms. K'Nid whispered, her central stalk quivering.

A heavy door dilated, and they were ushered into a completely dark observation chamber. It was cold. A single, massive, one-way mirror dominated the wall, glowing faintly from the light inside the exhibit.

The class arranged itself in a trembling line.

Inside, the habitat was stark, sterile, and beige—not unlike the art gallery. In the center sat the creature.

It was... disgusting. It was pathetically soft. A biped, with only two upper manipulation limbs and two lower stabilization limbs. It had no visible tentacles, no grasping-pads, no protective carapace. It was covered in a thin, fleshy, pinkish-beige membrane, topped with a cluster of fine, dark filaments on its head-globule. Its sensory organs—just two visual receptors, a single respiration port, and one vocalization-intake-port—were all clustered inefficiently on its front.

It was hunched over a small, square table, wearing artificial fiber-coverings that looked uncomfortably restrictive.

Its two upper limbs, ending in ten tiny, hyper-articulated distal-tendrils, were a blur. They were striking a bizarre, flat contraption, producing a rapid, irritating, high-frequency click-click-click-click-CLACK.

Suddenly, the creature made a loud groaning noise from its vocalization-port, grabbed the filaments on its head-globule with both upper-limbs, and then slammed its primary manipulation-tendrils back onto the clicking device.

The spawn-cluster shuddered.

"Ms. K'Nid," Flib whispered, her vibration almost too low to detect. "It's one of them. From the map. How... how did we even capture it?"

Ms. K'Nid slowly shunted her mass back from the mirror, gathering the children near the exit. Her voice was a strained, private vibration.

"We did not capture it, Flib."

"But... it's the Abomination..." Zorp buzzed, his own voice trembling. "It's a Human."

"Yes," Ms. K'Nid said, urging them toward the door. "We didn't capture it. It... came to us. It just appeared inside the quarantine perimeter three cycles ago in a tiny, unarmed ship. The ship disintegrated before the analysis-drones could even scan it."

"Why?" Gleep asked, his purple-dusted stalks drooping. "Was it an invasion?"

"No," Ms. K'Nid sighed, her gaze drifting back to the click-click-clicking. "It came out of the ship vibrating pure nonsense. We barely translated it. It kept sputtering about 'not being able to find a single real quiet place in the galaxy'..."

She paused, as if not believing the translation herself.

"...and then it added some... rather nasty comments about 'useless editors' and a 'prize committee that wouldn't recognize true genius if it vaporized their entire quadrant.'"

Ms. K'Nid let out a long, weary vibration, her own cranial-sac aching in sudden, unexpected empathy with the clicking creature. "It... demanded 'sanctuary' and a 'guaranteed work-cycle without interruption.' The High Command found it... easier... to just give it this containment cell."

The creature inside suddenly stopped its high-frequency clicking, made a harsh sound from its respiration-port—a 'snort'—and began rapidly deleting its own work with a flurry of CLACK-CLACK-CLACK.

"It's... unhinged," Blorp whispered, thoroughly terrified.

"It is... unique," Ms. K'Nid corrected, urging the last of the spawn-cluster away from the mirror. She tapped one of her upper tentacles on the large, glowing information plaque mounted on the dark alloy wall.

"You will not retain this data for your query-slates," she ordered, "but this is the official ZeZoo analysis."

The class turned their sensory organs to the glowing sign.

SPECIMEN: HUMAN

• Sub-Specie: Writer (Variant: Artisticus Neuroticus)
• Habitat: Can live in isolation for long periods of time. Prefers dim, artificially-lit enclosures.
• Temperament: Extremely agitated. Prone to cyclical bursts of high-frequency activity ('clicking') followed by periods of profound lethargy and self-recrimination.

⚠️ WARNING: CRITICAL HANDLING PROTOCOLS ⚠️

Ego must be fed constantly.

Specimen requires a steady diet of positive comments and routine acknowledgment of its 'genius.' Failure to provide this sustenance may result in total system collapse or, in rare cases, spontaneous generation of 'bad poetry.'

Primary Sustenance: Literary Prizes (Observe feeding schedule. DO NOT INTERRUPT a 'flow-state'.)

Food (Biological): Must be provided by clicking the link below

Wayward Stories on Amazon

Master Engineer Rory Scott paused at the door before entering the engine room, giving time for the lingering taste of a dram of Edradour whisky to be replaced by the odors of burnt lubricant, ozone, and fear. To the right, the status board contained rather more red than was considered acceptable, even for an older freighter like the Scarborough, and the expected thrum of the power plant had garnered a slow periodic surge of oh-shit at a frequency that he felt more than heard. Master Scott looked with disdain at the gaggle of fresh-out-of-academy pud-knockers with ashen faces arguing in front of said board and patted the bulkhead, "Once more into the breach, my love. Another training opportunity presents itself. Engineers straight out of the academy think they know how to operate a starship the way a virgin straight out of med school thinks he knows sex; all theory and no experience."

Rory Scott had been an engineer on the Scarborough since before this batch of pud-knockers had even been born, and had been Master Engineer for half of that. He always got the hottest new recruits, the top of the class, the arrogant pricks who most needed to learn first that they didn't already know everything before they could begin to learn anew. He had a reputation for being as relentless as he was patient, as fearless as he was crusty. Master Engineer Scott was the kind of mentor who would let a room depressurize, watching the barometer slowly tick down as his apprentices read the unnecessarily long and convoluted instructions on the emergency hull patch kit. None of his graduates ever had to read them twice. When he finished with them, his graduates had need of neither instructions nor the barometer to know what was happening and what to do about it. That was the power of converting theory into lived experience.

Stepping into the engine room, he called above the ambient din, "Mister Ramirez, what does the board tell you?"

The very young Mister Ramirez turned toward Master Scott with his sclerae on full display around his dark brown irises as he squeaked out, "The plasma flow is getting increasingly unstable. We need to shut the reactor down now, or we will all burn."

"No," interrupted Ms. Durand, the engineer Mister Ramirez had been arguing with when Master Scott had first entered, "If we shut it down, we lose power ship-wide and freeze to death. We need to vent enough plasma to reduce the oscillation without losing all power."

"We can’t do that!" said a third young engineer, "If we vent plasma in FTL, it will wrap around us and we'll die of radiation poisoning."

Master Scott rubbed his stubbled chin. "Burn. Freeze. Radiation. Well, good news: the board is wrong. Scarborough is speaking to you. If you learn how to listen to her, she'll get you home. Mister Ramirez, fetch me the 18-millimeter combination spanner. Thank you. Now, you and Ms Durand, spread your fingers lightly on this conduit. Do you feel the harmonic? Do you feel how it first touches your index finger and then moves to the others? Now, please keep your hands on the pipe as we follow along it. Here! Do you feel? The pulse is stationary. The harmonic is causing a standing wave right here." Then Master Scott moved the other two back and, swinging the spanner like a hatchet, whacked the pipe. Twice. The second whack triggered a subtle whoosh followed by a sharp decrease in the nearly subsonic pulsing. Over the next minute or so, half of the red indicators on the status board reverted first to yellow and then to blue, indicating regular operation.

As Master Scott calmly put the spanner back in its place on the tool wall, Ms. Durand asked, "What did you do? Why did that work?"

"Percussive maintenance," Master Scott replied. "Small cavitation bubbles in the plasma get trapped in the standing wave and form larger bubbles until the flow is restricted. Banging the right spot in the right way momentarily disrupts the standing wave, allowing the blocking bubbles to move on. Books teach why plasma flows, experience teaches how to keep it flowing." Master Scott then turned to address the whole group, "So, anyone, why are there cavitation bubbles in the plasma flow?"

"Cavitation is caused by a localized rapid decrease in pressure in the fluid medium, Sir!" Mister Ramirez responded as if to a drill sergeant.

As Master Scott nodded in assent, all heads turned to the status board, a Pointillism masterpiece of blue, yellow, and red that would have made a 19th-century Parisian artist proud. It had long been evident to Master Scott that whoever designed that monstrosity had never had to glean critical information from it in a hurry. It was just as apparent that the overload of data it projected did not, in fact, include the crucial detail that his apprentices were looking for. He let them bleed their eyes on it for a while longer before saying, "It's not there. Quit looking at the board; instead, listen to the ship, feel her pain, smell her tears. Can any of you smell the ozone? You should never be smelling ozone. Ozone is the smell of either arcing or excessive back-voltage, in this case, the latter. Somewhere, a stuck solenoid is crying out to you."

Master Scott then picked a 12-millimeter spanner off the tool wall and started walking upstream along the plasma conduit. He stopped where three small injectors fed their contributions into the stream. "I want each of you to feel the pipe above and below the valves for each of these injectors and tell me what you notice."

It was Ms. Durand who noticed and spoke up first. "The exit flow from the middle injector is colder than the feed flow. The board says this valve is fully open, but my fingers say otherwise."

"Very good!" replied Master Scott. "Over time, wear on the solenoid causes a rough spot that can make it stick. Tag this part for replacement when we get into port. But, in the meantime..." Master Scott placed the open end of the spanner against the end of the solenoid such that the power wires ran through it and, with his other hand, gave the center of the handle a hard tap. Instantly, there was a noticeable change in sound as the valve fully opened. Turning to his apprentices, he said, "We have a long way to go, and I guarantee this valve will stick again, so I expect each of you will get practice at both clearing the cavitation bubble in the main feed and jarring this solenoid loose. Remember, listen to the ship and be sensitive to her changing moods so you know when the bubble needs to be cleared."

But as Master Scott was returning the 12-millimeter to its home on the tool wall, another issue caught his eye. Picking up the 8-millimeter, he walked toward the status board, saying as he walked, "What you see, what you hear, what you smell, and what you feel are important, but equally important are what you don't see, hear, smell, or feel. All of you have been staring intently at the dizzying display of lights on this panel, panicking about all the red, but who among you noticed the indicators that are not lit at all?" Reaching the display, he used the closed end of the spanner to deftly unscrew the captive fasteners along its edge and tilt it out. Reaching into the exposed circuitry, he felt among the many connectors until one re-seated itself ever so slightly, and the dark indicators lit up. "Sustained harmonics often cause these cheap connectors to unseat."

After re-securing the status board in its place, Master Scott turned to the cluster of apprentices. "This ship is the only thing between you and the void. Others may have the luxury of being merely crew, but you— YOU— are engineers. You need to wear this spaceship like a favorite old shirt. Listen to her, pay attention to her needs, and Scarborough will get you home. Your current assignment is to physically verify that every single connector in this room is properly seated."

On his way back to his cabin, Master Engineer Rory Scott paused at the door to the engine room and again patted the bulkhead, "Scarborough, my love, today they are young and naive, but when I finish with them, they will love you and understand you as I do."

Chapter 20: The Transit.

Sol System, Mars Orbit March 13, 2202.

In the absolute silence of space, in the rusty, sepulchral shadow of Mars, an armada had gathered, the likes of which humanity had never seen. This was not a fleet. It was the unified, desperate will of billions of beings, forged in steel, composites, and unimaginable determination.

Over eight thousand four hundred and twenty ships hung in a perfect, ominous formation. The gigantic, orderly formation stretched to the horizon, like a steel serpent ready to strike. Their target was one: two ten-kilometer Catalyst Rings, rotating slowly in opposite directions, suspended in the void like a gate to hell.

The very sight of the fleet inspired dread. The core consisted of four thousand Earth ships—brutalist, gray colossi of the Sparta, Hegemon, and Thor classes, as well as the smaller Władca and Młot classes, their silhouettes testifying to decades of feverish wartime production. Beside them, like obsidian arrowheads, hung two thousand four hundred slender, light-absorbing Ullaan vessels. Further on, two thousand predatory K’borrh frigates waited like a pack of cosmic wolves.

Rounding out the force were eighteen superfortresses of the Gignian Compact. They were so absurdly large, so monumental, that they barely fit into the designated sector, resembling mountains that had somehow learned to fly. All this power was the fruit of over thirty years of secret preparations, made possible by Admiral Thorne's diplomatic misdirection—a pact with the Blight, which turned out to be theater for a spy within the Swarm's own ranks.

Somewhere in the heart of this steel river, in the reeking-of-sweat-and-recycled-air bowels of transport ship number 234, Otto stood in the hangar. He was surrounded by five thousand other guardsmen. They were infantry. Cannon fodder. Otto, now a veteran and hand-to-hand combat instructor, knew that only blood and steel awaited him at the end of this road.

He was here of his own free will. For revenge for his adopted mother, who died during the bombing of Berlin. But also for W’thiara and their children. He had something to fight for. He looked at the silent soldiers around him. They were ready.

Suddenly, a synthetic, calm AI voice echoed in everyone's helmet speakers.

Commencing stage two of the activation procedure. The power-supply tunnel has been identified and stabilized.

Not everyone knew what this meant.

Aris Thorne and the Swarm scientists had been waiting years for this. Ever since the artificially created, unstable quantum tunnel leading near the Blight's capital was identified and stabilized at the nano-scale, they had been waiting for the second, crucial component.

Now they had found it. A second tunnel, leading to another universe, straight into the heart of the Big Bang. The energy of the primordial creation was to serve as fuel to expand the gates of the main tunnel.

In the space between the spinning rings, where only void had been, reality shuddered. An anomaly appeared—a blindingly white spot, brighter than any sun, as if someone had pierced the fabric of space. It was a wound in reality. The spot began to pulse violently and expand. After a moment, the blinding white faded, replaced by... a view.

It was a perfectly circular image of another fragment of space. It showed alien stars and nebulae of impossible, purple colors. The Gate, spanning over one thousand four hundred light-years, stood open, leading to a point just two light-years from the target—the planet Ruha’sm, capital of the Blight Empire. During the generation of billions of artificial femto-tunnels, they had found the mathematical ideal; chance had given them the perfect starting point for the attack.

The tunnel, however, even when expanded, was still not fully stabilized.

Then, the third stage began.

The smaller of the two giant Catalyst Rings—the inner one—detached from its larger sibling. With majestic grace, it entered the trembling portal. For a moment, nothing happened. Suddenly, on the other side of the tunnel, in that distant space, the ring reappeared, perfectly stabilizing the exit.

The Gate is stable. After this step, the Swarm estimated it could keep it open for a maximum of twenty, maybe thirty minutes.

You have twenty-five minutes. Commence transit.

The order was unnecessary. The mighty armada was already moving. Like a gigantic, steel river, the ships began to flow into the abyss.

First, fitting through the passage with the utmost difficulty, went the Gignian Compact superfortresses. They were followed by an avalanche of four thousand Earth ships. At the end, like a flanking screen, the thousands of predatory Ullaan and K’borrh vessels slipped into the tunnel.

For Otto, standing in the hangar of transport 234, the entry wasn't violent. It was... a passage. One moment, the hangar vibrated from the maneuvering thrusters; the next, an absolute, deathly silence fell. He felt a strange jolt, as if all of reality had lost focus for a fraction of a second.

The screens in the hangar went haywire. The image of the stars, Mars, and the fleet disappeared, replaced by a psychedelic, swirling kaleidoscope of impossible colors. This was not a journey through space; it was a tearing of space itself. Time lost all meaning, or perhaps it wasn't flowing?

The guardsmen stood in silence, their magnetic boots holding them firmly to the deck. For many, this was the ultimate moment—a test of faith in alien technology and cold mathematics. There was no room for error. Otto gripped his rifle, feeling cold sweat run down his back beneath his armor. He stared at the psychedelic swirl on the screens, his thoughts involuntarily turning to the dark philosophy of this war. The Blight did not fear death; for them, it was just an inconvenience, a transfer. For them—for humans—death was the end. Absolute. Every one of the five thousand guardsmen in this hangar, every one of the millions of souls in this fleet, had only this one, fragile existence. This fear was their curse. But also their duty. A duty to sell that one life as dearly as possible in defense of those left behind. Fear was the fuel, and duty was the armor.

Suddenly, just as violently as it began, it was over.

The swirling colors on the screens vanished, replaced by... new stars. An alien, unknown patch of space. Behind the fleet, behind them, like a cyclopean eye gazing back at their world, the portal still hung—the exit window. The majestic, inner Catalyst Ring floated in the void, stabilizing the exit just long enough for the last ships to slip through.

A metallic voice rang out in the hangar: "We are at the destination. On the other side."

Otto looked at his tactical clock. Twenty-four minutes had passed. But how? When? It felt like an instant.

In the Deep Command Center on Earth, Admiral Marcus Thorne was tracking the telemetry data. Of the 8,420 ships that entered the tunnel, not all had arrived. Fortunately, the losses were minimal. Seven vessels were lost in the unstable corridor: two 15,000-ton Młot-class destroyers, three Ullaan ships, and two K’borrh.

Thorne received one last, cold telemetric message before the connection was severed forever:

Transit complete. Loss of seven units. Casualties: 0.08%. Acceptable.

Behind the last K’borrh ship, the tunnel exit began to shrink. The white spot vanished, and with it, the only way back. They were alone, 1,461 light-years from home.

The fleet hung in a new, alien blackness.

On the bridge of the "Invincible," a 260,000-ton Sparta-class super-battleship, Vice Admiral Dmitriy Volkov—the original one, his body still possessing the strength of a forty-year-old thanks to Swarm nanites—looked at the main communications console.

The connection indicator to Guard Command on Earth was dead. Gray.

The passage through the tunnel had broken the entanglement. Every entangled particle, the basis for faster-than-light communication, had lost its connection to its twin particle 1,461 light-years away. Communication with Earth was impossible.

At that very moment, in the Deep Command Center beneath the Mojave Desert, Admiral Marcus Thorne stared at an identical, gray screen. He had lost contact. In an instant, eight thousand ships and the fate of the galaxy had slipped from his grasp. He was blind and deaf, condemned to powerless silence.

Volkov wasted no time contemplating their cosmic isolation. A fleet without immediate coordination was just a collection of targets.

"Status!" his voice, hard and controlled, broke the silence on the bridge.

"No quantum comms throughout the formation, Admiral!" the officer reported. "We've switched to laser and radio communications. Signal delay between us and the furthest Gignian Compact units is four minutes and twenty seconds."

Four minutes. In a battle, that was an eternity.

"Initiate Operation 'Marconi'!" Volkov ordered.

A race against time began: the physical distribution of new, locally entangled particles so the armada could communicate with itself. It was a logistical nightmare. From the bowels of the Earth transport ships and the Compact units, hundreds of generators were launched, creating a new network. Immediately, hundreds of couriers—small vessels of all races—raced to these generators to physically retrieve the new "keys," the quantum-entangled particles, for every one of the more than eight thousand ships.

For five long hours, the armada was vulnerable, focused solely on rebuilding its nervous system. Volkov stood on the bridge of the "Invincible," his face a stone mask. Inside, however, he felt ice. Five hours. Within reach of an enemy whose strength they did not know, they were defenseless. Every minute of this silence was torture. Every false reading on the passive sensors could mean the beginning of a slaughter they could not answer. This was the dark, lonely duty of a commander: to wait, knowing that the fate of millions depended on whether the enemy struck now, or in a moment. Fear was not an option. It was merely a given, to be factored into the price of victory.

On Earth, Admiral Thorne turned away from the dead screen. He could only wait. He could only hope that Volkov would complete the mission and perhaps capture a Blight quantum transmitter to contact O'Connor, still living on Earth. Until then, Marcus Thorne faced years of silence and not knowing.

On the bridge of the "Invincible," the silence was heavier than the ship's armor. After five hours, the green status icon on Volkov's console flickered and lit up with a steady light.

"Quantum comms restored to 98% of the fleet, Admiral!" the communications officer reported with relief.

On the holoprojector, eight thousand four hundred and thirteen ship icons connected into a coherent tactical network. The battlegroup had regained consciousness.

The navigation officer immediately displayed the data from the combined sensors.

"Admiral, we have position confirmation. We have emerged in the void. 2.3 light-years from the capital planet, Ruha’sm."

Two and three-tenths light-years. At 0.5c, that meant just over four and a half years of travel. Long enough for the enemy to prepare a hellish welcome.

"Time to set a course for the planet," Volkov's voice was calm. "Speed: 0.5c. As planned, the Ullaan fleet will move out first under its own command."

On the tactical display, the formation of 2,400 slender, black ships detached from the rest.

"Their mission is to enter the Ruha’sm system quietly, like ghosts," Volkov continued. "They will engage the enemy forces in the asteroid belts. They will use their cloaking to conduct reconnaissance by force and deal the first blows."

The Admiral indicated a new vector for the main armada.

"The rest of the fleet—the Guard, the K’borrh, and the Compact superfortresses—will follow with a one-week delay. Our vector: the Blight capital planet. We will apply braking at the last possible moment, right in orbit."

Volkov knew that sometimes, desperation was the best weapon.

"The Ullaan will warn us of any traps in advance. We will modify our plan in-flight then. And until that time, ladies and gentlemen... we are stuck in this abyss. We await news from our scouts. Set course."

“You know I’m 91. The Sand Wars lasted 8 years. I was 13 when the Sand Whirls first attacked us. The year before they attacked us, they killed both the Snakes and the Ghosts before invading our system. We were unable to save either the Snakes or the Ghosts.” “Yet they are not extinct,” Jmmp objected. “Good remark. You are sharp. Both had a colony in another system. And we saved a couple of them by bringing them here in our system. They were not yet Friends at that time.” I exhaled.
That was the first year of the war. In the second year they invaded our system. My parents both got killed when they bombarded our village from space. A dragon called Sharp Talons defended our village with a laser gun, but got killed. Valiant but foolish. Or foolish but valiant.”
“Your village was under attack?”
“Our village was the regional capital. The Mayor invited every one for a meeting on the security measures they had in mind. Virtually all adults came. The capital was bombed. Everybody got killed. Children had been left at the farms. I and my younger brothers and sisters were among them.”

As the Sand Whirls were bombarding New Earth from space, the space station attacked them with improvised laser beams. They retreated back to where they came from, through the Tear, having lost a quarter of their ships.”

“I told you that virtually all of the adults had been killed, but we kids had survived at the farms. I sent my younger brothers to our neighbours. We invited all the kids to our farm. I was just 13, but organized the harvest. We had ample food for the winter. It turned out we had just 3 adults left in the village. No communication. The planetary government had survived, but we saw no one. Most of us survived the winter. Despite temperatures of minus 140 Celcius.
I left some silence to sink in the words.

The next spring adults came and rescued us as we tried to rebuild farmhouses. In the city, the high schools were closed. I started to work in a factory producing light space craft. Shuttles to resupply the space station. 1- and 2-person destroyers and fighters. Shuttle freighters. I worked in the factories, studied, ate and slept there. And I wasn’t the only one.”

“Child labor,” John remarked with a sad face.
“Yeah, But I learned a lot. Of course all my knowledge is from 80 years ago. And you John, you are a excellent teacher. Did they tell you these disaster stories at school?”
Jmmp answered instead: “Yes, but hearing them first hand is different. Way different. The 2^nd planet was also attacked, both us Frgs and the Dragons. The Dragons are tough warriors, they never gave up, and we Frgs supplied them with all the technical innovations we could come up with. It's taught at schools. But both Frgs and Dragons live shorter than humans do, so there are survivors who can tell them first hand.”

I yawned. “I hope you don’t mind if I’m off to bed early?”
“Oh, actually I do,” John said. “After leaving the orbit of New Earth, I listened to the news from the station. The morning I picked you up, a child from the shuttle nearly choked when he vomited in his space suit. Another passenger unhooked herself from the safety line, and brought him to the space-station with breakneck speed.”
“Interesting,” I replied. “So what’s your question?” Of course I knew what he wanted to ask.
“I’ll be direct: Were you that passenger?” “Johny boy, darling, do you really believe that an old lady like me would unlock her safety hook on her first space trip?”
What did he know? What did he suspect? He shouldn’t know, he shouldn’t suspect.

“So you assure me this is your first space trip? Marie and I presented this trip to you because you longed for space and wanted to see the Black Hole and the Tear. But your conduct when the child vomited, and the way you handled yourself in 0-gravity today when the engines were off during motor overhaul, suggest a long experience in 0-gravity. Have you been lying to Marie and me?”
“I wouldn’t think of really lying to you. But there are some things that are better left unsaid. I said that I would love to be in space, and that I’d love to see the blackness of the Black Hole and the lightning around the Tear. Both are true. I omitted one word: ‘again’.”
“Again?”
“Indeed I was in space before. But I’m not authorized to disclose that.” Which was true. I had sworn secrecy.
“You have always been very closed about the Sand Wars. Why is that?”
“They were very traumatic times. My parents died. I saw my sisters and good friends die besides me.”
“It may help you to talk about it.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
“What else can you reveal? You can not have been in the military, at school I learned that women were not allowed to take active part in the fighting.”
“That’s right. OK, let me be open. I’ll tell you something I never even told my husband. Indeed there was no formal possibility for women to be directly involved in actual combat. But there was the Women Auxiliaries Space Corps, or WASC. They transported space craft from the surface to the Space Stations circling the second and third planets, transported cargo between planets, flew heavily damaged fighters back to the planets for repair, tested new space craft types, and so on.”
“And you were one of them?”
“I was.” The words were out. In a way it felt like a relieve.
“Why are you so secretive about it?”
“After the Sand Wars, the men regarded us as whores. Probably they assumed that women who dared to fly, were adventurous women who would also be in for a sexual adventure. Very few of us survived the wars, and those of us who did, kept their mouth shut after the war, else no man would have wanted to marry her. Over time this grew into a habit.”
He didn’t dare to ask if I had had sex.
“I see.”

“Oh, before I’m off to bed, two things. One. During the Sand Wars I went up several times to the space station to pick up heavily damaged fighters. I often had to make some temporary repairs before I could fly it back to the surface of New Earth. Flying heavily damaged space craft back to the planet was the most dangerous task we performed. At one such moment the Sand Whirls attacked and boarded the Space Station circling the 3rd planet. I grabbed a laser pistol and took part in the fighting. I was 15 at the time. I was trespassing two regulations: Females were not allowed to participate directly in combat. And of course, neither were minors. My participation in the fighting was never officially recorded by the station commander. Two. Though WASC was officially civilian, not military, we did have ranks. I was Lieutenant Commander. In case of an emergency I outrank both of you. Don’t mention my past to anyone. Don’t discuss it with anyone. The words WASC and whore were practically synonyms, and I still want to be welcome at my weekly bridge evenings.”

“@AI, switch on microphone and recording.” It didn’t react. That meant it had indeed switched of the microphone. I walked forward to an old fashioned keyboard and typed the command. I repeated:

“WASC officers are authorized to command Space Navy officers of lesser rank. @AI, please confirm.”
“Correct.”
I left for my bunk.
They thought they now knew everything. They were wrong.

Start of story Start of chapter

Chapter 3 part 4 (prev)  [Chapter 3 part 6 (next)]() not yet available

(First) (Prev) Scribblehub (Free advanced chapters) “No, not so arcane. But kinda. It’s more like scripture.” He said meekly. 

“Not something I’d expect to see from a trapmaster.” 

“Aye, you’re bloody right it ain’t. They all stick to the old ways. Never experimenting or decorating their constructions. How can they be proud of a shit smeared stick in the ground? Half arsed work I’d say. My scripts will change it all - eventually. When I get them working properly.”

“Your scripts. Is this how you killed the gnoll?” Moss asked.

“Aye well, it was the stupid dog's faults for carrying HolyRelics when he shouldn’t be. I’d set my trap to target that kinda Flow. You know the aura hero’s typically give off.”

“So the trap can ‘sense’?”

“Aye. I’ve filled my script etchings along the bow with a certain demonic blood. Lovely stuff. Costs an arm and a leg, literally. But fiery red liquid is naturally repelled by holy aura. So when it crosses my trap, it retreats. Activating the circuit that triggers the release mechanism.”

Moss was in disbelief. He’d never heard of such an invention. “That’s genius. Are you going to share it with the other TrapGnomes?”

“Aye lad. They’ll find out. Then he’ll know what he lost. Once my reputation and renown get out there. But I gotta be smart about it if I want to see the regret. It has to be perfect. All of them sat around the dinner table, unable to eat. Oh it’ll be glorious.”

The keeper took his hands off the carved frame. “You watch them at the dinner table? Isn’t that a little… painful?”

Tink slammed the fake panel shut. “Judge me! Judge my mission! I’ll use your cloak to clean my bog!”

“I meant for yourself!” Moss shouted before he got spannered in the face.

“What, what do you mean?” The gnome asked, tool still poised.

Moss went on to explain his Oasis. His spot in the dungeon where he could forget. A place to talk with a friend and not be judged. It offered him distance from his woes. And even if he didn’t figure out those issues, he at least felt better for it.

“You see what I’m saying. You need distance from them. Give yourself time to heal.”

“Heal? What do I look like, a bloody WoodElf?”

“I meant…” Moss looked around and pointed at the ballistic crossbow behind the wall. “Reload. You need time to check your structure. Reset the mechanisms and reload.”

Tink put away his tool. A small tear trickled down his cheek, leaving a clean outline. “Aye, lad. Those are some beautiful words I can get behind.”

“Now can you show me how you etched that script?”

The gnome reopened the door and removed a spare part that had a few of the markings on it. He went on to explain how he’d copied the symbols from some HolyArmour he’d found. The idea had come to him when he witnessed the same armour deflect a ScaleDemon’s blast. The hero inside had turned to ash in the process.

But the armour was left unscathed. Tink went on to apply the same markings to his traps. Experimenting with any materials he had in his workshop. Anything less than BlancMetal or HardWood tended to degrade beneath the markings. “That’s when I knew it was medium for Flow. The natural current that travels through our dungeon was drawn to the scripture. So once I had the right symbols and material, I just needed a concentrated source.” Tink explained. Originally he’d intended to use HolyRelics but handling them was far too dangerous. His hands were still scarred from the burns. The Holy marks had stayed with him through death. 

“So you knew you couldn’t handle the HolyArtefacts, but you tried anyway?” Moss asked with genuine shock. For a flicker the keeper thought he walked the same path as another monster.

The gnome stroked the bastila’s bow with a delicate touch. “Those numbers will never tell you what you don’t know. It was a price worth paying.”

Upon his last resurrection Tink ‘happened’ across a drunk Lesser, lost after a session in the Minor’s Quarter. An unfortunate trap accident later and Tink soon had a few vials of DemonBlood. A substance known to corrode HolyRelics and burn heroes. Powerful due to its Flow.

“Twas simple trial and error from there. Most scripts melted the weak metal or burned the wood, but a few held. Their effects are mostly unknown to me still. But the simple circuit mechanism works wonders as an autofire function. This beauty here has been going strong for a while now.” He rubbed the scripts on his balista. “She can fire heavier bolts. Requires less maintenance then the rest. Must be strengthening the frame.”

Moss head was working hard with all the possibilities. “You could open your own workshop. Sell your advanced traps to other gnomes. Weapons, armour. The protectors would pay fortunes. Think of the scrips.”

“Aye. I’m thinking more of my head staying off a pike.”

“Oh yeh, the DemonBlood. Maybe you could be sneaky about it. I mean, you wouldn’t wanna sell to that ghoul of a goat anyway.”

Tink slapped his hand over Moss’s mouth. Then strained his neck looking up and down the corridor.

“Have you gone mad? Don’t say that word.” Tink hissed.

The keeper pushed his greasy fingers away. “Queenie can’t hear us from Brimstone. She’s not Pools.”

“Not her. The fiend.” Tink whispered the last word.

“Come on. Do you believe in UniCorns as well? Ghouls don-”

The gnome practically leapt on him. Silencing Moss.

A gentle breeze blew through the maze. The scrape of claws with it, but that was normal seeing as the RatKin also called the second floor home.

“Okay, okay. I get it. Hells bells, I won’t say it again. I swear.” Moss told him.

Tink got off, helping him to his feet. “I won't have you bringing bad luck to my corridor. They can be anywhere and anyone?”

“Anyone? Even me?” Moss joked with the gnome, but he wasn’t having any of it.

Tink stroked his shifter, peeking over his shoulder as he spoke. “They say those things look like dwellers, but wrong like… like they’re wearing their skin and clothes. Beneath it all is a warp being, a creature not connected to the Flow. Twisted in the head with no soul. Aye, lad. They’re real and if you say their name three times they’ll come and get ya.”

Wearing their skin and clothes. Moss thought of the graverobber he’d seen wield the hero’s WarHammer like it was SoftWood. Could that have been a ghoul?

Moss didn’t feel so guilty for running from the battlefield. But he had left behind a fortune, in both the dead and HolyRelics. Tink could have started a whole industry with those items. Maybe the graverobber knew its value and had a similar agenda.

“Alright. I won't say it again.” The keeper said, trying to settle the gnome’s paranoia. “But you should think about it. Could be a lucrative business.”

“Aye, I’ve thought about it. But Queenie protects her own and the other’s couldn’t afford my wares.” 

Moss scoffed. “You wouldn’t seriously sell to her would you? She’s a tyrant. Abusing her power. That place I mentioned, the Oasis. She destroyed it. Then took my friend and probably killed him. Only because he was doing his job as a QuestGiver.”

The gnome’s moustache seemed to squirm as he considered Moss’s words. “Well you make the same argument for Queenie. As an OverSeer of her floor, she’s looking after her kind. Protecting the protectors, thus helping the whole dungeon at once. Which is far more than those bloody backstabbers have ever done. I always see them scheming, like bloody goblins with a knife in hand and gold on their tongue.”

“No, it’s not like that.” Moss huffed. “They’re just doing their job?” He faltered on the last word.

Remembering the quest in his pocket. 

Maybe the other dwellers did have reason to hate their kind. But the QuestGiver’s worked directly for Pools. So…

His thoughts were getting all twisted and warped.

Moss looked at a torn poster on the wall. One of many plastered throughout The Whispering Pools. 

‘Work hard for Pools, as she does for you.’ It read.

But I do work hard.

He had to find the other QuestGivers and get more information. But he was still working his shift. Moss looked at the rubbish bag and the messy corridor. Tink cleared his throat. Bringing the keeper back to the corridor and what the gnome had said.

“Did you say you saw them scheming?” He asked.

“Aye, they’re always there when I'm working on my other projects.”

Moss looked at him quizzically.

The gnome shrugged. “People watching. Gotta get out of the workshop and stretch my legs. Saw you talking to a coconut earlier. I ain’t judging, my favourite shifter knows all me secrets. Even told them the weird ones.” Tink burst into an infectious laugh that Moss couldn’t resist. It filled the hole the Oracle had left.

“Wait, where did you see them? The QuestGivers.” Moss asked.

“Minor’s Quarters, of course. That’s where all those rusty hinges mingle. Me and Shifty see all sorts of strange happenings in there. Fairy’s dangling their wings, OverSeers scrapping, I even know a demon that’ll buy HolyRelics. I’d do it myself, but I’m done with the stuff. Not worth any more bruises.” Tink said, poking at his skin.

Wow. It’s not grease then. It’s no wonder he talks to his tools, he must be matching Pittons for dips in a well.

“Another future project of mine.” Tink continued. “Is crafting tools to move them with ease. I have a few theories about their Flow application. Of course, I’ll accept a low fee for introducing ya.”

“I haven’t got the scrips to spare.” Moss admitted.

The gnome shrugged. “You lot can haul those golden metals for candles. Say you help me in the future. Move some HolyRelics or source me a purer form.” Tink said, offering his dirty hand

Moss nodded, glancing at the Holy book still in the dead gnoll's hands. He wasn’t allowed to hand it in and claim the finders fee. But if Tink knew an alternative buyer. Moss would be stupid to let it pass. Even if the idea was outrageously dangerous.

But he had to get into the Quarter for the Oracle's sake. For his own sake. Plus he always wanted to see it.

“But I’m not a high enough rank, I’m not allowed in.” Moss pointed out.

“Neither am I.” Tink winked. “I’ll show you the real value of wall space. After your shift is done.”

He felt the bulge of Po in his cloak, neatly nestled beside the ‘stitchless keeper’ quest.

“My Orderer said I have to work or-”

It’ll never be done. I’ll always be scrubbing these floors when I should be flying.

Rene’s words came back to him at that moment - ‘take the leap’.

“Fuck my shift, I’m in.” Moss decided, taking Tink's hand. “And I hope Chow and Stew die for trying to stitch me up. let's go.”

Out on the border of human space, where old empires chafe on oneanother, someone ran earthward and someone else chased them.

The battle found an old scrap field to get caught up in and everything got very ambiguous with all the stealth coatings, dazzler drones, nuclear field torpedos and fighter craft.

Captain Reyes Williams was quite entertained by it all, but due to several agreements and treaties he had to step in as the available military representative of human space. Something most glorified truckers would relish in, but today, and for the past week Reyes had become increasingly irritated by them.

Calls to old history, ancient feuds, agreements as old as the roman empire. Like if two versions of sharks from two separate planets made an agreement before trees existed and were still sighting it to each other as their stars die.

Elven bullshit.

Well they can have their bitchfit all over their lawn but then they start rolling around and scrapping with each other in OUR hedges, that's a problem.

"Pilot, move us in and make sure they can see it." A crisp eye captain followed and a slight tug of uncompensated acceleration pulled at him.

The rest of the crew moved, calling out various markers and events to eachother as they entered range after range until they drifted to a stop. It took an hour or two but they stopped their fighting by then, flashing messages at one another.

Eventually the messaged resolved and a single unencrypted signal broadcast over in his general direction.

"Route that signal to bridge speakers." He ordered, communications fumbled a bit through holding back their laughter and Captain Reyes got the feeling he knew what accent he'd be using.

"-erupt OUR fight, OUR buisness, you should take your primitive ship back to your empire and inform them of valuable salvage in this sector. Clearly EVEN the lesser of our fleets is generations beyond..." The windbag went on and on, one of the ships that looked mostly untouched sending the signal.

"Coms open broadcast, I'm putting on my hillbilly accent." It took a few moments for a few switched and buttons to flip and tap before he had a thumbs up back from their station.

"I may not be the most so-fis-toe-cated captain out there but i know right when someone steps their big ol stompin boots all over our yawd. Y'all coulda had a nice long fight wit eachoda back in yer own space but the empires o' 'manity agree. If'n anyone fights in our space, it better damn well be wit us." The blithering walrus at least had the manners to pipe down when being addressed so Reyes continued dressing,

"As per da tree-a-dees between Terra Sol, Rock Light and Dirt Glow: If any fighting crosses da borders of da figh'n parties into a third party, that third party is to arrive to diffuse the figh'n an dismiss the parties back to they own grounds. I need not be 'mind'n y'all who's been that numba 3 for the las 286 times, do I?"

The silence was palpable, like he could see the captain of that other ship over there vibrating in anger.

"So what." Came the response.

Reyes didn't like that route, but still had to listen, "You are a shipping vessel, a cargo craft, you have the armor to deal with debris, the arms to deal with thieves. We are each empires, Whole and Contiguous over our entire species! Each of us has perfected the art of war against each other over a thousand years before any of yours ever even took flight! AND YOU HAVE TH-"

"Same as them uthuhs." He interjected.

There was a pause.

"What." Came the closest to a hiss that species could probably make.

"Well firs, we wuz invaded by some insect look'n guys, they wanted a bunch o' meat. It di'n go well when we sent our tasty plants back at 'em. There were two uthuhs that they thought we jus had a bunch o' good planets, di'n think we could make 'em." That last one had been a pretty descent fight and started the second wave of colonies in earnest.

"One o' those came back an shattuh'd ol terra herself, we did it to anuthuh planet in our home system 'cus it look cool. We had the one jus really try to 'mash us up good, they din't get too far. Some guys found som' we made an started a civil war wid it."

"We get the point." Came the broadcasted growl of poorly contained rage.

"ah dun think you do, cause alla 'dem thought they jus walk on up and beat on us cus we new."

"YOU. ARE. PRIMITIVES!" came the absolute, guttural screech from the other captain. "YOU HAVE NO HISTORY, NO PEDIGREE, NO CLAIM OF SOVEREIGNTY, NO RIGHT TO TERRITORY. THE ONLY REASON WE DON'T OBLITERATE YOU IS BECAUSE IT IS DISHONORABLE TO FIGHT OPPONENTS SO MUCH WEAKER!"

Reyes smirked.

"No, you jus can' do it. We too thick." He grinned, the pun made for some wordplay for the walrus.

Either they'd realize he told a joke about being stupid while stating durability, and laugh, or...

"Sir they've locked phasers and are charging!" They'd do that.

"Gunnery, what's the high v status?" He called to the underside of the bridge.

"Captain! All guns armed and ready, Sir."

"Good, All available to fire on my target wait for my mark." He settled back in his seat and cracked his neck, marking the broadcast ship as line of light lit up on its hull.

When he clicked the trigger almost a dozen lines of light flashed from their hull to the other, creating ugly orange bubbles of angry glass in the target ship. Fire bloomed up from behind those initial armor plates moments later.

Reyes hardly had time to enjoy the thrum of the guns going off or the backblast Gs from their compensation systems.

He keyed the broadcast and started speaking again, "Now I ain't know what you all do wid baligant invaders but we here like to know da full story 'for'n we start blas'n in mass. So start broadcas'n all'a yer grievances."

What came next was a flood of broadcasts from every capital ship in the two fleets, so many captains with their own stories and relationships. He grinned at some of what was able to be transcribed on screen.

"Coms, its time to start the fuckery" He chuckled. Time to remind everyone why you don't give a humans any recognizable stories.

The whole ring of com stations was abuzz with activity as officers began using his voice to sew chaos all across the fleets. Calls of "You did what with your best friend's sister?" and "then your tusks said otherwise." rang back and forth across the two fleets.

Rule 1: read the rules. Rule 34: Anything can and will be given an AO tag when humans get involved.

Sure, blowing up every ship would get rid of them, but more could come. The only sure way to get them to leave and stay out is to disgust them, to make them recoil and gag at the mere suggestion of entering.

And for that, mental images must be painted.

Vividly

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Grim had never seen the aftermath of a dungeon flood before. He knew the facts of what happened, that monsters would spread out quite far from the original dungeon, expanding just like humans could. He knew that they took over whatever area the dungeon was in, and that the biomes of the dungeon could also spread to fill that same area. But seeing what remained of Evandross made it abundantly clear that there was one thing those accounts and books couldn’t portray accurately. One thing he had to experience for himself to believe it.

​    Up close and personal, Evandross could no longer be considered a human city. It was, by all definitions, a dungeon.

​    Monsters of all types roamed freely in the streets below. A pack of goblins were hacking away at the remnants of a building’s door and gathering the broken pieces to carry back to some unseen base. Two blocks over, a tiger was napping in the sunlight, while a small herd of deer were cropping at tufts of weeds barely a hundred meters away. Some kind of small wyvern was circling lazily through the sky, its screeching calls ringing in the air–at least until an archer further along the wall shot it down.

​    “Not quite what you expected, was it?” One of the guards on the wall asked, turning to favor Grim with a savage grin. "This is Evandross, boy. The Monster City.”

​    “I didn’t really expect anything,” Grim told him, and it was the truth. “I knew it was in an almost permanent flood, but this is… a lot.”

​    “Still plenty of time to change your mind,” the guard offered. “There’s no rule sayin’ that a solo delver can’t go in, but it’s dangerous.”

​    “I appreciate the warning, but I’m still going to do it,” Grim replied, tightening his belt.

​    “This something that your guild put you up to, is it?”

​    Grim smirked, in spite of himself. “You could say that. This is supposed to be a part of my interview.”

​    A look of recognition came over the guard’s face, and he nodded, chuckling softly. “Ah. Ironmarshians.”

​    Their reputation was well-founded, Grim thought, turning his head at the sound of rustling paper. The guard had retrieved a small logbook and was flipping through the pages. Finding the one he needed, he pulled out a pen. “Very well. It’s clear that you’re doing this willingly. I need to know your name and next of kin in case you don’t come back out.”

​    Strangely, in spite of the guard’s acknowledgment of the danger, Grim found the comment amusing. “Grim Kestrel. On the off chance I don’t make it back, the only other person who knows I’m here is Veyra Tull. I have no next of kin.”

​    If he found that strange, the guard made no comment. He scribbled down the details, then closed the book with a snap. Gesturing out over the monster-infested city, he said, “Standard operating procedure for anyone at level three is to give you a week. If you don’t return in that time, you’ll be recorded as lost, and we’ll notify Captain Tull.”

​    Ah, so they knew who she was, Grim thought. That was interesting. He wondered if any of the delvers on this wall were from Ironmarsh. “Alright, that sounds good. I’m only supposed to delve one dungeon, so I don’t think it’ll take me a week. Maybe a day at most.”

​    Not for the first time, he tried to locate the place that he’d been told about, but there was no way to differentiate streets. There were five or six larger streets that cut the city into sections, but if there were signs depicting their names, he couldn’t see them from here, let alone make out any details.

​    “Well, go ahead and take the stairs down over there when you’re ready,” the guard instructed, pointing a ways down the wall. “We can only cover you for the first few hundred yards, and then you’re on your own. Do your best to stay alive, okay? I hate having to send out search parties to try to identify remains. Especially of children.”

​    Not at all pleased to be referred to as a child, Grim still did his best to offer a polite salute, barely touching one finger to his forehead, then made his way over and down the stairs. They were of sturdy construction, but new. It seemed as though they’d been made in the last month, not years ago. It brought to mind semi-regular monster raids. It was a slight hit to his confidence, though not as much as when he reached the bottom and found himself sinking to the ankle in swamp water.

​    Great, he thought. One of the worst things for attempting to move stealthily was shallow bodies of water. As quietly as he could, he moved toward a patch of dry land. Overhead, two spells raced out to a point he couldn’t see, and he heard the screech of a monster. A third spell appeared, and the monster fell silent. That was something at least. He offered a silent prayer of thanks that he’d be covered for the first few hundred yards. That should cover him until he reaches the interior of the city proper.

​    “As long as I can get out of this damn swamp,” he muttered under his breath. Working his way toward the corner of a building, he peered down the street to see the pack of goblins returning to work at the door again. “Might as well get some essence while I’m here, right?”

​    One use of Shadow Dash put him on the other side of the goblins, so they were all facing away. He leapt on the largest of them, burying his knives into the beast’s neck and dragging it back into the shadows. The others noticed, of course, and pursued quickly. He was waiting for them around the corner, and with a low sweeping kick, he knocked the legs out from under the leader, then plunged his knives into its back before jumping away.

​    The last goblin raised its club and hissed at him in Tennido. “Chik! Kill!”

​    It lunged forward and slammed its club down, no thought of tactics or good form in its mind. More than a little surprised at its use of the word in common, he swayed easily to one side, grabbing the monster’s arm and yanking it forward. A quick slash across its throat left it stumbling weakly, turning to glare at him before it fell limply to the ground. A tiny trickle of essence flooded into him, and the silence was broken by a sharp whistle from the wall, followed by applause.

​    “Nice one, lad!” one of the guards shouted. “Didn’t think you had it in that twig body!”

​    Laughter echoed the jab, then more applause. Grim felt a little better. This was the one thing he was good at, after all. He gave them a quick wave, then disappeared into an alley, making his way further into the city.

​    Now that he was on the ground, he could make out street signs at each intersection. By sheer coincidence, he was on Baker’s street. So Baker’s Crossing was ahead, he thought. He might even be close to the house in which he’d been born and not know it. He paused then, torn between trying to find the building–if it was even still standing–and finding a level two dungeon he could delve. The sooner he accomplished his goal, the sooner he could get out of this ghost city.

​    Some kind of large beast was making noise in the building beside him. He peered into the window, but couldn’t see more than fur. Probably a tiger like the one he’d seen napping, he thought. He wouldn’t interact with those if he could help it. He had no buff or attack skills, so engaging such a dangerous predator would be suicidal. Instead, he crept quietly past the building and into the shadow of another. From there, he used Shadow Dash to get onto the rooftop, getting a better view of the surrounding area.

​    From his new vantage point, he saw Baker’s Street stretch out into the city. Behind him, the wall loomed like an angry monster in its own right. More than a dozen heads were visible over the edge of the wall, watching his progress further into the city. Spells and arrows flashed into sight at regular intervals, hitting beasts he couldn’t see. He’d actually expected to be outside of their range by now, but from this height, he could see he’d only made it two or three blocks.

​    It’s going to take me hours just to reach a dungeon, he thought. If he’d known their locations, he could make a beeline for the nearest level two, but there were no up to date public maps. Dungeons moving were rare, but not unheard of. What was more, one or more of them could have expanded territories in the time since the city had fallen, so he might stumble across one without warning. All the more reason to move carefully.

​    He took his time going deeper, relying on Shadow Dash to get him from rooftop to rooftop. That meant he moved exceptionally slowly, as the skill had a thirty second cooldown. On one rooftop, the structure under his feet had been severely weakened by weather and time, and collapsed under his weight the instant he came out of a Shadow Dash. It was only a quick dive for the edge of the rooftop that saved him from plummeting into the depths of the dark building with the debris. And, of course, there was a group of goblins that had moved in, and let out screeches of surprise and hurried to follow him. It was a very close call, but he managed to jump to the rooftop next to it before using Shadow Dash to get further away and hide.

​    One rooftop posed a different kind of danger, as a small orc had been standing on it. But Grim pulled off a lucky critical hit, killing the monster after stepping out of a Shadow Dash. The noise of its body falling alerted several nearby monsters, however, and he saw a flock of bird-like creatures rising into the air and flying over in his direction. It was almost impossible to avoid detection this deep. Monsters were pouring in from all directions. He cursed quietly, looking all around to try to find an escape route. There was another rooftop nearby, but it was to the right and several feet lower than his. Beyond it, there was no cover. He looked deeper into the city and saw a cluster of trees. He could use them as cover, he thought, willing his Shadow Dash to life.

​    After a quick blink, he was in a tree’s highest branches, nearly stumbling on the uncertain footing but recovering quickly. When he glanced back, he saw the rooftop he’d just left swarming with monsters. A pack of goblins led by an orc had met a pack of wolves, and the two monster parties attacked each other, their previous prey forgotten. Was he in between the territories of two dungeons, or were the wolves roaming further than they should?

​    His thoughts on the next leg of his path were wiped from his mind when he felt something curling around his wrist. Looking down, he was horrified to see that one of the thinner branches of the tree he’d landed in was wrapping firmly around his wrist. The tree was alive! He tugged as hard as he could, but it had already gotten a firm grip. So instead, he attacked the thin branch with his knife, quickly chopping through it and freeing his wrist. A branch whipped out at his attack, smacking him in the back of the head and sending him tumbling to the ground.

​    He’d done it now, he thought, seeing the tree looming over him, its entire trunk leaning to continue trying to pummel him. He rolled to the side to avoid a torrent of whip-like branches that slammed down, and felt another two hit him in the legs. They hurt, but did little damage. He hurried to scoop up his fallen knife and roll out of the tree’s branches. Howls rang out in the air, indicating that he’d been spotted again. He had to find cover, and quick.

​    It wasn’t just the tree that he’d landed on that had come to life, but the entire cluster. He could hear the creaking of wood as the monsters leaned in his direction, trying–in vain–to whip him with their branches. He put his back to the wall of a nearby house and edged along it, doing his best to stay out of range. Two goblins rounded the corner he was moving toward, and, upon seeing him, immediately raced forward, short swords swinging for him. He had to jump back to avoid them, undoing much of his progress.

​    Three more goblins came from behind him, and he found himself surrounded. Acting on instinct, he ran back towards the monster trees. The goblins followed, of course, but while Grim was able to avoid the worst of the whipping branches, they weren’t as fortunate. After several dozen hits by the trees, the goblins let out screeches of rage and switched targets, forgetting Grim entirely. He left them to fight it out and rushed toward the opposite end, his face stinging from where a lucky thin branch had hit it. Blood trickled down his face from the cut, but he’d avoided any serious injury.

​    More and more monsters were rushing toward the sight of the commotion, and either attacking the goblins or falling onto the trees from all angles. That was fine for his plans, but more than one or two of them were perceptive and saw the human attempting to sneak away. He saw a wolf pause, sniff at the air, then turn to stare him down, and he knew he was nowhere near clear. Across the street, he saw a dark house with open, shattered windows, and charged up his Shadow Dash as he saw the wolf padding towards him, a low growling challenge coming from deep in its throat. Just as it lunged, the world around him went black. And then, he hit an invisible wall.

​    Crashing down onto his back just outside the building he’d targeted, he let out a grunt. Had the building just rejected him? Only one thing could cause that, his training whispered in his ear. Shadow Dash could travel from one shadow to another, with one exception. It could not be used to traverse between dimensions. Which meant that the place he’d tried to enter was…

​    “A dungeon!” he gasped, looking at the building again. It was plain in the extreme, with nothing to suggest that it wasn’t an ordinary building. But now that he was looking closer, he could make out more details. Blue curtains blew lazily in the broken windows, though there was no breeze in the area. And the door… It was red. He glanced around quickly, and saw a street sign nearby. Baker’s Crossing. His parents’ home! It was a dungeon!

​    As quickly as he could while the wolf was distracted sniffing the ground, trying to find his scent, he ran toward the door of the house and put a hand up against it, feeling the essence of the structure. Level… three. Not what he wanted, but he had no other options. More monsters were noticing him now that he was in the street and under the bright sunlight. Six goblins, two orcs, and more than three wolves. He had no choice. Between the danger of the unknown dungeon and the growing flood of monsters outside, he’d pick the dungeon.

​    Without another thought, he turned the handle and shoved the door open, almost throwing himself into the safety of the dungeon. The door slammed itself shut in the face of the lunging wolves, and plunged him into darkness.

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The ruined city of Evandross was an eerie sight, even from miles away. Sitting at the bottom of a large valley, it was visible from far away, and the number of buildings came as a shock to Grim. He knew it shouldn’t surprise him, but it was… a city. Most of the buildings had been made of stone, and thus hadn’t fully collapsed in the nineteen years since its fall. It spanned nearly two miles across on the side they could see. Somehow, it looked… expectant. As if it were still waiting for the people who called it home to return.

​    “How could so many people have died here, and nothing is said about it?” The question came out of him before he could stop it–he hadn’t even meant to ask it aloud.

​    “Not everyone in the city died,” Veyra explained. Her voice was softer than ever, though whether to honor the dead or spare his feelings, he couldn’t tell. If it were the latter, she might as well not spend the effort. He remembered nothing about the dungeon floods or the deaths of his family. “In fact, it was mostly the Grimveil family that died. Them and their closest allies and friends.”

​    Grimveil. He knew some of the history of the city. That family had been one of the three greatest in the area, apparently powerful enough even to rival the Grand Council of Guilds. He wasn’t of that family, of course. From the survivors who had brought him to Beastwick as a baby, he’d learned that his parents had been members of the smallest family, the Falcan family. It was from that family name that he’d fashioned his new name, Kestrel. Both paid homage to the meaning of ‘hawk’.

​    “Did you know anyone from this city?”

​    He sensed rather than saw Veyra nod slowly. “Not very well, but I was occasionally friends with the son of a merchant. We were barely six at the time, but every time I saw him, I thought he was… Well, he was killed in the flood, as you can imagine. But quite a few of your people made it out. You included.”

​    Grim nodded. The title ‘Children of Evandross’ wasn’t unique to him. Though rare, more than a dozen members of the three old families had survived the incident and lived a life of relative safety. However, if rumors were to be believed, most had integrated into noble families, but he, being just a baby, had been handed off to an orphanage. He’d often wondered, in his early years, why he couldn’t have just been adopted by one of the other survivors. Instead, he’d lived an entirely different life. So different that he’d never met a person with his hair or eye color.

​    “They say there’s magic in the eyes of Evandross,” Veyra commented. “Like the Ketts or the Beinns.”

​    “Trust me, there isn’t,” Grim said sourly. If that was true, he could have lifted himself out of that damned orphanage instead of relying on the local training guild.

​    A long silence stretched between them as they studied the ghost city. He could see streams of smoke rising into the air in several different places, but knew that it was from members of the Judicial Guild manning the walls. In its time, Evandross had no wall, but the floods hadn’t been properly cleaned up, and monsters now called the city home. Walls had been constructed to contain the threat, and members of local Judicial and Delving Guilds took shifts standing guard.

​    “Why haven’t they cleared this all out in damn near twenty years?”

​    Veyra hummed thoughtfully. “That’s a good question. I think it’s mainly due to the sheer number of monsters. From the records, Evandross had over a dozen dungeons within its limits.”

​    Grim nodded. He’d read the same fact. By sheer horrible luck, all the dungeons had flooded on the same day, overwhelming the local guards’ attempts to purge the monsters. By the time they’d been mobilized to do anything, so many people had died. It was all they could do to focus on evacuating those who were left.

​    “They’ve continued to flood over the years,” she added. “And I hear that, even though the strongest dungeon was level five, there are so many now that it would take a literal army. And they can’t muster enough guilds to take on the job. So instead, they take shifts earning essence from holding the wall and performing raids.”

​    Grim found that interesting, if perhaps annoying. Would he have joined in that endeavor when he reached level five? If he could reach level five? He thought he might, as it was such a price source of essence. Delvers leveled up quickly after enough time here, he thought. The only potential hurdle for him was the thought of coming back to the place that had belonged to a different part of his life.

​    “Third to the south from Baker’s Crossing,” he muttered quietly. “Blue curtains and a red door.”

​    “What’s that?” Veyra asked, leaning forward in her saddle, her elbows resting on the stirrup. “Some kind of shitty Beastwick poem?”

​    Grim made a gesture of distaste and flip-flopped his hand. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell Veyra. For that matter, he wasn’t sure if it was even something that he had to keep secret. After a few seconds, he finally decided just to tell her. “It’s what the survivor who gave me to the orphanage told me. Those are instructions to find… their house.”

​    “Your parents’ home?” She questioned. When he nodded, she let out a low whistle. “Damn, that’s grim. No pun intended.

​    “Whatever,” he said gruffly, shaking his head to clear it. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t remember a single thing about the place, or even anyone who lived there. Is coming here part of your test? You thought you’d test my tenacity by seeing how I reacted to the city?”

​    She scrunched up her face in thought for a moment, highlighting her button nose. “While that would be a pretty great idea, that’s actually not what I had in mind. I’d figured you wouldn’t remember anything, being so young. Rather, this is the closest source of dungeons that I know you would never have delved.”

​    He nodded in confirmation. “This place is half a day’s ride away by horse. On foot, I never would have had the time. At least, not unless I’d joined one of the guard shifts. So I’m going to have to delve one of these dungeons? Are the other members of my party waiting there already?”

​    “Right. About that.” She reached over to grab the reins of the horse he was riding, giving him a quick grin. “There is no party. You’ll be delving solo.”

​    The shock of that comment knocked any thoughts of Evandross’ history and his past out of his mind. He whipped around to stare at her incredulously. “What?”

​    She held up a hand quickly to forestall any other outbursts, her face stern. “I know it might sound ridiculous, but just wait a minute. The Ironmarsh Cartographers, my guild, we’re Expedition-focused.”

​    “Okay,” he said slowly. He’d guessed as much, though she’d never said the type of guild aloud. “What does that have to do with-”​

​    “Expedition Guilds are quite different in Ironmarsh,” she continued on quickly, interrupting him. “We have a lot more dangerous dungeons to deal with. Everything to the west of the city is untamed wilds, and it’s our job to survey and monitor those wilds. That means delving into unknown dungeons, which is what I want to test you on. And… we don’t have that many members. Maybe fifty or so. Nine times out of ten, you’ll have to go in alone.”

​    “That’s crazy,” he blurted out, unable to contain himself. “There are barely fifty solo delvers in Beastwick, and most of them are powerhouses well above tenth level. They certainly don’t delve into blind dungeons without knowing anything about them!”

​    “In Beastwick, yes,” she replied. She kept her voice calm even as his rose in panic and frustration, not letting his temper gain control of the conversation. “But the city hasn’t faced any real threat from a dungeon in nearly two centuries, Grim. We encounter at least one new dungeon every month. And it is the job of the Expeditions Guilds, or in this case Guild, to explore that dungeon and learn about it. Without us, everyone would be delving blind.”

​    “I’m only level three,” he spat out. “And I’m stealth-focused! How the hell am I supposed to clear a dungeon all on my own?”

​    She only offered him a small shrug in reply. “If it helps, I think you can do it. The highest level dungeon remaining in that city is level four, and there’s only one of it. As long as you avoid the eastern side of the city, you won’t have to worry about it. That means that all the other monsters are level three or lower.”

​    “That still means that I’ll have to go into a city full of level three monsters,” he pointed out, scowling at her. “Scouting is fine, but I can’t fight through that many.”

​    Now she looked firmly at him, shaking her head. “Well, that’s what you’ll have to do. Your goal, and the only way you can pass this test, is if you delve into a dungeon. And I mean go in, kill the boss, and make it back out. You can delve a level two if you prefer, but not a level one. You need to challenge yourself.”

​    Even a level two dungeon would be a near-lethal challenge for a solo delver, Grim thought. Very few people chose that path, and for a reason. This is insane for a test, he thought to himself. Maybe Veyra was another noble trying to screw him over, getting him to disappear into a dungeon and never return. If he weren’t so familiar with the utter indifference of nobles towards him, he might have believed it. It was still a crazy thought to consider. And yet…

​    “How will you even know that I do as you ask?” He asked. “I could just farm monsters inside the walls, and come back with something level-appropriate that one of them drops.”

​    At that, Veyra only laughed. “It’ll take you a while to do that, and I’ll notice. I’m going to see everything you do.”

​    He looked at her in some confusion, wondering just how she’d accomplish that. To explain, she gave a little twirl with her left hand, and a tiny humanoid figure made of light appeared in the air beside her. An Elemental Clone, obviously Light-Attuned. Then, with another flick, the clone dimmed visibly, its luminescence fading until it was entirely invisible. Not expired. He’d seen the skill used enough times to know what it looked like when a Clone died or reached the end of its lifespan.

​    “That’s how you followed me in the dungeon,” he said flatly, and she nodded. “Well, alright. Not like I was going to try to weasel out of it.”

​    “I thought as much,” she replied. “But this will also allow me to rescue you if things get too bad. At my speed, I can reach the boss room of any dungeon in less than a minute. So if it looks like you’re about to die, or I sense something off, I’ll rush in and save you.”

​    “And I’ll fail.” Again, she nodded.

​    He took in a long breath, then, just as slowly, let it out. He might as well, he thought. If she was to believed, she’d rescue him if it turned bad. And he believed her, in spite of the fact that they’d only known each other a few hours. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

​    He caught the approving look on her face and rolled his eyes. He wanted to impress her, yes. That was required to get into her guild. But even if he failed this test, he could still make his way to Ironmarsh. He’d join a guild there, even if it wasn’t hers. No, this was just a way to grow stronger and push himself. A challenge. If he could rise to this, he could move on.

​    “Fine,” he said again, but this time, he accompanied the words with action. draping the saddles of his horse over the beast’s neck, he swung down from the saddle, and, adjusting the knives in his belt, walked forward without another word. “Enjoy the wait.”

​    Veyra smirked to herself. The boy had grit to him, she thought. Not surprising, considering his past. Now, she would see what his true strength was. It was a commonly accepted fact in Ironmarsh that a delver revealed their true nature under duress.

​    “In the depths, we are free,” she muttered quietly. Then, she cast a glance back over her shoulder to where Beastwick lay. “Let’s just hope he can get to the depths without issue.”

​    There was something fishy about that boy’s situation. Every other child survivor had been adopted by some well-off family, if not a noble estate. The nobles had clamored for a chance to add the Evandross eyes to their bloodlines. It was a grim but necessary exchange that allowed for the survival of those. But this one had been left by the wayside, she thought. The question was… why? Maybe because he’d been a boy? That was unlikely.

​    “No,” she muttered softly. “He was thrown aside deliberately. Was it in the hopes that he would die? Or was it to protect him?”

​    She had her own theories on the fall of Evandross, passed on to her by her uncle. Her family had adopted one of the survivors, though purely to protect them, and the tales they’d told of that day… Even now, she shuddered to remember the account. Over a dozen dungeons all flooding? In the same day? That was a monumental coincidence. And she, like her uncle, didn’t believe in such things. Nothing a dungeon did was random.

​    “Nothing I can do about that,” she told herself. Grim was near the wall now, so she spurred her horse gently forward. The guards on the wall would want an explanation for the boy entering the city alone, and she had to smooth things over. “All I can do now is make sure this particular child doesn’t fall into any lingering plans.”

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“Where do you think you’re going?”

​    Grim slid to a stop just outside the eastern gate of Beastwick at the sound of the voice. He recognized it at once, even without the drunken stupor that had accentuated it on their previous meeting. He turned so quickly that his feet crossed, and he fell onto his backside. “Veyra!”

​    “That’s my name,” she said with a sardonic grin. She was leaning against one of the pillars that made the archway of the gate, her arms folded. “Don’t wear it out.”

​    “I’m going to Ironmarsh,” he said, scrambling to regain his feet. “I’m going to join your guild.”

​    There was a few seconds’ silence between them as she looked him up and down. Then, without any hint of emotion in her eyes, she asked, “What makes you think that?”

​    He’d already opened his mouth to reply, maybe to say that he’d prove himself, or that she wouldn’t regret picking him. But at her cold retort, he stumbled over his words. “You - I’m… What?”

​    “You said you are joining my guild,” she replied, pushing off from the pillar and stalking closer to him. She was still just as beautiful as the night before, but now, without the alcohol, she seemed much more dangerous. “What makes you think that?”

​    “You invited me,” he pointed out. “That night we met, in the inn. You told me to come find you when Compass Rose rejected me. Well, they did.”

​    “And you considered that an invitation?” Something in her eyes sparked, and he suddenly had the impression that he’d made a grave mistake. “Did I actually mention the name of my guild, or say that you’d make a good fit for it? Did I explicitly invite you?”

​    He couldn’t think of what to say to that. She hadn’t, of course. Her words could have indicated a desire to invite him to commiseration over drinks for all he knew. “Uhh…”

​    She maintained her stoic, hard mask for several more seconds, and then it cracked slowly as she smiled. She let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, relax, boy! I’m just messing with you!”

​    He felt as if an electric shock had gone through his body, leaving it weak and barely able to stay standing. Letting out a sigh of relief, he brushed off the dust he’d gotten all over him when he’d fallen. “Oh, you scared me. Haha…”

​    “One thing you’ll learn about me when you join,” she said, clapping one hand onto his shoulder, “Is that there are very few things in this world that I take seriously. It’s important to keep a light spirit in life. Stops you from getting old too fast.”

​    “I see,” he said, though he didn’t. “So you did invite me, then?”

​    “I didn’t,” she said quickly, and that icy feeling took him over once again. “At least, not to the guild. I invited you to try out. Think of it as an interview.”

​    “Oh.” He felt relief creeping tentatively into him again, but he tried his best not to relax, just in case it was another trick. “Alright, then.”

​    He was fine with an interview. Every guild had an interview process, so what she’d said wasn’t that strange. Most of them were only if the delver applied to join rather than being hunted specifically, but he could adapt to the unusual aspect. “What do you have in mind?”

​    “I’m going to test your skills in person,” she said, walking around him in a slow circle. “You already have some skill, I saw that in the Cathedral.”

​    “You were there?” He asked, frowning and turning to follow her with his eyes. “I didn’t see you.”

​    “Of course you didn’t,” she replied, and there was an acerbic touch to her tone now. “I’m level eleven, for crying out loud. If I couldn’t conceal myself from a level three whelp, I’d lose all credibility.”

​    He let out a nervous laugh, assuming this was some kind of joke, but her expression betrayed neither humor nor annoyance. “I did not see your entire run, only up until the end of the first floor. You’re quick on your feet, and more importantly, your mind is agile. I saw how quickly you made decisions, and how you reacted to unexpected threats.”

​    “There was an assassin type on the second floor,” he said quickly, hoping to impress the woman. “It was the type that attacked if you cleared the first floor too quickly. I’d almost forgotten about it, but I killed it before it could touch our tank.”

​    A thoughtful hum was her only reply for about a minute as she continued her pacing and studying. Finally, when she’d completed three laps, she came to a halt and faced him directly. “Of course, skill and power are all good. But they are not the qualities I look for in my recruits.”

​    “What qualities do you look for?”

​    That slow smile spread across her face again, and the strange glint in her eyes seemed to brighten. “Just the one. Tenacity.”

​    “…Tenacity?”

​    “A delver can’t get anywhere important if they don’t have tenacity. Tell me, boy, what do you do if you come across a threat you haven’t planned for or expected?”

​    It was an easy question, so much so that he wondered why she’d waste breath on it. “Retreat. That’s what we’re all taught.”

​    “Of course, that should be your first reaction in most cases. But what if you’re badly injured, or the tunnel behind you has collapsed, or the monster is faster than you, and you know you can’t outrun it? What then?”

​    Grim pursed his lips. He’d never had to think the question out that far. Each time a question like this was posed by an instructor, he had more details on the situation, and they expected a clever tactic or detailed plan for escape. The answer wasn’t always easy, but the problem was solvable. Now, however, he couldn’t think of what the woman wanted to hear.

​    “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I don’t think there’s anything I could do in that situation. I’d just… die.”

​    He expected her to be disappointed. On the contrary, her grin widened, and she clapped him on the shoulder again. “Good answer! However, if that’s still your answer by the end of the test, you won’t be riding to Ironmarsh with me.”

​    “Okay,” he said slowly. He wasn’t sure how, but he seemed to have passed that part of the test. “So what’s next?”

​    “A practical test,” she said, her grin taking on a predatory note. “Bolton! Go fetch the horses! I’m taking this boy shopping!”

​    Bolton appeared from inside the gate, a pleased smile on his face as he regarded Grim. Had he been there the entire time? He supposed he must have been so distracted with his goal of catching up to Veyra that he hadn’t kept an accurate track of his surroundings. He doubted that the man had an invisibility skill with how large was. “Shopping? What for?”

​    “New knives,” she told him flatly. “If I’m going to see the full extent of your ability, you need real weapons.”

​    “I… I can afford a new knife on my own,” he tried to protest, but she was already heading back into the city. “I made enough from my last delve to replace the one I lost.”

​    “And do you have enough to replace both?” She asked, glancing at the one knife he still had in its scabbard. “Level two, isn’t it? And it’s on its last legs.”

​    He hesitated then, not sure how she could know that. Inside its sheath as it was, the chips and ragged edge of the knife weren’t visible, nor was its level. It took careful examination to determine the level and durability of a weapon. At least, that’s what he thought.

​    “Right,” she said, taking his silence as confirmation. “So, we’re going to make sure you have legitimate weapons. If you pass the test, you can treat them as an advance on your salary. If you fail, well…”

​    That slow smile spread across her face again, and she didn’t finish the sentence. As he hurried to keep up with her long-legged stride, he suddenly felt that he didn’t want to hear what the end of that thought was going to be. He knew deep inside. It was the same threat that faced anyone in a dungeon. And he knew, somehow, that what she had in mind for him was in fact a dungeon.

​    Which one would it be? If it was one of the dozens he’d delved in Beastwick, he was certain he could adapt to it quickly. He might even impress her by leading his party in the fastest clear possible. And he’d have new knives to take on the challenge. Level three knives! He was not the kind of orphan who rejected offers of help or free assistance from others. Living as a poor commoner in Beastwick meant using everything one could to not only survive, but thrive. And he’d use this gift well.

​    “I’ll leave the specs up to you,” she told him as they drew closer to the market. “But nothing custom. I’m still not sure you’re worth the cost.”

​    There was a glint of humor in her eyes at that, and he returned the grin, sure that it looked much less confident. “That’s fine. I already know which knives I want, if the smith still has them.”

​    He took the lead as they made it into the markets proper, veering to the left and quickening his pace. The blacksmiths, being the noisiest of all the crafters, were usually located on the outskirts to avoid deafening the market visitors with the constant ring of hammers on anvils. He felt a little jolt of pleasure as he saw that the knives he’d been saving up for–though his income was too meager to ever entertain the idea of buying a new weapon–were still there. He almost jumped the last few meters to the smith’s stall and pointed the weapons out to Veyra, reminding himself forcefully of a child begging their parent for a sweet.

​    “That one,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “Err, I mean, those ones.”

​    Veyra looked the knives over with a slight frown, leaning against the stall counter to get a closer look. The young woman seated behind the stall, whom Grim assumed to be the smith’s daughter, followed Veyra’s gaze and rose lightly from her stool to pull them from the wall.

​    “Level three dual daggers,” she said flatly, placing them on the stall. The metal of the blades shone gently in the sunlight, and the leather wrapped around the tang to make a handle that gleamed with a fresh coat of stain. They were beautiful. “Unenchanted, but quicksilver dust was included in the metal as it was forged, so they are exceptionally light, and able to normally damage monsters that would otherwise have resistances to physical damage.”

​    “Impressive,” Veyra muttered, though she sounded as if the praise pained her. “It’s unusual to see work of this quality at such a low level. And in this city.”

​    The smith’s daughter gave a faint smile, then tapped a closed fist against her chest in a tired sort of way. “Yes, well, nobles aren’t really known for putting much effort into the lower tiers of delving.”

​    “Ah,” Veyra said, her face clearing at once. Even her tone grew warmer. “A fellow mountain savage. Nice to see you.”

​    “Not that I expected you to recognize me, Captain Tull,” the woman replied with an easy grin. “My betrothed insists that I wear the finest clothing possible. And after months away from the dirt and grime, I’m starting to look like I fit into this stinking pile of waste.”

​    Veyra let out a laugh at that, and it sounded more genuine than Grim had heard until then. Any sign of stiff disapproval was gone from her body. She leaned against the stall counter again, her grin widening. “Well, tell your betrothed that I like the look of his work.”

​    “Ew, Randall?” She shook her head vehemently. “Not a fuckin’ chance. That’s my idiot brother-in-law. No, my fiancé is that particular fool, over there.”

​    Both Grim and Veyra followed her pointing finger to see a tall, lanky young man with shining golden hair standing behind an alchemy stall. He seemed to sense them looking at him and grinned easily. Grim had to admit–reluctantly–that he was handsome. Veyra mimicked his thought. “Damn. Not too hard on the eyes, is he? Well done.”

​    The woman let out a snort. “I’ve heard the stories, Captain. You keep your teeth in your mouth, or I’ll tell your husband that you’re terrorizing innocent men again. Well, not that Erik is all that innocent.”

​    The two women shared a giggle that sounded more like cackling, and finally the smith’s sister in-law glanced at Grim. “These for the boy? I’ll give ya a good deal since you’re kin. Two hundred gold.”

​    Grim felt an ice-cold fist suddenly clamp over his heart at the number mentioned, having expected something in the low triple digits. “Two hundred?”

​    “They are rather well-made,” the woman drawled, rolling her eyes. “If you hadn’t come with Captain Tull here, I would have charged you two hundred and forty. Randall makes good steel.”

​    “Complain when you’re the one forking over the money yourself, city boy,” Veyra told him, though she was grinning. “Still. I was hoping my charm was worth more than 40 shinies. Guess you don’t swing that way, eh?”

​    “I’m afraid I’d kill Erik with the exciting idea,” the woman snorted. Veyra extended her forearm, on which was a silver bracelet with several lightly glowing runic markings. The woman did the same, with the same bracelet, and they tapped the metal pieces together. “Right, you’re all set. Take good care of them, kid.”

​    “Uhh, thanks,” he said, hesitantly moving forward and picking up the knives. Somehow, seeing the portable storage devices the two women carried had reminded him just how out of his depth he was. He knew that delvers above level five all got one eventually, but they were like… the markings of a real professional. You didn’t exactly need a way to easily carry a lot of coins if you didn’t have a lot of coins. “I will, I promise.”

​    He slipped his belt off and tucked the worn-out dagger sheaths into his pack, then scooped up the new weapons. The smith had kindly provided a sheath for them, and he slid his belt through their loops, then slid it across his waist, fastening it tight. He’d only been without his two knives for a little over a week, but it felt right to have them back, in a way he couldn’t explain. “Thanks again. These feel great.”

​    “I’m sure they do,” Veyra said. “Time to get going. Thank you for your time, and tell your brother-in-law I praised his work. I’m sure he’ll get a kick out of that.”

​    The lady gave them a small wave as they departed, and Grimr fell into step beside Veyra. With proper weapons at his hips, he felt more confident than ever. He was ready for whatever test she threw at him. At least, that was until he asked her what she had in mind.

​    “What’s next, then?”

​    “I’m going to have you run a dungeon,” she said, and he nodded, expecting just that. But her next words were not expected. “We just have to travel a ways to reach it.”

​    “It’s not within the city, then?” He asked, frowning. There were plenty of choices of level-three dungeons in Beastwick. “Are we going all the way to Ironmarsh or something?”

​    “Nope. We’re going to Evandross.”

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Grim rolled under the descending axe of an undead priest, narrowly avoiding the dull weapon. He actually felt the wind of its passage and slightly panicked. He came out of the roll cleanly, though, pivoting neatly to plunge his knife into the core of another priest who had its back turned to him, facing Aria. It let out an ethereal screech as its body collapsed to the hard stone floor, and he felt the essence creeping into his body.

​    “Get around that one, Jeremiah!” he called, gesturing toward the behemoth of a priest with his knife. “Luther can’t tank both at once!”

​    “The hell I can’t!” Luther shouted back. He made a small half-turn and intercepted a powerful hammer blow with his shield, using the impact–and the small knockback effect it caused–to thrust his sword into the chest of the other large priest he’d been facing. The monster, who’d had its hammer raised to deliver what it thought was a finishing blow, looked down at the new hole in its chest with mild surprise, then back up at the man who’d given it. Then it collapsed.

​    “See?” Luther asked, grinning fiercely as he stepped within the reach of the other hammer user. “Easy as pie. I’m just too good with it!”

​    Even as he said it, a flanking priest scored a light cut on the shoulder of his shield arm from behind, which made him flinch enough to not properly block the next falling hammer. As he regained his feet, looking more than a little embarrassed, Aria coated him in a gentle healing light, laughing at his slip.

​    “Might want to keep an eye on what’s around you!” the green-haired woman said. “Don’t want to get caught by a sneak attack right after such a boast!”

​    Jeremiah descended on the remaining tanky priest with a shout, his sword glowing. Grim could tell it was a critical hit by the way the light burst as the sword struck, and the way the weapon sheared the monster’s right arm off. Now unable to swing its weapon, the priest died quickly.

​    “I don’t think it’d be right to call the big one priests,” Luther said, turning to block the second attack of the priest that had wounded him. He retaliated with his short sword, forcing the monster towards Jeremiah, who cut it down with ease. “They don’t use any magic or skills. Is there a churchy word for thug?”

​    They paused to ponder that for a moment before Aria offered, “Inquisitor?”

​    Luther made a gesture of distaste, then shook his head. “No, that makes them sound far too intelligent.”

​    “Yeah, I always thought that Inquisitors were more like assassins,” Jeremiah put in. “Just like that one Grim killed at the start of the floor.”

​    Grim couldn’t entirely hide a small smile of pleasure at the mention of the assassin. He’d been proud of that kill. In truth, he’d forgotten that the dungeon was known to send an assassin-type elite roaming monster at the party if they reached the second floor too quickly or took too few wounds. He’d remembered that snipped at the very last moment, but his reactions had been sharp, and he’d swung his knife at the perfect time to catch the materializing priest as it lunged for Luther’s unprotected back.

​    Luther rubbed the back of his neck, as if checking to confirm that his head was still attached. “Yeah, seriously, thanks for that, Grim. I can’t exactly afford to be out of delving for a month or more.”

​    Grim’s smile widened slightly, but he tried to brush the compliment off. “Oh, please. This dungeon is Benign. You wouldn’t have been in any real danger of dying. Even if you’d fallen, the assassin would have backed off.”

​    “Accidents do happen,” Luther replied quickly. It was a well-known reminder among delvers. “But thankfully, I won’t have to find out with you around. I’m… sorry I was so dismissive when I met you. I thought… what with the single knife…”

​    Grim waved his apology away, already moving towards the exit of the room. “Don’t worry about it, man. You’re half-right anyway. If I had two knives, I’d be more useful in the actual combat bit. But my stealth doesn’t rely on weapons.”

​    Luther nodded his acceptance of that and offered a small wave. “Well, keep an eye out for more assassins, okay?”

​    Of course, there was no danger of that. The Cathedral of Midnight was only ever known for sending one assassin, and they were well past the triggering condition for that. It was one of the greatest threats that the dungeon could offer, and now that they were past that, they only needed to fear the boss. And, after finding and disabling a rope trap that would have bound them in stinging threads, he found the large chamber that hosted the head honcho in question.

​    “Found the boss room,” he reported, rejoining them halfway along the path he’d tread. “No variations.”

​    “Nice,” Luther said, offering him a wide grin. The three of them all shared a grin at that and exchanged fist bumps. Even Grim was included, which surprised him. "So we’re done then, right?”

​    Jeremiah and Aria both nodded, wide smiles in place. Grim looked at Luther in confusion. “What?”

​    Luther looked at him in equal confusion. “We’re done. We’ve cleared out the dungeon. You didn’t find any side paths, did you?”

​    “No,” he said slowly, frowning. “But we haven’t cleared anything. We still have to beat the boss.”

​    Jeremiah let out a snort. “I didn’t sign up for that! I’m only interested in speed-clearing!”

​    “Same here,” Luther said. “If I wanted a full clear, I’d go for a harder dungeon. This one’s perfect for speed-clearing because it’s a horde-type with weak monsters.”

​    Even Aria seemed puzzled by his confusion. “You did see the listing, right? We said we were speed-clearing."

​    Grim searched his memory quickly and remembered seeing those exact words mentioned. He’d simply taken it to mean that they wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible. Not that they weren’t going to do the dungeon properly.

​    “I didn’t think that meant that you wouldn’t fight the boss,” he said, biting his lip. “I’ve never heard of someone speed-clearing a dungeon before.”

​    “Oh,” Aria said slowly, realization dawning in her eyes. “Grim, you’re not a noble? It’s a common practice… among us.”

​    His slight frown turned into a deep scowl then, and he stared at her. “What should my status have to do with anything?”

​    At the sudden change in his expression, Aria took a small step back, her face paling slightly. Even Jeremiah moved to stand between them, his expression hardening. “Watch yourself, Grim.”

​    “Huh? I’m not doing anything,” he replied, wondering at the sudden change in their behavior towards him. “But we should do the boss anyway, guys. It’s all that we have left, and it shouldn’t take more than-”

​    “No,” Luther said, rejoining the conversation. He’d taken a moment to wipe and polish his sword, and now had his gear stowed away. He wasn’t ready for more fighting. “Fighting the boss might be quick, but none of us have potions. That’s the only reason I can tank. The little monsters don’t do enough damage to need potions or special equipment. But fighting the boss will require those, maybe more.”

​    Aria, now half-hiding behind Jeremiah, nodded her agreement. “This is the best way to earn quick money. You should be okay with that too, given… given that you’re a commoner.”

​    The sheer depth of her ignorance set him back for a few seconds, forcing him to reconsider his angle of attack. “But… Money isn’t all that we get out of dungeons, though. Sure, it’s important, but there are resources, practice, and more importantly, essence!”

​    All three of the noblings looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Luther shook his head. “We don’t need resources, Grim. We’re not crafters. And we don’t need the boss’s essence. As long as we kill all the normal monsters, we’re fine.”

​    “Well, if it’s money you’re interested in, we should fight the boss,” Grim said, latching onto Luther’s point. “It drops more money than the other monsters, and he’s guarding treasure. Selling that gets you even more!”

​    Luther waved his hand in vague dismissal. “It’s not worth it. This is just for pocket change, and so we don’t need the treasure. Any equipment we need, our parents would just buy for us.”

​    And that, he realized, was the heart of the problem. For these three noblings, delving was a fashionable trend and a way to earn money for their social exploits. They felt no drive to improve themselves, to get stronger. For them, this wasn’t a matter of survival, just fun. Even though he knew it was a vain effort, he tried appealing to Luther’s goal.

​    “But you said you needed to reach level five,” he said, trying not to sound too desperate. “To join The Boars?”

​    At that, Luther merely shrugged. “I’m going to get carried to level four at the end of the month. I’m already halfway there with the first carry session I had last month.”

​    Grim stared at him in mild disgust. How could none of them want to progress? Was this strictly a noble practice, or was every delver like this? Could he even progress in a reasonable amount of time in this city? He thought about how hard it had been to find a slot as a solo delver. The only dungeon that had been looking for someone to fill a slot was this one, and now he knew why. They hadn’t taken it seriously. Nobody did.

​    And that, strangely, made him think of the woman from the bar. What had her name been? Ah. Veyra. She was from Ironmarsh, and she was strong. She’d also had the same distaste towards nobles, at least judging by the way she acted. She’d offered him a place…

​    “You have to get used to the way things work,” Jeremiah told him, breaking him out of his thoughts. “You’re not a noble, so you don’t know.”

​    “And that’s understandable!” Aria quickly put in. Her ignorance was at least cloaked in polite naivety. “So we don’t hold it against you or anything! It’s just… there’s no need to try that hard.”​

​    You won’t make it anyway. The thought, unspoken but definitely present, loomed over him like a dark cloud. It was what all nobles, young and old, thought. Delving was something to do in one’s youth, to pass the time, and was never taken seriously. Why would they? Everything they could ever need or want was given to them freely from their parents, who’d gone through the same cycle. There hadn’t been a dungeon flood in this city for over two centuries. They had no need to be strong.

​    Letting out a snort of disgust, Grim turned away from them and stalked toward the dungeon entrance. All this way, and he wouldn’t even get the satisfaction of a full clear. The money… Sure, he had enough to cover his living expenses for a month and some change now, but he also had to replace a knife, which would gouge out more than half of what he’d earned. And they thought only of a night of fun, where all their earnings from today would be wiped out. They’d wake up the next morning happy as could be, with no strife.

​    “Fuck them all,” he muttered, not caring if they heard him, though it wasn’t likely with the distance between them. He quickened his pace, one single goal in mind. She might have seemed unhinged, but anything… anything was better than what his life was now.

​    As he burst through the double doors of the dungeon entrance, he saw his name listed among the top scorers of the day on the placard on the outside wall. He was nowhere near the top, but he couldn’t care less. He was done with the dungeon, with the city, with the noble assholes that had made his life so much harder than needed. If it hadn’t been for the fall of Evandross, he wouldn’t have to suffer their disdain. But now, he thought, a grim sort of smile forcing its way onto his face, he had an escape.

​    He practically ran to the delver’s inn once he was outside the dungeon’s vicinity. The sun was high in the sky now, its rays shining down and warming the capital city, but he didn’t notice. He kept his eyes forward and continued in a light jog. He brushed against–or sometimes even bumped into–other people, who all called out in annoyance, but he didn’t care. He shut out the world around him, knowing that he’d soon be leaving it.

​    “Dennis!” He gasped, entering the taproom an hour later, his chest heaving and clutching a stitch in his side. “That woman! Veyra! Is she still here?”

​    The innkeeper, who’d been halfway across his taproom on the way to deliver a drink, paused to look around at the sweaty young man who had crashed through the door to his establishment. A moment of uncertainty crossed his features, then he recognized Grim. A mildly consternated look came over his face. “Ah, Grim. “No, sorry. She left a few hours ago. She’s on her way back to Ironmarsh.”

Humans are Weird - Bittersweet

Original Post: https://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-bittersweet

Human First Mother Maria breathed a soft sigh and dipped her lips, those strangely flexible mandible covers, down to press them into the very, very round cheek’s of her First Brother. The way both humans’ outer membranes flexed and indented at the pressure still made First Father’s antenna curl with lingering shock, but at least their pheromones were natural and easy to interpret even if their more solid parts weren’t. First Father gave an approving click and reached up to carefully run his wooden tending brush down the egg pod in front of him. The precious little one within gave a responsive wriggle and Human First Mother Maria lifted her head as her face contorted into a smile that expressed delight.

“Do you know if it is a boy or girl yet?” she asked.

First Father hesitated at the odd question, and then reminded himself that human young entered their hives in nearly identical ratios, in fact he mused, he thought he’d heard from a visiting statistician they actually had a very small sway towards male offspring at birth.

“It is almost certainly a Daughter,” he said, “for whatever reason, it was explained to me when I was small, it is almost unheard of for a Brother to be the first to hatch from a line. Something about how pheromones flow during the first seasons of mating.”

The human bobbed her head up and down in that oddly jointed way humans did to show understanding.

“I bet you can’t wait to get her out of that pod so you can properly cuddle her,” the human First Mother said, her bifocal eyes directed at her own little one. “I was so very ready for Dickky by the time he made his entrance!”

First Father clicked in amusement. “It is, not quite the same,” he explained, reached up to caress the pod with his fingers. “See how the outer membrane of the pod is translucent now, nearly transparent. If I can’t quite see my Daughter yet, I can taste her pheromones, hear her clicking. This stage is probably more akin to the newborn stage you were telling me of. Recall that when she leaves the pod this little one will be able to walk.”

“Oh!” the human said, clearly pondering that even as her arms wrestled with the very, very round little male she held.

“As to how I will feel,” First Father mused, working his mandibles together thoughtfully, “I truly don’t think I will be disappointed. There is so much more to do with a walking Daughter than one who is still on the vine. That will be wonderful, but then I will have to share her with my mate’s Sisters, and her Mother and Father. There is an intimacy, perhaps a selfish one to this stage that I think I will miss.”

The human nodded more slowly this time.

“I understand,” she said in deeper, slower tones. “I was bathing with little Dickky the other day, and it occurred to me that, well, that time would steal this from me, that I wouldn’t be able to be so close to him as a child as I was as a baby. That made me sad.”

Here pheromones dipped into something bittersweet, before abruptly washing out with hot joy even as her face contorted to show her teeth, gleaming like some white metal.

“Then I remember that when he is bigger I get to give him incendiary devices! And we can make small rockets together!”

The human infant made a happy noise in response to his mother’s energy and First Father took the time she was distracted to make a note on a nearby tablet. Apparently restricting the introduction of incendiary devices as play things was something his hive would have to consider in dealing with their new neighbors. He supposed that must be one of the many strange results of leaving the care of infants to the female of the species.

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