《Dylan of Dirt: an accidental LitRPG Isekai Progression Fantasy》


 Chapter 1 - Cupcakes and Chaos

    (Dylan)


    Dylan was looking forward to getting his favorite cupcake. These weren¡¯t just any cupcakes; they were gourmet cupcakes. Airy¡ªwith a fluffy texture that all cupcakes should have. While he wasn¡¯t a baker by any stretch of the imagination, he considered himself a connoisseur of the delectable pastries.


    Most shops had the standard fare: vanilla, chocolate, and red velvet. But this bakery also had German chocolate, Oreo, jelly roll, and his favorite, chocolate peanut butter cup. They didn¡¯t just stop with a rich frosting¡ªno, they stuffed those fuckers with a creamy center. And the cupcakes were huge. It was a feat of strength to eat the whole damn thing in a single sitting.


    They came from one of those family-owned shops that didn¡¯t deliver or bother with online orders. So, he hadn¡¯t had the crumbly cake in years. Remote work, Amazon Prime, and Uber Eats enabled him to live a life entirely from the comfort of his own home. He couldn¡¯t even remember the last time he had to leave his apartment.


    The scent of warm spices, butter, and fresh bread teased him a block away. This was the first time he¡¯d ever walked to the bakery. Usually, he¡¯d have driven himself, but he was out and about because his car was in the shop for a recall. Something about brake light fluids, or maybe it was the seatbelt? He wasn¡¯t a car person and just skimmed the letter detailing what it was for. All he knew was it was a free fix, so he picked up his phone and made the appointment.


    The journey was noisier than he expected. Engines rumbled, brakes screeched, and tires crunched as traffic flowed past. He joined the silent crowd of pedestrians, all but the oldest glued to the screens on their phone, waiting for their turn to cross the street.


    Dylan hadn¡¯t charged his phone last night, and it was in the red when he left the house, or he¡¯d have been among the screen zombies.


    An older lady gave him a smile as they made eye contact while he took in his surroundings. Her crow¡¯s feet suggested she smiled easily and often.


    Cars, trucks, and even bikes drove past the walkway, leaving gaps just long enough to see the small one-story shop across the street. A solitary ¡°OPEN¡± sign hung in the door. A display of golden brown goods, the source of the delightful aroma, sat in the shop window.


    Ding! His phone chirped, letting him know he had a notification. The crosswalk switched to ¡°WALK¡± as he took out his phone and stepped off the curb. One moment he was in broad daylight holding his phone.


    And the next his bare foot slapped down on a hardwood floor, surrounded in darkness. The absence of street noise and his phone threw him off balance. He flailed, trying to remain upright.


    A rhythmic sound, like rolling a heavy marble along wood, approached his feet. He glanced down, unable to make out what the round object was as it inched toward him. The room was dark save for the coasting sphere. It stopped just before his feet; about the size of a snow globe. Faint orange and blue light illuminated the surrounding floor.


    He couldn¡¯t make out any further details, realizing the room wasn¡¯t just dark, but he couldn¡¯t see well. Everything was blurry. He reached for his glasses.


    ¡°Ow.¡± He accidentally poked himself. That confirmed they were missing. Squinting, he strained his eyes and traced the path of the sphere, following it to an out-of-focus figure that sat against a wall.


    Automatically, Auto-manners engaged as he bent down to pick up the spherical object. ¡°I think you dropped this.¡±


    While still bent over, he turned toward the window on his right as it suddenly lit up the room. He thought he heard his voice say, ¡°Fuck.¡± Then the force of the explosion hit. It shattered the window, buckled the wall, and blew Dylan off his feet. He quickly found the nearby wall by smashing into it, leaving a Dylan-sized indent before he crumpled to the ground.


    Dust and debris coated Dylan as he lay on the floor, his body refusing to breathe. He had the wind knocked out of him and panicked as his diaphragm refused to work with him.


    The first couple of coughs were weak, but his lung capacity returned as he continued coughing.


    ¡°What the hell was that?¡± Dylan asked, feeling his voice rather than hearing it. His hearing was gone, replaced with a high-pitched ringing. Instinctively, he reached for his phone, only to discover he was completely naked.


    The explosions weren¡¯t done. More hot and, occasionally, frigid blasts staggered in every few seconds over the next couple of minutes. Fortunately, none of them were as violent as the first.


    ¡®Since when are explosions cold?¡¯ he wondered.


    The fires outside crackled, illuminating the room. Shadows danced wildly along the floor, ceiling, and what remained of the walls. One shadow even got up and jumped out of the damn hole in the wall.


    He thought his actual body might still be lying in the street back at the crosswalk. Most likely, he¡¯d gotten ran over or shot¡ªthis was just his brain¡¯s way of processing death.


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    It didn¡¯t matter; he wasn¡¯t ready to die. If death wanted him, it would have to drag him kicking and screaming into the night. Dylan didn¡¯t know where this resolve came from; this was the first time facing his mortality. He wouldn¡¯t give up on himself and he wasn¡¯t ready to give up on his phone, either.


    Something was wrong with his leg. The sharp, shooting pain suggested a fracture, if not a complete brake, but he couldn¡¯t bring himself to look. Instead, he focused on finding his phone, reaching out and blindly feeling around with his hand.


    Dylan gasped as a new sharp pain shot through his fingers, and he quickly snatched them back. His efforts earned him fresh cuts that oozed red down his debris covered digits. Stained glass shards reflected light from the cuts. That would have to be a Future Dylan problem, as he had nothing to extract them.


    Sitting up would give him a better perspective to find his phone and call for help, but he wasn¡¯t sure he could with a bum leg and all the glass on the floor. His arm accidentally bumped the sphere from before and a weird prompt showed up in both his mind and vision. There was a dissonance when he read it.


    [Time orb]: Initializing, wait.


    He tried to swipe away at the message; it was in his way, but nothing happened. The mismatch was because his mind could read the message clearly, while his vision couldn¡¯t.


    [Time orb]: Four framework slots available, Time framework not found. Requesting permission to activate. Choose one.


    [Consent] [Deny] [Cancel]


    Dylan¡¯s head hurt and he was pretty sure he had a concussion. Even in the best of health, he never had the patience to deal with End User License Agreements. So he did what he always did. He reached up and tried to tap on ¡°Cancel¡±.


    ¡°Weird,¡± he said out of habit. The ringing continued to blanket him in a terrible white noise. Nothing happened and his finger went through the overlay¡ªit didn¡¯t physically exist. The prompt didn¡¯t go away.


    ¡°Deny. Cancel. Escape. Go back. Undo,¡± Dylan said out loud, hoping it had better hearing than he did. He sighed. The three options stubbornly persisted. Closing his eyes tightly, he focused on one option: the first one. He mentally selected ¡°Consent¡±.


    [Time orb]: Consent acknowledged.


    Dylan was glad the first option worked, but he would¡¯ve tried them all if it hadn¡¯t. The sphere shattered on the floor next to him.


    ¡°Oops.¡± Dylan just wanted the hallucinations to stop and never meant to break the stupid collectable.


    [Time orb]: Activating Time framework----¡ªSKIP.


    Dylan realized he could mentally skip the prompts. He had to figure out how to wake up from this damn coma dream and these prompts were very distracting.


    [Time orb]: Framework two of¡ªSKIP.


    A warm sensation coursed out from his chest and into his extremities. It felt like a reinvigoration; it felt like power.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s nice,¡± he said, actually hearing his words again. The ringing had stopped.


    [Time orb]: New passive [Synchronicity] unlocked¡ªSKIP.


    ¡°Wait, what?¡± he asked after hearing himself.


    [Time orb]: Conjuring first magic influence¡ªSKIP.


    ¡°How many of these things are there?¡±


    [Time orb]: Manifesting new ability with Destiny¡ªSKIP.


    [Time orb]: New ability [Dejavu] unlocked¡ªSKIP.


    [Time orb]: Three open ability¡ªSKIP.


    ¡°Holy crap, give it a rest,¡± he grumbled.


    Dylan held his hand up and couldn¡¯t find the cuts on his fingers. The only evidence they ever existed was the dried red stains. He pulled his hand away from his face and watched it remain in focus the entire time. He checked for his glasses again, this time poking the bridge of his nose between his eyes.


    ¡®I can see,¡¯ he thought as he looked around the room. That¡¯s when he realized the background noises he was hearing weren¡¯t from some stream or movie.


    Crying, moaning, and whimpering crept into the room over the crackle of the untamed fires. He rolled onto his side and got up, careful to avoid stepping on the shards of glass. Peering past the missing wall revealed a disaster that reminded him of the war zones he¡¯d seen on social media. There had been a building across from him, but only a portion of it remained. A crater replaced the missing half.


    There were people down there. One of them ran, yelling for help. A few of them were upright, but stumbling; they looked confused. Then Dylan¡¯s stomach dropped as he noticed the ones that were crawling.


    ¡°Oh my god..." Dylan whispered, bringing his hand to cover his mouth in shock. Parts of them were missing. He stopped looking for more people when he found one that hadn¡¯t been moving at all.


    ¡®Why isn¡¯t anyone calling for help?¡¯ he wondered, noticing none of them were using their cellphones.


    The missing portion of the building laid in varying sizes of debris. Sickly green fire engulfed the remaining half. Looking past the immediate disaster in front of him, there was something off with the trees in the distance. He wasn¡¯t an arborist, but he could usually recognize most trees, often identifying them by sight. Occasionally, he even knew their proper names¡ªlike willow, instead of the ¡°hair metal tree¡±. He¡¯d seen none of these trees before.


    A tall, dark fence delineated the border, separating the well-maintained grassy fields and tree line, whose canopy rose even higher than the fence. The foliage lit up from the fires scattered around the area, and they reminded him of New England in the fall. The trees were full of orange, yellows, reds, browns, and he could have sworn, blues and purples. Not a speck of green to be seen. Even the remaining grass looked like a mix of burned yellows and browns.


    A breeze caressed him with an intimate touch that reminded him he was still naked. He could really use some pants, which triggered a thought.


    ¡®Maybe it¡¯s in my pants?¡¯ Pursing his lips, he scanned the room wondering where his phone was. He suddenly remembered there had been someone else in the room with him before the explosion.


    Dylan looked over at them and said, ¡°Oh hey, give me a second. I¡¯ve got to, uh¡­¡± He covered his nakedness with his hands. His eyes scanned the room and found a bed tossed against a corner. Quickly, he salvaged a sheet from it.


    One of the few things he remembered from his two semesters at college was how to fashion a toga. Never in all his years would he have imagined that skill would come in handy.


    ¡°That¡¯s better,¡± he said, adjusting the fit. The result was loose and breezy, but at least he wouldn¡¯t be flashing anyone. Well, anyone else. It was too late for his poor roommate.


    Dylan turned around and froze, belting out a high-pitched scream that would¡¯ve made any six-year-old girl proud. There was a chubby man with wide eyes staring at him with the same surprise he felt. That guy was also in a makeshift toga.

 Chapter 2 - No Pants, No Pulse, No Problem

    (Dylan)


    ¡°Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake,¡± Dylan said. ¡°It¡¯s a goddamned mirror.¡± His plump form scowled back at him, hand still clutching his chest.


    Thunder rumbled in the distance. A storm was approaching. ¡°That should help until the fire rescue can get here.¡± Dylan assumed someone had phoned in the emergency.


    Carefully, he walked toward the room¡¯s darkest corner and found the figure still leaning against the wall. A very solid-looking wardrobe had protected them from the blast.


    The guy wore an exceptionally detailed fantasy cosplay. He could¡¯ve been an extra in one of the Lord of the Ring movies. Dylan heard the stomping and clomping of boots from the group of people running past his door. They were loud, but he couldn¡¯t make out their muffled voices through the door.


    ¡°What the hell is going on out there?¡± he muttered under his breath, trying to piece together the madness unfolding around him. Dylan narrowed his eyes on the slightly damaged wardrobe, hoping there¡¯d be a pair of pants inside that might fit. He frowned, opening it revealed it was empty.


    ¡°Damn.¡±


    ¡°Hey man, are you okay?¡± Dylan surprised himself when his knees didn¡¯t pop like usual when he crouched beside the cosplayer.


    ¡°Oh.¡± Dylan noticed the guy was actually a girl. ¡°Sorry about that.¡±


    She looked like some sort of ranger or rogue. She wore supple ankle-high leather boots, pants with loads of pockets, and more belts than were probably necessary. A thick padded shirt hid her feminine form well, also adorned with pockets, and a pair of badass looking fingerless leather gloves. An open rust-colored cloak topped it all off. Her head tilted at a strange angle. ¡®There¡¯s no way that¡¯s comfortable,¡¯ he thought.


    She had so many pockets. ¡®Maybe she¡¯s got a phone?¡¯ Dylan wondered, but could he really search her? The idea felt wrong¡ªshe was unconscious, and he didn¡¯t know her. He only rifled through his friends¡¯ pockets.


    She had short, dark hair in the style of a pixie cut. Dylan thought she looked familiar but couldn¡¯t put a name to her face. Actually, he couldn¡¯t put anything to her face. It was weird, like he¡¯d seen her before, but they¡¯d never met.


    ¡®A bit too old to be into cosplay?¡¯ Dylan was a thirty-five-year-old millennial. She might have been a generation older than him if he had to guess. However, he was terrible at guessing ages.


    Disappointment washed over him for the judgmental thought. Cosplaying didn¡¯t have an age limit, and she had done an amazing job in the details of her outfit. He didn¡¯t have a clue which character or fandom she was aiming for, but it was outstanding.


    He went to wake her. Regret took hold the moment he touched her shoulder. With a gentle shove, her shoulder moved in a way that felt off¡ªabsent of reflex or resistance. He snatched his hand back as if touching a heated element.


    ¡°Hey, wake up,¡± he said, growing worried that something terrible had happened.


    He gripped her shoulders and shook. ¡°Please wake up.¡±


    Thump, bump. Her head rapped off the wall twice before Dylan stopped. Dread consumed him as he realized the wardrobe hadn¡¯t protected her¡ªshe was dead.


    This was the first dead person Dylan had ever encountered. None of the movies or shows had truly prepared him for the experience.


    ¡®How long has she been dead? Does she have a pulse? Where the fuck is my phone?¡¯ He had so many questions.


    Reaching out with his fingers, he felt along her throat. Despite counting to thirty, there still wasn¡¯t a pulse. He patted his toga, looking for his phone again. ¡°Goddamnit,¡± he growled.


    ¡®CPR?¡¯ he wondered. No, that was just a stopgap to buy time for help to arrive, and he wasn¡¯t sure it was coming.


    Dylan stood, trying the doorknob, but it wouldn¡¯t budge. Wind whistled through the missing wall as the storm continued to approach. ¡°Locked?¡±


    Running his hand up along the doorframe revealed the deadbolt. With a click, slide, click, the bolt unlocked. The door started vibrating, gears spun and ticked. Six thunks sounded one after the other, clockwise, as rods retracted from the edges of the door into itself. He tried the knob again and the weighted door opened to reveal chaos.


    Dylan¡¯s breath caught in his throat as he staggered backward, his mind reeling at the sight. Bright lights flooded his vision. Two men¡ªno, not men, not really¡ªdragged a lizard-like creature between them. His brain kept trying to rationalize it. Costumes. It had to be costumes.


    ¡®Are they supposed to be elves or vulcans?¡¯ He wondered what kind of convention this was. Their long hair suggested the former, while a green substance oozing from an ear and down their neck implied the latter.


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    Both had shiny, colorful hair; one was midnight blue, while the other was copper.


    The man they were carrying wore a full body suit of emerald and amber scales. Again, he couldn¡¯t tell if it was fantasy or science fiction. It could have been an Argonian or Gorn suit.


    ¡®Why didn¡¯t they take his mask off?¡¯ Dylan hoped the man could still breathe okay in full costume.


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± Dylan whispered, his throat tightening as his eyes locked onto the mangled limb. He had seen blood before, but this¡­ this was something else entirely; the color was wrong. ¡®Why is it blue? Is this for real?¡¯


    A makeshift tourniquet of fastened belts wrapped tightly just above his knee. A thick limp tail dragged behind, smearing streaks of blue along the wood floor as the leg continued to drip from the truncated limb. It reminded him of the people he saw outside. The trio just walked past, paying him no mind. A crack of thunder brought him back to his mission to get help for the woman in the room.


    He stuck his head into the hall and yelled, ¡°Help! We need some help here.¡± But there was no answer.


    A tall woman appeared from around the corner at the end of the hallway. The heels of her boots struck the floor as she ran his way. A platinum blonde ponytail bounced behind her with every step. She also had pointy ears. In an instant, the woman was nearly upon him. He stepped back into the room to avoid getting barreled over.


    Just before she plowed into the three slow-moving convention-goers, she called out, diving up and over them. Her maneuver would¡¯ve been impressive with a springboard, but she pulled it off without one.


    The hallway rattled as she landed, tucking into a roll before getting back up. The maneuver barely broke her stride. Her figure disappeared down the stairs at the end of the hallway.


    Dylan stepped back into the hallway and saw another very tall dragon cosplayer walking his way. He wore some kind of prosthetic stilts; the guy was almost eight feet tall. The costume had white scales and the crest on the top of his mask had four sweeping horns that went backward, close to his skull.


    Those red lizard-slitted eyes activated an ancient part of Dylan¡¯s brain stem. Something so primal that the rest of his evolved brain didn¡¯t recognize, raising the hair along the back of his neck.


    Ignoring those instincts, Dylan ran up to the massive cosplayer. He was five feet ten inches tall, and this guy towered over him by almost two feet. The white scaled lizard-man wore a black robe with gold embellishments, similar to the diplomats on Star Trek or Star Wars. He really wanted to ask which kind of convention this was supposed to be, but more urgent matters demanded his attention.


    ¡°There¡¯s a woman who needs help. I think she might be dead,¡± Dylan said as he approached.


    The cosplayer stopped, glanced down at Dylan, and started speaking in Klingon, Arabic, or one of the many other languages he didn¡¯t know. Dylan just shook his head, unable to understand what the lizard-man tried to say. Unsure how to reply, Dylan simply looked up at him with pleading eyes.


    Thunder clapped, louder than the last, interrupting the pregnant pause.


    The lizard-man motioned with his clawed hands for Dylan to lead the way. He double backed toward the room, pointing through the open door when they got there. Brushing Dylan aside, the man hurried into the dark room and kneeled beside the woman, placing his hand on her shoulder.


    Dylan stood in the hallway, wringing his hands, reduced to observation as he watched the cosplayer. He heard the storm arrive. Fat drops of rain came down, tapping and splashing on the floor of the exposed room.


    Nothing happened when the man touched her. He reached up and ran his gloved fingers along her rounded ear, between his thumb and index finger.


    ¡®Way to be a creep dude,¡¯ Dylan thought.


    Light from the hallway exposed what he¡¯d missed earlier; the dried blood that ran down her ears and the side of her neck. The cosplayer swiped two fingers across the blood and then sniffed at them.


    Dylan marveled at the impressive prosthetics and Hollywood studio makeup the man had, but surely the snout was just a prop? The cosplayer withdrew his hand, lowered his head, and sighed.


    ¡®Fucking method actors,¡¯ Dylan thought, shaking his head. This guy¡¯s refusal to break character was pissing him off. ¡°Quit messing around. Call an ambulance, or the police, or someone!¡± he shouted.


    A shiver of regret shot down his spine as the tall lizard-man stood up and moved toward him. Before Dylan could react, a massive hand clamped down on his head, sending a shiver of disorientation through him. The surreal sensation of being handled like a basketball made him question whether his brain had officially checked out¡ªmaybe this wasn¡¯t a coma dream after all?


    This cosplayer wasn¡¯t some normal guy swimming in a big body suit. His hands were as large as they looked. They forcefully manipulated Dylan as they manhandled him to get a better look at his ears.


    They were in the middle of a goddamned emergency, surrounded by injured, dying people, and all this guy wanted to do was get his ear freak on.


    The cosplayer¡¯s grip tightened around Dylan¡¯s wrist, cold and unyielding. Dylan winced as the claws brushed over his skin, silky smooth and unnatural. His stomach churned¡ªwho the hell was this guy? He tried to pull back, but the grip was like iron. Without letting go, the cosplayer used his free clawed hand to grab Dylan¡¯s wrist and examine the dried red blood on his fingers.


    ¡°Let go of me,¡± Dylan gasped, his voice strained as he struggled against the lizard-man¡¯s grip, feeling the tightening claws around his wrist.


    The cosplayer let go of Dylan¡¯s head and stepped out into the hallway, dragging Dylan by the wrist. He called out to a shirtless guy with short, spiky, emerald, anime hair, who was attempting to make his way down the hall, leaning against the wall. Sounds of the rain faded as they walked away from the compromised room.


    The shirtless elf stopped when he heard the cosplayer call out to him. Unsteadily, he turned around. Makeshift bandages wrapped around his head, soaked in green stains. The same colored blood ran down his bare chest. Grave injuries aside, that wasn¡¯t even his most striking feature.


    ¡®Holy crap, that guy¡¯s ripped!¡¯ Dylan thought.


    The guy must¡¯ve been one of those fitness freaks that never skipped ab-day. With his improved sight, Dylan counted an eight pack.


    ¡®How is that even fair?¡¯ He was pretty sure that wasn¡¯t even anatomically possible¡ªhumans didn¡¯t have that many abdominal muscles.


    The cosplayer continued dragging Dylan around by the wrist, acting like he didn¡¯t just abandon the poor dead woman in a room. When they got to the maimed elf, the lizard-man reached out and cupped the elf¡¯s face with his free clawed hand.


    Dylan heard a grinding sound, like gravel, as smoky gray energy flowed from his hand into the elf¡¯s face. The stained bandages fell away to reveal half of his head, including one eye, was now made of gray stone. Amazed, Dylan watched both the stone eye and the normal one move in sync.

 Chapter 3 - Elevator Pitches and Death Wishes

    (Dylan)


    The cosplayer pointed at Dylan, giving an order to Abs-for-days. Without knowing their actual names, he resorted to assigning them nicknames.


    Abs-for-days gave a curt nod to the bossy cosplayer and looked Dylan up and down¡ªsizing him up. The inflection of Abs¡¯ speech suggested a question, but Dylan wasn¡¯t sure¡ªthey were still speaking Sindarin, Welsh, or whatever. He stared at the stone side of Abs¡¯ face; it moved seamlessly as he spoke. When their conversation ended, Abs snatched Dylan¡¯s free wrist, and the cosplayer left them both.


    Now, he was being led around by the other wrist. Abs spoke one blunt word. It could have been ¡°move¡±, ¡°go¡±, ¡°come¡±, or ¡°follow¡±¡ªbut it sure as hell wasn¡¯t ¡°please¡±. Then Abs marched him down the hall.


    Dylan channeled his inner petulant child, dragging his feet and pulling against Abs¡¯ grip, but it was no use. The skin around his wrist grew angry and red from his attempts. Abs was deceptively strong for someone who had barely been on their feet just minutes ago. Dylan fucked around and found out, quickly learning that he shouldn¡¯t have. Abs stopped, turned around, and, without a word, bent down to pick Dylan up like a sack of potatoes.


    ¡°Oh my.¡± The maneuver took Dylan by surprise.


    They proceeded down the hallway, with the elf carrying him over his shoulder as if he were an eighty-pound woman¡ªnot a two-hundred-something-pound man.


    Dylan wasn¡¯t sure exactly how much he weighed these days. The last time he checked, he¡¯d been around two hundred and fifty pounds, but he stopped weighing himself after that¡ªless depressing that way.


    His improvised toga wasn¡¯t doing much to defend his dignity in this position. Face flushed with embarrassment and nothing else to do, Dylan noticed the floor was a type of wood he¡¯d never seen before. It was a deep, glossy purple¡ªlike an eggplant.


    Straining to look higher, he saw the walls were black with an elegant, repeating gold design. Every few feet, a painting hung on the wall. By the third or fourth painting, Dylan realized they all depicted the same woman.


    ¡°What the¡­¡± Dylan muttered, trying to get a better look at the subject.


    The paintings depicted a beautiful woman with sharp features, wearing a black velvet coat with ornate gold trim. Her fair skin contrasted with her glossy raven hair, cut short on top with long sideburns and bangs just above her eyebrows. A glowing emerald tiara rested atop her head, and her long, pointed ears completed the regal look. Her imperious expression suggested Dylan wasn¡¯t even worthy of looking at her portrait.


    ¡°What in the Star Trek fanfiction¡­?¡± Dylan muttered aloud. Rolling thunder answered unintelligently. ¡®Seriously, what kind of convention is this?¡¯ he wondered, but that question would have to wait, along with what their ¡°Princess Spock¡± obsession was all about.


    They reached the end of the hallway, where it forked into two other paths. Curved elevator doors stood directly ahead.


    ¡®Fancy.¡¯


    Abs stopped and set him down, pointing a finger at him¡ªlikely telling him to behave. At least, that¡¯s what Dylan assumed. He sighed in relief¡ªthey hadn¡¯t run into anyone else while his ass was hanging out. Abs placed his hand on a small stone slab beside the curved sliding doors, uttering a phrase.


    Ding! The elevator chimed, opening to reveal a small circular room that might fit half a dozen people. The floor was a dark stone, with embedded, glowing fractal runes that pulsated between cyan and white.


    They both stepped inside, standing in the middle as the doors closed behind them. At first, Dylan¡¯s curiosity took over as he glanced around the cool, circular elevator. But when the walls moved, sliding upwards¡ªthat curiosity quickly turned to horror¡ªthere were no actual walls on this OSHA-violating deathtrap.


    The world around him spun, and his stomach lurched as if it were trying to escape through his throat. His breath came in quick gasps, heart thudding wildly in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that would calm the sickening sensation. It didn¡¯t. He felt as though he were free-falling, with nothing to grasp onto but the solid, unyielding form of Abs-for-days.


    Dylan latched onto the shirtless elf, hugging him tightly as the disk continued its descent into the depths of hell. Blood-curdling screeches echoed the entire way down. This wasn¡¯t an elevator¡ªit was a goddamned terror tube.


    Ding. The terror tube chimed and opened. The shirtless elf slapped at Dylan, trying to cover his mouth and stop the screaming, then shoved him out. Dylan fell silent as he took in his new surroundings.


    The air smelled faintly of mildew and hay scattered across the floor. Dylan had lost all sense of time while screaming¡ªhe couldn¡¯t even guess how deep underground they were. Encased in smooth stone walls, he realized he was in an actual dungeon. A shiver ran down his spine as the cold, damp atmosphere set in.


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    Rows of empty cells lined one wall. Abs grabbed Dylan¡¯s arm, guiding him into his own cell. It had two benches, one on each side of the small space. Two buckets sat in the corner¡ªone half-filled with water, the other empty and smelling foul.


    ¡®No bars?¡¯ Dylan thought. That seemed like an oversight.


    Abs forced Dylan down onto a bench before walking over to another stone slab across the room. He placed his hand on it. Dylan glanced around, momentarily thinking he could escape¡ªuntil the loud clang of metal slammed that hope shut. His heart jumped into his throat as the bars shot up from the ground like jagged teeth, sealing him in. The sheer speed of it made him flinch backward, and for a moment, he could only stare at the gleaming metal now trapping him.


    ¡°Holy shit!¡± Dylan jumped back, nearly soiling himself again. ¡°Someone could get hurt with those.¡±


    Ding. The terror tube chimed again, and the doors opened. Another Argonian cosplayer stepped out, carrying a familiar limp body over their shoulder. This one was shorter and more lithe than the others Dylan had seen earlier, with bronze scales and shades of dark green. He got the impression this one was female, though he couldn¡¯t be sure¡ªand there was no one around to correct him.


    Two horns curled back from the top of her head like a ram¡¯s. Over her bodysuit, she wore the same black fantasy attire as the others. She opened his cell and dropped the dead body next to him¡ªit was the same woman from before.


    Dylan tried a different approach. ¡°I want to speak to my lawyer.¡± He was almost certain this was all a dream¡ªbut still wanted to figure it out.


    Both cosplayers ignored him, sitting down at a small wooden table nearby. Abs pulled a deck of cards from his pocket, and they started a game.


    ¡®Where are the first responders? There should be police, fire, and rescue all over this place. Hell, where¡¯s Homeland Security?¡¯ Thoughts raced through Dylan¡¯s mind, but he hadn¡¯t heard a single siren since he arrived.


    ¡°You can¡¯t keep me here. I didn¡¯t kill that lady,¡± Dylan protested, immediately realizing how guilty that made him sound.


    His brain was being an asshole for dreaming all of this up. And why the hell would it invent a language he didn¡¯t know?


    After a moment of introspection, Dylan wondered, ¡®Maybe this is the afterlife? If so, 0/10¡ªdo not recommend. Okay, 1/10, being able to see without glasses again is a nice touch.¡¯


    The female cosplayer made a comment toward Dylan with a vulgar inflection.


    Dylan taunted the scary-looking woman. ¡°Come over here and say that again¡ªOh shit.¡± Dylan watched her kick the chair back as she stood. ¡°Oh fuck.¡±


    She marched right up to the bars, stuck her long nose between them, and repeated herself, syllable for syllable¡ªslowing it down so he could hear every word.


    ¡°Oh sure, you can understand me,¡± Dylan muttered. ¡°Because that¡¯s fair.¡±


    She scoffed and rolled her eyes with impressive realism. Dylan had to admit, the animatronics were truly impeccable. Narrowing her eyes, she growled something so foul that even Abs looked disturbed.


    Abs got up, scooting his chair back before walking over and planting himself between them. He placed a hand on her shoulder and spoke calmly. She threw her head back, laughing¡ªand Dylan suspected it wasn¡¯t the cheerful kind. It had the vibe of someone who¡¯d either lost their grip on sanity, or had simply reached their limit¡ªor both.


    Abs placed a hand on her back and gently guided her back to their card game, waiting at the table.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Dylan said, but before he could stop himself, added, ¡°You better walk away.¡± He winced the second he got the words out. ¡®Goddamnit, Dylan.¡¯ And that was the moment he knew¡ªhe fucked up.


    Abs¡¯ jaw went slack. He glanced at her and shook his head, silently pleading for her to ignore the idiot. She tried to shove him aside as he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her back. Abs earned a stomp on his foot and an elbow to his stomach for his efforts. She broke free of his hold and stormed toward Dylan.


    Abs bolted to the terror tube and slapped the slab to summon it in a frantic rush. Ding!


    Dylan watched as she stalked toward his cell, using the slab to lower the bars. They made a grinding noise as they sank into the floor, stopping with a unified thunk.


    The furious woman took a knee, drawing a pink crystal dagger from her boot. If she wanted to threaten him, it was working¡ªDylan felt very threatened. She lunged at him, gripping his throat with her free hand, and squeezed.


    ¡®Shit, she¡¯s strong.¡¯ Dylan thought, unable to speak as she crushed his throat.


    He raised both hands, trying to pry himself free of her grip¡ªa mistake. She took the opening and plunged the dagger into his stomach. His breath hitched on the first strike.


    ¡®Am I going to die?¡¯ he asked himself.


    She ripped the dagger out and plunged it back in again. Dylan still couldn¡¯t breathe. The second strike tore into his innards, slicing through him. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision as the ambient cold sapped away his strength with every stab.


    Dylan could feel it. ¡®I¡¯m going to die,¡¯ he thought.


    Blood soaked through his toga, mixing with the green stains Abs had left earlier. Dylan¡¯s arms grew sluggish, unable to keep up with the relentless dagger strikes.


    She released her grip on his throat, shoving him back before stepping away to admire her work. Something about his blood caught her attention. Curiosity flickered across her face as she squinted at the red streaks.


    Dylan collapsed, clutching his stomach, a futile attempt to keep his innards where they belonged. He half expected the white lizard-man from before to step out of the terror tube and heal him, just so they could continue torturing him.


    The murderous Argonian cosplayer seemed to multiply in front of him as his vision blurred. Dylan glanced down at his trembling, bloodstained hands and his ruined toga.


    ¡®That¡¯s a lot of blood¡­ too much,¡¯ Dylan thought.


    His thoughts drifted to the dead woman beside him, realizing he¡¯d soon join her. His dying brain was doing a terrible job. This wasn¡¯t how he was supposed to die. Where was his peaceful ending?


    Something tore inside him with every shallow breath. Where were his ancestors and old friends to welcome him into the afterlife? All he had was this dead woman beside him¡ªa stranger he didn¡¯t even know.


    He stared at her blank, lifeless face, feeling a strange sense of kinship with this nameless corpse. They were both just bodies now¡ªwaiting for the inevitable. He¡¯d never felt so utterly helpless, so disconnected from everything. The thought of dying alone weighed heavily on him. But maybe his time in the waking world was up, and his brain had given him as long as it could.


    The lizard-man never came. Numb and exhausted, Dylan closed his eyes for just a minute. In that moment, his heart, drained and struggling, finally gave out¡ªDylan died.

 Chapter 4 - Resetting Expectations

    (Dylan)


    <blockquote>


    Death 1 - The First Death


    Dylan had never died before. Death was something only mortals¡ªand careless immortals¡ªexperienced. Now, without a body, he couldn¡¯t move; without a mind, he couldn¡¯t think. He existed only as the barest concept of a soul, drifting aimlessly in voidspace. A newly formed tether was the only thing preventing his soul from slipping away, from discovering what truly lay beyond. Suddenly, the tether pulled¡ªyanking Dylan back into existence, resetting him.


    </blockquote>


    [Time orb]: [Dejavu] triggered. Wait.


    Dylan blinked and found himself back in the cell, seated on the cold bench. The dead woman¡¯s body lay once again at his feet, while the shirtless elf and bronze-scaled woman casually played cards at a nearby table, as if nothing had changed.


    She tossed a comment toward Dylan with a vulgar inflection.


    [Time orb]: Thirty-Four Resets remain.


    He sat there in shock, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened. The world around him felt more real than ever. He was consciously breathing¡ªin and out.


    ¡®Am I hallucinating?¡¯ he wondered. It was funny¡ªbecause of course, he was hallucinating¡ªbut could hallucinations have hallucinations?


    The rough fabric of his toga draped across his shoulder, bunching in his lap. Every shift of his feet sent gritty crunches of dirt and hay echoing under his bare soles, the sounds too loud in the stillness. His hands, he noticed, collected an impressive amount of filth and grime. He saw the dark lines of gunk under his fingernails as he curled and flexed his fingers.


    ¡°I died,¡± he whispered, the words feeling hollow, as if his brain refused to fully process them. The problem it wrestled with was that he couldn¡¯t remember ¡®not being alive.¡¯ A part, deep inside of him, was different. Something happened, an experience he couldn¡¯t recall¡ªlike a suppressed trauma that left a mark on his soul. Even if he didn¡¯t have those memories, he still knew he had died.


    Movement from the other side of the bars caught his attention. The overly aggressive Argonian cosplayer, who¡¯d killed him, shifted on her stool to get a more comfortable position as she surveyed the cards splayed on the table. A potent combination of fear and anger welled up inside of him.


    With the experience fresh in his mind, his hand cradled his stomach as he glared at her. Without thinking, his hands balled into fists. He wanted to hit her almost as bad as his desire to run away. Adrenaline couldn¡¯t pick one, so it fed both needs.


    A dark thought crept into Dylan¡¯s mind: ¡®She should know what helpless feels like¡­¡¯ he thought, dangerous darkness simmering in his chest.


    Dylan¡¯s jaded scowl shifted toward Abs and his impossible physique. The shirtless elf sat there, leaning over the table as he played with his stupid cards, shuffling them, placing them down, and turning them sideways.


    ¡®Little help you were. Ran away and left me last time.¡¯ He had to stop himself from boiling over and having a repeat of his previous demise. ¡®Calm down¡­¡¯ He took a deep breath, letting his composure return as he exhaled slowly. ¡®That¡¯s how it started last time,¡¯ he reminded himself. He goaded the feisty lizard-woman, and then she stabbed him to death. That wouldn¡¯t happen again.


    He forced his mind to change gears, thinking about other things, and accidentally sent himself on a sidequest.


    ¡®If this isn¡¯t a dream¡­ Do I have magic powers?¡¯ The thought was sudden and unexpected, but his logic concluded he¡¯d made a terrible mistake. ¡®Damnit, why did I skip all those prompts?¡¯ He regretted Past Dylan¡¯s decision and really wanted to know more about how that magic worked.


    ¡°Options,¡± Dylan said out loud.


    The bronze-scaled woman glanced up from their game. Dylan shrank back against the bench under her piercing stare, feeling the latent hatred in her eyes. Abs ignored him, not even bothering to look up from the game. Content that Dylan wasn¡¯t trying to cause trouble, she returned to finish her turn.


    Dylan continued trying different commands, whispering to himself. ¡°Replay. Menu. Messages¡­¡± A dozen commands later, and still nothing happened. He tried them again mentally, something that had worked for him before. Nothing¡ªthe Time orb remained stubbornly silent. He sighed in frustration.


    Another realization came to him; ¡®This isn¡¯t a convention¡­¡¯ Dylan¡¯s brain cooked with that new logic. ¡®No convention means no cosplayers, no cosplayers means¡­¡¯ He stared at tiles on the floor as he cooked. It helped him focus and avoid going down any tangents that inevitably came up. There was a ninety-nine percent chance Abs was an actual elf¡­ or maybe a vulcan. If he could just get to his ears, he¡¯d know for certain.


    Slowly, his eyes made their way toward the ¡®woman¡¯ slinging cards with the shirtless elf. She wasn¡¯t just some person playing dress up as an Argonian or Gorn. She was something else entirely. Like a slow-motion freeway pileup happening in front of him, his brain finished cooking to reveal that he¡¯d been deluding himself the entire time.


    Finally able to see without the protective veil of self-deception, he watched her lip curl back as her tongue picked at a chunk of meat stuck between her upper row of sharp teeth. Something as simple as picking up a card and flipping it over showed she could feel micro tactile responses through her fingers, which would be impossible with a glove. Even the way her eyes focused and reacted when her gaze moved about the room, or how her nostrils flared with every breath. She wasn¡¯t a person.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡®She¡¯s a monster.¡¯ Dylan realized he was being held captive by monsters.


    ¡®Calm down,¡¯ he thought again. The deep breath was much less effective this time. Reining in his fear only forced it to prowl at the edges of his mind.


    ¡®Are they going to eat me?¡¯ Dylan¡¯s thoughts spiraled. ¡®Holy crap, they¡¯re probably going to eat me. Wait, aren¡¯t vulcans vegetarian? Or maybe it was vegan?¡¯ He couldn¡¯t remember whether elves ate meat.


    He needed a distraction before he had a panic attack. Not that he¡¯d ever had one before, but now would be a terrible time to start. Focusing on his Dejavu ability, he tried to piece together how it actually worked.


    ¡®Does it have to do with fate or destiny? Am I still going to die at the same time as before, but in different ways?¡¯ The Final Destination movies came to mind, and he frowned. He¡¯d find out shortly. That moment of truth loomed.


    ¡®What happens if I run out of Resets?¡¯ He thought, which naturally led to. ¡®What is a Reset?¡¯ His only guess was some sort of time loop. ¡®Why thirty-five, and can I get more?¡¯ His mind buzzed with questions he didn¡¯t have answers to. He really, really wished he hadn¡¯t skipped those prompts. Time trudged on and his regrets on past decisions continued to preoccupy him.


    Ding! The terror tube¡¯s chime announced a new arrival.


    ¡®This is new,¡¯ he thought. Dylan was relieved to know he wasn¡¯t stuck in some terrible, repeating time loop.


    The ¡®woman¡¯ pushed off her stool and moved to greet whoever stepped out of the terror tube. Abs also stepped away from the game to stand at attention next to his fellow captor. It was him, the healing ¡®cosplayer¡¯ from before. If they had been human, their white scales and red eyes would¡¯ve been a side effect of albinism. Dylan wasn¡¯t sure whether this was the same.


    There seemed to be several of the lizard, dragon, whatever people around. He nicknamed them by the primary color of their scales. It was probably racist, but Bronze had fucking stabbed him to death, so he didn¡¯t care.


    White¡¯s previously clean black and gold robes now displayed blue and green stains all over them. Those same colors streaked across his face. Grime covered his clawed hands. He appeared drained, almost exhausted.


    ¡®Now you decide to show up.¡¯ Dylan frowned, crossing his arms.


    It¡¯d been less than an hour since he last saw White. Dylan wondered what could have possibly happened in that time to put him in such a disheveled state.


    White sighed and then spoke an order to them. Both Bronze and Abs walked toward his cell. A shiver danced down his spine as Bronze stared at him with the same unkind eyes as before. The shirtless elf placed a hand on the slab, unlocking the cell. The grinding of the bars as they lowered unnerved him, and he reflexively flinched at the thunk at the end.


    Dylan¡¯s heart quickened as he watched Bronze bend down to reach for the sheathed dagger he knew to be in her boot. He stumbled, tripping over himself. Trying to back away from her, he found himself crammed in the cell¡¯s corner with nowhere to hide.


    ¡°Not again!¡± He closed his eyes and threw up his arms defensively, anticipating the first strike.


    Dylan heard White speak, using a scolding tone. He opened his eyes to see Bronze spin around to challenge White. She argued, jabbing her dagger at Dylan to make her point. It was a minor comfort to know that it wasn¡¯t just him she gave a hard time to.


    White shook his head, which was universal enough for Dylan to understand. She hissed and narrowed her eyes at White. He snorted and pointed, banishing her to the terror tube. Snorting in kind, she abruptly turned to leave.


    Ding! The torture device called out before opening. The mental imagery of her trapped in an endless up-and-down cycle brought a small smile to Dylan¡¯s face.


    Whomever White was, he carried the weight of authority in his words. Both Abs and Bronze answered to him and ultimately followed his orders. The shirtless elf took hold of Dylan by his upper arm with a grip so firm it hurt as fingers dug into his soft and fleshy bicep. Another order came from White, and Abs nodded in reply.


    His captor took Dylan by the arm and eventually resorted to yanking him after Dylan realized where he was being taken.


    ¡°Come on, not the terror tubes again¡­¡± Dylan slouched, dragging his feet.


    Abs¡¯ gaze shifted to him and then back to the curved doors, letting out a chuckle.


    Ding! Signaled the start of another tormenting ride as they went up or down. Dylan didn¡¯t know because he was too busy screaming. The doors couldn¡¯t open fast enough as Dylan rushed to get out of the crimes against humanity lift.


    Searching for a distraction to calm his racing heart, he noticed they were in a different hallway from before. It still had stone walls, but the floor was clean of dirt and debris. There were different portraits of Lady Spock hanging on the walls. Her judgmental stares continued to accost him as the shirtless elf perp-walked him to another room down the long hallway.


    Dylan wasn¡¯t sure which disturbed him more; that someone was obsessed with collecting so many pictures of this poor woman, or that she was vain enough to commission them herself. Then an equally terrible option came to mind¡ªor both.


    They arrived at their destination, a sparsely furnished room. This one had a regular door frame. Well, maybe it was regular. It might have had one of those magical vault-door things, but he couldn¡¯t tell.


    Inside the room was a table with a crystal ball and two chairs. One see-through mirror would¡¯ve completed the ensemble.


    ¡®What¡¯s the ball for?¡¯ he wondered.


    Obviously, in the interrogation room, he expected White to play the ¡®good¡¯ cop while Abs played the ¡®bad¡¯ cop. They sat Dylan down on the far side of the table. Surprisingly, there weren¡¯t any restraints or bars above or below the table to connect the restraints to. White took a seat opposite him and waited. Dylan mirrored him and also waited.


    ¡®Don¡¯t piss off the monster,¡¯ he told himself.


    White leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands, resting his elbows on the table. Dylan did the same. White¡¯s eyes narrowed as he sat silently, sizing Dylan up.


    White¡¯s mouth parted slightly, suggesting he wanted to speak. Instead, he stopped, adjusting himself in his seat. Speaking of chairs, his looked much more comfortable than Dylan¡¯s. It had leather-padded cushions on the seat and armrests. There wasn¡¯t any padding under Dylan¡¯s ass¡ªjust hard wood.


    The shirtless elf stood against the wall next to the door. Leaning forwards, he pushed himself off the wall to whisper something into White¡¯s ear. It was too soft for Dylan to make out, not that he¡¯d understand it anyway, but that¡¯s when he noticed White didn¡¯t have an outer ear, just a small ear-hole. He assumed it was an ear-hole since Abs was whispering into it.


    White raised a clawed hand, and Abs fell silent, retreating to his place by the door. The air between them grew heavy, the tension thickening as they stared each other down, both waiting for the next move.


    ¡®Don¡¯t piss off the monster,¡¯ he reminded himself again.

 Chapter 5 - One Does Not Simply Stop Dying

    (Dylan)


    White won after only a couple minutes. The silence was agonizing, and Dylan¡¯s innate curiosity quickly became unbearable.


    ¡°What¡¯s with the ball?¡± Dylan asked. His curiosity had gnawed at him since he first spotted it.


    A clear crystal ball sat on a wooden stand in the center of the table. It flashed purple for a second and then returned to its previous transparency. That pulse snatched Dylan¡¯s attention and White remained silent.


    Before he could stop himself, Dylan asked, ¡°Is this some sort of magical lie detector?¡±


    The crystal ball pulsed purple once again. White finally broke his silence, murmuring a few words. Dylan noticed the ball remained clear when White spoke.


    Dylan frowned, shaking his head. ¡°That¡¯s not very fair.¡± The crystal ball pulsed blue. He threw his hand up in frustration. ¡°I can¡¯t understand you!¡± he snapped, tired of the foreign language bullshit. The ball pulsed blue again.


    White leaned forward to get a better look at Dylan¡¯s hands. Feeling self-conscious of his filthy fingers, he pulled them back and hid them under the table in his lap.


    Dylan watched something click for White as he nodded to himself. Turning around in his seat, he sent Abs to fetch something for him. This was another assumption on Dylan¡¯s part, but Abs nodded and left the room while White turned back around, folded his clawed hands on the table, resumed his vow of silence, and waited.


    Dylan wanted to test a theory and said, ¡°My name is John Cena.¡± He watched as the crystal ball pulsed red and then he started rapid fire statements to confirm the suspicion.


    ¡°I¡¯m thirty-five years old.¡± Blue.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got short, wiry dark hair.¡± Blue.


    ¡°I¡¯m thin and attractive.¡± Purple. He paused and pondered on what that meant and then shrugged¡ªat least it wasn¡¯t red.


    ¡°People say I look like an overweight Dylan O¡¯Brien.¡± Blue.


    ¡°I¡¯m tall.¡± Red.


    ¡°That¡¯s mean.¡± Blue.


    ¡°But I¡¯m five eleven.¡± Red.


    ¡°Fine, I¡¯m five ten.¡± Red.


    Dylan huffed and said, ¡°Come on, I¡¯m at least five nine and a half.¡± Blue.


    White blinked as he listened to Dylan put his mystical crystal ball through its paces.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a huge¡ª¡±


    Abs walked into the room, and Dylan swore he saw the tiniest glimmer of blue in that ball before being interrupted. The elf looked apprehensive¡ªlike a kid who¡¯d just broken his dad¡¯s model rocket after being warned a billion times not to kick the ball in the house.


    ¡®Not that I¡¯ve ever done that before,¡¯ Dylan thought. The crystal ball pulsed red.


    ¡°It can read my thoughts?!¡± It pulsed blue, and Dylan did his best to stop thinking.


    Abs leaned in and whispered to White. The ivory dragon-man closed his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. It appeared Abs had failed in his quest to get White what he¡¯d asked for.


    White gave another order to the shirtless elf, but instead of nodding and complying, he looked at White incredulously. Slowly turning around to face him, White raised his eyebrows at Abs. The shirtless elf reluctantly tugged off a ring he was wearing. He didn¡¯t seem happy about it, and he spitefully threw it at Dylan.


    It hit the table, letting out two clangs before rolling off the ledge and past Dylan. The sound reminded him of a quarter falling out of his pocket, back when they still used coins and cash. He watched it fall to the floor, hit the wall behind him, swirling¡ªseemingly forever.


    White gestured to the ring lying on its side, and just then, a faint Ding! echoed through the room. They all turned toward the open door, where someone had just stepped off the terror tube, shouting down the hallway. Abs quickly darted out, joining in the commotion.


    Dylan thought it might be Bronze. She sounded mad¡ªbig mad.


    White¡¯s chair chirped as he stood up to see what was going on. After he disappeared through the door, Dylan looked around the room¡ªhe was alone. Cautiously, he got up and made his way to the door to peek at what was happening in the hallway.


    All three were in the middle of a heated argument. Bronze jabbed a clawed finger into White¡¯s chest, while Abs wrapped an arm around her waist, trying to pull her back¡ªa move that, if Dylan remembered correctly, hadn¡¯t worked well the last time. White¡¯s voice rose, the first sign that he was losing his cool and control of the situation.


    ¡®This is it,¡¯ Dylan thought. The moment he was waiting for. This was his opportunity to escape. The terror tube at the end of the hallways would ironically be his salvation. He bolted from the doorway.


    ¡®I can do this,¡¯ he told himself.


    Adrenaline was one hell of a drug. It turned a middle-aged, out of shape man into a rocket. He was moving at a pace that Past Dylan would have envied. But speed, as theoretical physicists often stated, was relative. And he really wasn¡¯t going that fast.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    He tried to remember how the terror tube worked, but all that came to mind was closing his eyes and screaming.


    ¡®Fuck.¡¯ He hadn¡¯t actually seen Abs use the lift. ¡®Fuck, fuck, fuck¡­¡¯ he thought as he had no choice but to commit to his poorly devised plan.


    The three of them stopped arguing to watch an out-of-shape man threaten to blow out a knee with every step, exchanging looks of disbelief as he huffed past. White motioned with his head toward the slowly escaping prisoner.


    Abs frowned, shook his head, and summoned an ornate green bow. With a smooth motion, he drew back the string, an arrow materializing as it notched itself, ready to fly. A moment later and the arrow had already sailed through the air and buried itself into Dylan¡¯s calf as he cried out.


    Dylan fell to the ground, accidentally slipping out of his toga. His momentum transitioned into a tumble. Brilliant, blinding flashes of pain shot up his leg as the arrow caught and dragged along the floor with blatant disregard for his impaled calf.


    The glossy floor had the slightest bit of tack, and Dylan¡¯s mostly bare skin followed a repeated pattern of catching, bunching, and skipping as he streaked along. Finally, he came to an unceremonious, screeching halt on his stomach. His bare chin chattered along the floor as it too skipped along, threatening to chip his teeth against each other.


    Out of breath, Dylan laid there, naked, ass-up, shot through the leg, and half his body covered in friction burns.


    ¡°That¡¯s going to leave a mark,¡± Dylan groaned as he rolled onto his back. He stared down at the arrow lodged in his leg. ¡°Where¡¯d that come from?¡± He didn¡¯t remember anyone having a bow a minute ago.


    Bronze reached him first. Her fist shifted into dark metal. White¡¯s urgent shouts cut off when she struck Dylan, crushing his skull¡ªkilling him instantly.


    <blockquote>


    Death 2 - Voidspace


    Absence is what defines voidspace¡ªa realm where nothing but time and souls exist, suspended in a state of in-between. It lacks everything¡ªsensation, thought, and form¡ªan endless void devoid of meaning, save for one thing: purpose. In its emptiness, voidspace serves as a cradle for souls, a place where they are prepared for what comes next, stripped of the burdens of their previous lives. But for Dylan, that process was cut short once again, as the tether yanked him back.


    </blockquote>


    [Time orb]: [Dejavu] triggered. Wait.


    Dylan found himself back in the interrogation room, sitting in the uncomfortable chair, staring at White.


    [Time orb]: Thirty-Three Resets remain.


    Dylan¡¯s chair honked as he kicked back from the table, surprising White and sending Abs into motion. His hands moved to his head, feeling for any metal fist-shaped dents. White held up his hand, claw, or whatever he called it, and the shirtless elf stood down, returning to his post at the door. Dylan found his head as round as usual and with no unexpected dents.


    His eyes darted around the room, looking for the double murderer, but she wasn¡¯t in the room with them.


    ¡°It happened again,¡± Dylan muttered.


    The crystal ball pulsed blue. White spoke directly to Dylan again, his tone rising at the end¡ªanother question, no doubt.


    Dylan was still trying to figure out the language. ¡°High Valyrian? Latin?¡± The crystal ball pulsed red.


    Dylan sighed. ¡°We¡¯ve been through this before.¡± He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. ¡°I can¡¯t understand what you¡¯re saying.¡±


    The crystal ball pulsed blue. White¡¯s head tilted ever so slightly. He beckoned Abs, giving him the same order as before, and Abs was off on his impossible sidequest.


    White resumed watching Dylan closely, employing the same silent tactic as before. Dylan scooted the chair forward one honk at a time until he was back at the table. Three honks later, he decided¡ªhe wouldn¡¯t let White win twice in a row. Still bothered by his unsightly fingers, he worked at cleaning the gunk from under his nails¡ªone of his many ticks when he got nervous or bored. Here it was both.


    After doing his best to ignore the leering dragon-man, who seemed to have eyes only for him, and picking both sets of fingernails clean, Dylan reached for his phone to check the time.


    ¡®Goddamnit.¡¯ Dylan sighed, remembering it was still missing. Leaning to the side, he tried peeking around the massive ivory-scaled dinosaur to see through the door and into the hallway.


    Dylan still couldn¡¯t figure out if they were supposed to be reptiles, dinosaurs, or dragons. Technically, dinosaurs were just giant reptiles that¡¯d gone extinct. His face scrunched up as he kept cooking on the conundrum.


    Weren¡¯t dragons supposed to have wings? Another glance at White confirmed the distinct lack of them. And neither reptiles nor dinosaurs seemed to fully describe these bipedal, talking, stab-happy, magic-wielding creatures. If he had to choose on the spot, Dylan would¡¯ve gone with dragons. Countless stories depicted them as sentient magic users, with a penchant for shiny objects and burninating the countryside.


    The crystal ball struggled to keep up with the rapid pulses of purple and blue as Dylan cooked. White followed Dylan¡¯s gaze, turning in his seat to glance out the door behind him.


    ¡°He should be back by now¡­¡± Dylan muttered, grimacing as he mentally added another win to White¡¯s tally.


    The crystal ball pulsed blue. The frown sitting on White¡¯s face told Dylan they shared the same thought. White huffed and resigned himself to standing, his chair barking in compliance. Pointing a clawed finger at Dylan, he gestured for him to remain seated while he stepped out. Dylan nodded compliantly, not like there was anywhere for him to go, anyway.


    White left the room. As he stepped into the hallway, Dylan heard a loud crack. The corner of a painting smacked White in the head, shattering into pieces as the ivory dragon-man stumbled out of Dylan¡¯s view.


    Dylan stood up. ¡°What the f¡ª¡±


    A bloodcurdling roar cut him off. White wasn¡¯t just mad¡ªhe was fucking pissed. He reappeared in the doorway, blue blood streaming from the side of his head, just below his crest. Pressing a hand to the wound, smoky gray energy flared. When White dropped his hand, the injury was gone, replaced by a stony patch of gray.


    White threw his arms up, deflecting another cartwheeling portrait that splintered into debris on impact. Someone was hurling them with impressive power and accuracy.


    A domed shell formed over White, shimmering with a spectrum of colors. Moments later, it dissipated from sight. White rolled his shoulders, and a massive pair of leathery wings erupted from his back, manifesting right through his robes.


    ¡°Dragons¡­¡± Dylan concluded. ¡°Definitely dragons.¡±


    A wave of compulsion hit Dylan, forcing fear, uncertainty, and doubt to bubble to the surface. He ducked behind the table in response, his curiosity struggling to overcome the cowardice flooding him. Peeking above the table, he watched White stalk out of view.


    Dylan¡¯s courage returned the moment White was out of sight. Knowing magic was real, he suspected White had some kind of fear aura. Standing up from behind the table, Dylan hurried to the doorframe. His thoughts turned back to his mortality and fragility as he cautiously poked his head past the threshold, catching sight of the dragon again, confirming his suspicion.


    The hallway seemed smaller now¡ªlike returning to your old middle school as an adult. White had always been massive, but now he was even larger, his wingspan tripling his size and taking up most of the hallway¡¯s width. Dylan noticed that one wall was now bereft of Lady Spock portraits¡ªtheir shattered pieces scattered across the floor.


    Dylan¡¯s stomach dropped as vertigo hit him. An unfamiliar masked figure ran along the other wall, the one still lined with paintings. Gripping the doorframe tightly, Dylan grounded himself, realizing he wasn¡¯t actually falling¡ªthe new guy seemed to be casually ignoring the laws of gravity.

 Chapter 6 - Dragon Slaying for Dummies

    (Dylan)


    Dylan watched as the masked figure darted along the wall toward White. They dipped low to scoop up a portrait, then vaulted high off the wall, their momentum carrying them forward. With the grace of a trained dancer, they tucked their arms in tight and spun, the speed of their twirl accelerating with each rotation.


    At the height of their final spin, they flung the oversized throwing star. It sliced through the air, arcing to the side with a subtle curve before detonating just inches from White¡¯s face. Prismatic light erupted at the point of impact, rippling across an invisible barrier¡ªWhite¡¯s protective shell still held firm. Moments later, the colorful hues vanished, leaving the air shimmering in their wake.


    Defying gravity once again, the figure landed gracefully back on the wall. They grabbed another frame, and with a swift motion, smashed it across their knee. Splitting the slats in two, the figure quickly twisted the wire between them into a makeshift garotte, tightening the wire with a firm tug.


    White reached down with his right arm, conjuring a softball-sized sphere of turbulent water just beyond his claws. Grunting with effort, he swiped upward. The sphere trailed his motion before whipping forward at supersonic speed, slamming into the wall where the figure had been moments earlier. The impact left a crater and deep, jagged cracks in the stonework. Meanwhile, the figure reappeared, now perched upside-down on the ceiling.


    ¡®Elves, dragons, and now vampires?! What have I gotten myself into?¡¯ The figure vanished before Dylan¡¯s eyes. His gaze frantically swept the room, searching for them, but White¡¯s grunts and gurgles soon grabbed his attention. The figure had reappeared¡ªthis time behind the ivory dragon.


    The garotte tightened around White¡¯s throat. His claws scrabbled desperately at the wire, but there wasn¡¯t enough space to slip beneath it. Dylan could hear the figure straining as they arched their back, yanking hard on the slats to choke the dragon. Though the wire couldn¡¯t slice through White¡¯s scales, it was successfully cutting off his air.


    Dylan wasn¡¯t sure who to root for¡ªthe dragon sorcerer or the mysterious vampire ninja. Though, to be fair, he still wasn¡¯t entirely convinced the guy was actually a vampire.


    White¡¯s entire body shimmered before shifting into a glossy, form-fitting layer of black stone. Obsidian cracks spider-webbed across his throat where the wire dug in. With a sharp movement, he leaned into the wire, lifting the figure off their feet and using their own weight as leverage.


    White spun around with the figure clinging to his back and now faced Dylan. With a sudden burst of strength, he reached over his shoulder, grabbed the figure by their shirt, and hurled them through the air¡ªstraight toward Dylan.


    ¡°Shit.¡± Dylan scrambled to dodge the incoming projectile. He threw himself backward, landing hard on his tailbone with a painful thud. The figure barreled through the doorway, just barely avoiding a clean escape before a sickening snap echoed through the air¡ªtheir ankle catching on the doorframe.


    The figure cried out in agony. Up close, Dylan could finally confirm that this was, indeed, a guy. He was dressed in dark brown leathers¡ªboots, a multitude of belts, a mask, and an orange cloak, similar to the dead woman¡¯s. His well-fitted trousers, like most clothing here, had loads of pockets, and dark blue leather gloves covered his hands.


    ¡®Is he an elf, too?¡¯ Dylan wondered, though the man¡¯s mask concealed his ears, making it impossible to tell.


    Moments after the stranger crashed through, another torrent of water blasted into the wall beside the doorframe, doubling the size of the gap. Dylan barely had time to react before shards of rock pelted him across the face, neck, and down the left side of his torso¡ªthe side closest to the door. The sudden and overwhelming force sent his already panic-prone mind spiraling further into chaos.


    ¡®I don¡¯t want to die again!¡¯ Dylan frantically scooted behind the wall, breaking White¡¯s line of sight. With shaky hands, he dabbed at his cheeks, expecting to find them drenched in blood. Instead, they were caked with another layer of dirt, with only a faint smear of the red stuff.


    Despite a few deep cuts and scrapes¡ªand the stone slivers he¡¯d have to dig out later¡ªDylan knew he¡¯d live. The stranger, however, wasn¡¯t so lucky; his foot sat at an unnatural angle.


    ¡®How¡¯s this guy not screaming in pain? I¡¯d totally be screaming.¡¯ A glint from the stranger¡¯s boot caught Dylan¡¯s eye. At first glance, they looked like ordinary leather boots, but then he noticed the small steel plate over the toes. ¡®Actual steel-toed boots?¡¯ he mused.


    The stranger inhaled sharply through gritted teeth, his eyes darting down to assess the damage to his leg. With a low growl, he spat out a harsh, gravelly ¡°Goddamnit.¡±


    He jammed his hand into a pocket and pulled out a vial of dark liquid. After a quick glance at Dylan, he turned away, pulled down his mask, and tipped the vial back in one swift motion. Once the contents were gone, he stashed the empty vial, grunted, and leaned forward¡ªpreparing to stand, despite his clearly broken leg.


    Dylan winced. ¡°That¡¯s not going to¡ª¡± But before he could finish, the stranger grunted and stood, defying his broken leg as if pain and body mechanics didn¡¯t apply to him. A series of sharp pops and cracks echoed as his ankle realigned, and he even stomped down to test the leg.


    This was the most badass motherfucker Dylan had ever met.


    ¡°Stay hidden,¡± the stranger growled before vanishing once more.


    ¡°How?¡± Dylan muttered, scanning the room for any sign of where the stranger had gone. Staying out of sight seemed like a smart plan, given how devastating and frequent those stray shots had been. Something about the stranger nagged at the back of his mind, a familiarity he couldn¡¯t quite place. But there were more pressing matters at hand¡ªlike not getting reset again.


    Wincing from the pain in his ass, Dylan pushed himself to his feet. It hurt like hell, but he didn¡¯t think it was broken. Inspired by something he¡¯d seen in movies, he flipped the table on its side and crouched behind it. With a clank, the crystal ball rolled off its base and hit the floor.


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    ¡°Sorry,¡± Dylan apologized to the inanimate object, his auto-manners kicking in as usual. The crystal ball pulsed blue, as if acknowledging his apology.


    Dylan eyed the wooden table with doubt. After seeing what White could do to a stone wall, it didn¡¯t inspire much confidence. Grabbing the chair he¡¯d been sitting on, he wedged it between himself and the table. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was all he had. Heart pounding, he leaned to the side and cautiously peered around the corner as the sounds of the fight grew closer.


    Staggering back into view, White looked worse for wear. Large patches of his obsidian shell were missing, exposing vulnerable skin beneath. A deep gash on his right side rhythmically pumped blue blood onto the floor.


    White pressed a hand to his wound, but before he could react further, a loud snap of the fingers echoed through the room. Rusted iron chains materialized out of thin air, clanking and clinking as they swiftly coiled around him. Within seconds, they had wrapped him tightly, tightening further until they melded into his body and vanished from sight.


    White pulled his hand away, expecting the wound to have healed. When the gash still bled, he spat a curse at the stranger. Bringing his palms together, he closed his eyes in concentration. A gray cloud formed overhead, raining down drops that ignited upon contact with his skin. Flames trickled from crest to toe, knitting his wounds closed as they spread across his body.


    As White concentrated, a massive dark bubble formed around him. His eyes shot open when the fire abruptly extinguished, and his body floated half a foot off the ground. Though his magical wings might have been responsible, the way he clutched at his throat made Dylan suspect this was the stranger¡¯s doing. White flailed desperately, all six limbs thrashing as if he were trapped in water, struggling to escape the suffocating bubble.


    ¡®Jesus Christ, is this guy a vampire or a Dark Lord of the Sith?¡¯ Dylan wondered, unable to look away from White¡¯s plight.


    Right on cue, the stranger stepped into view, holding up a single crescent-shaped hand at his opponent. White thrashed helplessly, flapping his wings and kicking out in a futile attempt to free himself. His desperate movements only seemed to drain his remaining air faster, doing nothing to change his fate.


    In a final, desperate attempt to break free, White aimed his arms and legs at the floor. Four streams of water burst from his hands and feet, reminding Dylan of those hydro jet packs people used at the beach. The water quickly split into smaller, undulating spheres, surging toward the edges of the bubble until it overflowed, spilling out onto the floor.


    The stranger held the spell a moment longer, even after White¡¯s body had gone still. Then, with a final splash and a heavy thud, the water and White¡¯s lifeless form crumpled to the ground. The stranger¡¯s footsteps splashed through the water as he calmly re-entered the interrogation room.


    ¡°You need to trust me,¡± the stranger rasped, his gravelly voice cutting through the stillness as he turned to face Dylan.


    Dylan¡¯s immediate thought was, ¡®No fucking way. You just showed up and killed someone.¡¯ And Abs? He was still nowhere to be found, only adding to the growing suspicion in Dylan¡¯s mind.


    Dylan forced the lie from his mouth. ¡°Okay.¡± His eyes darted to the crystal ball behind the stranger, which pulsed a menacing red. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding as he hoped the stranger wouldn¡¯t notice.


    The stranger extended his hand. Dylan hesitated, staring at it¡ªthe very hand that had just suffocated a goddamned dragon. A wave of unease washed over him, but not wanting to anger the wall-walking, dragon-slaying stranger, he reluctantly took his hand.


    The stranger gave Dylan¡¯s hand a firm squeeze before vanishing once again. Dylan stared at his empty hand, unsure of what he¡¯d expected¡ªmaybe some other magical bullshit, but definitely something more than this. Now he was alone, left standing in a slightly flooded room with White¡¯s corpse just outside.


    With a sudden burst of realization, Dylan snapped his fingers. ¡°Batman!¡± he exclaimed, the name slipping out as if it were obvious.


    ¡®That¡¯s what¡¯s so familiar about the guy,¡¯ he thought. ¡®He talks like Christian Bales¡¯ Batman.¡¯ He was in the middle of working up the courage to take on the terror tube when the stranger reappeared next to him, as silently as he¡¯d vanished.


    ¡°Alright. So, you don¡¯t trust me¡­¡± the stranger said, his gaze drifting toward White¡¯s lifeless body. ¡°I get it.¡± He nodded to himself and began pacing, the water sloshing beneath his feet as he schemed. Before Dylan could react, the stranger paused. ¡°I¡¯ve got an idea,¡± he announced, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished again.


    A flood of questions rushed through Dylan¡¯s mind: ¡®Why do you speak English? Why doesn¡¯t anyone else? What language are they speaking? Can you really use the Force? How the hell do you walk on walls? Do you drink blood? Why¡¯d you kill that guy?¡¯ The list was endless.


    Dylan wriggled his toes in the shallow water, his eyes scanning the room. The table lay on its side, and the chairs were scattered in disarray. He bent down to retrieve the crystal ball, relieved to find it undamaged despite its rough landing. Unfortunately, he didn¡¯t have any pockets to carry it, but it was a useful little device. Dylan could see the appeal of an abundance of pocket space.


    White had left his mark on the wall¡ªa solid slab of continuous stone, about eight inches thick. The lack of bricks seemed improbable, maybe even impossible, but Dylan had seen stranger things since he¡¯d arrived. He just shrugged and accepted it as part of his new reality.


    Dylan splashed his feet in the water absentmindedly, marveling at how much White must have conjured to flood the room with several inches of standing water.


    ¡®Is there a drain?¡¯ Dylan glanced around, but the stagnant water suggested otherwise. It reminded him of his old high school chemistry class¡ªwhere they avoided installing drains so spills wouldn¡¯t contaminate the water supply. Curious, he stepped out into the hallway, carefully skirting around White¡¯s lifeless body. The corridor was a wreck, debris scattered everywhere, evidence of the chaos that had unfolded.


    Wrecked portrait frames floated by on the shallow waves as Dylan walked. One canvas, mostly intact, drifted alongside him. The oil paints had mixed poorly with the water, creating streaks that gave Lady Spock a dark, dramatic appearance. Smoky eyes stared out beneath a tiara, emerald streaks running across her face and pooling at her lips, darkening them. Dylan couldn¡¯t help but find this version of Lady Spock strangely provocative¡ªhe was a sucker for goth chicks.


    Farther down the hallway, Dylan spotted the lower half of a body lying in the doorway of another room. As he got closer, he recognized the shirtless figure¡ªit was Abs, the elf who never returned from his sidequest. Dylan¡¯s mind raced with questions. ¡®What happened to him? Why is he lying in a shallow pool of water, half-way in a supply closet?¡¯


    The cause of death was clear. Green blood flowed in rivulets from the deep gash across Abs¡¯ neck, the steel wire still embedded in the wound. Dylan turned away, nausea rising in his throat. His mind replayed the scene from earlier¡ªthe stranger attempting the same brutal maneuver on White.


    Dylan wasn¡¯t about to risk losing his lunch by poking around for whatever trinkets might hide in the closet. Instead, he stepped back, trying to focus on anything but the corpses. ¡®Do I really want to stick around when Darkside Murder-Batman shows up again?¡¯ he wondered uneasily.


    The only way out was the terror tube waiting ominously at the end of the hallway. Dylan shuddered at the thought of using it again¡ªmaybe risking another encounter with the stranger wasn¡¯t such a terrible option after all.


    After wandering around for a bit, trying to calm his nerves, he returned to the interrogation room, righted his chair, and sank into it with a heavy sigh.

 Chapter 7 - Raise a Hand if You Hate this Plan

    (Dylan)


    It hadn¡¯t even been a few minutes before the stranger appeared behind Dylan.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a plan¡­¡± the gravelly voice startled him from behind. Dylan flinched, falling out of the chair and onto the floor. The half-soaked toga clung to him, sticking to his skin as he scrambled to his feet.


    The stranger stared down at Dylan playing in the water. ¡°But you¡¯re not going to like it¡­¡± He walked through the hole in the wall and crouched beside White¡¯s body.


    ¡°There¡¯s too many of them on the ground levels.¡± He drew a pink crystal dagger, lifted White¡¯s hand, and cut at the wrist.


    ¡®Is he taking a trophy?¡¯ Dylan wondered. His brain wanted to look away, but curiosity wouldn¡¯t let him.


    ¡°There¡¯s another exit, but we¡¯ll need a few things first,¡± the stranger said, working the blade through the joint and exposed bones. With growing impatience, he stepped on White¡¯s forearm and yanked at the clawed fingers with both hands.


    The hand cracked, then released with a sickening slurp as he wrenched it free from the body.


    True Crime had taught Dylan that serial killers took trophies from their kills, and now he¡¯d just watched this guy rip off a hand. Did that make him an accomplice?


    ¡°You¡¯ll need this,¡± the stranger said, tossing the disembodied hand at Dylan. It smacked against his chest, splashed into the water at his feet, and left a new blue stain on his toga.


    Dylan grimaced. The stranger was right¡ªhe hated this plan already.


    ¡°Place it on the slab,¡± the stranger pointed to the terror tube, ¡°and tell it you want to go to the Cells."


    ¡°Oh, hell no. I¡¯m not running around with your murder trophy,¡± Dylan said, pointing at the severed clawed hand floating at his feet.


    ¡°It¡¯s a key.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a hand,¡± Dylan shot back. ¡°And I don¡¯t even speak the language.¡± He¡¯d say anything to avoid using that damn tube again.


    ¡°Speak normally. Everyone understands you fine,¡± the stranger said, confirming Dylan¡¯s suspicion. He bent down again and ran his hands along White¡¯s body, patting and searching the slain dragon¡¯s pockets.


    Dylan frowned at the hand, sighed, and bent down to pick it up.


    ¡°When you get there, use the hand to open the cell with the dead woman. Take her cloak and rings. The rest of her gear won¡¯t fit you,¡± the stranger said, finishing with White¡¯s corpse. He raised his voice as he walked down the hall toward the garroted elf.


    Dylan cringed at the thought of stealing from the dead. It felt wrong. How could this guy be so casual about looting corpses? ¡®Oh, right, just serial killers doing serial killer things¡­¡¯ Dylan thought.


    ¡°I mean it, Dylan. The cloak and the rings,¡± the stranger called out from down the hall.


    ¡®How does he know my name?¡¯ Dylan froze. He didn¡¯t remember telling it to anyone.


    ¡°After you¡¯re done, get to the Ground floor,¡± the stranger called over his shoulder.


    Dylan groaned. ¡°I have to use the stupid tube twice?¡±


    Either the stranger didn¡¯t hear him or just ignored him. After finishing with the elf, he stepped over the shirtless body and into the closet. ¡°What have we here¡­?¡± the stranger said, rummaging through the closet¡¯s contents. He poked his head out and shouted, ¡°Then, I¡¯ll meet you on the Ground floor, and we¡¯ll take it from there.¡±


    ¡®This isn¡¯t a plan, it¡¯s not even half a plan. Where¡¯s the part where we escape?¡¯ Dylan wondered. ¡°This won¡¯t work¡­¡± he shouted.


    ¡°It¡¯ll work,¡± said the gravelly voice.


    ¡°I really don¡¯t think this¡¯ll work¡­¡± Dylan shouted back.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll make it work,¡± the stranger shouted, stepping out of the closet and into view. Dylan didn¡¯t like the way he said that¡ªhe would¡¯ve much preferred a more logical explanation or something warm and fuzzy to reassure him everything would be alright.


    The stranger walked back over to Dylan. ¡°Are you ready?¡±


    Dylan sighed, slapped the disgusting keepsake on the slab, and said, ¡°I¡¯d like to go to the Cells, please.¡±


    Ding! He really hated that sound. The curved doors slid open, and Bronze leaped at him. Dylan screamed, dodging instinctively. She collapsed face down at his feet. He stared at her unmoving body, trying not to hyperventilate. A pink crystal dagger jutted from her spine, and her back was riddled with stab wounds.


    ¡°Oh yeah, forgot about that one,¡± the stranger said.


    ¡°What the fuck, man?¡± Dylan snapped. ¡°Do all your solutions involve killing people?¡± He was glad his toga was still drip drying; it hid the fact he¡¯d just pissed himself.


    The stranger placed a hand on his chin, contemplating. He didn¡¯t answer. Instead, he leaned over, wrapped his fingers around the exposed handle, and yanked it free. Wiping the blood off on Bronze¡¯s corpse, he flipped the dagger handle-first and offered it to Dylan.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you at the top,¡± the stranger said, slapping him on the shoulder.


    ¡°You¡¯re not coming with¡ª¡± The stranger vanished again, leaving Dylan alone in the empty hallway, clutching a pink dagger in one hand and a dripping severed hand in the other. He sighed and stepped into the stupid terror tube. As the doors closed behind him, he sank into a fetal position, burying his face in his knees. His screams echoed in the shaft as it whisked him away to the Cells.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The doors couldn¡¯t open fast enough. Dylan scrambled out of the tube and quickly checked his surroundings. It was exactly as he¡¯d left it¡ªonly one cell was occupied. He walked over and plopped the morbid token onto the control slab.


    ¡®Why put her in a cell?¡¯ Dylan wondered. What was she going to do¡ªget up and walk away? Then he remembered: he¡¯d died twice since arriving. This was a land of dragons, murder-hobos, and magic; necromancy was probably a thing here. Extra precautions made sense.


    The cell opened with the usual fanfare of shink and thunk. Dylan knelt over the woman, paused, and muttered, ¡°Goddamnit.¡±


    He gently leaned her forward to pull up the cloak, which had bunched up behind her when Bronze tossed her down like a bag of garbage. Slipping the orange cloak over her head, he carefully laid her back into her final resting place.


    Disgusted with himself, he glanced down at her boots, then at his own bare feet. Reaching under one heel, he pulled off the boot with his free hand. The supple leather slipped off with little effort. ¡°She doesn¡¯t need them anymore,¡± he said, trying to ease his conscience.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he whispered. A quiver trembled across his lip, and he wiped a tear from his eye. Fighting the urge to cry, he struggled to understand his profound sense of loss for someone he didn¡¯t know. This was the fourth body he¡¯d seen in the past half hour, yet she was the only one who stirred something inside him.


    Was it because she looked human¡ªlike him? Or because she¡¯d been the first person he met after arriving? He shrugged. Maybe it was simply that he finally had a moment alone, without distractions, to process everything.


    Drained by adrenaline, his body trembled, and tears welled up despite his best efforts. Recent experiences had shown him just how fragile life was. Unable to stop himself, he glanced down at her hands. Someone had already stolen most of her rings, leaving behind pale, naked bands on her fingers. Only one ring remained.


    She was someone¡¯s daughter. She might¡¯ve been someone¡¯s sister, mother, or wife. He stared at the remaining ring on her thumb.


    ¡®There¡¯s no way I¡¯m taking that ring.¡¯ It would be too much. He didn¡¯t know when, or even if, her friends and family would learn she was gone. A heavy sadness settled over him.


    He bowed his head as he slipped on the cloak, finally letting his emotions spill over. Even if it was only for a minute, even if it was just the tears of a stranger, someone should mourn for her. So, he did. At least one person would know she was gone. Sniffles and sobs filled the cell as he cried.


    After a few minutes, Dylan wiped the tears from his face. He stood and, one leg at a time, slipped on her boots. They were a size too small, but the leather stretched enough to fit.


    ¡®Yuck,¡¯ he thought. Shoes without socks just felt wrong. The woman had been wearing socks, but they fit snugly around her smaller feet¡ªno way they¡¯d fit him. He¡¯d just have to deal with gross, sweaty feet.


    He walked past the cell control slab, where White¡¯s ghastly remains were still displayed on the commandeered pedestal. Begrudgingly, he grabbed the severed hand and used it to call the terror tube one last time.


    ¡°Take me to the Ground floor, please.¡± Dylan noticed pockets inside the cloak¡ªempty. The jewelry thief must have pilfered those too. He found a sheath stitched into the fabric, perfect for holding his new dagger. Stowing his only weapon, he waited for his ride.


    Ding! The curved doors slid open, inviting him inside. Content with his new-to-him shoes, cloak, and dagger, he had briefly forgotten his disdain for the terror tube¡ªuntil the wall slid down and stole his calm. With nothing to hold on to, he collapsed onto the disk, yelling and cursing his way to the Ground floor.


    Ding! The terror tube opened, revealing the stranger waiting for him. Dylan scrambled out, still on his stomach, not bothering to stand before escaping the dreadful thing.


    ¡°Take your stupid souvenir,¡± Dylan grumbled, holding out the clawed hand.


    The stranger snatched it from him and, unbelievably, shoved it into his pants pocket. Dylan shuddered at the thought of the disgusting, rotting hand sitting in there.


    ¡°Put the ring on,¡± the stranger said, noticing Dylan¡¯s bare fingers.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t take it.¡±


    The stranger closed his eyes and mumbled, ¡°Next time we¡¯re getting it off the elf.¡±


    Before Dylan could ask any clarifying questions, the stranger walked past him toward the spiral staircase on their right. It wrapped around the terror tube and ascended, but didn¡¯t go down. The stranger took the first step without slowing. Not wanting to be left behind, Dylan hurried after him. ¡°Why are you helping me?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got little time left,¡± the stranger said. He stopped abruptly, swinging his arm out to shove Dylan against the wall and cover his mouth. The staircase leveled out to allow access to the second floor before continuing its spiral upward.


    Dylan stood pinned to the wall by the stranger¡¯s fingers pressing against his lips. He could hear a pair of elves arguing at the end of the hallway.


    The stranger brought a finger to his mask. Dylan nodded, understanding the need for silence. The stranger motioned for him to cross first. Dylan made it across without incident, and the stranger took the lead, continuing their climb to the fifth and final floor.


    A door at the top of the staircase led out to a balcony overlooking the compound. The stranger opened it and stepped into the night. Dylan followed, walking to the railing and looking down. They were much higher than a typical five-story building, but then he remembered each floor had unusually high ceilings.


    ¡°Over there,¡± the stranger said, pointing a few hundred yards out. ¡°That¡¯s the main road. Follow it that way.¡±


    The tall black fence was the only major obstacle between them and freedom. Dylan noticed a large lake just past the road. A loud commotion caught his attention from the other side of the balcony. The sky was still lit by multicolored fires, illuminating the night. He knew what that scene looked like¡ªhe never wanted to see it again.


    The stranger placed a boot on the railing and hoisted himself up, balancing easily.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Dylan asked, realizing the only way up or down was through the doors they¡¯d just come through. ¡°Are you going to jump?¡± His voice was heavy with concern.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to jump,¡± the stranger corrected him.


    ¡°What do you mean, we¡¯re going to jump?¡± Dylan asked, leaning over the railing, half-expecting to see a haystack for their leap of faith.


    ¡°We¡¯ll use the cloaks to glide down safely.¡±


    Dylan looked down, grabbed the bottom of his cloak, and held it up. ¡°I can fly with this?¡± he asked, incredulous.


    The stranger shook his head. ¡°No, more like falling slowly.¡± He held out his hand to Dylan.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I can do this,¡± Dylan said, stepping back from the outstretched hand.


    ¡°You can do it,¡± the stranger said. Something in his tone convinced Dylan to believe him. ¡°I¡¯ll be with you the entire time.¡±


    Dylan took his hand, and the stranger pulled him up onto the railing. Dylan¡¯s arms flailed as he fought to keep his balance. The stranger steadied him and said, ¡°Cover your mouth with your other hand.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Dylan asked, unable to take his eyes off the ground.


    ¡°I heard you in the Geolift,¡± the stranger said. ¡°Surprised everyone didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Dylan muttered, pressing his free hand tightly over his mouth.


    Without even counting, that crazy fucker gripped Dylan¡¯s hand tight and leaped, dragging him along.


    The stranger had been right once again, about the cloaks and Dylan; he screamed into his hand the entire time, but it worked. While they weren¡¯t falling quickly, the stranger had failed to mention they¡¯d pick up gliding speed. Then a shimmer appeared around them.


    ¡°Goddamnit,¡± the stranger cursed. Dylan¡¯s heart skipped a beat as fear lanced through him¡ªwas something wrong with the cloaks? The world around them distorted, like an old television. A human-sized gash tore open in front of them, and Dylan could¡¯ve sworn he glimpsed the fabric of space and time on the other side.


    One moment later, Dylan¡¯s hand was empty. The stranger had vanished, along with the spatial distortions. Everything returned to normal¡ªexcept Dylan was now alone, gliding over a hostile compound filled with fantasy creatures, dozens of yards above the ground.


    Dylan continued to pick up speed, screaming into his hand.


    ¡®He lied to me¡­¡¯

 Chapter 8 - Lost in Translation

    Seven hours later.


    It was early morning. Charles sat in the driver¡¯s box of his arborhearth. [Summon Arborhearth] was a plant ability from his Dark framework; a storage and transport ability in the shape of an organically ornate carriage, pulled by two bramble spawn.


    The vehicle ambled down the road, its pitch-black wood paneling adorned with intricate leaf and vine carvings. The left side of the carriage featured several cabinets installed above a large chest, while an oval door granting access to the cabin sat on the right. Another chest and a spigot were located at the rear.


    The carriage body was shaped like a round nut, with thick roots sprouting from the underside forming the frame. Four spoked wheels lifted the carriage off the ground, and the root frame extended forward, creating the carriage shaft that grew and fused into the bramble spawn.


    Bramble spawn, plantlike creatures of darkness, resembled large quadrupeds with antlers and cloven hooves. Dark, thick, and thorny brambles knitted tightly together to form muscles that covered their frame. Fine coniferous needles sprouted from the brambles, replacing fur and forming a protective coat against the sun.


    Their color-shifting eyes pulsed between black and evergreen, glowing at night. Branches replaced their antlers, blooming with shades of ruby, amber, and emerald¡ªa stark contrast to their dark, muted bodies. These beautiful creatures of the night sustained themselves through umbrasynthesis, a process by which they gained energy from the absence of light.


    Charles quite liked the creatures. They were hardworking, low-maintenance, and quiet. Bramble spawn weren¡¯t native to Xel¡¯oria, having come from a tidally locked planet whose name Charles could never remember. The universe held an uncountable number of planets, and remembering them when he¡¯d never left his own seemed unnecessary.


    At an early age, he decided there was a significant amount of essential information to remember: how to kill an arc beetle, when to use a backstitch, and where to source running water. Information such as birthdays, names of planets, and which fork to use for dessert was trivial. He wasted little thought on things that weren¡¯t directly impactful to him.


    His Summon Arborhearth ability doubled as both storage and transport, with the bramble spawn included with the summoning. He could summon it once a night, and they would last until dismissed or destroyed.


    Charles enjoyed his uninterrupted quiet time, but he kept his mind occupied with thoughts of improved designs, materials, and stitches he wanted to try. If not, his thoughts might drift back to his past, spoiling his mood. Working with his hands and creating useful items gave him a sense of accomplishment.


    This territory was intimately familiar to him. He had grown up and spent many decades at the nearby Ebonscale guild chapter, one of many adventuring guilds on Xel¡¯oria and the closest form of civilization. Traveling this road always brought him a mix of melancholy and nostalgia. It would take him only a few hours to detour and visit his old guild.


    He harrumphed at the thought. Growing up as a ward of the guild, he had long since wanted nothing more to do with them. It had taken him decades to earn enough to buy his way out. Fortunately, he was an elf with a lifespan measured in centuries, not decades.


    The arborhearth rounded a bend, and Charles spotted a pants-less, round stranger scurrying off the road and into the bushes. Gently pulling back on the reins, he signaled the bramble spawn to slow down.


    Charles frowned. ¡®That¡¯s unfortunate,¡¯ he thought. Vermillion ivy was pervasive along this stretch of road, its oils leaving a nasty rash on most folk. Quickly parsing the situation, he wondered what would drive someone to dive into the toxic undergrowth. Charles slowly approached the stranger, who remained poorly hidden in the roadside bushes.


    His mind worked through the possibilities. ¡¯Ambush? No. Bandits would never set up so close to Ebonscale. Bounty hunter? No. Haven¡¯t done anything in a while that would warrant a contract.


    ¡®Lost traveler? Plausible, but why run and hide? If they don¡¯t mean any harm, then they¡¯re simply inept and might need assistance. Also, where are their pants?¡¯ There were too many unknowns for a logical conclusion. Charles sighed; he would have to interact with them to find out more.


    The arborhearth pulled off to the side of the road on the right, just past the stranger huddled in the bushes on the left. Treating them like a timid animal, Charles moved slowly, giving them space.


    He hopped down from the driver¡¯s box, landing lightly on his feet. Feigning an impromptu inspection of the chests and cabinets, he purposely kept his back toward the stranger. This was a tactic he often employed¡ªpretending to be unaware.


    [Proprioception] was the passive ability from his Melee framework; it gave him the ability to sense what was going on around him without relying on his sight. He closed his eyes and focused on observing the stranger with his other senses while he pretended to check straps and locks.


    Proprioception revealed a poorly dressed and overweight individual. He also detected the shape of a small blade in the cloak, though he would have been more concerned if they had no way of defending themselves in the middle of a forest. However, the first two observations were at odds in his mind. Only three types of people got that overweight: royalty, off-world ambassadors, and astral merchants, and all of them could easily afford decent and complete outfits.Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡®Royalty, ambassador, or astral merchant. This person is most likely rich, obviously lost, and no danger to anyone but themselves. There might even be a reward for helping them,¡¯ Charles thought, deciding it would be worth getting involved.


    ¡°You¡¯re standing in vermillion ivy,¡± Charles said loudly, continuing his farce. ¡°That¡¯s going to leave a nasty rash¡­¡± He waited patiently for a response.


    Unsteady words emerged from the bushes a moment later: ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I can¡¯t understand you. Please, I don¡¯t want any trouble.¡±


    The voice was masculine, something his ability hadn¡¯t been able to decipher. Charles heard the apprehension and exhaustion in the man¡¯s tone. It was baffling how anyone could lose a translation ring¡ªthey were such a prolific magic item that most people considered them mundane, hardly worth stealing. Double-checking, he used Proprioception and confirmed the man wasn¡¯t wearing a ring.


    Thinking of a translation ring, he used his mental connection to his storage ability to retrieve one. He kept a few in stock for the occasional coming-of-age ceremony, where their parents would present them with a ring just before starting their first year of school. They were inexpensive gifts, but it was difficult to get even basic supplies to the more remote villages he serviced.


    The rings were a cornerstone of galactic society, providing universal communication. They magically translated spoken words so the wearer could understand, though the translation wasn¡¯t always perfect¡ªoccasional errors could slip into the interpretation.


    Charles opened a small cabinet, retrieved the translation ring that appeared, and turned toward the stranger. He held out the ring, signaling his intention, and slowly crossed the road, stopping just before the vermillion ivy.


    He didn¡¯t want to get the oil on his pants¡ªit was a pain to wash off without getting it on your skin. Vermillion ivy was an insidious yet beautiful plant, causing blisters along with insatiable burning and itching, and this poor soul was crotch-deep in it. With his free hand, Charles motioned for him to come closer.


    Close enough to make a visual assessment, Charles examined him from head to toe. The stranger was male, with an average smooth elven skin tone. Though he was very short for an elf, Charles stood only three-quarters of a head taller. He wore a hooded orange cloak, a typical staple among travelers, good for keeping dry when it rained. Hiding under the hood, the man concealed more of his facial features at the cost of his peripheral vision, which Charles found unnecessary, since it had stopped raining hours ago.


    ¡®Is that a bed sheet?¡¯ Charles wondered. At first, he didn¡¯t recognize the filthy garment wrapped around the man¡¯s torso and hips. And then there was his distinct lack of pants, revealing angry, reddening skin where the vermillion ivy was fast at work. Even his shoes were a poor choice, being a size too small.


    Hesitantly, the man approached. Charles took pity on him as he awkwardly made his way out of the bushes, rough foliage catching and scratching tender places as he whimpered and gasped.


    Once clear of the vegetation, Charles held out the ring for him to take. The man looked down at the translation ring as if he didn¡¯t know what it was.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing to give you for it,¡± the man said.


    Taking advantage of people in need was a trigger for Charles¡ªhe hated it. Orphaned as a yearling, Ebonscale had taken him in. As he grew up, the guild meticulously accounted for every bite of food, drop of drink, and piece of clothing or lodging. It was years before he was even old enough to train as a Crafter¡ªhis only way to work off the mounting debt. They had taken advantage of him simply because they could.


    He didn¡¯t believe it was right to withhold food, water, clothes, or respite from someone in need simply because they couldn¡¯t afford it. It was one reason he became an adventurer, even if he was just a crafter. Purchasing his freedom and leaving the guild had cost him his Adventuring license, but he was content helping people as a simple traveling merchant.


    He found it strange that most people wouldn¡¯t accept help without offering something in exchange. As a compromise, he¡¯d tell them he¡¯d put it on their tab¡ªnot that he ever kept tabs. He had magical abilities, several ways to make gems, and a responsibility to help those less fortunate.


    Charles clenched his teeth and sighed. If this was going to work, they¡¯d need to communicate, and he needed this man to take the translation ring. So, he stepped forward and dropped it into the man¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± the man said, and then, to Charles¡¯s disbelief, slid the communication device into a pocket inside his cloak.


    Astonished by the man¡¯s ignorance, Charles¡¯s mind worked to process another piece of the puzzle that didn¡¯t fit. He was good at puzzles and would eventually figure this one out, given enough time. He made logical corrections based on this latest information.


    ¡®Didn¡¯t demand help, suggesting a lack of entitlement. That rules out royalty. Didn¡¯t offer reimbursement¡ªnot an astral merchant; they¡¯re notorious for settling debts. Doesn¡¯t recognize a translation ring. No way he¡¯s an off-world ambassador. Maybe the patriarch of a secluded tribal village that only uses one spoken language?¡¯ Charles guessed, after excluding all his previous possibilities.


    ¡®By the Mother, who is this man?¡¯ Not giving up, Charles took off his riding glove and held up his hand. He pointed to the translation ring he wore and then pantomimed taking it off and slipping it back on, gesturing for the man to do the same.


    He seemed to understand. Taking out the ring, he slipped it on and held up his hand for Charles¡¯s approval.


    ¡°Where are your pants?¡± Charles asked.


    The man¡¯s eyes went wide with awe and understanding. ¡°Sacred excrement!¡± he exclaimed. ¡°I can understand you!"


    Charles thought that was a weird response. The man reached up and pushed back his hood, revealing his face. Charles deduced from his short, blunted ears that either he¡¯d been wrong in assuming the man was an elf, or he was a victim of child mutilation. Every interaction with this man only led to more questions.


    Motioning to the man¡¯s bare, red, and scratched legs, Charles waited for an answer to his original question. The man looked down at his legs, then at the ring, and finally over to the bramble spawn¡ªa classic sign of being wonderstruck. He absentmindedly bent over to scratch his leg.


    ¡°I¡ª¡± the man halted. Charles waited patiently as the man collected his thoughts. ¡°I don¡¯t know where my pants are,¡± he said despondently. ¡°I don¡¯t even know where I am.¡±

 Chapter 9 - Pants Are for Everyone

    Charles frowned. ¡°I can¡¯t take you seriously without pants.¡±


    Turning around, he walked back to his arborhearth. Thinking of a pair of pants, a bar of soap, and a bucket, he opened the rear chest and scooped up the items. Stepping back, he placed the empty wooden bucket under the spigot with a hollow thump. After filling the bucket a quarter of the way, Charles turned off the spigot.


    The pants were his standard style of trousers, undyed, of course. He preferred the natural look of the fabric¡ªbreathable with the proper amount of give. They¡¯d hold up to everything short of war. The pants were also exceptionally small, only about a forearm¡¯s length; perfectly sized for optimal logistics.


    Charles turned to examine the man again and used Keen Eye. [Keen Eye] was the passive ability from his Outfitter framework; it allowed him to take exact measurements of anyone he could see.


    He¡¯d never seen this waist-to-inseam ratio before. Holding up the tiny pants and squinting at them, he calculated all the alterations he¡¯d need to make for them to fit the unnamed man.


    ¡°Name?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Dylan.¡± Dylan¡¯s eyes were transfixed on the tiny pants. Charles detected a look of apprehension on his face. ¡°Those pants are for children,¡± Dylan said, pointing at the tiny trousers.


    ¡°Nonsense,¡± Charles said. ¡°Pants are for everyone. I just need to make a few adjustments.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no way those are going to fit,¡± Dylan said, looking worried.


    ¡°They¡¯ll fit,¡± Charles said, pulling out one of his needles. He kept most of them in his workshop inside the arborhearth, but always carried one in case something needed stitching.


    ¡°There¡¯s not enough room for one leg, let alone both,¡± Dylan insisted.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll make it work,¡± Charles said. Dylan¡¯s gaze drifted, his expression haunted, as if recalling an unpleasant experience. Charles was familiar with those kinds of memories.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t make it fit,¡± Dylan said, trepidation heavy in his voice. Charles didn¡¯t understand why he was so afraid of pants. ¡°It¡¯s okay. I don¡¯t think I need pants anymore,¡± Dylan added, adjusting the bed sheet around his hips. ¡°See? I¡¯m fine.¡±


    Charles cast Resize on the pants. [Resize] was a Dimension ability from his Outfitter framework; it allowed him to adjust the size of an article of clothing, making it larger or smaller. Dylan stopped rambling and watched as the pants magically grew.


    Charles tugged at the fabric, stretching each leg to a larger size. He continued making minor adjustments until he was satisfied they would fit Dylan properly. After folding the resized pants, he placed the bar of soap on top and handed the pile over to Dylan, who reached to take it.


    Just before letting go, Charles held on and said, ¡°Scrub the vermillion ivy oil off your legs and waist before you put the pants on. Unfortunately, I don¡¯t stock ointment, and judging by that rash, you¡¯ll need some.¡±


    Charles gave Dylan the illusion of privacy, walking away to check on the bramble spawn. They never needed tending but always enjoyed his company. Proprioception would alert him if Dylan tried anything foolish. Taking out a brush, he ran it along the grain of the coniferous needles, dislodging any loose ones, as Dylan splashed the soap into the water. Dylan moaned in relief, scrubbing his legs with the bar as he itched and washed at the same time.


    ¡°Wow,¡± Dylan said a couple of minutes later. ¡°These fit perfectly.¡± He exaggerated his strides, twisting back and forth at the hips before dropping into a squat. ¡°Best. Fit. Ever,¡± he said between lunges, each word punctuated by his movement.


    ¡°I told you they¡¯d fit.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t even bunch up in my crotch.¡± Dylan had taken off his cloak to clean up. Charles froze when he finally noticed the filthy sheet¡ªcovered in bloodstains. There were a few splotches of green, but most were blue. Other than his rashes, Dylan appeared unharmed. Logic dictated that the stains belonged to someone else; likely multiple people, judging by the assorted colors. Given the improbability of those stains being defensive, Charles had to reassess Dylan as a potential threat.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure how I can repay you for the pants and the ring,¡± Dylan said, still beaming from his new trousers.


    ¡°I¡¯ll put it on your tab¡­¡± Charles said absently, then asked the most pressing question on his mind. ¡°Why do you have blood on you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not mine,¡± Dylan said. Noticing Charles¡¯ shift in demeanor, he glanced down at the green and blue stains on his toga. The novelty of the trousers had worn off, leaving him looking weary. His eyes fixed on the stains, but his mind wandering to distant memories.


    Charles recognized that unfocused gaze. Dylan¡¯s mind had returned to unkind memories. Charles considered whether the amount of blood had been lethal. ¡®Unlikely,¡¯ he concluded.


    ¡°Did you kill anyone?¡± Charles asked pointedly. It was an honest question¡ªhe¡¯d killed people before, but always in self-defense or for a contract. He needed to know if Dylan was capable of more than he appeared.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°No,¡± Dylan said. Charles¡¯ experience told him to be patient¡ªDylan would provide the rest of his answer if he waited. ¡°But,¡± Dylan continued, ¡°I watched him die. Lots of people died last night.¡±


    ¡®That¡¯s unfortunate,¡¯ Charles thought. Dylan¡¯s voice dropped to a whisper, and Charles thought he heard him say that he had died too. Straining to catch Dylan¡¯s words, Charles suddenly noticed someone bounding down the road toward them. The bend in the path blocked his view, but he¡¯d learned to trust all his senses. More questions pressed for answers, but they¡¯d have to wait.


    ¡°Get in the cabin,¡± Charles ordered. He dashed toward Dylan, who seemed startled. Dylan flinched, raising his arms defensively. Charles grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the oval door on the right side of the arborhearth. Dylan resisted, but Charles easily maneuvered him. ¡®Soft, fearful, and weak¡ªno way this man took a life,¡¯ he thought.


    ¡°Get inside, stay quiet, and do not come out,¡± Charles said. ¡°I¡¯ll get you once it¡¯s safe.¡±


    He pulled the oval door open and shoved Dylan, bundled cloak and all, inside before shutting it behind him. He heard the click as he mentally locked the cabin door¡ªnothing would get in or out until he unlocked it. A nagging feeling told him he¡¯d overlooked something, but time was up. Facing the tree line, Charles unzipped his trousers, took aim, and relieved himself.


    Two riders rounded the corner while he was mid-stream. For the second time today, two more people interrupted his usually solitary trek from Amberfell to Dartmouth.


    A giant cloud of dust rose as the two large, feathered theropods skidded from full speed to a complete stop. The beasts were a classification of mundane, carnivorous, bipedal reptiles covered in feathers. Their long, stiff tails helped maintain balance while sprinting or maneuvering in tight spaces. Their heads were narrow and elongated, filled with sharp, serrated teeth.


    These were a medium-sized variant of the beasts. Fast and quieter than most hooved creatures, they could handle rough terrain with ease while mounted. Fiercely intelligent predators with sharp senses and a keen ability to track by scent, their only real tradeoff was their lack of endurance for long-distance travel, necessitating frequent breaks.


    It was also dangerous to let them get bored¡ªriders were at the greatest risk of dismemberment, or worse, as the creatures sought their own entertainment.


    Ebonscale specialized in breeding, training, and stabling various theropod variants, each for specific purposes. Smaller theropods, about the size of a medium canine, were often used as hunting companions. The larger raptors, like these two beautiful girls, were the most common variant and made exceptional adventuring mounts.


    Although technically unranked as mundane creatures, their cunning made them as dangerous as any common-ranked monster.


    His old guild also had a breeding program for the megafauna version of the beasts. The not-quite kaiju-sized theropods grew to three-quarters the height of most trees. They were more commonly known by the name Tyrant. These beasts weren¡¯t bred for guarding or hunting, but for war. The Tyrant program took place at a remote Ebonscale chapter, on a self-contained island that spared no expense¡ªor so they claimed.


    A familiar pattern of caws and chirps came from within the localized dust storm. Charles thought it sounded like Vera, an albino theropod he¡¯d helped raise from a chick. With his bladder empty, he shook himself twice, put it away, and zipped up his trousers.


    Vera was a stubborn creature, difficult to tame. In fact, ¡®tame¡¯ was a strong word in her case¡ªshe had only ever bonded with one person¡ªCharles was her person. Whenever he needed a mount for guild business, she¡¯d always be available. No one else dared to ride such an ill-mannered beast, and those who did often returned missing a finger or two. This made Vera Charles¡¯ unofficial mount during his time with the guild.


    As a crafter, Charles couldn¡¯t accept contracts that would put him at risk, which meant most contracts were off the table. Mundane people rarely submitted contracts unless the job was too dangerous for them to handle. Still, there were occasional transport contracts he could accept, thanks to his storage ability.


    They incentivized him to complete them quickly and return to guild crafting quests. While his arborhearth doubled as a transport, it was often faster to load it up, dismiss it, and ride a theropod to the destination. Vera would always spot him coming and make a distinctive pattern of caws and chirps as a greeting¡ªthe same pattern he heard just now.


    Charles hated leaving her behind, but it would¡¯ve taken many more years to afford to take her with him¡ªa price tag that included all the food, training, and storage fees she¡¯d accumulated until her sale date.


    A chest beside the foot of his bed held the gems he¡¯d saved up so far, which wasn¡¯t much since he usually charged minimal prices for his services. He reserved markups for when his route took him through larger towns¡ªlike Dartmouth.


    Vera was an unforgettable creature, covered in ivory feathers¡ªan albino, which did little to help her blend into her surroundings. Stalking and camouflage didn¡¯t suit her, but that wasn¡¯t how she hunted anyway. As much as he missed her, Charles hoped the riders would pass by and be on their way. He¡¯d already involved himself with one person today¡ªone more than he usually dealt with since losing his Adventuring license.


    Sitting atop Vera was an elf named Rono, a common-ranked Adventurer like Charles. He wore the standard guild uniform¡ªblack tunic, black leather pants and boots, and an orange cloak. However, he wasn¡¯t wearing his usual wide-brimmed hat. Rono had a reputation for two things: wearing that ugly hat and being a racist. Charles found it odd that he was traveling with an okamijin, one of the primal races.


    Okamijin had canine features and two names. Their parents gave them a familiar name at birth, used only within their family. Upon reaching puberty, they would choose a formal name that carried symbolic meaning. Charles found it unfortunate that young, hormonal, angsty teenagers could decide their own names, names that would stick with them for life. But it was an okamijin tradition, not an elven one, and he did his best to respect it.


    This okamijin went by Dreadfang. Covered in thick, coarse, dark fur, he had a solid pattern with none of the visible markings his people typically displayed¡ªa hereditary feature that couldn¡¯t be altered without magic. His bright green eyes led to a wide muzzle that ended in a black, wet nose. He also wore the standard guild attire, though his naturally muscular and furry frame made it appear tight and ill fitting.


    Charles didn¡¯t think Dreadfang would accept the minor alterations required for his clothes to fit properly. He suspected the okamijin liked how it made him look bigger. Intimidating by nature, with pronounced fangs and large, clawed hands and feet, they stood somewhere between elves and draconi in height. This rider sat on a red and blue plumed theropod, but Charles didn¡¯t recognize her.


    He turned to walk toward the driver¡¯s box but stopped, cursing under his breath as he remembered what he¡¯d forgotten.


    ¡®The bucket.¡¯

 Chapter 10 - Nothings Free

    Charles diverted from the driver¡¯s box, heading instead toward the back of the carriage. He¡¯d forgotten about the bucket, but there hadn¡¯t been enough time to deal with it earlier. Still, he¡¯d need to take care of it before leaving. Searching for the calm he didn¡¯t feel, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Usually, he didn¡¯t make mistakes like this. The enigma sitting in his cabin had distracted him.


    Charles walked over, bent down, and picked up the bucket, tossing the water over the side of the road. He casually opened the rear chest above the spigot and tossed the bucket in.


    ¡®Dishwater,¡¯ he thought. That would be his answer if needed¡ªa plausible reason for having the bucket out, washing dishes after breakfast. They wouldn¡¯t know he didn¡¯t eat breakfast. Neither of them had paid him enough attention in the past to notice such a minor detail. He turned toward the driver¡¯s box and continued acting as though he had no interest in a verbal exchange.


    Rono pulled up beside Charles, and Vera cawed loudly for attention. Dreadfang took up position on the opposite side of the arborhearth, boxing him in. They looked eager for a chat.


    ¡®That¡¯s unfortunate,¡¯ Charles thought.


    ¡°Charles, good to see you, old friend,¡± Rono said. Charles harrumphed at the last bit and continued toward the front of the arborhearth. Rono either didn¡¯t notice or pretended not to and asked, ¡°Seen anyone on the road since last night?¡±


    ¡®How did they know about Dylan?¡¯ Charles wondered, though he remained uninterested in conversing with them. He noticed Dreadfang¡¯s silence¡ªunusual for the boastful brute. Charles got the impression they were in a hurry. He continued to be evasive, hoping they¡¯d lose patience and move on.


    ¡°I¡¯m not part of the guild anymore,¡± Charles said as he climbed into the driver¡¯s box. Vera cawed at him again, her red eyes locked onto him.


    ¡°Stop it, stupid lizard. I¡¯m talking here,¡± Rono said, snapping the reins before turning back to Charles. ¡°Come on, Charles. It doesn¡¯t have to be like this.¡±


    ¡°Yes, it does,¡± Charles said, leaning to the side as he reached out to pet Vera.


    ¡°Watch out,¡± Rono said. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do that if I were you.¡±


    The albino mount cawed loudly and leaned in to headbutt Charles¡¯ outstretched hand.


    ¡°Steady, girl!¡± Rono yelled. Vera ignored his attempts to straighten her out. Dreadfang¡¯s brooding expression slipped for a moment as he blinked, watching Charles actually pet the theropod.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen her let anyone get that close,¡± Dreadfang said.


    ¡°Are you trying to lose a hand?¡± Rono asked, his expression showing disbelief at what he was seeing.


    ¡°Vera¡¯s a good girl,¡± Charles said as she uttered a series of loud clicks¡ªher version of a purr.


    ¡°Well?¡± Rono asked, impatience creeping into his voice. ¡°Have you seen anyone?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen enough of you two,¡± Charles said, giving the albino one final pat on the head. ¡°Now, move along.¡±


    ¡°Charles,¡± Rono countered. ¡°We used to be friends.¡±


    ¡°We were never friends.¡±


    Rono frowned. ¡°True, but it¡¯s a simple question, really. Have you seen anyone on the road since last night?¡±


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s free,¡± Charles said, his words laced with venom. ¡°There¡¯s always a cost.¡±


    He let his words hang in the air as he took the reins and gave them a firm shake. The bramble spawn responded, resuming their trek down the road. A steady rhythm of clip-clop and the grinding of the road under the wheels filled the silence. Both riders matched his pace.


    Charles looked Rono in the eye, then glanced down at Vera. ¡°Are you in a position to part with that theropod?¡± he asked.


    Dumbfounded, Rono asked, ¡°What? The guild would charge me for her if I did. The wretched thing¡¯s not worth it.¡±


    ¡°She is to me,¡± Charles said, turning his gaze back to the road.


    ¡°Why would I want to do that, and how would I get back home?¡± Rono asked, gesturing with one hand while holding the reins with the other.


    ¡°You¡¯d have an answer and two working legs,¡± Charles said. ¡°For now.¡± Dreadfang bristled at the implied threat.


    Rono narrowed his eyes. ¡°How do we know you¡¯ve even seen anyone on the road?¡± he asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s the cost of doing business, Rono. Take it or leave it,¡± Charles said. He¡¯d put himself in a win-win position. He had no intention of telling them about Dylan, but either outcome would hasten their decision to move on.


    Proprioception alerted him when Dreadfang reached for the crossbow stowed on the far side of his saddle. Smart adventurers kept their abilities secret. The okamijin wasn¡¯t aware of Charles¡¯ passive ability to observe what he couldn¡¯t see.


    Dreadfang fit right in with Ebonscale, Guild of Ambition. Assertive, aggressive, and strong, his problem-solving skills involved brute force¡ªand even more brute force if it didn¡¯t work the first time.


    ¡°Or¡­¡± Dreadfang said, spurring his mount ahead. He cut off the bramble spawn, forcing them to stop. They stamped their hooves against the road in agitation. If they had vocal cords¡ªor even throats¡ªthey might¡¯ve barked in objection. ¡°You could answer the question, and we could let you live. A fair exchange in my eyes.¡± He bared his teeth in a menacing smile.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡®Brave and stupid go hand in hand,¡¯ Charles thought.


    ¡°I¡¯ve already paid for my life,¡± Charles said. He paused for a moment, turning to look at Rono and then at Dreadfang. ¡°And I assure you¡ªyou don¡¯t have enough to take it back.¡±


    A low growl rumbled from the back of Dreadfang¡¯s throat. Many of his ex-guildmates were like him, misunderstanding the guild motto: ¡°Power above all else.¡± Ebonscale was the Guild of Ambition, but strength wasn¡¯t the only way to gain power¡ªit wasn¡¯t even the optimal way.


    Those with cunning allowed the brutes to believe they were in charge. Dreadfang, like his peers, would bully and strong-arm his way through life. They also believed crafters were inferior to other archetypes, and Charles didn¡¯t make a habit of correcting false assumptions about him.


    Charles had learned that knowledge, not strength, was the key to power. It never made sense to him why someone like Dreadfang would willingly give up information about themselves. Unfortunately, his own archetype was obvious¡ªhe would¡¯ve preferred a less popular variant. Each archetype had a predictable pattern of unlocked abilities.


    Dreadfang waxed on about how he used his abilities to win battles, as if no one would appreciate his prowess unless they completely understood why he¡¯d won. Charles knew each of the okamijin¡¯s orbs and most of his powerset. He¡¯d already planned the most efficient way to dispatch the large, furry man should the scenario present itself.


    Dreadfang had already lost his patience, making an obvious threat, but Charles was more curious about how Rono would react. He crossed his arms, leaned back, and glanced over at Rono, waiting for his reaction.


    ¡®There it is,¡¯ Charles thought, as Rono¡¯s pupils expanded¡ªexactly what he was looking for. Rono was remembering the last and only time they teamed up for a contract that had gone sideways.


    It had been a disaster from the start. The scope alone should¡¯ve upped it to uncommon rank, but the system wasn¡¯t perfect, and sometimes contracts got misranked. Most adventurers didn¡¯t complain, though, because the rewards always adjusted in their favor.


    If they took a contract ranked too high, they earned an easy lootbox. If they grabbed a contract ranked too low, the lootbox rank adjusted¡ªassuming they didn¡¯t die. He still thought it unprofessional for the most powerful entity in the entire universe, perhaps even the multiverse, to have such clerical errors.


    The League of Adventurers¡¯ official stance was to deny all contract requests directly affecting local political conflicts, as they aimed to maintain neutrality in non-galactic wars. However, the contract Rono and Charles had joined used a loophole, allowing the League of Adventurers to provide medical aid regardless of the circumstances.


    It was a medical group contract to transport supplies to the backlines of an off-world war, requiring two teams: an escort team and a carrier team. The escorts took Rono, and the carriers took Charles, their only requirement being at least one storage ability. The bigoted elf probably joined for the easy lootbox. It was supposed to be a milk run; only suicidal morons would attack a League of Adventurers medical team. Charles had joined because it was a chance to get off-world and away from Ebonscale for an extended period.


    The contract never made it off-world, ambushed by a third party paid to disrupt resupply to the backlines. They neglected to check the type of supplies or the group sent to deliver them¡ªwhich was exactly what their employers counted on. The war came to a swift end days later, after the altercation forced the League of Adventurers to intervene.


    During the conflict with the mercenaries, Rono saw what Charles was capable of¡ªoutpacing every escort member in kills¡ªand he wanted nothing to do with that.


    ¡°Come now, there¡¯s no need for violence,¡± Rono said, attempting to de-escalate.


    Upset, Dreadfang growled, ¡°You do not speak for me!¡±


    Charles kept track of the okamijin¡¯s hand and crossbow¡ªthey hadn¡¯t moved. Until they did, he was content to let it all play out.


    ¡°Someone set the stronghold aflame, assassinated the Old Elf, and gutted some of my guildmates. One of them was my mate,¡± Dreadfang growled.


    ¡®T¡¯lanza was a decent striker,¡¯ Charles thought, ¡®but unstable and easily provoked.¡¯


    ¡°And I have a mighty need for violence,¡± Dreadfang said, seething.


    ¡°This conversation just got interesting,¡± Charles said. Most people would¡¯ve said ¡®sorry for your loss,¡¯ but Charles wasn¡¯t like most people, and he wasn¡¯t sorry. He also didn¡¯t waste energy on saying things he didn¡¯t mean.


    Charles integrated the latest information: Within walking distance, multiple casualties, the bloodstains; it¡¯s plausible Dylan was there during the attack on Ebonscale, but what role did he play?


    He¡¯d never bothered with fantasies of revenge on Ebonscale. No sane individual would dare make an enemy of them¡ªa multi-chapter guild scattered across three planets (that he was aware of), with immense resources and untold connections. It was curious they were asking about just one person. That kind of damage would require a team of adventurers, at least. His ¡®guest¡¯ continued to grow more fascinating with each passing moment.


    ¡®How¡¯d they do it?¡¯ Charles wondered. ¡®I would have chosen the Alchemy wing.¡¯


    First, it was structurally vulnerable. Bo¡¯cefus, the guild architect, had chosen form over function. The last remaining original structure of the stronghold, he refused to renovate or magically reinforce it out of nostalgia. Second, it lacked security. Their version of ventilation involved propping the doors open. Finally, it provided multiple accelerants. Ease of access superseded proper chemical storage procedures, meaning they kept violently reactive elements far too close.


    Honestly, he could easily envision one of the unsupervised initiates accidentally causing an explosion that took out the entire wing, the adjacent dorm, and the Old Elf during his nightly stroll around the campus¡ªall in one terrible, yet entirely avoidable, accident. The only proper question was: why didn¡¯t it happen sooner?


    ¡°Shut your muzzle,¡± Rono said.


    ¡°Infernal Mother, Rono, before the day¡¯s done, everyone will know about the attack. There¡¯s no point in trying to keep it a secret,¡± Dreadfang said.


    ¡°Who was the target?¡± Charles asked, seizing the opportunity to gather more information while widening the gap between the guildmates.


    ¡°You tell me,¡± Dreadfang said, inching his hand toward the crossbow. ¡°It¡¯s no secret you hated us. I¡¯d bet my gems you¡¯ve been planning this since you left.¡±


    Charles shook his head. ¡°Couldn¡¯t have been me,¡± he said.


    ¡°There¡¯s an attack on the stronghold the same night you¡¯re passing by. I count motive and opportunity,¡± Dreadfang said. He held the crossbow in his hand, ready to draw it in a fraction of a second. But Charles knew that aiming with his non-dominant hand would buy him enough time to react. So, he continued to play along.


    ¡°He¡¯s got the means, too,¡± Rono added, trying to drop a hint to Dreadfang.


    ¡°So why not?¡± Dreadfang asked.


    ¡°Too messy,¡± Charles said. ¡°If the Old Elf was my target, he¡¯d be the only one dead. If the entire stronghold was my aim, everyone would be dead, and we wouldn¡¯t be having this conversation.¡± He let the implication sink in. Dreadfang huffed in annoyance.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Dreadfang grumbled. ¡°He¡¯s just wasting our time.¡± He spurred his mount ahead, resuming the search for T¡¯lanza¡¯s killer.


    Rono breathed a sigh of relief and gave Charles a curt nod. Vera, however, refused Rono¡¯s order to head out, not ready to leave Charles yet.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, stupid reptile,¡± Rono said, yanking hard on the reins. Vera hissed but complied. Charles wondered how long it would take for Vera to enact her revenge. No one got away with handling her like that.


    Charles waited until he was sure they hadn¡¯t doubled back on him. Not that he thought they were clever enough to think of it¡ªbut it was what he¡¯d have done. He knew Dylan had heard the entire conversation. One feature he appreciated when staying inside the cabin was the ability to hear everything happening around the arborhearth.


    Forty-five minutes later¡­


    ¡°They¡¯re gone,¡± Charles said. ¡°We¡¯re heading to Dartmouth, but it¡¯s still a couple of days out. They¡¯ll have the ointment you need. Get some rest.¡±


    He opted to keep the next thought to himself: ¡®When you wake, you¡¯ve got questions to answer.¡¯

 Chapter 11 - The Darkness Never Bothered Me Anyway

    (Charles)


    Twelve hours later¡­


    Charles had plotted several ways to handle the strange man, all simple but, unfortunately, lethal. Lacking the information needed for a non-lethal approach, he made do with what he had, as always.


    Most people talked when sharing a meal; one reason he avoided eating with others. Forced social interactions were an inconvenience most of the time, but he¡¯d make an exception if he benefited. Relying on the lengthy nighttime walk and daytime rest to stimulate the man¡¯s appetite, he would use the opportunity to get answers and adapt accordingly.


    He remained cautious on the road, keeping enough distance between himself and the Ebonscale riders to ensure they stayed ahead. Running into them again in Dartmouth was still a risk, but by then, he intended to have more information¡ªand a plan.


    No other travelers had crossed his path today, which suited him perfectly. Arriving after the festivals and before the harvest meant avoiding the usual crowds¡ªjust as planned. With only one more turn of the clock before darkness fell, the chances of encountering anyone else were slim.


    Few dared to travel after dark, but Charles was an exception. Darkness never troubled him; with Proprioception, he could sense his surroundings as clearly with or without daylight. The bramble spawn, like him, thrived in the night.


    For another quarter turn of the clock, Charles immersed himself in the sounds of the wilderness. Tiny, feathered raptors exchanged sharp chirps and whistles, their calls a lonely bid for partnership. From somewhere near, a chorus of croaks rose up, likely from a pond. But it was the rhythmic trill of insects¡ªsyncing perfectly with the temperature drop¡ªthat most captured his attention.


    Charles guided the arborhearth off to the side of the road. As the bramble spawn sensed the creeping darkness, their hooves responded by sprouting roots that burrowed deep into the bare ground, securing them in place.


    He mentally unlocked the cabin door before hopping down from the driver¡¯s box and walking to the right side of the carriage. Pulling open the oval door, he stepped into the pitch-black cabin¡ªa natural effect of all dark magic abilities. It never bothered him; Proprioception allowed him to navigate as easily as sight would.


    The cabin''s layout currently featured a hallway dividing two rooms¡ªone for storage and the other serving as both his bedroom and workshop. He could change the layout whenever needed, though with only a quarter of the storage room filled, he saw no reason to separate his sleeping quarters from his workspace.


    If he ever needed more storage, a simple mental command would shift the walls, rooms, and all their contents to make space. The cabin¡¯s interior was finite, though; expanding one area always required shrinking another.


    Charles stood in the bedroom doorway. He frowned, sensing that Dylan lay sprawled on the floor, just an arm¡¯s length away from the bed. He¡¯d missed it entirely, sleeping soundly in his boots and all his clothes, utterly unaware of the discomfort.


    ¡°Dylan,¡± Charles called out. He waited a beat, but the man only snored in response, completely oblivious.


    ¡°Dylan,¡± he called again, but still got no response. Charles sighed, taking a deep breath before finally shouting, ¡°Dylan!¡±


    Dylan¡¯s head jerked up, his sudden gasp cutting off his snores.


    ¡°Present,¡± Dylan muttered, his voice thick with confusion. He sat up abruptly, wiping a hand down his face before stretching, arms thrown high above his head. Both elbows cracked loudly. ¡°Sorry,¡± he added with a groggy chuckle. ¡°Had that high school dream again.¡±


    Charles watched as Dylan¡¯s head swiveled in the dark, clearly disoriented and searching for some sense of direction.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t find any lights,¡± Dylan grumbled, rubbing his eyes with both hands.


    ¡°There aren¡¯t any,¡± Charles said, flat as ever.


    Dylan turned toward Charles¡¯ voice; his confusion evident. ¡°How do you see in here?¡±


    ¡°I manage,¡± Charles replied coolly, not feeling the need to explain further.


    Dylan blinked rapidly, clearly struggling to adjust to the pitch-black cabin. ¡°Is it safe now?¡± he asked, his voice uncertain.


    ¡°Safe enough,¡± Charles replied curtly, before switching topics. ¡°Are you hungry?¡± His curiosity about Dylan¡¯s adventure simmered beneath the surface, but he knew better than to push too soon.


    ¡°I¡¯m starving,¡± Dylan said, as if on cue, his stomach growling loudly in agreement.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± Charles hesitated, wondering if starving meant something different where Dylan came from. ¡°Highly unlikely.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fair,¡± Dylan said, placing a hand on his stomach and sighing dejectedly. He then began the awkward process of trying to push himself off the floor.


    ¡°Do you need help?¡± Charles asked, though he already suspected the answer.


    ¡°Probably. Can you give me a hand?¡± Dylan asked, reaching up like a child. Charles pulled him to his feet but paused when Dylan didn¡¯t let go. After a brief, awkward moment, Dylan whispered, still holding onto Charles¡¯ hand, ¡°Which way is the door?¡±


    ¡®He¡¯s blind in the dark,¡¯ Charles noted, ¡®That¡¯s... unfortunate.¡¯ Having lived with Proprioception for decades, he had forgotten how helpless others were without it. With a firm grip, he led Dylan out of the bedroom, down the hall, and through the oval door.


    ¡®I¡¯ll need to get a portable light source,¡¯ Charles mused. He¡¯d never needed one before, but circumstances had changed. Dartmouth would have something. He disliked being unprepared even more than he disliked having guests.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡°Sacred excrement,¡± Dylan muttered, craning his neck as he stepped through the door. He blinked in awe. ¡°I thought it was part of the dream¡­ You¡¯ve got a constable box¡ªit¡¯s actually bigger on the inside!"


    It was obvious this was Dylan¡¯s first time encountering an arborhearth. Charles couldn¡¯t help but feel a faint, fleeting satisfaction at the man¡¯s awe.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a municipality vehicle; it¡¯s an arborhearth,¡± Charles corrected, though he didn¡¯t blame Dylan for his ignorance¡ªarborhearths were exceptionally rare.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Dylan said, pausing to process. ¡°Did you say this is a treehouse?¡± His eyes darted between the exterior shell and the hallway inside, as if struggling to reconcile the two.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not a treehouse,¡± Charles repeated with patience. ¡°It¡¯s an arborhearth.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I said,¡± Dylan insisted, his brow furrowing in confusion. Then he paused, suddenly realizing something. ¡°Hey, you never told me your name.¡± He pointed at Charles, as if just remembering.


    That was intentional, of course. Charles saw the value in being cordial with Dylan¡ªthere was plenty of information he needed from the man. In his experience, freely given information tended to be far more accurate. Interrogation and force too often led to skewed facts, with people telling him only what they thought he wanted to hear. Still, there were times when properly applied persuasion had its uses.


    ¡°My name is Charles,¡± he said simply, offering nothing more.


    ¡°Pleasure to meet you, Charles,¡± Dylan said with an enticing smile, stepping closer and extending his hand for Charles to take.


    Charles stared at the offered proposal. Unsure what to do, his mind briefly scrambling to determine the proper response. He settled on a polite, ¡°No thank you.¡±


    ¡®We just met¡­¡¯ Charles was perplexed by Dylan¡¯s abrupt forwardness.


    Charles prided himself on being a meticulous planner, but even he hadn¡¯t accounted for the possibility of being hit on. Dylan¡¯s sudden shift from formal to familiar, combined with his unexpected confidence, unsettled him. Not to mention, the elven form wasn¡¯t to his taste¡ªhe found the draconi far more intriguing.


    ¡°Okay¡­¡± Dylan awkwardly pulled his hand back after a brief, uncomfortable pause. He glanced down at his hand, unsure what to do with it now.


    Thinking of his kettle, False Emperor¡¯s teapot, two mugs, and two servings of flak, Charles swung open the cabinet. Everything rested neatly on the bottom shelf, just as he¡¯d expected. He retrieved the items and set them on top of the closed chest lid, just below.


    After closing the cabinet, Charles pictured his box of peppermint tea¡ªhis favorite¡ªand the small vial of clear liquid he¡¯d picked up long ago. He reopened the cabinet, and both items appeared on the bottom shelf.


    Charles set the box of peppermint tea beside the tea set and opened the tin. The copper infuser lay inside, exactly where it should be. With practiced precision, he filled the infuser and draped it into the teapot.


    ¡°Gather some wood for a campfire,¡± Charles ordered, glancing at Dylan. ¡°And stop scratching¡ªit only makes it worse.


    Dylan stopped scratching and instead rubbed his palms up and down his thighs, trying to soothe the irritation.


    ¡°I uh¡­¡± Dylan hesitated, standing up slowly and glancing around. ¡°Yeah, okay. Sticks. I¡¯ll find some sticks.¡±


    Dylan spun around and headed off, picking a random direction. Charles listened as he tromped through the dry underbrush, snapping sticks underfoot with every clumsy step.


    ¡®Easily distracted,¡¯ Charles noted, watching Dylan disappear into the underbrush. Once he was alone, Charles turned his attention to the task at hand. He poured the vial into the lower chamber of the teapot, then positioned the kettle under the arborhearth¡¯s spigot and filled it with fresh water. The bramble spawn¡¯s roots ensured the reservoir was always full.


    Charles retrieved two short stools. Though rough and unfinished, they were sturdy¡ªproducts of his own hands, fashioned during his attempts at carpentry. Lacking the skills to craft a folding table himself, he set up the store-bought one beside the stools.


    Dylan came back, lugging a single freshly fallen log. It was damp, oversized, and completely unsuitable for the small campfire Charles had in mind.


    ¡°Where do you want it?¡± Dylan asked earnestly, holding the log as if he hadn¡¯t realized its absurdity. Charles knew it wasn¡¯t a prank¡ªDylan looked far too proud for that.


    ¡®Utterly helpless,¡¯ Charles thought with a silent sigh.


    ¡°Put that back,¡± Charles instructed firmly. ¡°I¡¯ll handle the fire.¡±


    Dylan deflated visibly, tossing the log behind him with a heavy thump. Meanwhile, Charles crouched low, gathering an armful of the small, dry sticks scattered around them.


    ¡®Techtropolian?¡¯ Charles mused as he arranged the sticks. ¡®Plausible. But any local would know how to build a basic campfire and take care of themselves when traveling between towns.¡¯ Off-worlder seemed more likely.


    Charles tried to imagine a world without normal towns¡ªa planet overrun by industry, markets, and automation, where basic survival skills were unnecessary. It sounded like a horrible, unsustainable place to him.


    ¡°Ever had flak before?¡± Charles asked, fully aware it was unlikely. He wasn¡¯t one for small talk, but he made the effort, however clumsy it felt.


    Focusing on the center of the stacked sticks, Charles swallowed, loosening the iron grip he usually kept on his emotions. He unlocked the cage around his heart and allowed himself to mentally step back into his time at Ebonscale. Those memories were locked away for a reason, only released when they served him¡ªand only for a short time. It was easy for the anger, pain of betrayal, or even guilt to overwhelm him.


    Rage flared within him, quickly escaping his control. Wisps of smoke appeared first, followed by a sudden burst of flame that consumed the tinder in an instant. The sticks ignited just as Charles regained control, locking the fire¡ªand his emotions¡ªback into place. The flames settled into a steady dance as he cut off their fuel.


    To Dylan, the pile of sticks had spontaneously erupted into flames, causing him to stumble back in surprise.


    ¡°Sacred excrement!¡± Dylan exclaimed, pointing to the fire. ¡°Did you see that?¡±


    Charles¡¯ [Hot-blooded] was the passive from his Fire framework; mundane fire reacted to his emotions¡ª it also provided a minor resistance to fire. Initially, he¡¯d worried that candles and campfires might expose him, but over time, he learned to control his emotions. Now, Hot-blooded had become a tool, and tools were always useful.


    Charles ignored Dylan¡¯s outburst, quietly driving the pot hanger into the ground beside the fire. With practiced ease, he twisted the arm so the hook hovered over the flames and hung the kettle on it. Settling onto his stool, he watched the fire¡¯s gentle flicker against the bottom of the metal pot.


    Dylan¡¯s gaze shifted to the square loaves wrapped in white kraft paper on the table. ¡°Is that flak?¡± he asked, his curiosity piqued.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Never heard of it,¡± Dylan admitted with a shrug. ¡°But I¡¯m hungry enough to eat a horse.¡±


    Charles wasn¡¯t sure what a horse was, but that didn¡¯t matter¡ªflak was all he had, and in his mind, it was superior to all other food. Magically infused, it fulfilled every dietary requirement and was universally digestible by all races, transmuting calories into the precise nutrients each body needed.


    Flak could be eaten alone or alongside other food, supplementing any deficiencies and burning off excess. But Charles found it hard to understand the need for inferior, unnecessary meals. The idea of stopping to eat multiple times a day seemed inefficient¡ªa single serving of flak sustained him until the next day.


    Charles found it unbelievable how much time people wasted on food¡ªpreparing meals, setting the table, eating, and then washing up¡ªonly to repeat the whole process a few hours later.


    Though flak required a kitchen for preparation, Charles had his own mana-sieve¡ªthe only non-standard tool he needed. A couple of days spent making a large batch would last him for years, a perfectly efficient system.


    Flak was the only remnant of Charles¡¯ family¡ªa recipe passed down and the sole thing he was allowed to keep from before his time at Ebonscale. Though the scrap of paper was tattered and incomplete, he¡¯d managed to piece together enough of the recipe to bake flak for himself, preserving that small part of his past.

 Chapter 12 - What in the Flak?

    (Charles)


    ¡°It¡¯s safe to eat,¡± Charles assured him.


    Dylan frowned, examining the loaf. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t all food be safe?¡± he asked, looking up at Charles.


    Charles nodded, agreeing that all food should be more like flak. ¡°So, what happened to you last night?¡± Small talk was getting him nowhere, so he shifted to a more direct approach.


    Dylan paused, the flak hovering just inches from his mouth. ¡°There¡¯s a lot I don¡¯t understand,¡± he admitted.


    Charles waited patiently, his expression unchanged as Dylan struggled for words.


    ¡°You probably wouldn¡¯t believe me, anyway.¡± Dylan held the partially unwrapped flak in his lap, his fingers fidgeting with the edges of the kraft paper.


    ¡°Try me,¡± Charles said, calmly unwrapping his flak. He crumpled the kraft paper and fed it to the fire, which crackled contentedly in response.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know where to start,¡± Dylan admitted, his gaze dropping to the fire as if searching for answers.


    ¡°Usually, at the beginning,¡± Charles suggested. Dylan chuckled but still hesitated. Sensing the need for a different approach, Charles added, ¡°Let¡¯s retrace your steps. What happened before I found you on the side of the road?¡±


    Charles took a slow bite of flak, quietly passing the conversation to Dylan. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the evening chorus of critters began their song. Charles listened, savoring the brief notes of each creature while he waited.


    Dylan¡¯s eyes darted around, searching desperately for anything familiar. He glanced up at the forming stars, then leaned closer to Charles. Scratching absently at his pants, he lowered his voice and asked, ¡°Are we still on Dirt?¡±


    Charles found the question odd and resisted the urge to remind Dylan not to scratch his rash. As he looked him over for any missed injuries, Charles noticed the cuts and abrasions on Dylan¡¯s face. He briefly wondered if the man had a concussion¡ªa simple diagnosis for a mender, but Charles was an Outfitter, not a Physician.


    ¡®Is he being literal or figurative?¡¯ Charles wondered. There were plenty of abilities that allowed adventurers to fly. ¡®Does he mean agriculture? Or the surface of the road?¡¯ He finished chewing his mouthful of flak and swallowed, still mulling over the possibilities.


    Charles glanced down at the ground, frowning slightly. After a moment¡¯s consideration, he hazarded a guess. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s soil underneath us.¡±


    ¡°No, not soil. Dirt! Are we still on planet Dirt?¡± Dylan¡¯s voice grew more insistent, his confusion plain.


    Charles studied Dylan¡¯s earnest expression and quickly realized the chubby man wasn¡¯t setting him up for a joke.


    ¡®Mistranslation? Surely, no one names their world Dirt,¡¯ Charles mused, but the memory of okamijin naming rituals made him sigh. He still suspected a malfunction with the ring, and it was clear Dylan wasn¡¯t from Xel¡¯oria. Yet, the idea that someone could travel to another world unknowingly seemed absurd. Every answer only added more questions to this ever-growing puzzle.


    ¡°No, we¡¯re on Xel¡¯oria,¡± Charles replied, gesturing around them as if it were obvious. Dylan¡¯s brow creased as he processed the information, while Charles calmly took another bite of flak.


    ¡°I knew it!¡± Dylan exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He began pacing in a circle, his thoughts spilling out as he spoke aloud.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been isekaied,¡± Dylan declared, as though it explained everything. ¡°I mean, it should¡¯ve been obvious with the whole ¡®magic isn¡¯t real¡¯ thing¡ªbut here, magic is definitely real.¡±


    ¡°At first, I thought I was dying, like, my brain made up this whole place to distract me. But then I did die, and that wasn¡¯t the end. So, obviously, I was wrong because you can¡¯t die and still be dying¡ªthat¡¯s gotta be a double negative or something, right?¡± Dylan glanced at Charles, seeking confirmation.


    Charles swallowed hard, caught off guard by the revelation. ¡°You died?¡± he asked, his voice carefully measured.


    Dylan resumed pacing, launching back into his monologue as if he hadn¡¯t just dropped a nova.


    ¡°And magic hurts, by the way¡ªa lot,¡± Dylan added casually. ¡°I knew something was off, but I couldn¡¯t tell if it was like Dungeon Delver Daryl, where aliens repossessed his world over unpaid parking tickets from the rovers they left on Mars.


    ¡°Then they turned his whole world into one giant dungeon for an intergalactic reality show. He got to run around with his pet cocker spaniel, Prince Biscuit¡ªwho could talk, by the way. He gave the dog a magical donut that was ¡®safe¡¯ for pets.


    ¡°They put Daryl through some pretty messed up stuff. Made him mad¡ªbig mad,¡± Dylan said, inhaling sharply before jumping back into his monologue.


    Charles listened quietly, understanding the words but not the context. Dylan had either ignored or missed his earlier request for clarification, so Charles simply took another bite of flak and let him continue.


    ¡°Or maybe it¡¯s more like She Who Fucks with Demons¡ª¡± Dylan paused, correcting himself. ¡°Wait, no, that was the fanfic.¡±


    ¡°I mean She Who Fights with Demons¡ªwhere a woman gets teleported to another world, gains overpowered magic abilities, and uses snark, trauma, and dated cultural references to defeat demons, gods, and rich people.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°It¡¯s an aptly named series, really¡ªbecause it¡¯s not just the physical demons trying to kill her. It¡¯s also about the metaphorical demons of society, capitalism, religion, and, again, rich people.


    ¡°And then there¡¯s the deeper layer of her inner demons¡ªstruggling with self-doubt and guilt over the terrible things she did to survive. Plus, she dies a lot¡ªit¡¯s kind of her thing,¡± Dylan added with a shrug.


    Dylan paused, his gaze drifting upward as he stared unfocused into the distance.


    ¡°Infernal Mother... I was hoping for the dog, but I¡¯m already two deaths in,¡± Dylan muttered, sitting back down with a sigh.


    Dylan finally noticed Charles eating without him. He picked up his flak again, pausing just before taking a bite. ¡°At least she gets to travel the world and sample delicious local delicacies. I wish I knew how to cook...¡±


    ¡®He¡¯s died twice?¡¯ Charles thought, barely concealing his shock.


    ¡°What¡¯s it supposed to taste like?¡± Dylan asked, holding the loaf up for inspection. He frowned. ¡°Is it supposed to be that color?¡±


    The flak was its usual dusty blue¡ªjust as it always appeared when Charles made it. Nearby, the kettle had shifted from reflective steel to a deep, opaque jade, signaling the water was hot enough. Charles preferred this subtle transition over the whistling of mundane kettles, even if it required sight to notice. It was a worthwhile compromise.


    Charles took a moment, examining Dylan¡¯s reaction before responding. ¡°It doesn¡¯t have a taste, and the color¡¯s fine,¡± he replied evenly.


    Charles mentally sifted through the information Dylan had dumped on him. Without a second thought, he removed the hot kettle with his bare hands¡ªthanks to his passive ability, it wasn¡¯t too hot to handle. The teapot sat ready on the table, and with a soft jingle, he draped the tea infuser along its side to steep.


    For a brief moment, Charles considered the possibility: ¡®Is Dylan a secret agent, toying with me?¡¯


    A Warden would be a highly ranked adventurer¡ªspecialized and more than capable of such skilled deception. Feigning ineptitude and crafting doublespeak would be second nature for someone like that. It would also explain how Dylan could have infiltrated, terrorized, and escaped from a guild stronghold¡ªall without a team.


    Dylan was a living conundrum. He was either the most dangerous individual Charles had ever encountered¡ªor the least.


    Then came the gagging noises. Charles watched as Dylan spat out a wad of flak, which fell to the ground in scattered chunks. Grimacing, Dylan stuck out his tongue and wiped it with his cloak.


    ¡®That¡¯s unfortunate,¡¯ Charles thought with a sigh. He¡¯d had his doubts, but now it was clear¡ªDylan wasn¡¯t a spy, just an idiot.


    Dylan¡¯s face twisted with disgust and betrayal as he glared at Charles. ¡°You said it doesn¡¯t have a taste,¡± he accused, his body convulsing as he fought back another gag. ¡°I think it¡¯s gone off.¡±


    Dylan placed the rest of his loaf on the table with a grimace. Charles calmly picked it up and gave it a sniff. As expected, there was nothing wrong with Dylan¡¯s loaf. Flak, being magical, would take years to lose even a fraction of its potency.


    Dylan pointed accusingly at the loaf in Charles¡¯ hand. ¡°That,¡± he declared with emphasis, ¡°tastes like ass.¡±


    Charles extended his hand, glancing down at his translation ring with a frown. Was it malfunctioning? He didn¡¯t think magical items could be defective, but this was starting to make him wonder.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure my ring¡¯s working properly,¡± Charles said slowly, still staring at the loaf. ¡°What did you just say?¡±


    Dylan wiped his mouth and grimaced. ¡°That was horrible. It tastes like ass.¡±


    Charles raised an eyebrow. ¡°Is that a common flavor where you come from?¡±


    ¡°What? No! Well¡­¡± Dylan hesitated, considering. ¡°I guess some people are into that.¡± He gestured toward the flak. ¡°But I meant this¡ªit tastes like stale cardboard wrapped in seaweed. Way too salty.¡± He shivered involuntarily as he said it.


    Charles sighed inwardly. ¡°It¡¯s all I have,¡± he replied calmly. ¡°But I assure you, it is safe to eat.¡±


    Charles took another deliberate bite, making his point. He watched as Dylan stared down at the partially wrapped loaf, clearly debating whether to try again. When his stomach growled, Dylan finally gave in and took the loaf back, albeit reluctantly.


    With the tea finished steeping, Charles removed the infuser and emptied it over the fire, hanging it on the hook to dry. He preferred to savor his tea after meals, enjoying each flavor separately. Mixing them together ruined the experience. He only hoped the peppermint would help Dylan¡¯s sensitive palate endure the meal.


    ¡°Tea is ready.¡± Charles gestured to the teapot. ¡°Would you like some?¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± Dylan said quickly, immediately grabbing a mug and holding it out. Charles picked up the teapot, carefully using both hands as he poured for them both. He saw no need to engage the second chamber just yet.


    ¡°Did you really name your world Dirt?¡± Charles asked, resting his mug on the table as he picked up the last bit of his meal. The name intrigued him¡ªit was so literal. Every world he knew had symbolic or grand names, like Xel¡¯oria, meaning Mother of Dragons¡ªthe origin world of the draconi.


    ¡°Hold up,¡± Dylan grimaced as he took another bite, continuing to talk through his chewing. ¡°First, I didn¡¯t name Dirt¡ªit was like that when I got there.¡± He washed down the bite with half his mug before adding, ¡°And second, it¡¯s not dirt. It¡¯s Dirt.¡±


    Dylan began to spell out the name of his world, but Charles raised a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence.


    ¡°Don¡¯t spell,¡± Charles said. ¡®He really doesn¡¯t know how the rings work,¡¯ he thought with mild exasperation. The magic of translation relied on context¡ªtranslating letter by letter wouldn¡¯t yield the same words in different languages.


    ¡®What kind of world doesn¡¯t know about magic? And how do they keep it a secret? How does he even communicate with others on Dirt? Do they all speak the same language?¡¯ More questions piled up in Charles¡¯ mind.


    ¡°Translation doesn¡¯t work with individual letters,¡± Charles explained patiently. ¡°It requires complete words.¡±


    ¡°Oh, okay,¡± Dylan replied. ¡°It¡¯s just... you keep saying ¡®dirt,¡¯ and that¡¯s not how it¡¯s pronounced.¡±


    Charles raised a hand, pointing to the translation ring. ¡°This ring magically translates spoken words so you can understand them.¡± He pressed his lips together, considering how best to explain it in a way even Dylan could grasp. Patience was key.


    ¡°Languages don¡¯t share the same words or expressions,¡± Charles explained. ¡°The ring uses context, extrapolates the meaning, and picks something close. Does that make sense?¡±


    ¡°I think so,¡± Dylan replied hesitantly, nodding as if trying to convince himself.


    Charles paused for a moment before responding. ¡°It¡¯s just a minor mistranslation,¡± he lied smoothly. ¡°Nothing to worry about.¡±


    Charles didn¡¯t want to worry Dylan¡ªor worse, distract him from answering important questions. Besides, most intergalactic incidents involved far more complex issues than simple word substitutions. Honestly, with a bit of cultural awareness and patience, they might never have happened at all.


    ¡°What happened before I found you hiding in the vermillion ivy?¡± Charles asked, calmly steering the conversation back on track.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t hiding¡­¡± Dylan crossed his arms. Charles finished the last bite of his meal, waiting patiently for a better explanation.


    ¡°Okay, maybe I was hiding,¡± Dylan admitted with a huff. ¡°But if you were being chased, forced to walk all night in tiny boots, without pants, in the dark¡ªyou¡¯d hide too.¡±


    Charles disagreed entirely. ¡®I¡¯d fight back. I always wear proper attire, and I certainly don¡¯t fear the dark.¡¯

 Chapter 13 - Murdered Twice and Still Kickin

    (Charles)


    None of this was new to Charles. He¡¯d already pieced it together during his conversation with Rono and Dreadfang. He could tell Dylan was fishing for sympathy¡ªsomething Charles would have to attempt, despite his discomfort with showing it.


    Charles hesitated, searching for the right word. ¡°That sounds... inconvenient.¡± Dylan¡¯s questioning look told him he hadn¡¯t quite nailed it. ¡°And what happened before all of that?¡± Despite his lack of social grace, Charles pressed on, determined to keep the conversation going.


    ¡°We climbed to the top of the tallest building and jumped off,¡± Dylan said, making an exaggerated diving motion with his hand.


    ¡°We?¡± Charles raised an eyebrow. ¡®That¡¯s new.¡¯


    ¡°Yeah, wannabe Christian Bale lied to me. He mated off to Mother knows where, and I ended up in the lake,¡± Dylan explained. Charles took a deliberate sip of his tea, resisting the urge to interrupt. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to fly this thing,¡± Dylan added, tugging at the corner of his cloak. ¡°So, I overshot the road¡ªby a lot.¡±


    ¡°Probably for the best,¡± Charles muttered, unable to hold back.


    ¡°Why?¡± Dylan asked, his curiosity piqued once again.


    Charles knew gliding enchantments worked by converting vertical speed into horizontal, slowing the fall while increasing glide speed. It wasn¡¯t a full conversion, but enough to reach impressive speeds quickly. He considered explaining, but keeping Dylan on track was harder than managing a theropod pup.


    After a moment of careful consideration, Charles replied, ¡°Hitting a lake is much safer than hitting the ground.¡±


    Charles had only suspected it before, but Dylan¡¯s description confirmed it¡ªhe¡¯d been at the Ebonscale stronghold. It was the only logical explanation; beyond the winding road and the guild stronghold, there was nothing but wilderness for miles.


    Willing to risk another tangent for the sake of clarity, Charles asked, ¡°Before jumping off the building, were you at the Ebonscale stronghold?¡±


    Dylan shrugged nonchalantly. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Do they have a lot of paintings of a perpetually pissed-off princess?¡±


    ¡®Guildmaster Maeve.¡¯ Charles recognized her immediately. As the campfire waned, reacting to his aversion, its embers cooled. He noticed the fire dying and swiftly checked his emotions. Then the fire flared back to life. He folded a couple of nearby sticks and fed them to the flames; the crackles and pops renewed.


    ¡°Yes, that was Ebonscale,¡± Charles confirmed. Judging by Dylan¡¯s flippant description, he truly had no idea who Guildmaster Maeve was¡ªor what she was capable of. Everyone either respected or feared her, and those who didn¡¯t simply disappeared. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, the mention of her name made Charles shift uncomfortably in his seat.


    ¡°Why were you on the roof?¡± Charles asked, his curiosity piqued by yet another strange detail.


    ¡°We were trying to escape. There were these... terror tubes,¡± Dylan said with a shutter. ¡°Awful things.¡± Charles resisted the urge to ask for clarification, knowing better than to interrupt Dylan¡¯s erratic process. ¡°So, the guy who was helping me¡ª¡±


    ¡°Christian Bale?¡± Charles interrupted. Curiosity lingered in his voice.


    ¡°I mean, I¡¯m pretty sure it wasn¡¯t actually Christian Bale,¡± Dylan said. ¡°But yeah, that guy.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got to say, Dylan, you¡¯re quite terrible at explaining things,¡± Charles said dryly.


    Dylan frowned, his expression tinged with frustration. ¡°That happens a lot. Should I keep going?¡±


    Charles could see the aura of an onset migraine approaching. Still, he motioned for Dylan to continue.


    ¡°This guy shows up and murdered everyone,¡± Dylan muttered, his gaze fixed on his unfinished meal. Charles could see the weight pressing down on him. There was no telling how someone would react after facing death for the first time, and it was clear Dylan was still sorting that out.


    ¡°First, he took out Abs... or maybe Bronze? I¡¯m not actually sure who died first¡­¡± Dylan said, his voice trailing off. ¡°But then he fought White. White lost, and... I watched him die¡­¡± He plucked a long blade of grass, staring down at it intently as he broke it apart piece by piece, his hands moving absently while his mind wandered.


    ¡®Abs, Bronze, and White?¡¯ Charles mused, his brow furrowing slightly. He didn¡¯t recognize any of those names. Even the okamijin didn¡¯t reduce themselves to mere pigments.


    ¡°After White was gone, I found Bronze¡¯s body in the terror tube,¡± Dylan continued, his words detached. ¡°She¡¯s the one who murdered me before.¡±


    ¡°She¡­¡± Charles paused, narrowing his eyes as he processed the statement. This time, it was Dylan¡¯s turn to wait as Charles chewed over a new concept. ¡°She murdered you?¡± he repeated slowly, testing the words out loud.


    He frowned, wondering, ¡®Another mistranslation?¡¯ Meanwhile, Dylan quietly continued picking apart another blade of grass, allowing Charles to work through his thoughts.


    ¡°But... you¡¯re alive?¡± Charles pointed out, still trying to reconcile the contradiction.


    ¡°Yep,¡± Dylan nodded at the conundrum.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure you understand how murder works¡­¡± Charles said dryly.


    ¡°I told you¡ªit doesn¡¯t make much sense.¡± Dylan sighed, tossing the blade of grass into the fire before glancing away.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Charles said calmly, raising his hands to keep Dylan engaged. ¡°What happened when she killed you?¡±This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Dylan turned back to him. ¡°Which time?¡±


    Charles let out a small chuckle at the absurdity of it all but quickly stifled it, not wanting Dylan to think he didn¡¯t believe him. ¡°How many times have you died?¡± he asked.


    Dylan held up two fingers. ¡°Twice.¡±


    ¡°So, you got your revenge,¡± Charles said thoughtfully, his mind working through the implications.


    ¡°Nope. I¡¯m pretty sure that guy killed her.¡±


    ¡°Christian Bale?¡± Charles asked again. Dylan couldn¡¯t help but laugh, the sound of it lightening the mood.


    ¡°Technically, he never told me his name. So, sure, for all we know, he could¡¯ve been a Christian Bale,¡± Dylan quipped, eyeing the flak warily before finally working up the courage to take another bite.


    ¡°You¡¯re difficult to follow,¡± Charles said, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. ¡°Your descriptions are vague, and you constantly swap details with varying colloquialisms¡ªinvalidating context and making you nearly impossible to understand.¡±


    ¡°Wow, harsh,¡± Dylan muttered before taking another bite of flak. His face contorted into expressions Charles had never seen before, each one more painful than the last.


    ¡°Apologies,¡± Charles offered. ¡°That happens a lot,¡± he admitted.


    His craftsmaster had always praised him for the efficiency and quality of his work, but his peers constantly complained about his bluntness. It frustrated him to no end. They couldn¡¯t see the direct link between efficient work and the efficiency of words.


    It took him years to realize that efficiency for the sake of efficiency didn¡¯t always produce the best results. There were other aspects to consider and integrate. This applied to life as much as it did to crafting, and though he¡¯d been trying to work on it, his interactions with Dylan made it clear there was still plenty of room for improvement.


    Dylan coughed, quickly downing the rest of his tea to help keep the flak down. After a rough swallow, he cleared his throat. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m not complaining.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not?¡± Charles asked, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Nope. You¡¯re right, and I¡¯ll try to work on that,¡± Dylan said, as he leaned forward to reach for the teapot. Charles¡¯ pulse quickened¡ªhe knew what Dylan was about to do, and panic flickered beneath his calm exterior.


    ¡®The toxin!¡¯ Charles thought. There wasn¡¯t time to stop Dylan without raising suspicion, so he took a gamble.


    ¡°Your boots!¡± Charles exclaimed, intentionally speaking with more energy than he preferred.


    Charles kept his eyes locked on Dylan¡¯s feet, praying he¡¯d take the bait. Proprioception warned him that Dylan¡¯s hand hovered dangerously close to the teapot. Then, according to plan, Dylan complied, shifting his attention to his boots.


    ¡°My boots?¡± Dylan sat up straighter, momentarily forgetting about the teapot as his focus shifted completely.


    ¡°I noticed they¡¯re a size too small.¡± Charles smoothly took advantage of the distraction. He picked up the teapot with both hands and began pouring. ¡°Would you like them resized?¡± He asked casually, filling their mugs.


    ¡°You can resize my boots?¡± Dylan asked, his curiosity piqued. ¡°Just like my pants?¡±


    ¡°Just like your pants,¡± Charles confirmed. ¡°I can resize them now; if you¡¯d like?¡±


    Charles carefully placed the teapot on the edge of the table closest to him. He¡¯d already planned on sorting out Dylan¡¯s attire after the interrogation.


    ¡°Oh Mother, yes, please,¡± Dylan said eagerly, swinging his legs over the campfire toward Charles. Thump, thump¡ªhis heels hit the ground heavily in front of Charles, his excitement palpable.


    Charles glanced down at the boots in front of him. ¡°It doesn¡¯t work if you¡¯re wearing them,¡± he pointed out, mentally noting that he¡¯d need to be more specific next time.


    ¡°Oh. Okay.¡± Dylan swung his legs back over, narrowly avoiding the fire for the second time. Instead of setting his loaf down, he jammed it into his mouth for safekeeping as he wrestled with his boots. After a series of grunts, curses, and three ¡®ow¡¯s¡¯, he finally handed them over to Charles.


    Charles watched as Dylan struggled with his sensitive palate. The chubby man removed the flak from his mouth, spitting out the taste as if he¡¯d accidentally gotten some on his tongue.


    "I¡¯d like to hear more of your story,¡± Charles said calmly, pulling out his needle. ¡°Boots can take a while,¡± he lied.


    Charles didn¡¯t mind deception, but preferred to avoid outright lies¡ªthey only grew more complicated with time. Omission was simpler. Using Keen Eye, he gathered the proper dimensions for the boots.


    ¡®That¡¯s unfortunate,¡¯ Charles thought, inspecting Dylan¡¯s feet. They were a mess of blisters¡ªsome forming, others already broken. With barely any calluses, it was clear Dylan had pushed himself far past his limits in those undersized boots. Still, Charles knew the blisters would eventually harden into calluses, and Dylan would be better off for it.


    Charles considered his stash of emergency healing potions. One could easily take care of Dylan¡¯s blisters, abrasions, and likely concussion. But they were expensive to replace¡ªespecially when finding an alchemist who could brew them was a challenge.


    The gems weren¡¯t the issue; he could always make more. The real cost was in lost experience. Struggling, persevering, and learning¡ªthose were the opportunities Dylan needed if he was to grow. Xel¡¯oria wasn¡¯t a forgiving place. If Dylan wanted to survive, he¡¯d have to toughen up quickly.


    Charles stitched once, then paused, lifting his gaze to give Dylan his full attention.


    ¡°Uh... I was...¡± Dylan trailed off, thinking back to where he¡¯d left off.


    Without looking up, Charles said evenly, ¡°There¡¯s no rush. Take your time.¡± He said, serving as a reminder for both Dylan and himself.


    ¡°Right, so everyone had just been murdered by¡­¡± Dylan sighed. ¡°Christian Bale. They¡ªI mean, White and Abs,¡± he corrected himself, trying to stay consistent. Charles noticed and gave a small nod of appreciation.


    ¡°They took me down the terror tube to what I think was an interrogation room,¡± Dylan continued. ¡°There was a crystal ball on the table, and the whole place had this silent ¡®there are four lights¡¯ vibe.¡± He paused to take a sip of his tea.


    ¡®Terror tube?¡¯ Charles wondered, his mind working to decode Dylan¡¯s jargon. ¡®Does he mean the geolift?¡¯


    Everyone knew about the subterranean incarceration floor, accessible only by geolift. He¡¯d also heard whispers of more specialized floors beneath it, but the Old Elf¡¯s policies kept such information strictly on a need-to-know basis. Charles was perfectly content with his lack of clearance for anything below incarceration.


    ¡°I think they were trying the good constable, bad constable routine. Only, it was more like bad constable, silent constable¡ªand I couldn¡¯t understand them. This was before I had¡ª¡± Dylan smacked his palm against his forehead, cutting himself off. ¡°Sacred excrement, they were trying to give me a translation ring¡­¡±


    He leaned back, staring at Charles as the realization fully sank in. He shook his head, then took another bite of flak, wincing as tremors of disgust rippled through him.


    Charles gripped the toebox of Dylan¡¯s boot, giving a small, precise tug to widen it. He returned to his work, carefully adding superfluous, decorative stitches that only he would truly appreciate.


    Dylan washed down the flak with another mug of tea before continuing. ¡°Then Bronze showed up and started arguing with White. That was my chance¡ªI bolted for the terror tube. I might have gotten away with it too, if it weren¡¯t for that pointy-ear, shirtless, bow-hiding elf guy.¡±


    Charles paused mid-stitch, glancing up from his work. ¡°Dylan,¡± he asked, confusion evident, ¡°why do you keep mentioning pointed ears?¡±


    Dylan pressed his lips together, his brows furrowing in confusion. He blinked a few times, clearly not understanding the question.


    ¡°It¡¯s redundant; all ears are pointed,¡± Charles explained matter-of-factly. After a brief pause, he added, ¡°I apologize if that upset you. I didn¡¯t mean to make you self-conscious about your¡­ deformity.¡±


    Every word he spoke seemed to make things worse, or so he thought. This was exactly why he preferred to avoid people¡ªsocial interactions were always difficult for him. But to his surprise, Dylan didn¡¯t appear upset or embarrassed, just mildly confused.


    ¡°My deformity?¡±


    Charles sighed inwardly. ¡®He¡¯s going to make me say it.¡¯ Clearing his throat, he hesitated before finally saying, ¡°Your ears.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with my ears?¡± Dylan asked, instinctively running a finger along their short, blunted shape.


    The possibility hadn¡¯t even crossed Charles¡¯ mind until now. His eyes narrowed slightly at the idea. ¡°Wait¡­ are you not elven?¡±

 Chapter 14 - All I Wanted Was a Mating Cupcake

    (Charles)


    "Elves!" Dylan suddenly exclaimed, slapping his thigh with enthusiasm. "I was wondering if you were all elves or vulcans¡ªand no, I¡¯m not elven. I¡¯m human."


    Charles processed the information calmly. His people, the elves, had been an astral-faring civilization for millennia, spreading to most known, hospitable planets. Most worlds welcomed elves as part of their population, though a few still limited them to tourists. Elves had become one of the most widespread and dominant races in the universe¡ªso much so that ¡°elvenoid¡± had become one of the four racial classifications for sentient species: primal, mythical, elemental, and elvenoid.


    Charles had assumed Dylan was elven. He mentally filed this away: humans were now the second race of people that he knew of that could pass as elven. The other was a lost race of people; rumored to have colonized and ruled over an ancient version of the universe eras ago.


    The exact details of their society varied across different accounts. Legends far outnumbered official records from that era. Whatever catastrophe had befallen them, it was said to have wiped their existence from the multiverse¡ªan event that occurred long before the formation of the League of Adventurers, during the recordless eras.


    Charles nodded slowly to himself, mentally connecting the dots. This new information was another piece of the puzzle. Flak, an ancient elven food dating back to early colonization efforts, might explain why Dylan wasn¡¯t fond of its taste.


    ¡°What¡¯s a vulcan?¡± he asked, wondering how they might differ from elves.


    ¡°They¡¯re people from a planet called Vulcan,¡± Dylan explained. ¡°They live for hundreds¡ªmaybe thousands¡ªof years, and they¡¯re strong, nimble, and they have long, pointed ears. So¡­ basically elves,¡± he sighed, realizing the circular nature of his explanation, ¡°but from another planet.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of Vulcan. Is that a world near Dirt?¡± Charles noticed the subtle twitch in Dylan¡¯s expression, clearly resisting the urge to correct his pronunciation. Instead, Dylan closed his eyes briefly and let out a small sigh.


    ¡°I¡¯m ashamed to say¡­ but I¡¯m not Trekkie enough to know where Vulcan is in relation to Dirt.¡± Dylan replied, emphasizing the word Dirt.


    Charles filed that information away for later. Perhaps a review of the League¡¯s records on elven planetary colonization could provide some insight. He returned his focus to the matter at hand. ¡°So, you were saying¡ªan elf named Abs botched your escape?¡±


    Charles reached into the throat of the boot, adjusting the heel. The cold, damp interior from sweat was unpleasant, but he focused on the task with his usual efficiency, ignoring the discomfort. There was still another boot to deal with.


    Socks, he noted silently. He¡¯d make sure to give Dylan a pair before the night was over.


    ¡°Yep, and then Bronze¡ªthe lizard-lady¡­ I think she was a girl? She didn¡¯t have any, uh¡­¡± Dylan hesitated, making cups with his hands in front of his chest. ¡°Not that she couldn¡¯t be a girl without them!¡± His cheeks flushed red as he stumbled through the explanation. ¡°Sorry, gender is... hard.¡±


    Charles cycled through possibilities in his mind. ¡®Lizard? Reptile? Draconi, most likely. Bronze¡ªscale color. T¡¯lanza¡ªDreadfang¡¯s mate.¡¯ It made sense. She was the one who¡¯d killed him.


    ¡°Draconi,¡± Charles nodded. ¡°A mythical race. Their reproductive cycle is complex and doesn¡¯t require mammaries.¡± He stopped himself before launching into a full explanation; his knowledge of the draconi was extensive, and he could speak at length about them.


    ¡°Well, that draconi crushed my skull and killed me. That was my second death, if anyone¡¯s keeping score,¡± Dylan added matter-of-factly.


    Charles paused at the thought, his mind shifting gears. ¡®What¡¯s my score? How many lives have I taken? Should I count beasts, too?¡¯ He knew he could figure it out over a weekend if he wanted, but... what was the point? Dwelling on the lives he¡¯d taken only stirred emotions he preferred to keep locked away.


    ¡°Why did she kill you?¡± Charles hesitated for just a moment, stopping himself from saying the name T¡¯lanza. ¡°What did you do to her?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything,¡± Dylan replied quickly.


    Charles waited in silence, watching him carefully.


    ¡°Okay, fine,¡± Dylan relented after a beat. ¡°Maybe I goaded her. Just a teeny, tiny bit,¡± he added, holding up two fingers pinched close together. ¡°But still, that¡¯s no reason to kill me!¡± He trailed off again, his eyes distant. ¡°Unless she was mad about the explosion...¡±


    Charles leaned in slightly. ¡°What explosion? Did you cause it?¡±


    ¡°I swear to Mother, I had nothing to do with the explosion. All I wanted was a mating cupcake,¡± Dylan said.


    ¡®Mating cupcake?¡¯ Charles raised an eyebrow. ¡®Celebrating copulation with pastries... or perhaps offering it as a proposition?¡¯ Both ideas were fascinating, and he was curious what other oddities might lie in the human mating system.


    Dylan continued, his voice animated as he recounted the chaos. ¡°So, I go to cross the street and wham,¡± he clapped his hands together, ¡°suddenly, the sun¡¯s gone, someone¡¯s stolen my clothes, taken my phone, and dropped me in a dark room. Naked, not alone, and very confused.¡±


    Charles blinked. ¡°Was Christian Bale with you?¡±


    Dylan chuckled. ¡°Nope, definitely a woman this time.¡±


    Charles noted that Dylan¡¯s mug was nearly empty again. Without comment, he leaned over and filled it, allowing Dylan to continue uninterrupted.


    ¡°And then the building next door blew up. I¡¯m pretty sure it killed her, but it definitely threw me across the room hard enough to break my leg.¡±


    Charles glanced down at Dylan¡¯s two fully functional legs, thinking back to the steady gait he¡¯d observed since they met. ¡®Maybe he¡¯s already had a healing potion?¡¯ That was unlikely, as those usually aren¡¯t just lying around.


    ¡°What happened to your broken leg?¡± Charles asked. He finished resizing the boots, unable to justify adding any more stitches.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Dylan shrugged. ¡°I picked up this magic snow globe, and poof¡ªleg and vision fixed.¡± His attention shifted to the boots in Charles¡¯ hands, staring at them with newfound interest.


    ¡°I¡¯m not familiar with snow globes,¡± Charles handed the boots over to Dylan. ¡°Can you show it to me?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have it anymore¡ªit broke when I picked it up.¡± Dylan took the boots from Charles, then promptly decided to air out his feet by the fire, ignoring the boots for now.


    ¡°How do you know it was magical?¡± Charles pressed.


    ¡°Well, it asked me if I wanted to use it, then tricked me into saying yes. Things got weird, it shattered, and I¡¯m pretty sure I absorbed it. Hopefully, it wasn¡¯t toxic.¡± He glanced up from the fire, his face lit by the flickering flames. ¡°But hey, after that, my leg and vision were good as new, so I¡¯m not complaining.¡±This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡®An orb? There¡¯s no way he just found one lying on the ground,¡¯ Charles thought, his mind racing. The sheer rarity of such a thing was staggering¡ªyet, it was the only explanation that made any sense.


    ¡°What you¡¯re describing sounds like an orb.¡± Charles cupped his hands to form a sphere. ¡°Was it about this big?¡±


    Dylan nodded, not fully grasping the significance of what he¡¯d found. This was unheard of; Orbs were incredibly rare and prohibitively expensive, often the greatest hurdle for anyone seeking to become an adventurer. These items allowed people to transcend from mundane into the realm of magical.


    Charles'' thoughts churned. ¡®Which orb did he absorb?¡¯ This changed everything. Dylan¡¯s self-reported deaths suddenly seemed far more plausible now that magic was in the equation.


    ¡°What did you see inside the orb?¡± Charles asked, his curiosity piqued. He needed to know which type of orb it was; speculating on Dylan¡¯s abilities would be pointless until he had a clearer picture. This also confirmed that Dylan had already begun his journey as an unranked adventurer.


    ¡°It was blue and orange,¡± Dylan replied. He continued describing it, though Charles found himself momentarily drifting, lost in his own thoughts.


    ¡®A Time orb,¡¯ Charles realized grimly. ¡®That¡¯s unfortunate.¡¯ He¡¯d heard of them but had never encountered one in person before. This was far worse than he¡¯d anticipated.


    ¡°When I looked closer, there was a blue sky¡ªover a desert, I think. Or maybe it was a beach? I¡¯m not sure, but the orange sand flowed like a river,¡± Dylan explained, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece the imagery together.


    ¡®No, no, no...¡¯ Charles¡¯ mind raced as a knot tightened in his stomach. The realization hit harder than he¡¯d expected, and a wave of rare sympathy washed over him, something he hadn¡¯t allowed himself to feel in a long time. The campfire¡¯s flames flickered restlessly, as if echoing his growing dread. Dylan had no idea of the peril he was in. Charles remained silent, lost in thought, his mind churning with the consequences of what Dylan had done.


    Dylan had absorbed a Time orb. Time was one of the restricted magic types, too dangerous for any individual to wield¡ªat least, that¡¯s what the League of Adventurers had decreed. Charles knew firsthand the burden of wielding restricted magic. His own Dark framework''s first ability was classified as restricted, and he had only used it once¡ªenough to understand why some magic was deemed too powerful.


    The memory of Lysha surfaced unbidden. For the past month, he¡¯d been free from the night terrors, a brief reprieve from the relentless guilt. She had been from the same generation as him. Although not an orphan like Charles, her mother¡ªa sponsored Ebonscale adventurer¡ªhad given Lysha up to the guild soon after she was born. Lysha¡¯s mother had no time to raise a child, but did have a debt to pay off; the exchange was transactional.


    Charles and Lysha grew up together, their lives intertwined through schooling, training, and countless chores. It¡¯d always been clear that the guild intended to forge a romantic union between them, a union that would benefit the guild as much as it would them. Lysha had always been open to the idea, but Charles had never been romantically interested in her. She was his best friend, after all.


    Between the two of them, Lysha had always been the superior fighter¡ªfaster, stronger, and relentlessly aggressive. Every time Charles held back, thinking he could outwit her, she¡¯d thrash him even harder for it. She could sense weakness like a predator, and she never let him get away with it.


    Charles had just absorbed his Dark orb, unlocking its first ability. [Intrusive Thought] was a Psychic ability from his Dark framework, one that sank deep into the mind, planting seeds of self-doubt, weakening a target¡¯s willpower and disrupting concentration effects. The power had a creeping, insidious nature to it.


    Their final bout had been no different. Charles let her tire herself out, soaking her attacks and biding his time. He knew her techniques intimately; she¡¯d beaten him hundreds of times before with the same ruthless precision. Lysha¡¯s strategy was always to break her opponent down in close quarters, only to finish them off with a devastating, well-placed ranged strike.


    She¡¯d drawn blood, as usual. Green rivulets dripped from the cuts and scrapes she¡¯d inflicted, and when she disengaged to set up her finishing move, Charles smiled. He knew exactly what was coming.


    Intrusive Thought hadn¡¯t just disrupted Lysha¡¯s attack¡ªit had obliterated her focus completely, leaving her disoriented and vulnerable. It wasn¡¯t just a distraction; it severed her connection to the fight itself. Sensing the opening, Charles moved without hesitation, his strikes precise and relentless. For the first time, Lysha was on the back foot, unable to recover, unable to adapt.


    When the fight ended, Charles couldn¡¯t believe it¡ªhe¡¯d won. But something felt off. Instead of their usual post-match camaraderie, where they¡¯d grab a bite and dissect each other¡¯s strategies, Lysha had only offered a weak smile and excused herself. She claimed she wasn¡¯t feeling well.


    That night, when Charles didn¡¯t see her in the dining hall, he grew concerned. He made her a plate, thinking some food might help, and brought it to her room in the dorms. When he entered, he found her lying on the bed. Quiet. Still. He set the plate on her nightstand...and then he saw the note.


    <blockquote>


    I know I¡¯ll never be enough for you.


    And that¡¯s not enough for me.


    I¡¯m sorry.


    </blockquote>


    Lysha didn¡¯t stir when he shook her; she had been gone for hours, her life already snuffed out. Charles held her tightly, the tears burning hot behind his eyes. The heat of his emotions threatened to ignite the very walls of the dorms as he clung to her lifeless form, his sobs ripping through him. In that moment of unbearable grief, he swore he would never use that insidious ability again.


    Now, sitting by the campfire, Charles felt tears gather at the corners of his eyes once more as the memories clawed at him, prying open wounds he thought long sealed. Grief, unbidden and relentless, chipped away at his resolve. This¡ªthis was why he kept everything locked away, buried deep where it couldn¡¯t hurt him. With a deep breath, he forced the key to turn, locking away his emotions and cutting himself off from the pain once again.


    Clearing his mind of the past, he refocused on Dylan¡¯s situation. It made sense that someone had tried to kill him if they¡¯d discovered the Time orb. The League of Adventurers didn¡¯t take chances with restricted magic. Open contracts were issued to bring in anyone with such power, dead or alive.


    Restricted magic wasn¡¯t feared for no reason. Its unpredictability, its potential for devastation, was too great. These individuals were considered living weapons, dangerous enough that death was often seen as the safer option¡ªso long as a positive test confirmed the framework during the autopsy. Faking such results was nearly impossible, with only a handful of rare exceptions.


    The League had been surprisingly lenient with Charles, allowing him to register just one restricted ability rather than condemning him to a lifetime in prison. He¡¯d accepted the brand willingly¡ªan intricate tattoo, called a bounty hunter¡¯s mark. The mark was more than a symbol; it was a magical teleportation seal that allowed the League to recall him to a holding cell at a moment¡¯s notice. They claimed it didn¡¯t actively track his every move, only activating in the most extreme situations. Still, Charles never truly felt free with the brand on his skin¡ªa constant reminder of the League¡¯s grip on his life.


    Dylan, however, faced a far crueler fate. If he ever completed his framework, he¡¯d possess four restricted abilities. The League would never allow him to live in peace after that. They would hunt him relentlessly, and if they caught him alive, they wouldn¡¯t just imprison him. No, they would vault him¡ªlock him in stasis, never to awaken unless the League needed to wield him as a weapon. A fate that offered no mercy, no freedom¡ªnever allowed to live or die. ¡®That,¡¯ Charles thought grimly, ¡®would be an unkind fate.¡¯


    Charles found Dylan tolerable, more so than most. There was an oddity to the chubby man that he found strangely endearing. Had there been more time, he might have even found Dylan acceptable.


    He¡¯d already decided to help Dylan when they first met but wasn¡¯t expecting it to be like this. Dylan deserved a quick, clean death¡ªbetter than the slow horror that awaited him in the hands of the League. And though it wasn¡¯t something Charles liked to admit, a small part of him wished that someone had spared him from the horror of living with restricted magic.


    Dylan rambled on about his missing communication device, unaware that Charles¡¯ attention had drifted. Rising quietly from his seat, Charles crossed over to the chest affixed to the side of his arborhearth. His fingers hovered over the lid, and as he closed his eyes, he summoned the familiar shapes of his longsword, shortsword, and dagger in his mind.


    The blades appeared at the bottom of the chest when he lifted the lid. It had been so long since he¡¯d held them¡ªsince the day he walked away from Ebonscale and had his Adventuring license revoked. The sight of the weapons stirred a feeling deep within him, a distant echo of who he used to be.


    He knew he¡¯d only need the dagger for what he was about to do, but Dylan¡¯s unusual resilience troubled him. Self-resurrection abilities were rare but not unheard of at common rank, often accompanied by lengthy cooldowns or a limited number of uses. Dylan had already defied death twice, and Charles wouldn¡¯t take any chances.


    Preparing for either outcome, Charles slid the dagger from its sheath, equipping the other blades across his back. He turned slowly, positioning himself behind Dylan, his mind steeling itself for what was to come. ¡°I¡¯m really sorry about this, Dylan,¡± he said softly, his voice laced with an unfamiliar heaviness.


    Charles had come to a decision¡ªit was important to keep score. Perhaps it was the only way to stay grounded in a world that often demanded impossible choices. He would start with Dylan.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Dylan said absentmindedly. ¡°Who needs a phone when¡ª¡±


    The thought never finished. With a single swift motion, Charles placed the dagger against Dylan¡¯s temple and drove the blade deep. The soft crack of bone and the sudden slackness in Dylan¡¯s body were the only sounds that followed. Death came instantly.

 Chapter 15 - There Are Worse Things than Death

    (Dylan)


    <blockquote>


    Death 3 - The Eleventh Second


    For ten fleeting seconds, Dylan¡¯s soul drifted in the quiet normalcy of death, inching closer to What Comes Next. In voidspace, the seconds passed, as they always did, bringing him closer to a point of no return. As the tenth second waned, Void stirred, preparing to claim him. But in that crucial eleventh second¡ªwhen Void would normally devour his soul¡ªthe tether pulled taut. Dylan was yanked back from the brink, ripped from Void¡¯s grasp, resetting once more.


    </blockquote>


    [Time orb]: [Dejavu] triggered. Wait.


    Night had settled in, and Dylan sat on a short stool, his bare feet drying beside a small campfire. The rashes on his legs oscillated between ''I''m literally on fire'' and ''oh my god, it itches.'' At the moment, he was dealing with the latter.


    ¡°Why did she kill you?¡± Charles paused briefly. ¡°What did you do to her?¡±


    [Time orb]: Thirty-two Resets remain.


    The sound of Charles'' voice startled him. Dylan jerked upright, spilling tea everywhere as he scrambled to get away from the murderous tailor. Tumbling off his stool, he yelped, "Stay away!"


    Dylan frantically searched Charles for the knife that had killed him. But all he found was an elf with classic, chiseled features: shoulder-length silver hair worn in a half ponytail, a prominent jawline, high cheekbones, and deep-set green eyes. No blade in sight¡ªjust a handsome, rugged elf.


    Kicking and scrambling backward, he hit the wheel of the treehouse, stopping him cold. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, fast and panicked.


    ¡°Why is everyone killing me?¡± Dylan asked, his wide eyes fixed on Charles. The rugged elf had quickly gotten to his feet but kept his distance. Betrayal stung¡ªhe¡¯d genuinely thought Charles was a nice guy.


    It was disturbing how disarming the rugged elf could be¡ªluring him in with the most comfortable pants he¡¯d ever worn one moment, then backstabbing¡ªwell, head-stabbing¡ªhim the next. Regardless, the betrayal was most foul.


    Dylan¡¯s eye caught the campfire¡¯s flames dancing wildly. ¡®Odd, there¡¯s no wind,¡¯ he thought.


    Charles noticed the flickering flames too. Once they settled, he said, ¡°Apologies. I thought it was just one person who¡¯d killed you.¡±


    Dylan felt Charles'' gaze scrutinizing him. The rugged elf¡¯s eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly, but Dylan was paying attention now.


    ¡°There was,¡± Dylan said, his hand blindly searching the spoked wheel behind him. He used it to pull himself up, never taking his eyes off Charles. After a couple of tries, he finally made it to his feet and brushed himself off. ¡°Until just now, when you killed me.¡± Dylan jabbed an accusing finger at the rugged elf.


    Charles raised an eyebrow, pointing to his chest. ¡°I killed you?¡±


    ¡°I thought we were friends, Charles¡­¡± Dylan raked his fingers up and down his thighs, trying to sate his insatiable itch.


    ¡°If I had killed you, you¡¯d still be dead,¡± Charles said. ¡°And we wouldn¡¯t be having this conversation.¡±


    Dylan detected no hint of malevolence or threat. ¡®He really doesn¡¯t remember,¡¯ Dylan thought. ¡®Maybe I¡¯m the only one aware of the resets?¡¯


    ¡°Murdering people without a reason just isn¡¯t something people do,¡± Charles said. ¡°There¡¯s always a reason, even if it¡¯s trivial. And right now, I don¡¯t have a reason to kill you.¡±


    Dylan didn¡¯t like how rational the rugged elf¡¯s argument sounded.


    ¡°Also,¡± Charles said, holding up a boot, ¡°I don¡¯t make adjustments for people I intend to kill. That¡¯s extra work and a waste of my time.¡±


    Dylan couldn¡¯t fault Charles¡¯ logic¡ªit made little sense for the rugged elf to kill him. Yet it had happened, even if Charles couldn¡¯t remember. The unease lingered, though; the rugged elf had been kind and logical, right up until the moment he got all stabby.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why you did it,¡± Dylan sighed. ¡°We were just talking when it happened.¡±


    As the fire dwindled, the cold settled in, but his legs had switched back to ¡®I¡¯m literally on fire¡¯. Somehow, the sensations balanced each other out.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Charles mirrored Dylan¡¯s posture. ¡°What were we talking about when it happened?¡±


    Charles spoke as if he believed him, which was odd, considering Dylan wasn¡¯t even sure he believed himself. Maybe he was just going insane.


    Charles looked so normal, unassuming even, standing there with a mismatched boot dangling from each hand¡ªno hint of homicidal intent. Dylan searched his captivating green eyes for any glint of insanity, a twitch of rage, or some sign of murderous intent. But once again, all he saw was an attractive, rugged elf.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Dylan took a breath, deciding to take Charles at his word. ¡°I was retelling what happened when I first woke up. I found myself naked in a dark room, without my phone.¡± He held up a hand. ¡°And before you ask¡ªno, I don¡¯t know why or how I got there. Also no, dark side batman wasn¡¯t there either.¡±


    ¡°Dark side batman?¡± Charles raised an eyebrow.


    Dylan sighed. ¡°Christian Bale¡­¡±


    Charles nodded in acknowledgment.


    ¡°Then you asked about the orb I found¡ª¡±


    ¡°An orb?¡± Charles tilted his head, a flicker of interest crossing his features, like a pet hearing its favorite word.


    ¡°That¡¯s what you called it. You asked me to describe it.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± Charles prompted. ¡°What did you see?¡±


    ¡°I described a blue sky over an orange river,¡± Dylan said, noticing a breeze stirring the flames again. The treehouse behind him must be blocking the breeze¡ªthat¡¯s why he couldn¡¯t feel it.


    Charles bent down, setting the boots beside the table before picking up his mug of tea. He peered into the mug, holding it with both hands, as he listened to Dylan recount the explosion, his missing phone, and the poor woman he¡¯d found dead in the room with him.


    Charles glanced up from his mug, and Dylan noticed the night casting a pale hue over his complexion. Sweating, Charles wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.


    ¡®I knew there was something off with that flak,¡¯ Dylan thought. ¡®Looks like it¡¯s bothering him, too.¡¯


    ¡°I think I know what happened,¡± Charles said, holding out his empty mug. ¡°Would you like some more tea while I explain? It¡¯ll help calm your nerves.¡±


    Dylan still saw no weapons in sight, but the ungodly itching had returned. Unable to help himself, he ground his legs together and twisted at his hips like a child with an overfull bladder.


    ¡°Sure,¡± he said, taking a tentative step toward Charles and holding out his mug.


    Charles picked up the teapot and slowly made his way toward Dylan, stopping at a respectful distance. He held out the teapot with one arm to refill Dylan¡¯s mug. Then, returning to his stool, he topped off his own mug, carefully using both hands.


    Dylan watched as Charles took a long pull of tea, then followed suit. It tasted like peppermint, with the same cooling, fresh menthol flavor. The tea did wonders to cleanse the lingering flak from his mouth. He leaned back against the rounded corner of Charles¡¯ treehouse.


    ¡°Somehow,¡± the rugged elf said, ¡°you found an orb. They install magical frameworks when absorbed, which allow you to unlock magic abilities. Even the least desirable orbs are both expensive and powerful.¡±


    ¡°Holy crap, does that make me a wizard?¡± Dylan¡¯s excitement completely overtook him, his recent demise forgotten. He had dreamed of this moment his entire life.


    Since his tenth birthday, Dylan had been waiting for his owl to arrive. Twenty-five years passed, each one making it less likely. By now, he¡¯d given up on that dream. But Charles, a spicy tailor with a touch of the tism and a penchant for spontaneous murder, had just told him he had magic powers¡ªwhich, in Dylan¡¯s book, was close enough to calling him a wizard.


    Charles shrugged. ¡°The official title is adventurer, but magic users go by several monikers¡ªwizard being one of them.¡±


    ¡®Fuck yes! He said it. I¡¯m a motherfucking wizard,¡¯ Dylan thought.


    ¡°How many abilities can I get? Are they like spells? Can I learn spells? Is this gonna be on the test? Are you an adventurer?¡± Dylan rapid-fired questions at Charles.


    ¡®I need to sit down,¡¯ Dylan thought. Lightheaded and buzzing with energy, he grabbed his overturned stool and plopped it down near the treehouse. He sat, eager to learn more about magic.


    Charles began, ¡°I used to be an adventurer like you¡ª¡±


    Dylan snorted, nearly getting tea up his nose.


    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s not important. Please, continue,¡± Dylan said. For the first time in his life, he didn¡¯t want to talk about one of his favorite games¡ªnot when they could talk about actual magic.


    Dylan enjoyed the conversation and didn¡¯t want his ADHD to drag him into another sidequest. The warmth of the tea replaced the lost heat from the fire. Charles had been right again¡ªthe tea helped relax him.


    ¡°All magic is both potent and dangerous,¡± Charles said, ¡°but some types are far more dangerous than others. The League calls it restricted, and it¡¯s unsafe to possess, let alone use.¡±


    Dylan had almost forgotten about his boots. They sat unfinished where Charles had left them when he started explaining the magic system. But Dylan didn¡¯t mind¡ªlearning about magic was far more interesting.


    ¡°The orb you found was a Time orb,¡± Charles said.


    ¡°Right,¡± Dylan said with a sigh. He knew he had a Time orb, but he wished he understood how his ability and passive worked.


    ¡°Time is one of the restricted magic types,¡± Charles said.


    ¡°Oh.¡± Dylan hadn¡¯t realized he had a restricted orb, and he wasn¡¯t sure how to feel about it. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound good.¡± He noticed a strange absence of anxiety, knowing he should be more concerned¡ªbut he wasn¡¯t.


    ¡°And what happens if they catch you with restricted magic?¡± Dylan took another sip of the warm, delicious tea.


    ¡°There are open contracts for collecting restricted magic items and practitioners,¡± Charles said, picking up a twig and flicking it into the fire.


    ¡°Was that your reason for killing me?¡± Dylan no longer felt afraid.


    Charles swirled the contents of his mug. ¡°No. That¡¯s not why I would¡¯ve killed you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, good.¡± Dylan realized there was no burning or itching in his legs anymore. He¡¯d definitely be drinking this tea until they could get some of that ointment Charles had mentioned earlier. Slurping, he took another sip while listening to Charles.


    ¡°Although not claiming the contract after you were dead would¡¯ve been wasteful,¡± Charles said, feeding another stick to the flame. ¡°And it would¡¯ve been important to confirm your murder was lawful and clear my name.¡±


    Dylan chuckled. ¡®A contract killer,¡¯ he thought.


    ¡°Then why¡¯d you do it?¡± Dylan noticed his mug was empty and set it down next to his stool. His arms found a warm spot on his lap to rest.


    ¡°Because there are worse things than death,¡± Charles said.


    ¡®That was grim, and a touch dramatic,¡¯ Dylan thought.


    ¡°How do I get rid of the orb? Can I return it or¡ª¡± Dylan stifled a yawn, unable to finish his question.


    ¡°No,¡± Charles said, his full attention on the campfire. ¡°Absorbing an orb is permanent.¡±


    ¡°What do I do now?¡± Dylan crossed his arms and nestled into a comfortable spot against the treehouse.


    ¡°Nothing. I¡¯ve already taken care of it.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡± Dylan¡¯s eyelids grew heavy. It would be nice to close them for a bit.


    ¡°I¡¯m really sorry about this, Dylan,¡± Charles said, his voice heavy and distant, like it was coming from a million miles away.


    Dylan remembered¡ªthose were the exact words he¡¯d heard moments before dying last time! Forcing his eyes open, he sat up unsteadily, trying to focus on Charles. The world wouldn¡¯t stop spinning.


    ¡®Fuck.¡¯ He glanced down at his empty mug, struggling to stay on the stool. The mugs seemed to multiply as his vision wavered. Realizing exactly what Charles meant, Dylan muttered, ¡°Oh, you mother¡ª¡±


    He slipped off the stool, unable to finish his sentence. He didn¡¯t even feel it when his body hit the ground. The toxin worked in stages: first taking away his ability to move, then to feel, and finally to breathe. With no pain and no fear, Dylan died.

 Chapter 16 - Because Its Dull and Itll Hurt More

    (Dylan)


    <blockquote>


    Death 4 - Time¡¯s Tether


    Dylan¡¯s soul returned to voidspace, floating among countless others, all moving inexorably toward What Comes Next. Unlike the others, Dylan¡¯s soul bore a tether¡ªa lifeline that kept him from drifting too far, anchored by his Time orb, a fragment of Celestial magic embedded deep within his essence. These orbs wove themselves into the very fabric of the soul, building their framework within. As the eleventh second arrived, the tether tightened, yanking him from Void¡¯s grasp once more¡ªresetting him back into the world of the living.


    </blockquote>


    [Time orb]: [Dejavu] triggered. Wait.


    Night had settled in, and Dylan sat on a short stool, his bare feet drying beside a small campfire. The rashes on his legs oscillated between ''I''m literally on fire'' and ''oh my god, it itches.'' At the moment, he was dealing with the former.


    ¡°Why did she kill you?¡± Charles paused briefly. ¡°What did you do to her?¡±


    [Time orb]: Thirty-one Resets remain.


    Before Charles could grab him again, Dylan threw down the mug and shot to his feet. He aimed to sprint, but it turned into more of a fast jog down the road. To his credit, sharp rocks and sticks littered the ground, and he was still barefoot.


    Charles stood up quickly, brushing his hands on his trousers as he dropped the boots. ¡°Where are you going?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Not falling for it again, Charles!¡± Dylan yelled over his shoulder. Charles raised a finger, unsure which question to ask, then started walking after him.


    ¡°This is how it starts,¡± Dylan panted between breaths. ¡°You seduce me with form-fitting pants and a nice nap in your treehouse-Tardis thing.¡± He gasped for air. ¡°Then you drug me with spoiled food and poisoned tea, force me to spill everything about the stupid Time orb I found, and then¡­¡± His pace had slowed to a slow jog. ¡°And then you kill me!¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this about a Time orb?¡± Charles asked.


    Hearing Charles¡¯ voice rise an octave was the last thing Dylan wanted. The rugged elf continued stalking down the road after him. It felt like a horror movie¡ªno matter how fast he tried to get away, the killer always caught up just by walking.


    ¡®I really need to get back to the gym,¡¯ he thought.


    ¡°No means no!¡± Dylan shouted. ¡°I told you, I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡±


    He grimaced as pain flared up again; his recent sprint had incited ¡®I¡¯m literally on fire¡¯ and ¡®oh my god it itches¡¯ to join forces. Now, even the friction of his pants offered no relief. It just hurt like hell.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the orb, Dylan?¡± Charles asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have it anymore,¡± Dylan wheezed. He had to stop; he was completely out of breath. Turning to face Charles, he doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees as he gasped for air.


    ¡°Did you use the orb, Dylan?¡± Charles asked.


    Dylan heard Charles use his serious, ¡®I might have to kill you¡¯ voice. Nothing good ever followed that tone. Lifting his head, Dylan risked a glance at the advancing tailor and saw the look on his face. ¡®Fuck.¡¯


    He turned and jogged off again, chanting under his breath, ¡°I don¡¯t want to die, I don¡¯t want to die.¡±


    Seconds ticked by as he huffed and puffed, but nothing happened. Uncertainty gnawed at him. His mind spiraled with absurd images: Charles pulling a giant golden gauntlet from his treehouse of holding, snapping his fingers, and erasing half the universe, including Dylan. Magic was powerful and terrifying, and the silence made it worse.


    Unable to bring himself to look back, he thought, ¡®Maybe he¡¯s letting me go?¡¯


    Then he heard Charles say in a heavy voice, ¡°I¡¯m really sorry about this, Dylan.¡±


    The suspense was too much for him. Dylan couldn¡¯t help but turn and peek over his shoulder.


    Charles held out his arm, and a small flaming figure the size of a crow materialized. It perched on his outstretched arm, the flames licking at his tunic¡¯s sleeve without burning it.


    Unfazed by the heat, Charles leaned in close to the phoenix, whispering something too soft for Dylan to hear. With an explosive burst of flames and feathers, the phoenix launched itself off his arm and soared into the air. The mythical bird started low, beating its wings hard to climb high into the sky.


    ¡®Magic is so freaking cool,¡¯ Dylan thought. Then reality hit¡ªhe remembered what magic could do. His brain floundered between dread and astonishment before settling on something in between: ¡®dread-ment.¡¯ Kind of like a fear boner, but for magic.


    ¡°Oh shit,¡± Dylan cursed. ¡°Oh fuck.¡±


    Redoubling his efforts, Dylan pumped his inflamed, itchy, chubby legs as fast as they would go. A screech pierced the air from high above. His mind drifted¡ªjust how high could a miniature flying sun climb? He could hear it was far up there, and it was coming for him. He just hoped it wouldn¡¯t hurt too much.


    Dylan thought, ¡®Last time wasn¡¯t so bad.¡¯


    The juvenile phoenix finished its climb, cresting at the top of its arc before angling into a dive-bomb. The wind fed the flames, making them burn hotter as the bird gathered speed.


    The last thing Dylan remembered was a sharp whistling sound before everything went dark. The phoenix leveled out at terminal velocity just before striking him in the back. His chest exploded in a shower of gore as the miniature nuke detonated on impact.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    <blockquote>


    Death 5 ¨C A Pact with Time


    Time patiently counted to ten as Dylan¡¯s soul drifted through voidspace, waiting to see if any other force would claim him. But when the eleventh second came, Time¡ªbound by the pact forged through Dylan¡¯s ability¡ªtugged on the tether. It wrenched Dylan¡¯s soul back, marking him with yet another trauma. Time reset his timeline, forcing him to relive life once more, and in doing so, knocked another tally off the debt it owed him.


    </blockquote>


    [Time orb]: [Dejavu] triggered. Wait.


    Night had settled in, and Dylan sat on a short stool, his bare feet drying beside a small campfire. The rashes on his legs oscillated between ''I''m literally on fire'' and ''oh my god, it itches.'' A new sharp pain joined the rotation, ¡®it stabs when I touch it¡¯.


    ¡°Why did she kill you?¡± Charles paused briefly. ¡°What did you do to her?¡±


    [Time orb]: Thirty Resets remain.


    Dylan held his breath, frozen in place. Sharp pinpricks ran from his thighs to his calves and back again. The pain was bad, but the terror of making another wrong move kept him paralyzed. That¡¯s when he realized just how closely Charles had been watching him all along.


    ¡°You¡¯ve stopped breathing. What¡¯s wrong?¡± Charles asked, glancing up from his stitching. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    ¡®Oh shit. Don¡¯t mention the Time orb.¡¯


    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Dylan stalled.


    ¡®Say something, anything. Anything but the Time orb.¡¯


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Dylan lied.


    ¡°The ivy,¡± Charles said with a nod, ¡°it¡¯s very unpleasant.¡±


    Dylan was relieved to see Charles go back to resizing the boot.


    ¡°Very unpleasant,¡± he agreed.


    Like a mouse caught out in the open, Dylan had nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. Trying not to draw the cat¡¯s attention, he glanced down at the mug in his hand. Ripples danced across the surface of his golden-brown tea¡ªa side effect of his trembling fingers. He casually poured the tea out on the ground and gently placed the mug on the table. His mouth was dry with anxiety, but he dared not ask for another drink.


    ¡®Don¡¯t mention the Time orb,¡¯ he thought. Dylan scanned for any other lethal objects within reach and said, ¡°I¡¯ve, uh¡­


    ¡®Don¡¯t mention the Time orb.¡¯ He worried his awkwardness would give him away again. ¡°I¡¯ve got to, uh¡­¡±


    The urge to run was strong, threatening to overtake him again, but the fear of triggering Charles¡¯ predator instincts kept him in check. He still didn¡¯t know where the tailor kept his dagger.


    ¡®Is it in his boot, like Bronze? Maybe it¡¯s in his pocket? That would explain the large bulge in his pants. Why does everyone have so many belts?¡¯ Then it occurred to him, ¡®Jesus, Dylan, he¡¯s a magician. He¡¯s probably got pockets in his sleeves.¡¯


    A loud pop escaped from the campfire, startling him as he studied Charles. Dylan quickly scanned the flames for any creatures crawling out. Magic introduced a whole new level of what the fuck. Anything was possible with magic, and he imagined threats everywhere around him.


    His gaze landed on the teapot¡ªthe most innocuous of kitchenware. Charles had used it to kill him just moments ago. A plethora of horrifying ways the rugged elf might wield cookware and kitchen utensils haunted him.


    ¡®What if he¡¯s got a spoon?!¡¯ Dylan really didn¡¯t want to die by spoon. ¡®Because it¡¯s dull and it¡¯ll hurt more.¡¯


    He stared, unfocused, into the fire, imagining the horrors of a mug-wielding tailor. His gaze drifted toward the empty mug, sparking an idea.


    ¡®Don¡¯t mention the Time orb,¡¯ he kept telling himself.


    ¡°Too much tea,¡± Dylan said. ¡®Don¡¯t think about the pain,¡¯ he thought, wincing as he stood up too quickly. ¡°I¡¯ve gotta pee.¡±


    Dylan cringed at his own regrettable rhyme. Charles pointed toward the bushes without looking up. ¡°Mind the ivy.¡±


    He nodded appreciatively to Charles for his consideration¡ªit reassured him that Charles hadn¡¯t switched into kill-mode. Dylan walked stiffly toward the bushes, doing his best to avoid unnecessary chafing.


    ¡®Don¡¯t think about the pain,¡¯ he thought. Even the simple act of walking took most of his concentration as he fought not to cry from the brutal sting¡ªthousands of pins pricking him constantly. Putting it out of his mind wasn¡¯t likely, but that didn¡¯t stop him from trying. ¡®Don¡¯t think about the pain.¡¯


    He found a secluded spot just out of Charles¡¯ line of sight. Pain did funny things to people, like short-circuiting their thoughts.


    ¡®Don¡¯t mention the pain.¡¯ Dylan unzipped his pants and prepared to relieve himself, but couldn¡¯t. He needed a distraction from death, pain, and the fact he wasn¡¯t alone while trying to pee. Auto-manners, being the bro he was, took over and decided small talk might ease the tension. ¡°So, what would you do if you found someone in the possession of a Time orb?¡±


    ¡®Fuck!¡¯


    ¡°Hypothetically, what would you do if you found someone in possession of a Time orb?¡± Dylan asked, trying to clarify and praying he hadn¡¯t just triggered murder-me-harder-mode.


    ¡®Goddamnit Dylan,¡¯ he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. ¡®Nope, it¡¯s over. He knows. At least ¡°it stabs when I touch it¡± will go away after the reset, hopefully.¡¯


    Dylan stood there with his fly down, in the most vulnerable position known to man. He kept his eyes closed, waiting for it all to end. ¡®Is there still time to drink the tea?¡¯ he wondered. ¡®That wasn¡¯t the worst way to go.¡¯


    Charles let out a contemplative grunt and paused, still holding a boot in his hand. ¡°They¡¯d either be rich, well connected, or an adventurer. Most likely, all three.¡± He gripped the toe in one hand and the boot shaft in his other, giving them a tiny tug. ¡°Getting involved in any scenario would be exceptionally dangerous, and I¡¯d advise against it.¡±


    Dylan opened his eyes. Charles hadn¡¯t killed him. He still had a firm grip on life¡ªand himself.


    ¡°Noted.¡± His rash transitioned into a much more tolerable, ¡®oh god it itches¡¯. With both his imminent demise and unbearable pain gone, he realized he really needed to pee.


    As Charles gave him a couple of minutes to finish his business, curiosity and an idle mind teamed up on him as he relieved himself. He knew what was getting him killed¡ªhis time magic¡ªbut he needed to know why.


    ¡°Hypothetically,¡± Dylan said, taking another gamble, ¡°what if that person used the Time orb?¡±


    ¡°That would be,¡± Charles said, ¡°unfortunate.¡±


    Dylan wondered, ¡®Who refers to murder as unfortunate?¡¯


    ¡°While I enjoy hypothetical discussions, I find it hard to imagine anyone willingly using restricted magic.¡± Charles switched to the other boot.


    Dylan took offense. ¡®How was I supposed to know it was illegal?¡¯ He knew voicing those exact words would earn him another death, so he¡¯d have to try different ones. Walking toward his seat, he reasoned that dying next to a warm fire was better than dying out in the cold again¡ªhopefully less explosive, too. ¡°What if it was an accident?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s absurd¡­¡± Charles looked up from his work again, staring at him with a skeptical expression. Dylan froze mid-squat, like a deer caught in headlights, while his thighs burned. That stare was a reminder¡ªthe cat-and-mouse game hadn¡¯t stopped.


    ¡°It¡¯s nearly impossible to use an orb by mistake,¡± Charles said, resuming his work on the boot. ¡°But since we¡¯re talking about a Time orb, and not an Undeath orb, the fact still stands that using it would require mental consent; only an idiot would do so knowingly.¡±


    Dylan sighed, remembering how the orb had asked him for permission, but the rugged elf¡¯s words still stung. Ignorance didn¡¯t make him an idiot. He hadn¡¯t knowingly done anything, and that was the problem¡ªhis lack of knowledge of how the system worked.


    ¡°So, no one has illegal magic?¡± Dylan cautiously finished sitting down.


    Charles let out a sigh. ¡°It¡¯s restricted, not illegal, and there is a way to end up with it unintentionally.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the difference?¡±


    Charles put down the boot and asked, ¡°Do you want to talk about League politics and jurisdiction? Or restricted magic?¡±


    Dylan¡¯s pulse quickened when he saw the rugged elf empty-handed.

 Chapter 17 - Whats the Bucket For?

    (Dylan)


    Dylan blurted his pre-scripted line when presented with two options, ¡°Por que no los dos?¡±


    Charles gave Dylan a flat look, crossing his arms. He seemed to understand.


    Dylan stared at him, confused. ¡®Charles knows Spanish?¡¯ he wondered for a moment, and then remembered the translation ring. The rugged elf didn¡¯t find Dylan¡¯s antics particularly amusing.


    Dylan sighed. ¡°Restricted powers, please.¡±


    Charles gave a slight nod before explaining, ¡°Absorbing an orb installs its framework, like a belt with four pouches.¡± He gestured to his own leather belts. ¡°The installation manifests the first ability, filling one of those pouches. Without a glyph to control the other influence, the framework pulls from ambient magic.


    ¡°That¡¯s how the first ability can get influenced by restricted magic.¡± Charles glanced at Dylan¡¯s reaction, his mouth tightening slightly. ¡°It¡¯s rare, but it still happens. Having one restricted ability is dreadful¡ªI can¡¯t imagine an entire framework.¡±


    ¡°You seem to know a lot about illegal magic.¡±


    ¡°Restricted,¡± Charles corrected. ¡°That¡¯s common knowledge¡ªsomething anyone with access to a world gate or astralship should know.¡± He picked up the boot again but paused, lost in thought instead of making another adjustment.


    ¡°What¡¯s a world gate?¡± Dylan leaned forward, eyes wide. ¡°Wait, did you say astralship? You need to explain both. Like, right now.¡±


    Charles had already made one lifelong dream come true by pronouncing him a wizard, and that rugged motherfucker was about to do it again with the chance that every show with ¡®star¡¯ in the title was real. Dylan steepled his fingers in unbridled excitement.


    ¡°Dylan, there are only three ways on or off a world.¡± Charles crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing as he studied the chubby man. ¡°If you didn¡¯t use a gate or arrive by ship, how did you get here?¡±


    ¡°You mentioned a third way?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s always another way,¡± Charles said, ¡°usually involving terrifyingly powerful magic.¡± He narrowed his eyes at Dylan. ¡°You¡¯ve never seen an astralship before?¡± He pointed up.


    Dylan followed his finger, gawking at the night sky. He wondered which of those twinkling lights were stars or if he was looking at Lost-in-War-Trek, Fire-lon 5, Battle-scape, or the Orvil-lorian.


    ¡°That¡¯s how people usually travel between worlds,¡± Charles said casually.


    Dylan needed to confirm they were talking about the same thing. ¡°You have spaceships?¡±


    ¡°Dirt doesn¡¯t?¡± Charles asked, looking genuinely confused, as if not having spaceships was the strangest part of this conversation.


    ¡°Earth,¡± Dylan corrected for what felt like the hundredth time. ¡°We have space flight, but we¡¯ve only been to the moon.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been to your moon?¡± Charles asked, surprised, since he¡¯d never visited either of his.


    ¡°Well, I haven¡¯t,¡± Dylan said. ¡°But we went once. Or maybe twice? Some people think we faked it¡­¡± He stopped himself before stumbling into conspiracy theories.


    ¡°Dirt¡¯s pre-astral? How does someone from a pre-astral civilization get off-world?¡± Charles asked rhetorically.


    Dylan shifted nervously on his stool. ¡®This is it. I¡¯m gonna die again. I can feel it.¡¯ He braced himself, already strategizing for the next reset.


    After a pause, Charles said, ¡°Dylan, I think I know what happened.¡±


    ¡®Here it comes. I hope it¡¯s quick.¡¯ Dylan clenched his eyes and tensed his entire body, flinching when a hand landed on his shoulder.


    ¡°I believe you may be a victim of intergalactic trafficking.¡± Charles¡¯ words hung in the air, and Dylan blinked, mouth slightly open, as he struggled to process what he¡¯d just heard.


    ¡°It¡¯s important for you to tell me what else you remember from yesterday.¡± His voice low and steady.


    Dylan clicked his tongue, still unable to process. ¡°What¡­?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, you¡¯re safe now.¡± Charles awkwardly tapped the back of Dylan¡¯s shoulder, his attempt at compassion¡ªstiff and mechanical.


    Charles shook his head. ¡°I never thought Ebonscale would stoop to trafficking in sentient species, but they¡¯ve gone too far.¡± He stood and walked to his treehouse. ¡°Take your time and tell me everything you remember.¡±


    Dylan was dumbfounded, unsure of what to say.


    ¡®Was I kidnapped from Earth?¡¯ Dylan wondered. He needed to be careful about what he said next. ¡®What did I tell him before the resets?¡¯ This was as bad as lying¡ªkeeping track of what someone else knew and didn¡¯t.


    Charles¡¯ patience wouldn¡¯t last forever, and the rugged elf already knew about his deaths. Explaining that without revealing magic powers would be tricky. Dylan stuck to the truth, avoiding any further complications for Future Dylan in case he got reset again.


    ¡°One moment I was on Earth, and the next I was in a dark room on Mother of Dragons,¡± Dylan said. ¡®Bit of a mouthful for a planet,¡¯ he thought, ¡®but still better than dirt¡­¡¯ Charles listened as he pulled open the cabinet door. Dylan continued, ¡°I was naked, and then an explosion went off, taking out a wall. There was a woman in the room with me, but she died before I could get to her.¡±This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Charles returned with the finished boots in one hand and a pair of gray socks in the other. He held them out. ¡°Here, put these on.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡± The socks were soft, made from a breathable material. Dylan¡¯s feet were sore and blistered, but slipping them on didn¡¯t hurt. Afterward, he tugged on the boots, one at a time. Just like his pants, they fit perfectly. With warm feet, he continued, ¡°I couldn¡¯t find my glasses or my phone to call for help.¡±


    A question flickered across Charles¡¯ face, but he held back, letting Dylan continue. Dylan, still trying to figure out how to explain the deaths without lying¡ªor dying¡ªsettled for omission.


    ¡°There was an orb, and I used it,¡± Dylan said, staring down at his new boots. He wiggled his toes in the toebox, avoiding Charles¡¯ gaze.


    ¡°What was in the orb?¡± Charles asked.


    Dylan shook his head, not wanting to answer that question.


    ¡®Should I say it¡¯s another orb?¡¯ Dylan wondered. The only other orb he knew about was the undeath one Charles had mentioned, and that sounded way worse than time magic. His mind raced to solve the mortal puzzle¡ªhis life depended on it.


    ¡°That¡¯s okay,¡± Charles said.


    ¡®What?¡¯ Dylan thought, biting his tongue.


    ¡°Do you know the ability you got from it?¡± Charles asked.


    Still staring at his toes, Dylan wondered, ¡®Was this an option the whole time? Just... not answer?¡¯ It had worked before, so he tried it again.


    Dylan looked up at Charles, shook his head, and waited. His mind was always racing to find solutions; it had never occurred to him that silence could be one


    ¡°Must be a self-resurrection ability if you remember dying,¡± Charles said. ¡°Listen, Dylan,¡± Charles leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering, ¡°don¡¯t tell anyone about your abilities. That kind of information is dangerous, and a lot of people will use it against you.¡±


    ¡®You¡¯ve gotta be kidding me,¡¯ Dylan thought. ¡®This might just work.¡¯


    Charles poured out the remaining tea to quench the waning fire, then kicked up enough dirt to cover the ashes. He took the kettle off the hook, grabbed both mugs and the teapot, and carried them to the back of the treehouse. The sound of water splashing from the spigot filled the quiet night air as Charles carefully scrubbed each piece of his tea set.


    ¡°Fetch the stools and table,¡± Charles said, motioning with his head in their direction.


    The stars and moons provided enough light for Dylan to gather the stools and table and carry them to the treehouse. He had suspected he was on another planet after climbing out of the lake, when he looked up and saw two moons.


    Dylan carried everything in one trip to the treehouse chest. Awkwardly, he reached under the pile of stools and table to lift the lid, but it didn¡¯t budge. He set the furniture down and tried again.


    ¡°That won¡¯t work,¡± Charles said from behind the treehouse.


    ¡®That¡¯s creepy,¡¯ Dylan thought. It unsettled him how Charles always seemed to know exactly what he was doing, even out of sight.


    Charles came around with the wet tea set and placed it on the small table. Dylan watched as he put a hand on the cabinet door, paused, then opened it to reveal a drying towel. Charles dried the tea set and wiped the table clean.


    ¡°The cabin, chests, and cabinets are all magically locked and will only open for me.¡±


    Dylan kept watching as Charles opened the chest, neatly stacking everything inside before closing the lid. Dylan leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing with interest. ¡°How does it work?¡±


    Charles closed and then re-opened the chest, pulling out a single arrow. ¡°It just works.¡±


    Dylan didn¡¯t take it personally, remembering Charles¡¯ advice about sharing information. The rugged elf walked to the other side of the treehouse and pulled open the oval door, waiting for Dylan to follow.


    The tip of the arrow lit up with an orange glow.


    Charles locked eyes with him. ¡°Do not touch the glowing part.¡± He spun the arrow, fletching first, and held it out for Dylan. ¡°It¡¯s not much, but it¡¯ll help with the darkness.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡± Dylan took the arrow and held it upright like a long, makeshift candle. Charles gave him an unsure look.


    ¡°You¡¯ll ride inside the treehouse. We¡¯ll reach Dartmouth in a day if we don¡¯t stop again.¡± He pointed to Dylan¡¯s legs. ¡°Then we can get that rash looked at. You¡¯ll be safe and out of sight until we get there.¡±


    Dylan watched as Charles walked toward the front of the carriage. With one foot on the driver¡¯s step, Charles turned back. ¡°Oh, and the bucket¡¯s on the other side of the nightstand, but you¡¯ll have to clean it out if you use it.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the bucket for?¡± Dylan asked. Charles grabbed the handle and pulled himself into the driver¡¯s box, leaving the question unanswered. ¡°Charles, what¡¯s the bucket for?¡± Dylan asked again, his voice rising half an octave.


    Snap, crack, and thwip sounds came from the front of the treehouse, like breaking branches and snapping vines. It caught Dylan¡¯s attention, distracting him. He craned his neck to see the oversized demonic deer working their hooves free from their roots, walking in place as they prepared for departure.


    ¡°I¡¯ll let you out after we¡¯ve arrived,¡± Charles said, picking up the reins. Dylan hurried to climb into the treehouse, worried he¡¯d get left behind. ¡°If you need anything, just speak normally,¡± Charles added, flicking the reins. ¡°I¡¯ll hear you.¡±


    They were off, pulling back onto the road toward a town called Dartmouth. Inside the treehouse, a hallway stretched between two doors. One remained locked, while the other led to the bedroom he¡¯d slept in just a few hours ago.


    With the arrowhead glowing, Dylan could finally see. A twin bed was tucked into the corner, and he realized he must¡¯ve missed it when he passed out earlier. Next to it sat a nightstand and the bucket Charles mentioned. In the other corner was a reading nook, complete with a lounge chair and a small bookshelf filled with books.


    The other side of the room looked like a work area. A workbench with a built-in machine reminded Dylan of his grandmother¡¯s sewing machine from her craft room. One side of the bench held a wall-mounted thread holder, stocked with dozens of spools in various colors. On the other side, a long shelf was stacked with fabrics and leathers.


    The leather chair let out a series of fart noises as Dylan sat down and got comfortable. Glancing up at the ceiling, he remembered what Charles said.


    ¡°That was the chair,¡± Dylan said out loud.


    The arrow cast a soft, flickering light across the room, shadows dancing along the walls as Dylan placed it carefully atop the bookshelf, securing it with a book. His hand hovered near the glowing tip for a second longer than necessary, the warmth almost tempting him to touch it.


    An intrusive thought crept in. ¡®What happens if I touch the glowy bit?¡¯ Dylan resisted the urge to poke himself with the arrow. Instead, he turned his attention to the tiny library, wondering, ¡®How many of these are about magic?¡¯


    He picked up the first book and examined it. The cover was blue, but the title had worn away. ¡¯Better get started,¡¯ he thought.


    Dylan wasn¡¯t the fastest reader, and he only had a day to read as much as he could. His excitement faded after opening the nameless blue book and realizing he didn¡¯t recognize any of the letters. He picked up another book at random and flipped it open.


    Dylan sighed, slumping into the chair, frustrated that he couldn¡¯t read or learn more about magic. The stupid translation ring didn¡¯t work with books. Now he had a whole day with nothing to do.


    ¡®What if I have to go to the bathroom?¡¯ Dylan wondered as the bucket came into view again.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ve got to be kidding me.¡±

 Chapter 18 - Accidentally Kicking the Bucket

    (Dylan)


    <blockquote>


    Dream 1 - Homework


    Dylan sat in the middle of a classroom, zoning out and staring blankly at the chalkboard. It looked like any other school day¡ªexcept for the way the light kept flickering in strange, inconsistent pulses overhead. The teacher at the front, a vaguely familiar figure, scribbled rapidly, chalk tapping against the board like a countdown.


    ''What class am I in?'' Dylan wondered, fidgeting in his seat. The edges of the desk dug uncomfortably into his sides. He glanced at the board but couldn¡¯t make sense of the teacher¡¯s handwriting. It was so terrible he couldn¡¯t tell whether they were letters or numbers.


    Then, the teacher turned around. ¡°Alright, everyone, get out your homework.¡±


    The sound of unzipping bags and shuffling papers filled the room. Dylan leaned over and reached into his backpack, a pit forming in his gut. No crinkle of papers, no notes, no textbooks¡ªnothing.


    The teacher strode down the aisles, collecting assignments. He stopped in front of Dylan.


    ¡°Where¡¯s your homework?¡± the teacher asked impatiently.


    ¡°I¡ªuh¡ªit¡¯s¡ª¡± A cold sweat ran down Dylan¡¯s back. He always did his homework. So why was his bag empty?


    The teacher frowned, waiting. Students turned in their seats, glaring at him, whispering under their breath. The whispers swelled, ringing in his ears like a swarm of buzzing insects.


    ¡°You¡¯re unprepared,¡± the teacher sneered, staring down at him. ¡°Did you think you could just show up without doing the work?¡±


    Dylan¡¯s mouth went dry. The whispers behind him grew louder¡ªcondemnation, disappointment, ridicule.


    ¡°Dylan,¡± the teacher said, sounding annoyed.


    He opened his mouth to explain, but no words came.


    ¡°Dylan...¡± the teacher repeated, his voice echoing strangely.


    He couldn¡¯t explain why he wasn¡¯t ready. He couldn¡¯t even remember what he was supposed to do. His head dropped into his arms, and he buried his face. Everything smelled like campfire and peppermint.


    ¡°Dylan...¡± the teacher called again¡ªinsistent¡ªlouder.


    His heart pounded as the teacher loomed closer, his shadow engulfing Dylan¡¯s desk. The lights flickered again, dimming as the room seemed to close in on him. His chest tightened.


    ¡°Dylan!¡± Charles yelled, his voice cutting through the haze.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have it!¡± Dylan blurted, jerking upright in bed, his heart still racing as his surroundings came into focus.


    </blockquote>


    Dylan found himself in Charles¡¯ bed, turning to see the rugged elf standing over him, holding the glowing arrow.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he mumbled, rubbing his palms into his eyes. ¡°Had that dream again, where I¡¯m back in school.¡± He stretched, glancing around. ¡°Are we there yet?¡±


    ¡°What did you do to my threads?¡± Charles asked, stepping aside and pointing to the craft area with the arrow.


    ¡°I organized them,¡± Dylan replied, patting the bed in search of his cloak. Sleeping shirtless was one thing, but being pantsless again? Not happening.


    After his disappointment with the books, it took all of five minutes before boredom threatened his sanity. Normally, he¡¯d be glued to his phone, endlessly scrolling memes, but the cupcake incident forced him to go cold turkey on his internet dopamine.


    The glowing arrow provided about ten minutes of entertainment. He danced around the room, brandishing it like a wand while trying to recall the spells and curses from his childhood.


    ¡°Aloha-mora!¡± Surprisingly, did not unlock the other room in the treehouse. ¡°Expectorant!¡± Earned him a concerned question from Charles whether he had a cough. ¡°Whiskey!¡± Only made his rash tingle, but that turned out to be a new symptom. And for the grand finale, the most heinous of curses: ¡°Abra Cadaver!¡± Luckily, no one was around to get hurt¡ªor witness his antics.


    He considered the craft corner but the sewing machine, with all its moving parts, was intimidating. Plus, he wasn¡¯t a fan of needles. But a rack full of colored threads had caught his eye, Charles had neglected to put them back in any semblance of order¡ªall in complete disarray.


    Dylan spent the next hour organizing them by color, with the rainbow as his guide. Starting with red and ending with purple, he even sorted the gray, black, and brown threads. Those went under the rainbow, arranged from lightest to darkest.


    ¡°Organized?¡± Charles raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Yeah, I sorted them by color.¡± Dylan finally found the cloak and bunched it up in his lap.


    ¡°By color?¡± Charles didn¡¯t look or sound particularly thrilled.


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking: brown is technically dark orange and could go in the rainbow, but I made an executive decision to lump it in with the light-to-darks. It would''ve ruined the whole rainbow vibe.¡±


    ¡°Dylan,¡± Charles sighed, motioning around the room with the arrow. ¡°There aren¡¯t any lights in here.¡±


    Dylan nodded. ¡°Yeah, I noticed.¡±Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°I prefer to work in the dark. That means I can¡¯t actually see the thread colors.¡±


    ¡°Then how do you know which thread to use?¡± Dylan asked, frowning.


    ¡°I had them sorted alphabetically. It was easy to remember.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Dylan realized he¡¯d messed up Charles¡¯ system. ¡°Sorry about that.¡±


    The rugged elf closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°We¡¯ve arrived at Dartmouth. Did you touch anything else?¡±


    ¡°I tried the books, but it turns out I can¡¯t read,¡± Dylan said, gesturing toward the bookshelf.


    Charles followed his gesture. ¡°That¡¯s unfortunate. You really should learn to read. Illiteracy is¡ª"


    ¡°No,¡± Dylan interrupted, ¡°I know how to read. I just couldn¡¯t read your books.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s peculiar,¡± Charles replied. ¡°Only two of them are mundane.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Dylan squinted at Charles.


    ¡°I keep two mundane books around to practice reading. The rest work like your ring,¡± Charles explained, twirling the arrow and pointing its tip at the band on Dylan¡¯s finger. ¡°They translate the words so you can understand in your own language.¡±


    ¡°Only two...¡± Dylan said. ¡®If I¡¯d just checked one more,¡¯ he thought, thinking of all the wasted hours he could¡¯ve spent reading. ¡°Okay, but how do you read if there¡¯s no light in the treehouse?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± Charles replied, gesturing to the reading nook. ¡°That¡¯s my library, where I keep my books. I travel often, which gives me plenty of time to read while I drive during the day.¡±


    Charles glanced back at Dylan. ¡°What did you do with the rest of the time?¡±


    ¡°Slept,¡± Dylan replied.


    ¡°An entire day?¡± Charles raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Well, not the entire day. I tried reading a couple of books, dabbled in some wizardry, and organized your thread rack. I only slept most of the day.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s that possible?¡± Charles frowned. ¡°A day is an exceedingly long time to sleep.¡±


    Dylan shrugged. ¡°Depression, mostly.¡±


    Charles walked away, leaving the room and taking the only light source with him. The sound of another door opening was enough to get Dylan out of bed. He¡¯d been curious about the magical treasures hidden behind the forbidden locked door. Charles hadn¡¯t explicitly said he couldn¡¯t enter, but the magical lock spoke volumes.


    Fumbling in the dark, Dylan accidentally kicked the bucket, sending it flying across the room. Charles reappeared with the glowing arrow and a bundle under one arm, snatching the bucket mid-flight like a goddamned ninja.


    ¡°How¡­¡± Dylan was speechless.


    ¡°Buckets aren¡¯t toys,¡± Charles said, placing it back beside the nightstand.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    Charles pushed the bundle into Dylan¡¯s chest, forcing him to take it. Two items: first, a plain gray shirt, and on top of it, a loaf suspiciously wrapped in kraft paper. Noticing Dylan staring at it, Charles said, ¡°That¡¯s for when you get hungry.¡±


    Dylan picked it up, gave Charles a look, and asked, ¡°Is it¡­?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Charles confirmed.


    Dylan sighed. ¡°Thanks.¡± Trying not to sound rude, he pulled on the shirt, which, of course, fit perfectly. Then he stood and slipped on the rust-colored cloak.


    ¡°We need to get you registered with the League of Adventurers first, then we¡¯ll visit the hospital to check your injuries,¡± Charles said.


    Right now, ¡®oh my god it itches¡¯ had custody of Dylan. Rubbing his palms up and down his legs helped a lot; friction was his friend.


    ¡°Or...¡± Dylan raised a finger, ¡°we could swing by the hospital first, and then do that hall of justice pledge thing.¡±


    Charles shook his head. ¡°While inconvenient, your medical issues aren¡¯t life-threatening. It¡¯s more important to get you into the system for your own protection.¡± He turned, walking toward the hallway, still holding the only light.


    ¡°How¡¯s that going to protect me?¡± Dylan asked, trailing after him¡ªno way he was getting left in the dark.


    Charles turned around. ¡°I¡¯m tired, Dylan. I haven¡¯t slept for more than a quick nap in days. Once you¡¯re registered and safe, I can finally rest.¡±


    For the first time, Dylan saw past the rugged exterior. Days of constant consciousness had worn him down. Heavy eyelids sat above his eyes, and even his sun-kissed skin looked blanched. Charles appeared every bit as tired as he claimed.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Dylan muttered, guilt creeping in. ¡°You¡¯re right. You fed me, clothed me, and let me stay in your treehouse. Thanks for helping me.¡± Remembering Charles had also killed him three times, Dylan decided his rash could wait until after he joined the Guardians of the League¡ªor The Adventurers, or whatever they were called.


    Charles grunted and led them out of the treehouse. Dylan reached the doorway and froze. Panic overwhelmed him. Unable to see past his unresolved trauma, reason abandoned him.


    Dozens of them. Scaled monsters everywhere: lurking on the sidewalk, stalking across the street. One even waved at Charles, who nodded back. They paraded in clothes, with teeth, claws, and hidden blades. Memories¡ªflashes of getting stabbed and left to bleed out¡ªraked across Dylan¡¯s mind. Mentally, he was back in the cells, but physically, he trembled in the treehouse doorway.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± Charles asked. Dylan latched onto the rugged elf¡¯s voice, a beacon pulling him out of the waking nightmare. He quickly retreated back into the treehouse.


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of them out there,¡± Dylan said.


    ¡°The draconi?¡± Charles scanned the area for unseen threats before returning his attention to the chubby man hiding in his treehouse.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Dylan said, ¡°there¡¯s a lot of them.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s unavoidable. Mother of Dragons is their homeworld,¡± Charles replied.


    ¡°Could we drive there?¡± Dylan asked. ¡°And just drop me off at the justice league?¡±


    ¡°No, the League of Adventurers Hall doesn¡¯t have parking.¡± Charles stepped back into the treehouse. ¡°Besides, I have a permit for this spot. It¡¯s where I¡¯m allowed to park and sell my wares.¡±


    The sun was well past its prime, the evening air cooling, but Dylan felt warm. Sweat pooled on his palms, brow, underarms, and in other less fortunate areas. His shirt grew damp and sticky under his arms and chest. Even ¡®I¡¯m literally on fire¡¯ joined the fun. Dylan really didn¡¯t want to go back out there.


    ¡°The hall¡¯s not a far walk. I¡¯d like to get there before the night shift starts,¡± Charles said.


    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± Dylan¡¯s throat tightened, his chest aching, and his breath refused to come. All he could manage was a shake of his head. He was having a panic attack; he realized.


    It was a good thing Charles noticed. The rugged elf took a deep, long breath, his chest expanding, and slowly let it out. Dylan unconsciously mirrored him¡ªbreathing in, holding, releasing, and repeating. His urge to throw up and die subsided, and his pulse finally slowed.


    ¡°They¡¯re real. The claws, the teeth, everything¡¯s real. It¡¯s not just pretend¡ªthose are actual monsters out there.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not monsters,¡± Charles said calmly. ¡°They¡¯re just people, like you and me.¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t there. You didn¡¯t see the way she looked at me, or the things she did.¡± Dylan fought not to slip back into the memory.


    He¡¯d almost forgotten Charles had killed him too¡ªmore than Bronze, even. The rugged elf had that effect: calm, logical, controlled, until he found a reason to get violent.


    Dylan searched through his feelings and thoughts, desperate to find a way past his terror. Dying sucked¡ªhe didn¡¯t dispute that¡ªbut he needed to understand their motives. That was the key to getting through this. There was a difference between Charles and Bronze.


    Charles had killed him out of a misguided sense of compassion. His heart had been in the right place; the dagger hadn¡¯t. All Dylan ever saw in that man¡¯s eyes was compassion, understanding, and occasionally annoyance. He genuinely believed Charles cared.


    Bronze despised him from the start. She took pleasure in hurting him, killing him. Malice was all he ever saw in her eyes, and without a way to communicate, he couldn¡¯t even ask why.


    He realized dying wasn¡¯t the real problem. Sure, it terrified him and usually hurt like a motherfucker, but the issue ran deeper. Not being accepted¡ªnot understanding why¡ªwas worse. He could live with dying, funny enough, but not knowing why she hated him hurt in ways worse than death.


    It left him wondering, ¡®What¡¯s wrong with me? What did I do wrong?¡¯ These were the same questions he¡¯d been asking since his mom left when he was eight. He was never good enough, and no one would tell him why.

 Chapter 19 - The Yrell Incident

    (Dylan)


    Charles stiffly placed a hand on Dylan¡¯s shoulder, drawing him out of his thoughts.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Charles said. ¡°I wasn¡¯t there and don¡¯t know what you¡¯ve been through, but I¡¯m here now.¡± He walked down the hall toward the exit, then hopped down from the treehouse. ¡°Come, sit.¡± He tapped the sill of the door and waited for Dylan to take a seat.


    Dylan followed and sat in the doorway, his feet dangling an inch above the ground.


    Charles leaned against the treehouse and crossed his arms. ¡°Just watch.¡±


    Dylan sat, parked at the edge of Merchants'' Circle near Market Street, watching the heart of Dartmouth bustle with townsfolk shopping and browsing the ever-rotating wares of the traveling merchants.


    A slender draconi with umbra-brown scales and five-pronged horns swept back across her head caught Dylan''s eye. She wore a simple, cream-colored sundress, turning a small trinket over in her hand. A purse appeared, and she exchanged three colored gems for the bauble.


    The merchant was an elf with lilac hair and a frilled white blouse¡ªhis only remarkable features. He gave a tight-lipped smile, and she responded with a slight bow of her head, closing her eyes briefly.


    A pair of violet draconi whisked across the street, catching Dylan¡¯s eye. Physically identical, they each wore different outfits. One had a loose, open, revealing tunic that accentuated their scaled arms, chest, and stomach, while the other wore a form-fitting vest over a mostly buttoned-up long-sleeved shirt.


    On closer inspection, the first had a swagger in their gait, their tail swaying to keep up with their sassy hips. The other draconi¡¯s tail was more reserved, moving in time with their controlled steps. As they passed, Dylan overheard a snippet of their conversation¡ªsomething about flowers, a nightshade.


    ¡°Twins,¡± Charles said, his gaze following them as they walked down the sidewalk.


    ¡°Do you know them?¡± Dylan asked.


    ¡°Me?¡± Charles pointed to himself before shaking his head. ¡°No.¡±


    They continued people-watching until the sun dipped halfway past the horizon. Charles was right¡ªthe draconi were just people. Friendly folk, in fact; every one of them that noticed Dylan gave him a big smile and waved. He realized they stared as much as he did, but he didn¡¯t mind their lingering attention. Charles¡¯ closed-off stance and steely gaze kept them at a distance as Dylan acclimated.


    ¡°Hi, Charles,¡± said a petite, plum-scaled draconi. Her crest was simple and unadorned, and she wore a metallic gold sundress that shimmered as she walked.


    ¡°Y¡¯rell,¡± Charles said with a curt nod.


    Y¡¯rell noticed Dylan sitting in the treehouse doorway, smiling and waving at him. This was the closest any of them had gotten. A gentle breeze carried the sweet fragrance of roses. Her lithe figure reminded him of Bronze, but thankfully, her eyes didn¡¯t¡ªthey were a lovely shade of emerald, sparkling with interest.


    He disliked that the root of his issues boiled down to classic unresolved childhood trauma¡ªmommy issues. But understanding that allowed him to see not all draconi were evil monsters out to get him. It was far more complex; he¡¯d have to get to know them before passing judgment.


    Although he¡¯d calmed down, the experience and recent breakthrough had left him raw, so he let Auto-manners take over.


    Dylan flashed her a broad grin and waved back. Her bright emerald eyes narrowed slightly as she checked him out, still smiling. Feeling self-conscious, he stopped waving but couldn¡¯t wipe the stubborn smile off his face.


    Y¡¯rell approached, stopping a respectful distance away. ¡°I¡­¡± Her voice trailed off, clasping both hands in front of her.


    Charles watched their interaction, fascinated.


    She glanced down at her feet before lifting her gaze back to him. ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Y¡¯rell.¡±


    Dylan hopped down from the sill, straightening himself. She still towered over him. Looking up to meet her gaze, he stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and offered her his hand.


    ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you, Y¡¯rell,¡± Dylan said, still smiling.


    His forwardness took her by surprise¡ªhe noticed her pupils dilate and her nostrils flare. Y¡¯rell quickly clamped her mouth shut with a clomp, realizing it had been open. She stared down at his outstretched hand. This was the second odd reaction he¡¯d gotten from a standard greeting.


    Dylan wondered, ¡®Am I doing it wrong?¡¯ He referenced his mental ¡°How to People Guide¡± that society had ingrained in him. ¡®Eye contact, smile, repeat their name, and a firm handshake. Should I throw in a compliment?¡¯


    Auto-manners ran with the idea, and Dylan said, ¡°That¡¯s a lovely dress.¡±


    Y¡¯rell touched her dress, glanced at his waiting hand, and took it, gently wrapping her fingers around his. Dylan tried to shake, but she only wanted to hold hands. Her touch wasn¡¯t what he expected¡ªwarm, soft, and silky. Trying again, he squeezed her hand firmly and gave it a proper shake.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Y¡¯rell inhaled sharply, looking up from their clasped hands, and asked, ¡°Who¡¯s your friend, Charles?¡±


    ¡°Dylan,¡± Charles said, raising his eyebrows as he watched.


    He kept smiling, staring, and shaking her hand¡ªstuck in an awkward loop. Y¡¯rell seemed to enjoy the attention. She kept gazing into his eyes, not wanting to let go. He swallowed hard. This level of awkwardness was beyond Auto-manners¡¯ capabilities; he¡¯d have to rescue himself.


    ¡°Charles,¡± Dylan said, his cheeks aching. ¡°Don¡¯t we have an appointment with the justice league?¡±


    That piqued her interest even more. ¡°You¡¯re an adventurer?¡± she asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s the League of Adventurers,¡± Charles corrected, ¡°and we don¡¯t need an appointment.¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯m ready to go now,¡± Dylan said. ¡°Can we go now?¡± He noticed a different hunger growing in her eyes, one he wasn¡¯t entirely comfortable with. They¡¯d just met.


    ¡°There¡¯s no rush now,¡± Charles said with a shrug, more interested in what was happening between Dylan and Y¡¯rell. ¡°We¡¯ve already missed the day shift.¡±


    She finally let go of his hand, turned to Charles, and said, ¡°I could show him.¡± She sounded exceptionally sweet, clearly excited at the prospect of showing Dylan around.


    Charles came to his rescue, shaking his head. ¡°No. He¡¯s under my protection.¡±


    Y¡¯rell stepped back, bringing her hand to her chest. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you were an adventurer, too.¡±


    ¡°Used to be¡­¡± he said, pushing off the treehouse. He made his way to the other side, and Dylan heard him open a chest.


    ¡°Well,¡± she said, ¡°are you two going to be around for a while?¡± She stole another glance at Dylan.


    ¡°Just arrived today. I¡¯ll be around for at least a week,¡± Charles said.


    Dylan heard him shut the lid. She blinked and bowed her head in farewell to them both.


    ¡°I hope to see you around, Dylan,¡± Y¡¯rell said over her shoulder as she resumed her stroll.


    ¡°Yep, see you around.¡± Catching himself mid-wave, Dylan pulled his arm down. ¡®Stop leading on the nice dragon lady,¡¯ he thought. He¡¯d have to be more careful about who he waved to in the future.


    Dylan sensed Charles¡¯ presence beside him, and they both watched Y¡¯rell walk away. Her graceful hips swayed back and forth, her tail trailing behind.


    ¡°I thought you were afraid of draconi?¡± Charles asked.


    ¡°Terrified,¡± Dylan said, still staring, unable to look away. ¡°Absolutely terrified.¡±


    Charles gave him a puzzled look. When Dylan turned to meet his gaze, he saw the weapons. His knees gave out, and he fell over, trying to get away. The well-equipped, rugged elf stood there, armed with three blades and a shortbow.


    A longsword was sheathed along his spine, a shortsword across his lower back, and a dagger on his hip. A quiver was strapped to his thigh, with the shortbow slung over his shoulder and across his chest.


    Dylan closed his eyes, threw his arms over his head, and thought, ¡®Not again!¡¯


    There was a long pause before Charles asked, ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Just make it quick,¡± Dylan said, inching back toward the treehouse. At least, that¡¯s where he assumed he was going; he refused to open his eyes.


    ¡°Dylan¡ª¡±


    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± he interrupted. Of all the methods of torture, waiting was the most effective. For Dylan, anticipating pain was infinitely worse than experiencing it. The knowledge that something was coming enveloped him in an all-consuming state of vigilance. He called it Wait-mode.


    ¡°I¡¯m waiting for you,¡± Charles said.


    Dylan flinched as a firm hand took him by the arm, hoisting him to his feet. He opened one eye just in time to see Charles shut the oval door to the treehouse, knowing he wouldn¡¯t get back in until the rugged elf opened it.


    ¡°You¡¯re under my protection,¡± Charles said, noticing Dylan¡¯s eyes darting from weapon to weapon. ¡°I can¡¯t do that if I¡¯m unarmed.¡±


    ¡°You said it¡¯s a short walk. Do you really need to bring all your weapons?¡±


    ¡°These aren¡¯t all of my weapons,¡± Charles said, double-checking the clasp holding his quiver to his thigh.


    In an attempt to divert both his and Charles¡¯ attention, Dylan pointed to the two demons hooked up to the treehouse and asked, ¡°What are their names?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re summons; they don¡¯t have names.¡±


    ¡°Do you get the same pair when you re-summon them?¡±


    ¡°Yes, they get reconstituted, even if destroyed.¡±


    ¡°I think they should have names,¡± Dylan said, bending over to check their undercarriage. ¡°How can you tell if it¡¯s a boy or girl?¡± He couldn¡¯t tell them apart.


    ¡°Bramble spawn don¡¯t have genders; they¡¯re bramble spawn.¡± Charles readjusted the bow across his chest.


    ¡®Bramble spawn,¡¯ Dylan noted mentally.


    Charles stood uncomfortably close, prompting Dylan to move down the street. Charles followed closely from behind.


    Looking back toward the treehouse, he saw why it was called the Merchant¡¯s Circle¡ªthe treehouse had been hiding the other temporary merchant stalls scattered around the circle. There was even a large stable on the opposite side.


    ¡°Bramble spawn don¡¯t need to be stabled?¡± he asked, eager for an excuse to see all the new animals. There were bipeds, quadrupeds, and Dylan didn¡¯t know what to call the three- or six-legged creatures. ¡®Sexapeds? No, that sounds wrong.¡¯


    ¡°They¡¯re part of the treehouse; they¡¯ll wither away and die if detached,¡± Charles said. He was eerily quiet for someone carrying so many weapons, and Dylan still didn¡¯t see why he couldn¡¯t give them names.


    ¡°Put your hood up if you don¡¯t want them to gawk,¡± Charles suggested.


    Not wanting another Y¡¯rell Incident, Dylan pulled up the hood of his cloak. While a hooded figure walking around at dusk might attract some attention, his human ears still stood out like a beacon.


    As they started down the road, something felt off. Dylan chalked it up to being on another world with magic, strange greeting customs, and dragon-people.


    There were fewer pedestrians out now than before, when he had sat watching from the safety of the treehouse. Dylan suspected it was dinnertime for most, but the encroaching darkness was also a convenient excuse to be home with their families.


    Tall, dark metal poles, evenly spaced along the road, held empty cages.


    ¡®That¡¯s odd,¡¯ he thought. ¡®Did someone steal every single light bulb?¡¯ He watched as a small spark came to life in one of the empty spaces, growing into a pulsing mass of constant white light. ¡®I guess you don¡¯t need light bulbs when you¡¯ve got magic.¡¯ The spark sizzled into a steady, buzzing hum as the light filled the streets, walls, and even the lower portions of the sky.


    Other than foot traffic and the occasional comings and goings of traveling merchants, Dylan hadn¡¯t seen any vehicles on the road to the Merchants¡¯ Circle. The road had a well-maintained surface, mostly made up of squared, evenly spaced, sun-bleached cobblestones.


    The sidewalk featured alternating blue and orange brickwork, laid at a forty-five-degree angle, and it was just as wide as the street. The brickwork was impressive¡ªimmaculate, even. He continued to take in the town as they walked.


    The buildings were mostly one or two stories tall, made of stone and brick. Some even seemed shaped from solid stone, seamless, like the underground levels beneath the Ebonscale stronghold. A range of natural rock colors, from orange to gray and everything in between, dominated the landscape. There was a distinct lack of wood; most of the architecture featured stone, glass, and metal, reminding him of big cities back on Earth.

 Chapter 20 - Where Does It All Go?

    (Dylan)


    Shops lined the entire street, and it made sense to Dylan why they called it Market Street¡ªhe assumed it was because it led to Merchants¡¯ Circle. His eyes roamed from storefront to storefront, taking in all the interesting clothes and strange items whose function he could only guess at. Each displayed a sign with its name and specialty, written in an abstract typeface that made it impossible to distinguish individual letters, yet he understood them anyway.


    ¡°Magical signs,¡± Dylan whispered. Technically, it wasn¡¯t reading; his eyes saw the letters, but before his brain could process them, they transformed into words he understood. The experience sent a tingle through his brain. He smiled, still amused by the magically translated words.


    Each shop specialized in something, hinted at by its name. Grel¡¯ka¡¯s Hidden Cloaks & Daggers, a small, single-story building, was overshadowed by larger shops on either side. The Fleet Feet & Boots Boutique had a large pane window, filled with footwear of every shape and size. The Chromatic Crypt: Dyeing to Meet You and Your Needs, got a chuckle out of him.


    ¡®Puns, my only weakness. That and those wretched terror tubes,¡¯ he thought. Puns were a guilty pleasure.


    A simple, nondescript sign hung over a closed door that read Fred¡¯s. It was the first door he¡¯d seen made of actual wood¡ªa simple red door. The others had been metal-framed, with large, inviting, full-length windows. The last sign he read was for Big, Tall, & Small. Dylan thought that would¡¯ve been the perfect name for Charles¡¯s shop.


    Fred¡¯s shop was the only one that didn¡¯t hint at what was inside. Dylan wasn¡¯t sure if it was marketing genius or plain old laziness. Either way, he was curious about what lay behind that door. Eventually, he stopped reading the signs; the most interesting names were behind him now.


    Without the distractions of conversation, accidental flirting, or ASMR signs, Dylan finally noticed what was off¡ªsomething even more disorienting than being on another world. The streets weren¡¯t just clean; they were immaculate.


    ¡®Where¡¯s all the trash?¡¯ Dylan wondered. Turning, he walked backward, scanning the street. No trash bins in sight. Charles gave him that, ¡°what are you doing?¡± look again. Dylan ignored it, stepping off the sidewalk and onto the road.


    Even the cobblestone road was free of litter. At the very least, Dylan expected some rubbish tucked against the curb, but there was none. The lack of trash was more unbelievable than the existence of magic. He crouched low, scrutinizing the ground more closely. Charles followed him into the street, nearly running him over when he stopped abruptly.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Charles asked.


    ¡°I can¡¯t find a cigarette butt,¡± Dylan muttered, still inspecting the ground.


    ¡°Did you drop one? What do they look like?¡± Charles leaned over, peering at the ground. He joined Dylan¡¯s quest for the cigarette butt.


    Dylan shook his head. ¡°No, I don¡¯t smoke, but back on Earth, you can¡¯t take five steps without seeing one.¡±


    ¡°What does the cigarette butt do?¡± Charles asked, crouching down in the street beside Dylan to get a better view.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t do anything. It¡¯s just trash. People smoke ¡®em, then flick ¡®em away when they¡¯re done.¡± Dylan mimicked the motion.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think we have any cigarette butts.¡± Charles stood up, giving up on the search.


    ¡°Me neither, but you don¡¯t have any trash on the ground.¡± Dylan gestured up and down the street. ¡°Who¡¯s picking it all up?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡± Charles put a hand on his hip, precariously close to the dagger. ¡°What do you mean by trash?¡±


    ¡®How do I explain trash?¡¯ Dylan thought, pausing for a moment. He stood up with Charles and asked, ¡°After you eat chips, what do you do with the wrapper?¡±


    ¡°Fat-soaked, over-cooked vegetables?¡± Charles asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a snack.¡±


    ¡°You snack on low-nutrient, high-fat foods?¡± Charles asked, raising an eyebrow. ¡°That explains your girth.¡±


    Dylan closed his eyes, took a breath, and tried to ignore the unflattering remark.


    ¡°Let¡¯s try that again,¡± Dylan said, stepping over the curb and back onto the sidewalk. ¡°After you¡¯re done eating, what do you do with the packaging?¡±


    ¡°Sanitize the container,¡± Charles said, following Dylan out of the road.


    ¡®Ah,¡¯ Dylan thought. He saw where Charles was getting stuck and clarified, ¡°But it¡¯s not a container, it¡¯s a disposable plastic bag.¡± Then he asked again, ¡°What do you do with the bag?¡±


    ¡°Is this a riddle?¡± Charles asked, his tone suggesting he enjoyed them. He repeated the same tactic as before: standing far too close to Dylan, positioning himself on the opposite side of where he wanted Dylan to go.


    ¡®He¡¯s doing that on purpose!¡¯ Dylan thought. He didn¡¯t appreciate being manipulated, but his choices were: keep moving or set boundaries with the triple sword-wielding, bow-toting, phoenix-summoning, tea-pouring elf who¡¯d killed him three times already. He capitulated and started walking.


    ¡°No,¡± Dylan said, shaking his head, ¡°it¡¯s not a riddle. What do you do with your snack bags?¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°While I¡¯m fond of puzzles, riddles, and theoretical discussions, you¡¯re being disingenuous. This is obviously a trick question,¡± Charles said, continuing to walk right behind him.


    Dylan spun around, still keeping pace. ¡°Nope, I swear, it¡¯s not a trick question.¡± He pursed his lips, searching for a more relatable example. ¡°What if you drink a potion? What do you do with the bottle?¡± A streetlight narrowly missed his elbow as he passed by.


    ¡°Sanitize it and give it back to an alchemist for a discount.¡± Charles reached out and guided him away from the oncoming poles.


    ¡°Recycling,¡± Dylan nodded, sighing, ¡°yeah, we¡¯ve got that too.¡± Placing a finger on his lips to think, his eyes widened with his next idea. It was foolproof. He pointed at Charles. ¡°Flak!¡± The enthusiasm he put into that word even surprised Charles. ¡°What happens to the paper? You can¡¯t sanitize it.¡± Dylan smirked. ¡®I¡¯ve got him now.¡¯


    Without hesitation, Charles said, ¡°Kindling.¡±


    Dylan cringed, remembering Charles feeding the campfire.


    ¡®Thwarted again¡­¡¯ Dylan thought. ¡®Why is trash so hard to explain?¡¯ The rugged elf dodged every logical argument he threw at him, but Dylan would keep trying¡ªeventually, something would hit.


    Charles intervened again, keeping Dylan from hitting the pole.


    Dylan pointed to his feet and asked, ¡°Alright, how about boots? What happens after you wear them out and can¡¯t use them anymore?¡±


    ¡°You know I craft and mend clothing, right?¡± Charles asked, concern growing on his face. ¡°Do you remember when I resized your boots?¡± He squinted, looking closely at the lumps and scratches on Dylan¡¯s head, re-evaluating for a concussion.


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± Dylan said flatly.


    ¡°With regular maintenance, they should last a lifetime. Unless they¡¯re consumed in a fire, disintegrated, or something else catastrophic. But at that point, I¡¯d be more concerned about the person wearing them.¡±


    Desperate, Dylan asked, ¡°Okay, what about the box they come in?¡± He continued walking backward, straying closer to the streetlights again.


    ¡°They¡¯re shoes, Dylan. They don¡¯t need a box.¡± Charles leaned around him, eyeing the approaching obstacles, and sighed. Keeping Dylan off poles was turning into a full-time job. So, he tried a different approach, sidestepping away from the road, he waited to see if Dylan would follow.


    ¡°That¡¯s an excellent point,¡± Dylan said, sidestepping to stay in front of Charles. The rugged elf¡¯s responses had him questioning himself. ¡®Why do shoes come in a box?¡¯ Dylan realized his mistake¡ªhe assumed things worked the same way here as they did on Earth. Correcting himself, he asked, ¡°Does anything come in a disposable bag, container, or box?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Charles said, shaking his head, ¡°what¡¯s the purpose of a disposable container? Seems impractical and wasteful to me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s cheaper,¡± Dylan said, but it was too late¡ªCharles had infected him with questions. His mind immediately challenged that answer. ¡°It¡¯s cheaper to make.¡± While that was closer to the truth, something pushed him further. ¡°It¡¯s cheaper for them to make, and you have to keep buying them.¡± Finally, he got past his consumerist programming and answered honestly.


    ¡°I still don¡¯t see the advantage,¡± Charles said. ¡°Why can¡¯t you sanitize and reuse them again? Are there laws preventing it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not illegal, but usually you have to tear or break it open.¡±


    ¡°Broken after a single use?¡± Charles asked, adjusting the short sword on his lower back. ¡°And there¡¯s no way to mend or repair them?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have magic, and they¡¯re not designed to be fixed. Also, they¡¯d probably fall apart if you tried to wash them.¡±


    ¡°Who designs such a terrible container?¡± Charles asked, disgust clear on his face.


    Dylan shrugged and said, ¡°People who want to sell containers?¡±


    That made Charles stop walking; his eyes narrowed. ¡°And you knowingly purchase from these charlatans?¡±


    Dylan also stopped and said, ¡°There aren¡¯t any other options.¡±


    ¡°All your food comes in these ¡®disposable¡¯ containers?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much, yeah.¡±


    ¡°How many containers do you use?¡± Charles asked, taking a moment to straighten his shirt and re-adjust his bow, composing himself. He resumed walking and took the lead.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see,¡± Dylan counted in his head. ¡°Maybe a dozen, give or take?¡± He followed, catching up to walk beside Charles.


    Charles whistled. ¡°Twelve containers is a lot for one month, even for a family.¡±


    ¡°Uh,¡± Dylan said, raising a finger, ¡°no. Sorry, I misspoke.¡±


    Charles looked relieved and said, ¡°I sure hope so.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s actually more like a dozen per person, per day.¡± Dylan bit his lip, waiting for Charles¡¯ response.


    ¡°Dylan!¡± Charles stopped again, this time with a raised voice. ¡°Do the containers only hold one bite?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Dylan didn¡¯t want to lie, ¡°it¡¯s more like a couple bites?¡±


    Charles stared at him. ¡°That¡¯s an unfathomable number of containers.¡±


    Dylan could see the conversation was upsetting the rugged elf. It upset him too, but he couldn¡¯t stop himself from unburdening his soul and continuing the doom spiral. The only way to get past it was to go through it.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just food. It¡¯s everything,¡± Dylan admitted. ¡°Every single item we have comes in disposable packaging.¡±


    ¡°And there¡¯s no way to repurpose any of it?¡± Charles asked as cracks continued to form around his already damaged calm.


    ¡°We tried recycling.¡± Dylan looked away. ¡°But it wasn¡¯t as profitable as making new ones.¡±


    ¡°So, hundreds of thousands of people are just creating,¡± Charles struggled for the right word, ¡°waste?¡±


    Dylan¡¯s eyes lit up. He snapped his fingers, pointing at Charles. ¡°That¡¯s what trash means!¡± They both nodded, finally coming to an understanding.


    ¡°And it¡¯s not thousands¡­¡± Dylan said after a few moments.


    ¡°I apologize,¡± Charles said, his voice restrained once again. ¡°I realize I¡¯ve made an unfounded assumption about Dirt¡¯s population.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s billions¡­¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯re confused, Dylan. Million is the one that comes after thousand.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Charles nodded.


    ¡°Earth has just under eight billion people,¡± Dylan said, unable to let it go.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what?¡± Charles did a double take and stopped again.


    ¡°Billion, the one that comes after million.¡±


    Charles stared at Dylan, slack-jawed.


    ¡°You¡ª¡± Charles turned and walked away, cutting himself off. He paced back and forth across the sidewalk while tabulating that number, eventually looping his way back to Dylan. Charles held up his finger. ¡°What¡ª¡± Still unable to complete a thought, he did another lap to work through it.


    Approaching Dylan for the second time, Charles held up his hands, forming a sphere between them. ¡°Eight?¡± he asked, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. ¡°Billion.¡± He was off again, this time taking two laps before returning. Charles came back, took a deep breath, and finally asked a complete question.


    ¡°What do you do with all of it?¡± he asked, his voice tight with restraint.


    Dylan wasn¡¯t sure which part of the conversation Charles was asking about. He tilted his head, hoping Charles would clarify.


    Charles took hold of both Dylan¡¯s arms, looked him in the eye, and asked with a forced whisper, ¡°Where does it all go?¡±


    ¡°Where does what go, Charles?¡± Dylan asked, still confused at this point.


    Charles lost control of the volume of his voice.


    ¡°The trash!¡± he yelled. ¡°Where does all the trash go?!¡±


    Dylan pointed both fingers at Charles and yelled back, ¡°Exactly!¡±


    The chubby man and rugged elf stood on the sidewalk, yelling at each other.


    A male elf cleared his throat. ¡°Pardon me.¡±


    Both Dylan and Charles turned to look at him with wild eyes.


    ¡°Sorry, I just need to¡­¡± He pointed between them at his destination.


    Charles released Dylan, and they both took a step back.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± the elf said. He opened the doors to the League of Adventurers¡¯ Hall and walked in.

 Chapter 21 - Do You Have an Appointment?

    (Dylan)


    From the outside, the League of Adventurers¡¯ Hall looked like any other grand bureaucratic building, with its symmetrical columns, uplighting, and large central dome. As Dylan stepped through the bronze doors, he took in the grand lobby: marble walls, columns, clean lines, and intricate geometric shapes framing everything.


    He looked up at the kaleidoscopic stained-glass dome high above. Even at night, the prismatic colors were beautiful¡ªhe couldn¡¯t imagine how they¡¯d look during the day. At the center of the lobby, a waterfall staircase cascaded down from the second floor, spilling onto the first.


    Charles seemed to be looking around as much as Dylan.


    ¡°Is this your first time here?¡± Dylan asked, tilting his head toward Charles, noting the elf¡¯s glances around the lobby.


    ¡°No,¡± Charles muttered absently, his eyes still drifting from one archway to the next.


    They entered on the first floor. Dozens of archways lined the walls, each with its own ASMR-inducing sign listing a different hall or office. Dylan read a few: Crafting Hall, Contracts Hall, Information Hall, Relationships Hall, and Fred¡¯s Office.


    The last one stood out because the door looked familiar¡ªa simple red door. He¡¯d seen a similar one on Market Street, and the sign also mentioned someone named Fred. All the other doors had ornate carvings and dark purple wood, reminding him of the plum floors at Ebonscale. Charles still looked lost.


    ¡°You sure you know where we¡¯re going?¡± Dylan asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced between Charles and the signs.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Charles turned, searching the signs on the other side of the lobby.


    Dylan didn¡¯t believe him. He looked up at the fancy metal railings spanning between the tall stonework columns on the second floor. It was a relief to see someone in this world believed in structural safety features. If he could just convince them the terror tubes needed railings too¡­


    Two hallways, one on each side, shot out from the center of the lobby. Expansive murals caught his attention¡ªthey moved. From afar, he watched an epic battle unfold, a hero defeating a giant monster. It led to another heroic scene, then another. Curious, he wondered when they¡¯d repeat. Charles hadn¡¯t moved, still checking the signs.


    ¡°Because it looks like you¡¯re lost,¡± Dylan teased, folding his arms across his chest as he watched Charles¡¯s eyes dart from sign to sign.


    ¡°I¡¯m not lost,¡± Charles said, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. ¡°It¡¯s just been a while.¡±


    The third floor was too high up to get a good look, and there wasn¡¯t an obvious way to reach it. The grand lobby echoed with official bureaucratic business.


    A citrine-scaled draconi with a twin-axed crest excused herself as she walked past Dylan, hauling a cart filled with leather, fabrics, and threads. She made her way to the Crafting Hall. He wanted to follow and see if she was making a delivery or fashioning something for herself.


    The Crafting Hall sounded like it had a lot of cool stuff. He debated asking Charles if they could check it out after registration. ¡®I¡¯m literally on fire¡¯ switched to ¡®it stabs when I touch it,¡¯ and Dylan changed his mind. The Crafting Hall could wait until after registration and the hospital.


    Turning back toward the doors they¡¯d entered, Dylan asked, ¡°Is there a directory we could check?¡±


    ¡°Directories don¡¯t work here. The rooms keep moving around,¡± Charles said, taking two steps forward to look at another sign, his mouth moving silently as he read it to himself.


    ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re constantly remodeling back on Earth, too,¡± Dylan said, still looking for a directory.


    ¡°No, the building doesn¡¯t change; the offices just rearrange themselves sometimes.¡±


    ¡°On their own? How do they do that?¡± He gave up on the directory and rejoined Charles.


    ¡°Magic.¡±


    ¡°If the offices magically move, why can¡¯t the directories magically update?¡± Dylan asked, trying to understand how magic worked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. My guess would be for security reasons.¡± Charles found what he was looking for. He pointed to an archway all the way in the back corner and said, ¡°This way.¡±


    The sign displayed: Registration Hall. Dylan didn¡¯t think they could fit much of anything in that tiny corner, let alone an entire hall. He was about to say something when an actual mountain of a man emerged from the Contracts Hall. The walking gray statue wore leather boots, chainmail pants, and a leather harness across his chest.


    Dylan did a double take. While Abs had a disgustingly fit frame, this giant stone man had an actual chiseled physique, rock-hard abs¡ªthe works. Dylan couldn¡¯t say it was Maybelline because this guy was fucking born with it. He looked up at the seven-and-a-quarter-foot-tall gray giant and stared as he moseyed by.


    The sight from behind was even more amazing. Dylan couldn¡¯t blink, let alone turn away, transfixed by the pair of well-proportioned, curvy, thick aegis strapped to the man¡¯s back. He started tapping Charles¡¯ shoulder repeatedly.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°What?¡± Charles asked, swatting Dylan¡¯s hand to stop it from tapping him.


    ¡°Two shields, Charles. He¡¯s got two of ¡®em,¡± Dylan said. ¡®The best offense is a good defense,¡¯ he thought, chuckling. He¡¯d never dreamed of anything as crazy as dual-wielding shields. What other marvelous things would magic show him?


    ¡°Come on.¡± Charles took hold of Dylan¡¯s arm, dragging him toward the Registration Hall.


    ¡°So, what do they do here?¡± Dylan asked, sidestepping closer to Charles, curiosity pushing him forward.


    Without stopping, Charles looked up at the ceiling and said, ¡°Contracts.¡±


    Dylan followed his gaze, looking up as well. The stained glass really was pretty. Distracted by the novelty of it all, Dylan didn¡¯t notice when Charles pushed the button next to the double, curved doors.


    Ding! Dylan¡¯s face went pale as he shot Charles a look of confusion, betrayal, and terror.


    ¡°Not the terror tube!¡± Dylan exclaimed. He made a run for it, but Charles still had a grip on his arm and held firm. ¡°No,¡± he cried, ¡°not again!¡±


    ¡°Stop acting like a yearling and get in the geolift,¡± Charles said, tossing him in.


    The doors closed, and Dylan buried his face into the rugged elf¡¯s shoulder, holding on for dear life. Charles sighed as the chubby man hugged him. When the doors opened, both were relieved to step out.


    ¡°Why are there no railings?¡± Dylan demanded once free of the stupid geolift.


    ¡°Railings? What for?¡±


    ¡°So, I don¡¯t fall and get caught between the wall and the lift.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t. There¡¯s a containment field. It¡¯s just transparent.¡±


    ¡°Invisible railings? Jesus, someone should put up a warning sign.¡±


    ¡°Why would anyone put up a warning sign saying the geolift is safe to use?¡± Charles ignored him and started down the hall.


    ¡°What are contracts?¡± Dylan asked, following him.


    ¡°That¡¯s complicated,¡± Charles said, reading the signs above the door again.


    Dylan read the brain-tingling signs: Adventurer¡¯s Ability Registration, Adventurer¡¯s Written Exam Room, Adventurer¡¯s Practical Exam Room, and Mundane Registrations. Charles was leading them to that last room. The hallway rumbled with the sounds of distant explosions as they walked past the Adventurer¡¯s Practical Exam Room. Dylan wondered which Michael Bay movie they were playing in there. Then he remembered this wasn¡¯t a movie theater, and those were probably real explosions. He picked up his pace, following close behind Charles.


    Charles grasped the doorknob. With a twist and a pull, he opened it, motioning for Dylan to go in ahead of him.


    While this room had a different feel, it still carried that fancy-as-fuck vibe. The architects had incorporated wood elements into the suite, something he¡¯d seen little of since arriving in Dartmouth. Only the ceiling and floors kept their strict marble compositions.


    Rich, plum-colored panels lined the walls, each plank gleaming with a deep, warm luster. Intricate moldings framed the panels, creating a sense of timeless elegance. Even the furniture matched, with rounded corners and a lacquered finish. Padded chairs lined the closest wall, serving as the waiting area. Dylan''s eyes landed on the counter running the length of the room, separating them from the lone attendant.


    If he didn¡¯t know any better, he could¡¯ve assumed they¡¯d walked into one of those elegant Victorian bank lobbies back on Earth. Except, of course, he was on an alien planet¡ªand there was an ostentatiously dressed elf standing behind the counter.


    Dylan didn¡¯t know what he was looking at. He looked like a time-traveling elf role-playing as an 18th-century human.


    ¡®What in the shit fuck is this?¡¯ he wanted to ask.


    Abs, Charles, and the handful of other elves he¡¯d seen all had straight or, at most, wavy hair, but this guy¡¯s golden, tightly curled ringlets bounced at his jawline. His wine-colored jacket had a long, stiff collar that stopped just shy of the bottom of his obviously permed curls.


    Dylan was tempted to feel if the crushed velvet was as soft as it appeared. The front of the jacket featured embroidered chevrons, flowers, and leaves in golden yellows, oranges, and white. The double-backed sleeve cuffs had the same intricate details as the front.


    The jacket swooped back, revealing a tight-fitting black vest fastened with a row of purple gemstone buttons. High-waisted pants disappeared under the vest, made from the same wine-colored velvet as the jacket. Dylan had to know, so he approached the counter to peer over it.


    ¡®I knew it.¡¯ The pants stopped just above his knees with an inch-wide black band. Tight white socks ran down from his knees, disappearing into polished white shoes. On his tiptoes now, he strained to lean further and confirmed the shoes had inch-high heels. Only slightly disappointed, he wondered, ¡®Where¡¯s the tricorn hat?¡¯


    ¡°Ahem.¡± The pretentious elf cleared his throat loudly. Dylan looked up to see a neckpiece inches from his face. White like his socks, it wrapped around the elf¡¯s neck like a wide, stocky, poofy necktie.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Dylan said, planting both feet back on the ground and taking a half step back to give the elf some space. Dylan noticed a pin on the jacket. His brain buzzed as the letters translated: Marlin.


    ¡°Marlin?¡± Dylan asked. He thought he looked more like a Miles or a Rupert, honestly.


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Marlin said in his proper posh accent.


    ¡°Like the fish?¡± Dylan asked. Marlin turned to Charles, verifying what he¡¯d heard was correct. An exhausted Charles shrugged. Dylan also turned to Charles and asked, ¡°Do you guys have marlin on Mother of Dragons?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Charles said, giving him another worried look. ¡°He¡¯s standing right here in front of us.¡±


    ¡°He can also hear you,¡± Marlin leaned in, lowering his voice slightly as he addressed both of them.


    ¡°I suspect he has a concussion,¡± Charles said, stepping up to the counter a few feet from Dylan and leaning against it.


    ¡°That is unfortunate,¡± Marlin said.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Charles agreed.


    ¡°Do you have an appointment?¡± Marlin reached into a drawer and pulled out a thin stone tablet, about the size and shape of an iPad.


    Dylan turned to Charles and said, ¡°I thought you said we didn¡¯t need an appointment.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t,¡± Charles said.


    ¡°Please accept my apologies, but we do not take walk-ins this late in the evening. If you would like to stop by during the day tomorrow, there will be someone who can assist. Or I can schedule an appointment for another evening.¡± Marlin tapped the stone tablet, and a holographic overlay appeared, like a screen.


    ¡°Whoa,¡± Dylan marveled. ¡°Is that an iStone?¡± He frowned. That didn¡¯t sound right. ¡°iRock, no. The iSlate?¡± He gave up guessing.


    Marlin flicked his fingers, the display scrolling in response, and asked, ¡°Is he alright?¡±


    Charles raised both hands in a shrug. ¡°Unsure. I found him this way.¡±


    Still mesmerized by the rockPad, Dylan pointed and asked, ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Technology,¡± Marlin said. He gave Dylan a quizzical expression and looked back at Charles. ¡°Pardon me. Has he ever seen technology before?¡±


    Charles looked at Dylan and asked, ¡°How does a world with eight billion people not have technology?¡±


    Dylan rolled his eyes and said, ¡°We have technology. I mean, how¡ª¡±


    ¡°Eight billion?¡± Marlin interrupted. ¡°On a single world?¡±


    ¡°And you couldn¡¯t imagine the waste they generate¡­¡± Charles said, still processing their earlier conversation. ¡°But we¡¯re not here to report that crime. He¡¯s a refugee, and we need to get him into the system.¡±

 Chapter 22 - The Dirt on Earth

    (Dylan)


    ¡°Of course, right away,¡± Marlin turned to Dylan with a crisp nod. ¡°Your well-armed friend is quite correct; an appointment is unnecessary. I shall attend to this matter.¡± He flicked his wrist over the tablet, flipping his palm to reveal a new overlay. His fingers danced over the screen, swiping back and forth as the menus shifted rapidly.


    Dylan watched his gestures and said, ¡°It¡¯s just like an iPad, but made of stone. A stonePad?¡± Dylan quipped, his eyes lighting up as he finally made the connection. ¡°The sPad!¡±


    Marlin leaned toward Charles, whispering conspiratorially, ¡°It appears they have already harvested his ears; just dreadful, the poor thing.¡±


    Dylan¡¯s hand instinctively went to his ear, his fingers brushing it as self-consciousness crept over him.


    ¡°I believe he¡¯s part of an intergalactic trafficking scheme, preying on pre-astral civilizations. This is all very new for him,¡± Charles said.


    ¡°Pre-astral?¡± Marlin looked up, pointing to Dylan. ¡°He is not elven?¡±


    Charles shook his head.


    ¡°Yes, well, that would explain the disfigured ears and poor physical condition.¡± Marlin exchanged a knowing nod with Charles.


    Dylan frowned, eyes narrowing. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with my ears?¡±


    Marlin held out his free hand while continuing to tap with his other. ¡°Your adventuring license, please.¡±


    Charles reached into his pocket and pulled out a rectangular white card, handing it over to the attendant. Marlin took the card, tapping the corner of it on his tablet. He frowned and tapped it again.


    Laying the tablet on the counter, he gave Charles his full attention and said, ¡°My apologies, sir, but it appears that this license has been suspended.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± Charles said, his voice clipped.


    Marlin¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. ¡°Sir, I am afraid I cannot give you a proper contract for this.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± he said again, annoyance carrying in his voice.


    Marlin picked the sPad back up and tapped away. After a minute, he said, ¡°The best I can do for you is an unranked transport contract¡ª¡±


    Charles cut him off before he could continue, his voice firm. ¡°We¡¯re not here for me. This man needs your help.¡±


    ¡°Certainly. May I inquire as to his name?¡±


    ¡°Dylan,¡± he answered for himself.


    ¡°Is that a translation ring on his finger?¡± Marlin asked Charles, throwing a quick gesture toward the band.


    Charles gave a curt nod. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Most excellent. It is essential that he grasps the situation.¡±


    Dylan rolled his eyes, gesturing between the two of them. ¡°Guys, I¡¯m right here.¡±


    Marlin set the tablet back on the counter, this time giving Dylan his full, undivided attention. He dropped his posh accent. ¡°Greetings, Dylan,¡± the attendant said, louder than necessary, with a glacial cadence. Placing his hand over his chest, he said, ¡°My name is Marlin.¡±


    Dylan looked at Charles, wondering if this was a prank. ¡°Why¡¯s he talking like that?¡± He pointed to the pretentious elf.


    ¡°I am your advocate for your refugee registration.¡± Marlin continued with his glacially slow explanation. ¡°That means I will argue for, support, and defend your best interests.¡±


    ¡°Are you for real right now?¡± Dylan asked him.


    Marlin dragged out even the simplest response, nodding. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Holy crap,¡± Dylan said, ¡°Please stop.¡±


    Marlin looked over at Charles for confirmation.


    Charles sighed. ¡°This is why I prefer the day shift¡­¡± He turned to the attendant. ¡°He¡¯s not deaf or simple. You can speak normally.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± Marlin narrowed his eyes on them both. Resuming his former accent, he said, ¡°It is my duty to address any inquiries you may have. I understand that you may have undergone a harrowing ordeal, but I have just a few questions. If you would be so kind? I assure you that this should not take an excessive amount of your time.¡±


    Dylan crossed his arms. ¡°What happens to me after the refugee registration?¡±


    ¡°A mender or physician will pick up your contract and become your caseworker.¡±


    ¡°And then what happens?¡±


    ¡°Your caseworker will walk you through the seven-step process, getting you integrated into society in a healthy and engaging way.¡±


    ¡°And what will I have to do?¡±


    ¡°The entire refugee process is modular and completely optional. You will not have to do anything you do not wish to.¡±


    ¡°And what about the cost?¡±


    ¡°Cost?¡± Marlin stared at him blankly.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Dylan said slowly, ¡°how much is this going to cost me?¡±


    Marlin¡¯s face twisted in confusion. ¡°I am afraid I do not understand your question.¡±


    ¡°What will I owe you when I¡¯m done integrating, or whatever?¡±


    ¡°Nothing, sir. The entire process is optional. Do you still wish to register as a refugee?¡±


    ¡°It just sounds too good to be true, which usually means it is. Are there any hidden fees?¡±


    Marlin shook his head firmly. ¡°I assure you, there are no fees. The League will cover all your food, clothing, lodging, and any occupational training costs.¡± Dylan asked, narrowing his eyes as if trying to catch Marlin in a lie.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Dylan¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Wait, you¡¯re going to pay for me to go to school?¡±


    Marlin tilted his head slightly, perplexed by the question. ¡°First, fundamental education is free. Second, you should have already completed it by your age. Does your planet not have education?¡±


    Dylan waved his hand dismissively. ¡°We¡¯ve got education, but the good stuff costs a lot.¡±


    Marlin¡¯s face scrunched in genuine confusion. ¡°Oh, Mother, why would there be a barrier to entry to quality education? What purpose does lowering the average intelligence of society serve? Sounds dreadfully barbaric.¡±


    The more Dylan tried to explain the differences between Mother of Dragons and Earth, the more obvious it became that Earth only focused on short-term profits at the expense of everything else. Seeing a world that focused on adding value, not purely based on money, blew his fucking mind.


    ¡°Lastly, we will ensure any gaps in your fundamental knowledge are addressed.¡±


    Dylan picked at his nails, still trying to process this new world. ¡°What about college or higher education? What if I want to go to wizard school¡ªSorry, wizard college? Does that count as occupational training?¡±


    Marlin pursed his lips in thought, then nodded. ¡°That sounds like a guild. You pay them in time and service, and they reward you with experience and proficiency; something the League would not dare deprive you of.¡±


    Dylan raised an eyebrow. ¡°And how long would I have to work for you?¡±


    ¡°I am afraid you have the arrangement backwards. We will be the ones working for you. Again, this is all voluntary on your part; you are free to opt out at any time.¡±


    Dylan let out a breath, half-laughing. ¡°That sounds great, honestly. What do you want to know so we can get me registered?¡±


    Marlin straightened, picking up the tablet again. ¡°By what means did you arrive on Mother of Dragons? Astralship, world gate, or other?¡± Marlin picked up the tablet, waiting for a response.


    Dylan scratched his head, shrugging. ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    Marlin glanced up from the tablet, one eyebrow arched. ¡°I beg your pardon, could you please clarify?¡±


    ¡°I was walking on Earth one moment and the next I found myself in a room on Mother of Dragons,¡± Dylan explained, gesturing vaguely with his hands.


    ¡°You transitioned from the ground to inside a room?¡± Marlin repeated back what he understood. ¡°I apologize. I was inquiring about your arrival to the planet, not your ingress into a building.¡± He turned to Charles and said, ¡°I thought you said he was not simple.¡±


    Charles, arms crossed, exhaled through his nose. ¡°No, he went from his world to ours.¡±


    Marlin¡¯s face shifted in understanding. ¡°So that I have properly understood your situation; you meant the sudden displacement was from your world to ours, and not outdoors to indoors.¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± Dylan said.


    Marlin tapped at the screen, his face thoughtful. ¡°Hmm.¡± He tapped a few more boxes.


    Dylan leaned in slightly, concerned. ¡°Is that going to be a problem?¡±


    Marlin shook his head, though his gaze remained fixed on the tablet. ¡°Not for me,¡± he mumbled, tapping another box labeled ¡®Unknown¡¯. The attendant waved a hand, sliding through more forms. ¡°I am preparing three contracts: one for your safe transport to the League of Adventurers, another for the investigation into the circumstances of your arrival, and a third for your integration into society here on Mother of Dragons.¡±


    Dylan caught Charles nodding off. The rugged elf was so exhausted, he¡¯d fallen asleep on his feet for a moment. He couldn¡¯t imagine being up for that many days.


    Marlin¡¯s voice cut through Dylan¡¯s thoughts. ¡°On to our next inquiry. What is the name of your homeworld?"


    ¡®He¡¯s going to make me say it,¡¯ Dylan thought. Looking at Charles, then back to Marlin, he hesitated to answer. ¡®And he¡¯s gonna get it wrong.¡¯


    ¡°I understand that your world is pre-astral, but had anyone gotten around to christening it with a name before your abduction?¡± Marlin asked. ¡°That is fine if you did not. It should not be difficult to find your world among our records. It would be challenging to overlook such an extraordinary population.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I,¡± Dylan corrected himself, ¡°we named it before I left.¡±


    ¡°Outstanding. Inform me when you are ready, sir,¡± Marlin said, his fingers poised over the sPad, waiting for Dylan¡¯s response.


    Dylan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, remembering what Charles said; mistranslations won¡¯t have consequences. ¡°Earth,¡± Dylan said.


    Marlin blinked. ¡°Pardon, but I believe I may have misunderstood you again. Did you say¡ª¡±


    ¡°Earth,¡± Dylan repeated quickly. ¡°My planet is called Earth.¡±


    Marlin¡¯s eyebrows raised, having heard him properly the first time. His fingers flew across the overlay screen.


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Marlin repeated the same pattern three more times. ¡°This is most unusual.¡±


    A knot of anxiety tightened in Dylan¡¯s stomach. ¡°What¡¯s unusual?¡± he asked warily.


    Marlin¡¯s face remained calm as he explained, ¡°I assumed a world with such a considerable population would be documented in our archives. Might it have an alternative name, perhaps?¡±


    Dylan shook his head and said, ¡°No, not that I¡¯m aware of.¡±


    ¡°If that is the case, I regret to inform you that we have no record of a Dirt, sir,¡± Marlin said.


    Dylan¡¯s eye twitched as he groaned inwardly. ¡®Goddamnit, they got it wrong.¡¯


    ¡°That¡¯s because I¡¯m not from dirt. I¡¯m from Earth. Planet Earth. E-a-r¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t spell,¡± Charles and Marlin said in unison.


    Dylan sighed in frustration, glaring at the sPad in Marlin¡¯s hand, and thought, ¡®Sure, it might be in another language, but they probably give those things to kids.¡¯ If a child could do it, so could he; Dylan reasoned, holding out his hand, and asked, ¡°May I?¡±


    ¡°By all means.¡± Marlin placed the tablet in Dylan¡¯s hand and pointed to where the name of the planet should go.


    The overlay translated easily enough; Constant brain tingles and all, but the layout wasn¡¯t intuitive to him. He was clearly looking at a search engine for planets. However, the keyboard remained untranslated. He sighed. Charles was right again; he¡¯d have to learn how to read, eventually. After several frowny faces, he felt a hand on his shoulder again.


    ¡°Technological ignorance is nothing to be ashamed of,¡± Charles said gently. ¡°You¡¯ve nothing to prove here.¡±


    ¡°We have technology, Charles,¡± Dylan said, looking at him flatly. ¡°We¡¯ve had computers just like this¡±¡ªhe held up the sPad¡ª¡°for decades. I use technology every single day of my life.¡± He pointed to the tablet with his free hand. ¡°We give these to our kids before they can even read or write. Do you remember my phone I keep talking about?¡±


    Charles gestured something between a nod and a shrug.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even need hands; I just say what I want and¡ª¡± He gave himself an idea. ¡°Does this thing have voice activation, speech to text, or a way I can tell it what to do?¡± he asked, waving the tablet around again.


    Marlin looked at him strangely and said, ¡°Indeed, sir.¡±


    ¡°Okay, do it.¡± He placed the tablet on the counter between them.


    Marlin hesitantly reached over and tapped on a button in the corner. ¡°Whenever you are ready.¡±


    ¡°Computer, search for planet Earth,¡± Dylan said, enunciating the last word clearly. He watched as the overlay displayed a loading symbol; a snake chasing its tail around a rectangle.


    It didn¡¯t take long before the overlay displayed the results.


    No results found.


    Then it prompted him.


    Would you like to create a new record?


    It gave him two simple options.


    Confirm. Deny.


    Dylan looked up at Marlin and asked, ¡°Should I?¡±


    Marling nodded. ¡°The registration requires that you input a homeworld, even if it is transitory.¡±


    ¡®Transitory, that means temporary, right?¡¯ Dylan made the mistake of thinking instead of saying.


    Dylan tapped on Confirm and Marlin picked up the tablet. ¡°Superb. Let us proceed. What race do your people refer to themselves as?¡±


    Dylan sighed, finally feeling like they were getting somewhere. ¡°Human.¡±


    Marlin¡¯s face remained impassive, but the sigh that escaped him said it all. ¡°I would have thought Dirtling.¡± He shrugged, checking the records. The pretentious elf¡¯s sigh told Dylan this would be another new entry.


    ¡°Wait.¡± He held up his hand. ¡°Are you telling me I¡¯m the first human you¡¯ve ever met?¡±


    ¡°No Sir. You are the first human anyone has ever met,¡± Marlin said.


    Dylan didn¡¯t know how he felt about that information.


    ¡°Just one last formality is required,¡± Marlin said.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Dylan asked. He watched as the attendant spun the tablet around to face him. The outline of a hand replaced the overlay on the stonePad.


    ¡°There¡¯s just the small matter of obtaining your legal signal,¡± Marlin said.


    ¡®He probably meant signature,¡¯ Dylan thought. He reached out to place his hand on the tablet, but Marlin snatched it back before he could.


    ¡°It is important you understand, by completing this last step, you will finalize your registration with the League of Adventurers. Upon completion of this last step, I shall assign you refugee status. Do you have questions before we proceed?¡±


    Yes, Dylan had many questions, so many questions. In fact, he wanted to know more about everything the attendant had told him. Normally, he wouldn¡¯t make a fuss and just agree to move along, but he was still dealing with the decisions of Past Dylan and the fine print of the Time orb. This time, he couldn¡¯t allow his blatant disregard for binding documentation to get in his way.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Dylan said.


    Sliding the tablet back to Dylan¡¯s side of the counter, Marlin said, ¡°Excellent, now if you would just place your¡ª¡± He stopped himself and looked up, ¡°My apologies, did you say yes?¡±

 Chapter 23 - Why Is It Red?

    (Dylan)


    Dylan slid the tablet back across the counter toward Marlin. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve got some questions, a lot of questions.¡±


    ¡°Naturally,¡± Marlin replied, flashing a strained smile. ¡°Which details would you like me to clarify?¡±


    Dylan propped his chin on his knuckles, mulling it over. He still wasn¡¯t sold on the refugee program, and the attendant¡¯s half-hearted sales pitch didn¡¯t help. His thirty-five years on Earth had taught him one thing: almost everyone had an ulterior motive, and no one did anything for free.


    He¡¯d help people because it felt right, but learned fast that he was the exception, not the rule. What worried him most was that he couldn¡¯t tell what the League gained from helping people¡ªthat usually meant it was shady.


    Doing the right thing just for the sake of it? Life on Earth taught him to dig deeper. He needed to figure out the League¡ªwho they were, what they wanted, and, most importantly, what they expected from him.


    ¡°Let¡¯s start with the League of Adventurers.¡± Dylan shot an expectant look at Marlin.


    Marlin clasped his hands together and set them on the counter. ¡°Perhaps we could start with something a bit more... specific?¡±


    ¡°Sure, so what does the League of Adventurers actually do?¡± This was his chance to ask someone other than Charles, who had been less than helpful so far. Last time, all Dylan got was¡ª


    ¡°Contracts,¡± Marlin answered. Same as before.


    ¡°Contracts¡­?¡± Dylan blinked.


    Marlin nodded at Dylan, then leaned toward Charles and whispered, ¡°Are you sure he can hear with those...?¡± He gestured to his own ears, leaving the rest unsaid.


    ¡°Yes, I can hear you just fine.¡± Dylan cut in, again answering for himself.


    ¡°All well and good, sir.¡± Marlin straightened up. ¡°The League of Adventurers exists to create, distribute, complete, and compensate for contracts.¡±


    ¡°Should¡¯ve called it the League of Contracts.¡± Dylan chuckled, but neither elf found the joke funny.


    Marlin rolled his eyes and sighed. ¡°Contracts are what we do, not who we are.¡±


    Dylan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ¡°Well, who, or what, is the League of Adventurers?¡±


    ¡°An intergalactic organization with hundreds of millions of active members spread across the known universe. We established, collected, organized, and maintained the Adventurers System from the start. Technically, we are a sovereign entity, but we own no land and exist only at the behest of sentient civilizations.


    ¡°Our purpose is to use the Adventurers System to solve personal, social, economic, environmental, and chronological problems at local, global, galactic, and even universal levels when necessary. We avoid political problems but often deal with the fallout. Aside from governing our own members, we have no official authority unless given temporary jurisdiction through the Contract System.¡±


    ¡°Holy crap, you¡¯ve created your own Starfleet.¡± Dylan leaned on the counter, a grin spreading across his face.


    ¡®Wait, does that make me a redshirt?¡¯ Dylan¡¯s smile faded, he really hoped not. A disposable character they could kill off every episode wasn¡¯t how he wanted to spend the rest of his life.


    Marlin raised an eyebrow slightly. ¡°Am I right in assuming you want me to expound on the Contract System?¡±


    ¡°Yes, assume away.¡± Dylan nodded eagerly, motioning for him to continue. ¡°Please, keep going.¡±


    ¡°Right away, sir. The Contract System ties into the Adventurers System. When we receive a request for aid, we create a contract. Several factors determine the rank of the contract, such as, but not limited to, the difficulty, urgency, and scope of the request. Then, the Open Contracts Board publishes the contract, and an appropriately ranked member, team, or teams have the option to claim it. If no one claims it within a timely manner, the Open Contracts Board will assign an on-call resource to handle the matter.¡±


    Dylan crossed his arms over his chest. ¡°Wait, this is all just some fancy magic ticketing system? You¡¯re not Starfleet, you¡¯re just an MSP¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t spell,¡± Marlin and Charles said again.


    Charles shot Dylan a sideways glance, having already warned him previously. ¡°Dylan, it¡¯s considered rude to spell.¡±


    ¡°What? All I said was¡ª¡± Dylan caught himself before finishing. ¡°So, no acronyms?¡±


    Charles just shook his head. The rugged elf pushed off the counter, crossed the room, and dropped into a seat, slouching comfortably. The no-spelling rule seemed weird¡ªhe¡¯d ask about it later


    ¡°Okay, fine. Please continue,¡± Dylan said.


    Marlin cleared his throat. ¡°After resolving the contract, its status will change to ¡®complete¡¯. Handing it in will earn you its lootbox rewards.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Lootbox?¡± Dylan¡¯s eyebrows shot up. Lootboxes¡ªhis only weakness, aside from terror tubes and puns. Damn gacha games, the bane of his bank account.


    Marlin straightened his posture, his hands clasping together on the counter. ¡°Shall I explain the Lootbox System as well?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a magic gacha system?¡± Dylan turned to Charles, who was just ¡®resting his eyes.¡¯ ¡°Those things are insidiously addictive.¡± He glanced back at Marlin. ¡°I¡¯m going to need more than an explanation. Got any free samples?¡±


    Marlin looked puzzled. ¡°My apologies, sir. What do you mean by free samples?¡±


    ¡°You know, a free lootbox.¡± ¡®But why stop at one?¡¯ he thought. ¡°Or ten. Ten free lootboxes would be better.¡± He nodded to himself. ¡°Back on Earth, they gave out free samples all the time to hook people on games. Well, that and drugs¡ªbut I didn¡¯t do drugs.¡± His smile faded. ¡°Might¡¯ve been cheaper to do drugs... I was a sucker for lootboxes.¡±


    Marlin sighed. ¡°There are no free lootboxes, and they are for licensed adventurers. The only way to get them is by completing contracts. You are certainly insistent on learning about the League. Are you considering joining?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Charles answered immediately from across the room. ¡°We¡¯re just here to get him into the system as a refugee.¡±


    ¡®I thought he was asleep.¡¯ Dylan realized Charles was much more attentive than he looked, even though he seemed exhausted. ¡°Not today, apparently. But that¡¯s a good point. Does signing up as a refugee prevent me from becoming an adventurer?¡±


    ¡°No. The two are not mutually exclusive. Although I would suggest resolving your refugee status before starting your journey as an adventurer.¡± Marlin leaned forward on his elbows.


    Dylan sighed. ¡°A bit too late for that¡­¡±


    Marlin¡¯s brow furrowed, his head tilting slightly. ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±


    ¡°Nothing, never mind.¡± Dylan noticed everyone else getting comfortable, so he leaned on the counter too. ¡°Just the explanation, I guess.¡± He frowned, still disappointed by the lack of free lootboxes.


    ¡°Of course, the Lootbox System also ties into the Contract System. Marking the lootbox rank and quantity is part of the process. We use a triple blind system to ensure fairness. The system is self-perpetuating: members with crafting abilities take a contract to create an item, gaining experience in their ability while we gain items for the Lootbox System¡ªan equitable trade.


    ¡°The system combines crafted items until they reach a target value, then creates an unmarked lootbox. It waits in the system until it is given out as a reward. No one, except the system itself, knows what is inside until an adventurer opens it.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s the chart?¡± Dylan asked.


    Marlin narrowed his eyes slightly at Dylan, glancing to either side, leaned in and asked, ¡°What chart, sir?¡±


    ¡°The drop rates for the lootboxes. On Earth, they made everyone show the drop rates for gacha systems like this.¡± Dylan leaned over the counter, trying to sneak a peek at Marlin¡¯s tablet, expecting him to pull it up.


    Marlin offered a thin smile, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. ¡°We¡¯re not on Dirt, sir, and there¡¯s no such chart.¡±


    ¡°So, no free samples, and no lists to see what I could get?¡± Dylan hung his head. ¡°The only way to see what¡¯s inside is by doing the damn quests?¡±


    Marlin folded his arms neatly and shook his head. ¡°No, sir. Quests are a guild system. Lootboxes only come from contracts.¡±


    Dylan squinted. ¡°Wait, they¡¯re not the same thing?¡± In video games, both words were used interchangeably. The fact that they had separate meanings here was news to him.


    ¡°No, the League handles contracts, which reward lootboxes. Guilds offer quests to their members for guild standing.¡±


    ¡°What does that get you?¡± Dylan knew the concept from video games. He wondered if it worked as a currency for items and services, a tally unlocking new benefits, or a mix of both. Either way, he wasn¡¯t risking another reset on assumptions.


    ¡°That depends on the guild, but even the smallest, most basic ones offer shops and crafting services from your fellow members.¡±


    Dylan tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. ¡°And the League isn¡¯t a guild?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Dylan leaned forward a bit. ¡°What can you tell me about guilds?¡±


    ¡°Other than the fact that each is a collective of individuals? Not much. It is outside the purview of this discussion, I am afraid. But you will need a guild sponsorship if you want to join the League of Adventurers.¡±


    ¡°But how can I do that if you won¡¯t tell me about them?¡± Dylan frowned, struggling with his own chicken and egg scenario.


    Marlin exhaled softly, spreading his hands in a gesture of resignation. ¡°The League strives to stay neutral. If I told you about one guild, I would have to tell you about every guild. And with each being so unique, I simply have neither the time nor knowledge to do so.¡±


    Fair enough, but every answer seemed to lead to more questions. ¡°So, back to lootboxes. Hypothetically, could an adventurer just make, like, hundreds of iron daggers and turn them in for a bunch of experience and lootboxes?¡±


    ¡°If that were your plan, you might do better opening a treat shop catering to draconi¡ªthey simply love mundane metals. Keep the daggers blunt, and it would be a novel delight.¡±


    ¡°So, I couldn¡¯t hand them in for lootboxes?¡±


    Marlin shook his head with a flat smile. ¡°Oh, no. Any blacksmith could make those. We designed the system to train and equip adventurers, so it needs at least common-ranked items. However, hundreds of common iron daggers would work¡ªunless enhanced with flavor or nutrient enchantments, then I would circle back to the draconi eatery concept.¡±


    Dylan wasn¡¯t getting the answers he expected, and he felt more confused than when he¡¯d started asking. He decided it was time for a more direct approach. ¡°How do you stop people from gaming the system?¡±


    ¡°By what do you mean?¡± This idea seemed foreign to the attendant.


    Dylan pursed his lips, thinking about how to explain cheesing the system. ¡°Like making a bunch of the same item to get easy experience and rewards?¡±


    Marlin gestured with his hands as he spoke, growing more animated. ¡°You are talking about practice. How does anyone improve without it?¡± He paused, tapping a finger lightly on the counter as if to emphasize the point. ¡°With each craft, you would learn how to make the next more efficiently, eventually making a far superior product. The crafters get more skilled, and the recipients are better equipped. Why would we not want to reward that?¡±


    Marlin tilted his head, a faint smile forming. ¡°I think the better question would be: why stop at hundreds of daggers when thousands would reveal even more of your potential?¡±


    Dylan tapped a finger to his lips. Those were all excellent points. Once again, the explanation was far more logical than Earth¡¯s mindset, focusing on adding real value. ¡°I think I¡¯m out of questions.¡±


    ¡°Excellent.¡± Marlin finished adjusting his hair and slid the tablet back in front of Dylan. ¡°Would you kindly place your hand on the device so I may collect your signal?¡±


    Dylan placed his hand in the guidelines. ¡°I think you mean signature¡ªAhh!¡± Three sharp needles stabbed deep into his palm. He grabbed his injured hand, staring down at the three tiny red holes in his quivering palm.


    ¡°Huh,¡± Marlin muttered, staring at the drops of red blood undulating on the tablet. ¡°I have never seen that before. Why is it red?¡± Marlin asked. Charles shrugged, and Dylan fainted.

 Chapter 24 - Dorians New Door

    (Nathan)


    Nathan awoke to incessant pounding at his door. He had barely slept after extended rounds at the hospital.


    Toward the end of his shift, a pregnant elven couple had checked in. The woman was in active labor, and with her consent, Nathan used Triage to detect that the fetus was in a breech position. [Triage] was an Arcane ability from his Physician framework. It allowed him to detect poisons, diseases, injuries, unusual anatomy, and other abnormalities.


    With no one on shift who had a teleport ability, they performed the difficult delivery the old-fashioned way. Hours later, after delivering a healthy baby, Nathan finally crawled into bed, desperate for some well-earned sleep. The banging continued.


    ¡°There are other menders!¡± Nathan shouted at the door. Without enough rest, he¡¯d be no good to anyone. He had learned that the hard way. Besides, there were others in the guild if it was a genuine emergency.


    By the grace of the Mother, the noise stopped, and the intruder seemed to take the hint: Nathan wasn¡¯t going to answer. Rolling onto his side, he closed his eyes, letting exhaustion pull him under.


    Wham! Wham! Wham! Muffled words came from the other side of the door.


    ¡°Go away,¡± Nathan shouted into his pillow. ¡®Mother bless the inventor of the runelock door,¡¯ he thought. Without a master key, no one was getting through, but that didn¡¯t mean they couldn¡¯t be annoying. He grabbed his pillow and buried his head under it, hoping to muffle the noise. When he thought they¡¯d given up, he began drifting back to sleep, relishing the quiet.


    The bed, the walls, and the entire room shook from the next impact. He¡¯d just fallen asleep again, only to be yanked back to wakefulness. He sat up, the pillow sliding from his face to his lap. Runelock doors were good at keeping people out; nearly impossible to break. It was often easier to break through the surrounding walls¡ª a trademark of someone he knew all too well.


    ¡®He¡¯s home,¡¯ Nathan thought. ¡®I wonder how much it¡¯d cost to reinforce the entire room¡ªnot just the walls, but the floors, ceiling, and windows too.¡¯


    Wham. The room jolted again, and a hairline fracture shot across the stone wall. The framed photo of him and his younger brother jumped off the wall, hitting the floor, its glass pane long gone from the first time this had happened.


    Nathan knew only one person who treated locked doors like suggestions. Wham. The crack spiderwebbed from the center of the wall. There was no one else with enough strength¡ªor disregard¡ªto knock down a stone wall purely out of inconvenience. Wham. The final blow left a bare fist jutting through the stone. It disappeared, and the kicking began. It didn¡¯t stop until a person-sized hole had formed. When the dust finally settled, a large, armor-clad elf ducked through the gap and stepped into the room.


    ¡°Dorian,¡± Nathan said, glaring at his younger brother.


    The unstoppable elf and his team had been away on an extended contract for weeks, and life was always quieter when his brother was out adventuring.


    ¡°Big brother!¡± the seven-and-a-half-foot elf called out in his velvet voice. Dorian was the tallest elf either of them had ever met, thanks to one of his passives. He was exceptionally handsome, with turquoise eyes flecked with gold, and dark slate-blue hair, worn short on the sides and spiked longer on top.


    Though Nathan was technically older by a couple of years, elven society regarded them as the same generation. Based on their physical appearance, few people would correctly guess which sibling was older. That hadn¡¯t always been the case, but Dorian¡¯s Might and Presence orbs had changed things. Now, he¡¯d always be taller, stronger, and more attractive than his older brother.


    The nickname was fine when they were kids, but now it grated on Nathan. He jabbed a finger at Dorian. ¡°Don¡¯t you ¡®Big brother¡¯ me.¡± Then he pointed to the door. ¡°Why can¡¯t you use the door like a normal person?


    ¡°Even I can¡¯t use a door if it¡¯s locked,¡± Dorian said with a shrug. Chunks of stone clattered to the floor as he brushed the dust from his shoulders.


    ¡°I locked it for a reason,¡± Nathan said.


    ¡°The sun is up. You¡¯ve slept enough.¡± Dorian walked to the window and yanked the curtains open, flooding the room with harsh sunlight and making Nathan squint against the glare.


    ¡°You¡¯re telling Wedge this time,¡± Nathan said, glancing at the pile of rubble that used to be the wall. A few curious guildmates peeked through the hole, but Nathan waved them away, signaling everything was fine.


    ¡°You should seize every day if you want to be ready for your Adventuring exam.¡± Dorian strode to the wardrobe, grabbing clothes and tossing them at Nathan.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Nathan groaned, flopping back onto the bed as his brother continued burying him in clothes. ¡°Not this again.¡±


    ¡°Come on, brother. I¡¯ve already beaten you to common rank, and that was nearly two years ago.¡± Dorian balled up a pair of socks and hurled them at Nathan with a casual show of his super strength, one of his passive abilities. Both Nathan and the socks made a solid thump on impact.


    ¡°Oof,¡± Nathan grunted as the socks hit his leg. ¡°But I¡¯m needed here. My job at the hospital keeps me plenty busy.¡± He stared up at the ceiling, rubbing his soon-to-be-bruised thigh.


    ¡°It¡¯s always the same excuses,¡± Dorian said, mimicking Nathan¡¯s voice. ¡°I haven¡¯t unlocked all my abilities. My patients need me. I¡¯m not ready yet.¡±


    ¡°And yet,¡± Nathan sat up, fixing his brother with a steady look, ¡°those are all true.¡±


    ¡°Not anymore.¡± Dorian dropped onto the bed and opened his hand, revealing a palm-sized disk. Like all glyphs, it had a solid band of dark metal around the edge, but this one had a silk center.


    ¡°A swift glyph?¡± Nathan blinked in surprise.


    Dorian nodded, holding it out firmly toward his brother. ¡°I want you to use it.¡±


    Nathan¡¯s olive complexion paled at the thought of using another glyph. He desperately wanted to become an adventurer, to help people. But every time he dreamed of it, those dreams became nightmares. A dark secret gnawed at him¡ªa malignancy growing inside him.


    It was true¡ªhe could help more people with new abilities, but then the corruption would grow with him. The only thing he wanted more than becoming an adventurer was to keep everyone safe from what festered inside him. ¡°You¡¯re far too generous,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± He pushed at Dorian¡¯s hand, but it held fast.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere until you do.¡± Dorian insisted, crossing his arms.


    ¡®What if it manifests with¡­?¡¯ Nathan couldn¡¯t even bring himself to think of the orb. He had carried this burden alone for over four decades, and if he had his way, he¡¯d carry it to his grave. The glyph still sat in Dorian¡¯s hand, gleaming softly in the light.


    ¡°If this is the price of adventuring with my brother, then I¡¯ll gladly pay it.¡± Glyphs were more common than orbs, but still expensive. Dorian¡¯s offer was generous, but like always, he never stopped to consider if Nathan actually wanted it.


    Nathan closed his eyes and sighed. There was no way out of this. ¡°Can I put pants on first?¡±


    Dorian laughed. ¡°Sure, brother.¡± He clapped Nathan on the back. ¡°But you know, some of the best stories start without pants.¡±


    Nathan couldn¡¯t resist that stupid smile. The number of poorly planned schemes it had gotten them into over the years was staggering. As much as he hated to admit it, he loved the sound of his brother¡¯s laughter¡ªit was warm, comforting, and genuine.


    Dorian stood, turned, and gave Nathan as much privacy as a three-walled room could offer. He bent down and picked up the framed photo of the two of them. It was taken shortly after they had arrived at Nightshade as children, back when Nathan had still been the bigger brother. The guild had taken them both in as wards.


    Nathan grumbled as he reluctantly got up to get dressed, pulling on his tunic¡ªa deep purple, the guild¡¯s color. There wasn¡¯t an official dress code, per se, but wearing something in Nightshade¡¯s color was encouraged.


    Dorian turned around as Nathan finished zipping up his pants. ¡°Now that you¡¯ve got the proper attire¡­¡± Dorian flipped the glyph into the air. Nathan caught it easily, stuffing it into his pants pocket. The metal band was warm from Dorian¡¯s hand, and the silk center was almost unnaturally soft.


    ¡°I probably shouldn¡¯t do it on an empty stomach, either. I¡¯ll¡­ find you after I¡¯ve had breakfast.¡±


    ¡°Some of us don¡¯t have the luxury of sleeping all day. I¡¯ve already had breakfast, but you may be onto something with the idea of Second Breakfast.¡±


    ¡®That boy is always hungry,¡¯ Nathan thought. But then again, it made sense¡ªhis massive frame needed a lot of calories to maintain that physique. Nathan¡¯s physician side didn¡¯t have an off switch, which made him an excellent healer, but not always a good friend.


    ¡°You¡¯re coming with me?¡± Nathan frowned. He had hoped to slip away and let Dorian forget about it¡ªlike he had for almost two years now.


    ¡°I told you, I¡¯m not leaving your side until you use that glyph.¡± Dorian pointed at Nathan¡¯s pocket and stepped closer. ¡°Besides, I¡¯d bet good gems that¡¯s not the only glyph you¡¯ve got stashed away somewhere, just waiting to be used.¡±


    ¡®I hate it when he¡¯s right.¡¯ Nathan quickly moved ahead of his brother before his eyes confirmed Dorian¡¯s suspicions. To make a point of his own, Nathan walked up to the runelock door beside the gaping hole in the wall and unlocked it. The mechanisms clicked into place with a unified thud. ¡°And this is how to use a door.¡± He pulled it open and stepped through.


    ¡°I like mine better.¡± Dorian ducked through the new ¡®door¡¯ he¡¯d just installed himself.


    ¡°Dorian!¡± a voice bellowed. Nathan watched the unstoppable elf flinch at the sound of his name. They were only halfway down the dorm stairwell, but it sounded like Wedge had already found Dorian¡¯s new door.


    Twenty minutes later, Dorian had finished Second Breakfast and was now waiting, impatiently tapping his foot, while Nathan deliberately ate as slowly as possible. Nathan sighed. Normally, Dorian would get bored and run off to cause chaos elsewhere.


    Instead, Dorian took full advantage of his captive audience, using the opportunity to regale them with tales of his last contract, complete with his usual heroics. He was careful to follow the guild rules about not sharing the mission¡¯s objective and stuck to the action-packed details.


    Dorian¡¯s archetype was Juggernaut, meaning he was the tip of the spear for his team. He was always the first to see action and the last to leave. Even Nathan had to admit, his brother told the best stories.


    Dorian enthralled everyone with his tale, even Meekan, who had sat down next to Nathan to listen. A kitsune, her large, black-tipped orange ears sat perked atop her head, a clear marker of her heritage.


    The playful kitsune leaned in, bumping her shoulder against Nathan¡¯s. It was their unspoken way of checking in with each other. A bump back meant everything was fine, a shrug meant something was on his mind, and a shake of the head said not to ask.


    Nathan shook his head and glanced up from his breakfast at his brother. Meekan gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.


    ¡°Princess,¡± Dorian said, pausing his story to nod at Meekan before diving back in. Nathan had eaten as slowly as possible, but still found himself with an empty plate.


    ¡®Maybe he won¡¯t notice?¡¯ Nathan picked up his mug, taking the last sip as he set it down.


    Dorian leaned across the table and gave Nathan¡¯s stomach a playful pat. ¡°Now that you¡¯ve got your pants on and a full belly, how about that glyph?¡±

 Chapter 25 - Mana-Tea: Addictive, Yet Satisfying

    (Nathan)


    ¡°Pants?¡± Meekan asked, looking at Nathan with narrowed eyes and a mischievous smile.


    It was too early, and he was too tired to deal with her antics. Nathan waved a hand and sighed. ¡®He¡¯s going to make me use it.¡¯ His stomach churned. Doing this on a full stomach was a terrible idea. ¡®Ugh, don¡¯t vomit.¡¯ Closing his eyes, he focused on keeping his food down.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡± Nathan leaned away from Meekan to retrieve the glyph from his pocket.


    ¡°You¡¯re about to unlock a new power. Why aren¡¯t you excited?¡± Dorian asked. He was excited enough for the both of them.


    Nathan knew how odd his actions must have seemed. Unlocking a new ability was exciting for everyone¡ªthat was normal, how he should have felt. But he wasn¡¯t normal. He couldn¡¯t just ignore his fear and self-doubt.


    ¡®I¡¯m an abomination. I don¡¯t want to feed what¡¯s inside of me,¡¯ was the answer he wanted to give. Instead, he said a silent prayer and crushed the glyph in his hand. Glyphs weren¡¯t fragile, but they were magical and responded to a person¡¯s intent.


    [Physician orb]: Physician framework initializing.


    ¡®Oh thank the Mother.¡¯


    [Physician orb]: Manifesting new ability with Swift influence.


    [Physician orb]: New ability [Metabolize] unlocked.


    Speed up natural healing and healing over time effects that restore health.


    [Physician orb]: One open ability slot remaining.


    Relieved, Nathan wiped the sweat off his brow. As his ability slots filled, every other glyph activated had a higher likelihood of creating another restricted power. ¡®It¡¯s only a matter of time.¡¯ He was glad that time wasn¡¯t today.


    Nathan barely had time to catch his breath before Dorian leaned in, eyes gleaming. ¡°I can see the power in your eyes. You should do another. I know you have at least one more tucked away.¡± He wrung his hands in anticipation


    Nathan recognized that look¡ªaddiction. He didn¡¯t know the proper protocol to handle an addiction to power. It was so common among adventurers; lauded even. Few saw it for the symptom it was.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a shame,¡± Meekan said.


    Both brothers looked at her, but Nathan was the first to ask, ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Meekan clicked her tongue in mock disapproval. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be heading back to the hospital about now? You know, to take care of that extended contract you picked up.¡± She raised her eyebrows.


    [Lawful orb]: Lie detected.


    [Polygraph] was his Lawful orb passive. It alerted him when detecting a lie, but he didn¡¯t need it to tell she was lying. She¡¯d been his best friend for as long as he could remember, and except for Dorian, was the closest thing he had to family.


    ¡®What¡¯s she playing at?¡¯ He narrowed his eyes at Meekan, trying to figure out her angle. They both knew he had no such contract. She always looked out for him, but it surprised him she¡¯d use such an obvious lie. It was risky, with little to gain and much to lose¡ªjust like most lies. He worried that Dorian would keep his word and stay by his side until he filled out his entire powerset. Caught between calling her out or going along, he chose what he always did¡ªto trust her.


    To the uninitiated, it might appear Meekan was a victim of her mischievous kitsune heritage, but he knew better. Meekan didn¡¯t take risks; it wasn¡¯t a risk when she already knew the outcome.


    ¡°Sorry, Nathan,¡± Dorian said, using his first name¡ªsomething he only did when he was serious, in trouble, or both. ¡°Look at the time.¡± The unstoppable elf quickly stood up from the table and tapped his wrist, which, suspiciously, lacked a chronometer. His eyes were fixed on something, or someone, approaching behind Nathan.


    Following Dorian¡¯s gaze, Nathan turned around to see what spooked the juggernaut. The guild architect stood in the doorway to the dining hall. Only a couple inches short of the unstoppable elf, Wedge wore a scowl that only Dorian could bring out.


    His attempt to hide his massive body by ducking low was comical. ¡°Real proud of you making strides toward your adventuring license, brother. Good luck with the new ability, contract, and all that.¡± Dorian quickly scooped up his dirty dishes, glancing nervously toward Wedge, and made a beeline for the collection tub near the exit furthest from the architect.


    ¡°Dorian!¡± Wedge bellowed across the dining hall as the unstoppable elf made his escape. The heavy lithkai stomped after him, both shields clanking together on his back with every step.


    Nathan turned to Meekan. ¡°We both know I don¡¯t have any active contracts at the hospital.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± She gave him a playful smile, flashing sharp teeth that were both intimidating and devious. ¡°But maybe there is an extended contract waiting for you at the hospital.¡± She shrugged casually, as if she didn¡¯t already know the answer. But Nathan knew better.


    His lawful orb remained silent. She had a way of getting around his polygraph ability, speaking in a manner that couldn¡¯t be true or false until it happened. Meekan also had another trick up her sleeve that Nathan was aware of, but that was a secret the Nightshade guild had sworn to protect.


    ¡°What do you know?¡± Nathan looked at her suspiciously.


    ¡°More than I¡¯m willing to tell you.¡± Meekan wrapped her arms around him in a side hug and gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek. ¡°Now off you go. I need to prepare for dinner.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°It¡¯s not even midday. What are we having for dinner?¡± Nathan watched her as she got up.


    ¡°You¡¯re asking the wrong question, my dear Nathan,¡± she said with a smirk.


    ¡®Why can¡¯t she speak plainly?¡¯ Nathan wasn¡¯t fond of riddles, unlike his adoptive sister. With a resigned sigh, he picked up after himself and dropped the dishes off before heading back to work. It wasn¡¯t like he¡¯d get much sleep with a giant hole in the wall, anyway.


    Nathan arrived at the hospital after a peaceful morning stroll through town, the crisp air waking him up. Sabath, a middle-aged elf and the medical administrator for the day shift, sat behind the counter. Though he wasn¡¯t the only one working today, Sabath was Nathan¡¯s favorite. He had been on duty when Nathan left just seven hours ago.


    ¡°Did you even sleep?¡± Sabath asked, not looking up from his tablet. He was fond of puzzles and had access to them on his modified tablet.


    Nathan signed himself in on the staff stone tablet. ¡°My brother¡¯s back.¡± He waited for Sabath to hand him a summoning stone.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Sabath nodded. ¡°You could always use a physician pod.¡±


    ¡®He¡¯d never find me there.¡¯ The pods were blacked-out, soundproof cots, and popular with traveling physicians. They would stop by, complete a medical contract or two, and rest up before heading off to their next destination. Since Nathan lived so close, just outside Dartmouth at Nightshade, he rarely had a reason to use them.


    Sabath placed a summoning stone in Nathan¡¯s hand, and he slipped it into his pocket. It would vibrate and chime if an emergency arose, and if Nathan wasn¡¯t busy, he could activate the stone to teleport directly to the scene.


    Sabath handed Nathan his own tablet for recording medical notes during rounds. Rounds were ongoing contracts that rewarded completed medical tasks at specific thresholds. Any unfinished work rolled into the next round, ensuring no wasted effort. The system encouraged menders and physicians to focus on patients, not the clock.


    Shifts were always voluntary and flexible, just how everyone liked it. Menders could drop in for a couple of hours, help out, and earn partial or completed contracts. Or they could be like Nathan, spending the entire day at the hospital helping patients¡ªand avoiding their brothers. The system worked well, with the local guild subsidizing any overflow. Nightshade handled all emergency medical contracts from Dartmouth hospital.


    His conversation with Meekan played in his mind again, and curiosity got to him. He stepped back up to the counter and asked, ¡°What do you have for open contracts?¡±


    Sabath looked up, clearly more interested in the unexpected question than his puzzles. ¡°No rounds today?¡± He knew Nathan preferred rounds since they allowed him to help as many people as needed, unlike the more limited scope of open contracts.


    Nathan left them for other menders, who preferred cherry-picking contracts to maximize their lootboxes. ¡°No, I¡¯m still doing rounds.¡±


    Sabath lifted his brows, a small smirk forming. ¡°Feeling especially mendy today, are we?¡±


    ¡°Just looking for something to keep me busy until Dorian¡¯s team picks up another extended contract.¡±


    ¡°Alright, but take it easy. You won¡¯t be helping anyone if you burn yourself out.¡± Sabath gave him a concerned glance, then flicked through the menus on his tablet. ¡°Ah, here¡¯s one. Just came in last night¡­¡± He paused, scanning the details. ¡°Looks like your kind of contract: too much work for not enough lootboxes.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh¡­¡± Nathan let Sabath have his fun. It was the medical attendant¡¯s way of saying he appreciated his work. ¡°What¡¯s it for?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m staring at Dartmouth¡¯s very first refugee contract.¡±


    ¡°Refugee contract?¡± Nathan repeated, his brow furrowing. ¡°In Dartmouth? How¡¯d a refugee get all the way out here?¡± They were squarely in the middle of nowhere. The world gate wasn¡¯t even on this continent, and he had no idea how long the journey from the nearest astralport would be.


    Sabath nodded. ¡°I know, right? First one I¡¯ve ever seen. You want it?¡±


    ¡®How does Meekan always know?¡¯ Nathan shook his head slightly. He already knew the answer, but that didn¡¯t make it any less uncanny. ¡°Does a galizine bask in the sun? Yes, I¡¯ll take it.¡± He pulled out his League card and handed it to the medical attendant.


    Sabath tapped the corner of the card to his tablet and gave it back to Nathan. ¡°It¡¯s all yours. Good luck, and Mother lend you her patience.¡±


    Nathan didn¡¯t understand. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Sabath shrugged. ¡°Marlin, from registration, said this guy was nothing but trouble.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know any Marlins,¡± Nathan said, which wasn¡¯t surprising. He rarely interacted with the League of Adventurers¡¯ non-medical staff.


    Sabath waved a hand dismissively. ¡°Marlin¡¯s on the night shift. I wouldn¡¯t worry too much, though. You know how dramatic they all are.¡±


    ¡°Sabath, you know I¡¯m on the night shift too, right?¡± Nathan often worked night and day shifts when he could.


    Sabath gave him a sheepish smile and scratched the back of his head. ¡°Good luck.¡±


    Nathan never started a shift without at least one mug of mana-tea; that would be irresponsible. Heading off toward the staff break room, he was half tempted to swing by the physician pods to grab a quick nap, but his refugee had already been waiting all night.


    Delighted, he found a freshly brewed pot of mana-tea waiting for him in the staff break room. ¡®Mother, bless this kind soul.¡¯ The name of the beverage was misleading. Technically, it was a mundane drink with no magical qualities. However, after partaking in just one mugful of the dark and bitter nectar, you could feel its effects: awareness, energy, and focus.


    While the dark drink was technically a stimulant with an addictive nature, he didn¡¯t care. It offered him the ability to better treat his patients for longer periods of time, and he considered the minor cost of the addiction a worthy trade.


    Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, he picked up the pot and poured himself a mugful of liquid energy. With a steady hand, he brought the overfull mug to his lips. Some people preferred their mana-tea with cream or sweetener, and arguments still persisted over whether it was best served hot or chilled.


    Nathan closed his eyes, enjoying the nutty aroma, and relished the scalding hot, bitter beverage as he took the first sip. Pain and discomfort were tools he used to keep himself sharp and focused. Now that he was properly awake, it was time to take a look at the contract he just picked up.


    Using his League card, he pulled up the contract. A mental overlay, visible only to him, appeared before his eyes as he nursed his elixir and began skimming the details.


    The least important detail sat at the top of the list: three common lootboxes, followed by a plus sign. The plus sign indicated they¡¯d add more lootboxes for any unexpected complexities, which was common for contracts like this.


    ¡°Extended contract.¡± That was important; only members of a team could handle more than one extended contract at a time. He continued reading. ¡°Refugee status. To provide food, clothing, and shelter.¡± His League card tracked all expenses spent on the contract, and he could check in with Contract Services at any time to get reimbursed. But that wasn¡¯t a concern¡ªNightshade provided these services for free.


    ¡°Evaluate, providing medical and mental health care.¡± This was the reason only physicians and menders could take refugee contracts. ¡°Introduce and integrate into local customs, information, and rules.¡± The easiest of all the tasks; anyone able to travel to other worlds was usually familiar with post-astral civilization.


    ¡°Arrange for permanent housing and occupational placement.¡± This was usually what took the longest and why the contract had the extended tag. He took another sip; not as hot as the first, but just as bitter. The contract looked routine until he got to the personal information section.


    ¡°Human? Never heard of that race before.¡± Pulling out his medical tablet, he accessed the League racial records. He frowned, seeing there wasn¡¯t anything more about them in the archives. He was curious how alien their anatomy might be.


    ¡°Dylan,¡± he said out loud. The pronunciation seemed simple enough.


    ¡°Current location, Merchants¡¯ Circle? That can¡¯t be right.¡± He¡¯d expected to find his refugee waiting at the League of Adventurers¡¯ Hall next door. While accessing a person¡¯s live signal was illegal and a gross invasion of privacy, the system would still share relevant information for contracts. The poor man must¡¯ve spent the night in, or around, the Merchants¡¯ Circle.

 Chapter 26 - Dylan of Dirt

    (Nathan)


    He stared at the tablet in his hand and sighed. Outside the hall or hospital, it would be little more than a writing pad. The tech mesh in the buildings was the only way to access the League network. On house calls, for those too sick or stubborn to come in, the lack of instant access to the universe of knowledge left him feeling like half the physician he could be.


    Nathan walked by Sabath¡¯s desk and handed in the tablet.


    ¡°So, no rounds today?¡± Sabath joked, barely looking up from the puzzle glowing on his device.


    ¡°No,¡± Nathan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°My refugee isn¡¯t even in the hospital or the hall.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Sabath¡¯s tongue peeked out from the side of his mouth, a sure sign the puzzle had his full attention. ¡°Where¡¯s he at then?¡±


    ¡°Merchants¡¯ Circle,¡± Nathan muttered as he signed himself out of the on-call list. With a sigh, he dug into his pocket and placed the summoning stone on the counter, its absence somehow adding to his sense of inadequacy.


    Sabath looked up, taking the smooth stone with a raised brow. ¡°What in the world is he doing out there?¡± he asked, then promptly returned to his puzzle, the screen reflecting in his focused eyes.


    ¡°Not sure, but I should go find out.¡± Nathan pushed through the doors with a heavy sigh. ¡®Poor thing probably got even less sleep than I did last night.¡¯


    ¡°That one¡¯s definitely trouble,¡± Sabath muttered, just as the doors clicked shut behind Nathan.


    It had been a while since Nathan had walked down Market Street. The last time was months ago, when he bought a dress for Meekan¡¯s birthday. Shopping for her was never easy; she always knew what you were going to get her before you did. But that wasn¡¯t her fault¡ªit was just her nature. When he once offered her gems to buy her own gift, she had simply said, ¡°Even when you know someone loves you, it¡¯s still nice to hear them say it.¡± He passed Bakugo¡¯s Seemingly Perfect Results, the shop where he¡¯d gotten the dress.


    Nathan reached Merchants¡¯ Circle but quickly ran into a problem. ¡®What does a human even look like?¡¯ All he had was a note about the poor man¡¯s disfigured ears, but with no frame of reference, it was useless. He¡¯d have to file a complaint about the registration department¡¯s vague descriptions next time he went to the League of Adventurers¡¯ Hall.


    Cupping his hands around his mouth, Nathan took a deep breath and yelled, ¡°Dylan!¡± His voice barely cut through the noisy clamor of the marketplace. Chastising himself, he thought, ¡®I should be more specific.¡¯ How many Dylans could there be? Pulling up the contract, he glanced at the man¡¯s homeworld¡ªan odd name he¡¯d never heard before.


    Nathan shrugged and cupped his hands again. ¡°I¡¯m looking for Dylan. Dylan of Dirt!¡± he called, scanning the crowd for any unfamiliar race. ¡°Does anyone know where I can find Dylan of Dirt?¡± His voice wavered slightly as he tried again.


    ¡°Nope.¡± ¡°Sorry.¡± ¡°Never heard of him.¡± ¡°What¡¯s he look like?¡± ¡°You offering a bounty?¡± The responses came from all directions, none of them helpful. Nathan kept walking around the circle, raising his voice again. ¡°Dylan! I¡¯m looking for Dylan of Dirt!¡±


    Nathan ended up right where he started, where the circle met the street. Sighing in frustration, he tapped his foot and realized he had completely missed the arborhearth parked in front of him. He¡¯d heard about traveling merchants with them, but this was his first time seeing one up close.


    The arborhearth was a sight to behold¡ªpitch black and stunningly beautiful. Nathan¡¯s eyes followed the intricate leaf and vine carvings that twined across the large cabin, framing the oval door. He bent low to inspect the sprouting roots that made up the frame, marveling at the seamless form. The bramble spawn looked weary in the sun, unable to take root.


    Its beauty nearly made Nathan forget why he was there. But then the oval door swung open, and a short, stocky elf stepped out. Nathan opened his mouth to ask if he knew Dylan of Dirt, but his eyes caught on their ears. No visible scars, perfectly symmetrical, blunted¡ªnot at all what the contract had described.


    ¡°You¡¯re Dylan.¡± Nathan pointed at the non-elf, taking in his oddly elf-like appearance.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± the chubby man sighed. ¡°I¡¯m Dylan.¡± The deep frown on his face suggested something was clearly bothering him.


    ¡°Dylan¡­ of Dirt?¡± Nathan asked, still unsure. If he could just get to his ears, he¡¯d know for certain.


    Dylan closed his eyes and winced, his frown deepening. ¡°They said it wouldn¡¯t be a problem¡­¡± Imitating a gruff voice, he puffed up his chest and bobbed his head mockingly. ¡°Translations don¡¯t have consequences.¡± He grunted, shaking his head slowly, then switched to a more nasal tone. ¡°Pick a world, sir. You can change it later, sir.¡±


    This man was clearly upset. Nathan hesitated before trying to interject, ¡°Are you¡ª¡±


    Dylan cut him off, resuming his usual tone and continuing his tirade. ¡°I even tried to enter it manually, but nope, it still came out wrong.¡±


    ¡°What came out wrong?¡± Nathan asked, trying to make sense of the situation.


    ¡°Dirt,¡± Dylan replied, as if it should¡¯ve been obvious. ¡°The name of my planet got all mixed up in some intergalactic database¡­ or whatever. It¡¯s not dirt, it¡¯s pronounced Dirt. I¡¯m Dylan of Dirt.¡± He began spelling it out as awful, terrible noises escaped his mouth.


    Nathan winced at the first harsh squawk. Dylan stopped spelling, glancing at him with mock annoyance. In unison, they both said, ¡°Don¡¯t spell!¡±


    Exasperated, Dylan threw his head back, staring up at the sky. ¡°I know, I know!¡±


    ¡®I need to calm him down before he hurts himself.¡¯ Nathan considered using Triage, but he hadn¡¯t earned enough trust to ask yet. An introduction seemed like a safer first step. ¡°I¡¯m Nathan, by the way. I¡¯m a physician, and I¡¯ve picked up your contract. Which means I¡¯m here to help.¡±


    Dylan looked at him, wild-eyed and overwhelmed, teetering on the edge of tears or rage. He took a deep, shaky breath and reached a hand toward Nathan. But before the gesture could land, Dylan jerked his hand back, tucking it under his armpit.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡®Odd,¡¯ Nathan thought, watching the strange gesture.


    With a defeated tone and arm tucked tightly under his armpit, he muttered, ¡°I¡¯m Dylan¡­¡±


    ¡°Dylan, do you¡ª¡± Nathan stopped mid-sentence as the sharp scent of something charred tickled his nostrils. ¡°Do you smell smoke?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Dylan lifted his nose and sniffed the air. His eyes widened. ¡°The candle!¡± He grabbed tufts of his hair, spinning around to see smoke billowing from the open door. Without a second thought, he started climbing back into the smoke-engulfed arborhearth.


    ¡®What is he doing? Who runs straight into a fire?¡¯ Nathan lunged forward, grabbing Dylan¡¯s tunic. With a hard tug, he yanked the chubby man off the steps and into his arms as they both tumbled backward.


    ¡°Excrement, excrement, excrement, excrement¡­ sacred excrement!¡± Dylan¡¯s gaze shot upward, watching plumes of dark smoke pour out of the cabin. ¡°He¡¯s going to kill me.¡± He turned to Nathan, eyes wide with terror.


    Nathan only let go once he was sure Dylan wouldn¡¯t make another dash for the fire. ¡°Who¡¯s going to hurt you?¡± He wasn¡¯t sure if Dylan was being dramatic or genuinely terrified¡ªeither way, he needed to calm him down.


    Dylan scrambled to his feet, brushing off his tunic. ¡°Charles. He¡¯s gonna kill me.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps you¡¯re being a bit dramatic?¡± Nathan stood up, trying to sound diplomatic. Dismissing Dylan¡¯s fears outright would only make things worse, and he needed Dylan to trust him. ¡°I¡¯m sure no one¡¯s going to kill¡ª¡±


    Dylan suddenly grabbed a fistful of Nathan¡¯s tunic, yanking him close. ¡°You don¡¯t understand,¡± he whispered, his voice low and trembling. ¡°He¡¯s done it before.¡±


    Nathan¡¯s Lawful orb remained silent¡ªa detail that sent a shiver down his spine. The implications were unsettling, but he¡¯d have to deal with that later. Right now, he needed a plan before the situation spiraled out of control. ¡®Clear the area, put out the fire, and then calm Dylan down,¡¯ he thought, his mind working swiftly as if triaging a patient. He stepped back, eyes scanning the surroundings and taking in every clue.


    Nearby merchants were already scrambling to move their wares away from the arborhearth. Isolating the fire would keep it from spreading. With established margins and a defined operating field, Nathan turned his attention to minimizing damage to the arborhearth. The fire had to be put out, and fast. Distracted by his planning, he lost track of the reckless, chubby man. Dylan had already dashed toward the back of the cabin.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Nathan called after him. ¡°Get back here, Dylan!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± Dylan threw his arms up, shielding his face from the intense heat. ¡°But I¡¯ve seen Charles get water from this thing!¡± He twisted the spigot left. ¡°Excrement, lefty loosey isn¡¯t working¡­¡± He twisted it the other way. ¡°Righty¡­ loosey isn¡¯t working either!¡± Giving up, he hurried back to Nathan. ¡°I can¡¯t get it to work.¡±


    ¡°The arborhearth is a summoned ability; it only responds to the one who summoned it.¡± Nathan glanced at the now-singed, reckless, chubby man, unsure if he could trust him to stay out of trouble. ¡°Listen, I¡¯ve got an idea, but you have to promise me you¡¯ll stay away from the fire.¡±


    Dylan nodded, and that would have to be enough¡ªthere was no time to argue. Nathan knew of a frost user, Grel¡¯ka, who might be able to help. She¡¯d retired from Nightshade and had recently opened a shop on Market Street. He just hoped she was open¡ªand there.


    ¡®You selfish idiot.¡¯ Nathan sprinted down the street, berating himself for not unlocking more abilities. If it weren¡¯t for his fear¡ªhis shame¡ªof unlocking the wrong one, he might¡¯ve had something to deal with the fire. Even a simple movement ability would¡¯ve been more useful than he was right now.


    Grel¡¯ka¡¯s shop was just ahead, but he couldn¡¯t make out the sign to see if it was open. Not that he had a backup plan if it wasn¡¯t. Silently, he prayed. ¡®Oh Mother, please let¡ª¡¯


    [Physician orb]: Lifeforce warning.


    Nathan skidded to a stop, heart hammering in his chest. His head snapped back toward Merchants¡¯ Circle. [Lifeforce] was the passive ability from his Physician framework. It showed him the health of everyone around who was less than one-hundred percent. It usually flooded him with constant triggers at the hospital, so he¡¯d lowered the alert threshold.


    He focused on a single lifeforce¡ªless than fifty percent and dropping fast. Dylan¡¯s. ¡°What is he doing?! He promised to stay away from the fire!¡± Nathan knew some people were just wired differently. Instead of running from danger like any sane person would, they charged straight into it¡ªusually with tragic results. Trying to be a hero was often the wrong choice.


    ¡°No, no, no, no!¡± Nathan shouted as he sprinted back. ¡®How could I let this happen? You worthless piece of filth,¡¯ he cursed himself. His legs and mind raced, fueled by panic and self-hatred. His selfish obsession with guarding against corruption might¡¯ve just cost this man his life. All of this could¡¯ve been avoided if he weren¡¯t such a coward.


    His lungs burned with effort as he watched Dylan¡¯s lifeforce plummet past critical¡ªzeroing out.


    ¡°No!¡± Nathan cried, his heart seizing painfully in his chest. He¡¯d made the wrong call, and now all he could do was stand there, helpless, as Dylan died. He hadn¡¯t been smart enough, fast enough, or strong enough to save the man he¡¯d sworn to protect.


    [Undeath orb]: [False Life] available for 10 seconds.


    Tears blurred Nathan¡¯s vision as he bounded toward Dylan, his chest heaving with each step. He knew what he had to do, but fear clutched at his heart. ¡®I can¡¯t.¡¯ Nathan wrestled against himself, aware that he possessed the power to overcome his failings.


    [Undeath orb]: [False Life] available for 7 seconds.


    Nathan¡¯s gaze locked onto Dylan¡¯s lifeless body sprawled on the ground. ¡®I won¡¯t.¡¯ Resurrecting another was anathema¡ªcruel to Dylan and a blatant act of hubris against Death, Time, and Destiny. The celestial entities determined how, when, and where a life should end. But the power to fix everything was right in front of him. All he had to do was act.


    [Undeath orb]: [False Life] available for 5 seconds.


    Not even Life itself granted the power to restore a soul to its body. Only Undeath dared to pull souls back from the maw of Void. Self-resurrection was acceptable because it acted before the soul fully departed. But this¡ªthis was different. ¡®I¡¯m sorry.¡¯ The weight of the choice pressed down on him, a burden he wasn¡¯t sure he could bear.


    [Undeath orb]: [False Life] available for 3 seconds.


    Nathan froze just in front of Dylan¡¯s body. What he should do, could do, and would do clashed violently in his mind, each warring for control. ¡®I pray you both forgive me¡­¡¯


    [Undeath orb]: [False Life] available for 1 second.


    In that final second, Nathan¡¯s resolve shattered. He gave in to his weakness, extending his trembling hand as he cast False Life on Dylan. [False life] was a Life ability from his Undeath framework. It granted temporary undead health points¡ªand if used within 10 seconds of death, it would bring the soul back.


    With a sharp gasp, the undead, singed, reckless, chubby man¡¯s eyes flew open as his heart lurched back to life. Nathan dropped to his knees beside him, immediately casting Metabolize, knowing he had to restore Dylan¡¯s health before the temporary undead health points expired.


    Tears trickled down on Dylan as Nathan watched his lifeforce tick slowly from zero to one percent. Mundane people usually had low natural healing factors, and Nathan didn¡¯t have any abilities or potions on hand to speed up the process.


    Once his coughing fit passed, Dylan glanced up at Nathan. ¡°Did you just¡­ resurrect me?¡±


    ¡®What?¡¯ Nathan¡¯s eyes darted around, worry flaring in his chest. ¡®Did anyone else hear that? How does he know?¡¯ Forcing himself to refocus on the patient, he scanned Dylan¡¯s injuries¡ªthe frostbite blackening his face, lips, and ears, the arc burns crisscrossing his chest, and the broken ribs that were visible even through his natural padding. ¡°No¡ªI mean, it was close, but I¡¯m sure I got to you just in time.¡± Nathan lied, keeping his voice steady.


    Dylan coughed into his fist. ¡°I¡¯m like ninety-nine percent sure you¡ª¡± His eyes widened suddenly. ¡°Oh excrement, he¡¯s here.¡±


    Nathan looked up and froze. A rugged elf loomed over them, armed with three blades and a bow, his eyes cold and unblinking.

 Chapter 27 - A Smile Left Behind

    (Charles)


    Thirty minutes earlier¡­


    Charles woke surrounded by the familiar darkness. Proprioception confirmed that the room had shrunk. Last night, he¡¯d added a room to the arborhearth, taking space from both his bedroom and storage to make a place for Dylan.


    No one at the hospital could cleanse Dylan¡¯s vermilion ivy rash last night¡ªnot surprising, since toxin cleansing was a specialized ability. If they¡¯d gone during the day, they¡¯d have had better luck finding a mender with a global cleanse¡ªjust one more reason Charles preferred the day shift.


    He pulled his pants up with a hop, the zipper¡¯s curt rasp breaking the room¡¯s silence. After slipping on a fresh shirt, he grabbed the first of many belts lined with storage loops and pouches. Under his pillow, his fingers found the dagger¡ªhe hadn¡¯t needed to sleep with it in years. Thinking back, he¡¯d been too sentimental about his decision to store all his weapons when they suspended his adventuring license.


    He¡¯d enjoyed adventuring, taking contracts, and helping people, but staying with Ebonscale? He still felt bitter toward them, even now. The thought of indenturing himself to another guild held no appeal, but he wasn¡¯t about to start his morning angry, so he focused on the tasks at hand. He had an errand to run and needed to check on Dylan before leaving.


    Charles left his room, only a few strides from Dylan¡¯s newly added quarters. He knocked on the door and waited. No response. He knocked harder.


    ¡°Present,¡± came Dylan¡¯s muffled reply through the door.


    ¡®How does anyone sleep this much?¡¯ Charles eyed the door, but Proprioception warned him there wasn¡¯t enough clearance to open it safely. A glowrune would¡¯ve been optimal, but most merchants were already closed by the time they¡¯d returned last night. He was lucky to have bartered for a few candles¡ªone of which was burning right behind the door.


    ¡°Dylan,¡± Charles said.


    Dylan grunted.


    ¡°As we¡¯ve discussed, the arborhearth combines both dark and plant magic. It¡¯s highly susceptible to fire, so don¡¯t leave candles unattended while you sleep.¡± Charles spoke to the door, knowing Dylan could hear him.


    ¡°Excrement. Sorry.¡±


    Charles didn¡¯t understand Dylan¡¯s obsession with feces. He waited as Dylan picked up the candle from the floor and set it on the small serving table he¡¯d lent him. He¡¯d arranged a cot and stool for Dylan. The chubby man had disrupted his routine, and this was the best hospitality Charles could offer on such short notice.


    ¡°Stop scratching.¡± Charles shook his head. Even in his sleep, Dylan¡¯s fingers found the blistering rash.


    Dylan stopped, looked at the door, and said, ¡°You know, it¡¯s really creepy when you do that.¡± Slowly, he lowered his palms to his thighs and rubbed vigorously, making the rash worse.


    Charles wouldn¡¯t warn him again. It¡¯d be more productive to just get the cure. V¡¯ega¡¯s Potions & Lotions should be open by now. Leaving Dylan alone wasn¡¯t ideal, but the arborhearth was the safest place for him.


    ¡°I need to step out for half a turn of the clock. I¡¯ll be back soon. Keep an ear out for your caseworker.¡± Charles winced, realizing how insensitive that sounded. He hadn¡¯t meant to be cruel, bringing up Dylan¡¯s deformity. ¡°They¡¯ll be by sometime today.¡±


    ¡°I already told you, I¡¯m not answering if they use that stupid government name,¡± Dylan¡¯s muffled voice called from behind the door.


    ¡°The League of Adventurers isn¡¯t a government, Dylan.¡± Explanations and Dylan mixed like oil and water. Charles didn¡¯t think he was good at giving or receiving them.


    ¡°I¡¯m serious, Charles. I won¡¯t do it.¡±


    Charles sighed. ¡°Dylan, it¡¯s just a name.¡± He understood why Dylan was upset, but it wasn¡¯t the League that had chosen the unfortunate name¡ªhis own people had.


    ¡°It¡¯s a stupid name.¡±


    Charles was out of patience. Arguing about something neither of them could change was a waste of time, and he¡¯d only be gone a short while.


    ¡°Stay inside until I get back,¡± Charles reminded him. He left the arborhearth and headed for the shop. His stay in Dartmouth was stretching longer than planned, but he was his own elf now¡ªno rush to be anywhere. Before the chubby man, he¡¯d be setting up stalls and hawking his wares by now. ¡®Only an extra day or two,¡¯ he thought.


    Before leaving, he opened the chest and grabbed a cloth bag of empty vials. The glass clinked as he slung them over his shoulder and shut the lid. A woman passed by and nodded. He didn¡¯t recognize the elf, but she wore the jacket he¡¯d sold her during his last visit.


    By this time tomorrow, Dylan would be out of his life and in the care of someone better suited to help him. The chubby man had proven to be surprisingly resilient, if a bit ignorant, and Charles wasn¡¯t sure if he should be relieved or wary. He pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand. He strolled down the street toward V¡¯ega¡¯s Potions & Lotions, passing at least one alchemy shop on the way, but V¡¯ega¡¯s selection was always better.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    The bell above the door chimed, announcing Charles¡¯ arrival as he stepped into the small shop. Shelves and display racks filled every corner, stacked high with vials of every shape and size. The air was thick with the scent of herbs, oils, and something faintly metallic that clung to the back of his throat. The wooden floor creaked underfoot, adding to the shop¡¯s rustic charm. If you had an ailment, V¡¯ega had the cure¡ªhe was one of the best alchemists for leagues around.


    ¡°Charles!¡± an attractive, cerulean-scaled draconi called from behind the counter. V¡¯ega¡¯s personality was as warm and welcoming as always.


    ¡°V¡¯ega.¡± Charles gave his usual curt nod. The draconi had changed his horns since Charles had last seen him. They were still dual horns, curving down and back, but now a couple of fingers wider. The new look gave the draconi a more proportioned head, which was a better fit with the rest of his figure. ¡®Very fitting,¡¯ Charles thought.


    ¡°What can I get for my favorite customer?¡± V¡¯ega smiled, revealing his bright, sharp teeth¡ªan expression that suited him.


    ¡®Favorite? Why does he always say that? I¡¯m only here three times a year.¡¯ Charles figured it was just a sales tactic. Unfortunately for V¡¯ega, it didn¡¯t work on him. He only ever bought what was on his list¡ªthat¡¯s how he stayed within his means and out of debt.


    The glassware rattled as Charles set the bag on the counter beside V¡¯ega. The scent of peppermint¡ªhis favorite¡ªcut through the medley of aromas in the shop, always sharpest near the handsome draconi.


    ¡°I need something for a vermilion ivy rash. Not for me¡ªan acquaintance.¡±


    ¡°An acquaintance, you say?¡± V¡¯ega gathered the bag of empties and placed it behind the counter. ¡°Better be careful, Charles. That sounds dangerously close to making an actual friend.¡± He leaned back on the counter. ¡°Should I be jealous?¡±


    ¡®Why would he be jealous?¡¯ Charles wondered. ¡°I found him on the way to Dartmouth. He needed help, so I took him under my protection.¡±


    ¡°Oh, such chivalry.¡± V¡¯ega placed a hand on his chest, smiling playfully. ¡°I wish someone would take me under their protection.¡±


    ¡°Why? Has someone threatened you?¡± The League might have suspended Charles¡¯ adventuring license, but he was still a common-ranked adventurer and wouldn¡¯t stand by while thugs extorted his favorite alchemist. ¡°Just give me a name, and you¡¯ll never see them again.¡±


    V¡¯ega laughed warmly, shaking his head and waving the notion away. ¡°No, nothing like that.¡±


    Charles liked that laugh. He wished he could hear it more often, but with no family of his own, he¡¯d resigned himself to being alone. Maybe it was safer that way. Letting others in had never gone well for him in the past, and while he valued his independence, there was a certain emptiness that gnawed at the edges of his contentment. His thoughts drifted back to the chubby man and the effect he had on Y¡¯rell. She was exquisite too¡ªlike V¡¯ega. Y¡¯rell was slender and graceful while V¡¯ega was warm and charming. Charles sighed, wishing he had half the charisma and confidence of his misshapen ward.


    He reached into his pocket and pulled out a list. ¡°I¡¯ll also need everything on here, too.¡±


    V¡¯ega took the note and scanned it. ¡°A rainy-day grenade?¡± He raised an eyebrow. ¡°Not sure I¡¯ll have that one, but for you, I¡¯ll check in the back.¡± From behind the counter, he swung the door open to the storage room and disappeared inside.


    Charles heard the sound of bottles emptying in a corner, followed by V¡¯ega shifting boxes and sorting through them.


    V¡¯ega raised his voice slightly. ¡°Any chance you¡¯ll stick around this time?¡± he asked.


    ¡°As long as it takes to get my ward settled. I might be here a day or two longer than usual.¡± Charles turned and leaned against the counter, facing the door.


    ¡°It¡¯s all work, work, work with you, isn¡¯t it?¡± A vial shattered on the floor. ¡°Bollocks,¡± V¡¯ega cursed as his tail knocked it off the shelf.


    Charles considered offering a hand, but Proprioception showed the space was already too tight. V¡¯ega¡¯s question stuck with him. Charles liked spending his downtime puzzling out designs or reading to keep his mind away from his past. But maybe there were other options he hadn¡¯t considered. ¡°What¡¯s there to do besides working?¡± he asked.


    V¡¯ega returned, placing several items on the counter, and handed Charles the empty cloth bag. ¡°Perhaps a nice dinner with someone?¡± He excused himself past Charles and grabbed a basket to gather the rest of the list.


    ¡°Who¡¯d want to have dinner with me?¡± Charles only ate flak, and no one else seemed to enjoy it like he did. Most people reacted the same way Dylan had, which was why he¡¯d stopped offering it.


    ¡°You might be surprised.¡± V¡¯ega¡¯s finger ran down a shelf and stopped at the common healing potions. He grabbed two and placed them in the basket. ¡°Is there anyone you¡¯d like to have dinner with?¡± He looked up at Charles, smiled slightly, and waited.


    Charles mentally mapped out a mundane dinner. First, he¡¯d have to choose a dish¡ªpreferably something his guest would enjoy¡ªbut how was he supposed to know their preferences? Then, there¡¯d be the shopping for ingredients, possibly involving several stops. Interacting with merchants wasn¡¯t his favorite, though if they were like V¡¯ega, he wouldn¡¯t mind. Cooking wouldn¡¯t be so bad, but serving the meal, with all the unnecessary focus on presentation, felt like a chore. He sighed, already dreading the small talk he wasn¡¯t good at. ¡®No thank you,¡¯ he thought.


    Then a novel idea struck him: What if someone actually wanted to join him for flak? There was just one problem. ¡°How do I know if someone wants to go to dinner with me?¡±


    V¡¯ega reappeared, rounding one of the floor racks with a basket of supplies. He set them on the counter, excusing himself past Charles in the cramped shop. Charles inhaled, giving him as much space as possible. He could taste the peppermint now, and it was delicious.


    ¡°It¡¯s simple. You just ask.¡± V¡¯ega stood behind the counter, a brief pause settling between them as he looked at Charles expectantly. Folding his clawed hands, he rested them on the counter. ¡°Is there anything else you¡¯d like?¡±


    ¡°No. That¡¯s everything on my list.¡± Charles picked up the items and placed them in his bag. ¡°You¡¯ve been helpful.¡± He pulled out his suspended license, which still worked as a League card, and tapped it on the register at the counter¡¯s corner. He used League credits to pay. When he was done, he looked up at V¡¯ega. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    V¡¯ega¡¯s smile faded. ¡°Back to work then?¡±


    The rugged elf nodded.


    ¡°Alright,¡± V¡¯ega sighed, ¡°maybe next time¡­¡±


    ¡®That¡¯s unfortunate,¡¯ Charles thought. V¡¯ega¡¯s disappointment wasn¡¯t lost on him, but he refused to buy things he didn¡¯t need. He¡¯d never let himself fall into debt again.

 Chapter 28 - Calculated Carnage

    (Charles)


    The bell chimed again, signaling Charles¡¯s departure from the alchemist¡¯s shop. A panicked elf bolted past him on the sidewalk.


    ¡®Thief?¡¯ he wondered, then recognized the elf¡¯s tunic; it marked him as a member of the local guild, Nightshade. A guild member moving that fast could only mean trouble. ¡®Dylan? No, he¡¯s still in the arborhearth.¡¯ He looked up to see smoke rising into the sky over Merchant¡¯s Circle. ¡®Should¡¯ve placed a brand when I had the chance.¡¯ Without giving his oversight a second thought, he sprinted toward where he¡¯d left Dylan.


    As Charles approached, he felt a familiar aura¡ªDreadfang. He hadn¡¯t expected Dreadfang and Rono to attack within city limits. An unfortunate miscalculation on his part, costly all around. Perhaps if he hadn¡¯t been so exhausted, he would have prepared better. The pair knew his destination and waited for the right moment to strike. Leaving Dylan behind was the moment they were looking for.


    He slowed his pace slightly, unable to sense Rono¡¯s aura. ¡®Rono¡¯s too cautious. Dreadfang¡¯s alone.¡¯ Charles arrived to find Dylan collapsed on the ground, his arborhearth engulfed in flames. He steadied his nerves, remembering: Dylan¡¯s self-resurrection ability would kick in. Charles saw Dylan, covered in arc burns and frostbite¡ªthe handiwork of Dreadfang.


    ¡®He¡¯ll be fine.¡¯ Charles watched as the body remained unmoving. ¡®Probably.¡¯ Dreadfang didn¡¯t hold back during his attack, easily overpowering Dylan¡¯s mostly mundane constitution.


    The same elf from before was beside Dylan. He held out his hand, casting a spell: Pale turquoise tendrils shot from his fingers, surrounding the chubby man¡¯s body. Dylan¡¯s skin tightened while the bones underneath thickened, yet, disturbingly, he appeared both gaunt and fat. Dropping to his knees, the elf bent over to sit Dylan up.


    Dylan¡¯s burnt chest crackled, expanding as he gasped for breath. Between coughs, Dylan asked, ¡°Did you just¡­ resurrect me?¡± His shirt was in tatters, and arc burns marked his chest. Black patches of frostbite mottled his nose and lips.


    Charles figured Dreadfang hit him so hard that he forgot about his own ability.


    ¡°What?¡± The elf blinked in shock at Dylan¡¯s self-resurrection. ¡°No¡ªI mean, it was close, but I¡¯m sure I got to you just in time.¡±


    Dylan coughed into his fist. ¡°I¡¯m like ninety-nine percent sure you¡ª¡± He noticed Charles. ¡°Oh excrement, he¡¯s here.¡± Both Dylan and the elf looked up at him.


    Charles reached inside the bag, pulling out a few potions and the grenade. He slipped them into pouches along his belt, tossing the rest of the bag to a very dead-looking Dylan, who grunted as it landed in his lap. Then Charles walked up to the engulfed arborhearth and opened another chest, thinking of the resonating dagger he¡¯d need. His Hot-blooded passive kept the heat manageable as he grabbed the dagger and slammed the lid shut.


    Walking away from the burning arborhearth, he dismissed the summon with a thought. With nothing left to fuel it, the flames snuffed out.


    Charles held out his arm, summoning his phoenix. Heat coursed from his shoulder to his wrist as the small mythical bird materialized, perched on his arm. [Summon Phoenix] was a Mythical ability from his Fire framework. It summoned a hatchling mythical phoenix, as the name implied. The creature was swift, with an ability to sense heat. It made for a great, if temporary, scout at this rank.


    The phoenix existed in a delicate balance: too hot, and they¡¯d burn up; too cold, and they¡¯d flameout. Once summoned, its temperature constantly decayed, with ability activations causing sudden surges of heat.


    Charles leaned in toward the small inferno and whispered, ¡°Find the campfire just outside of town with four heat signatures.¡± The phoenix took off, flying up into the sky like a flare. Charles would¡¯ve preferred a less flashy summon, but during the day, the bird was hard to see unless you were looking for it. He turned to the Nightshade mender. ¡°Watch him.¡± They simply nodded in response.


    Charles bent down and placed his hand on the ground next to Dylan. A pulsing red circle burned into the ground, sizzling as it spread. [Scorching Brand] was a Dimension ability, also from his Fire framework. It allowed him to teleport back to the brand. He wouldn¡¯t make the same mistake again. If his plans went awry, he¡¯d use the brand, and they¡¯d have a head start on reaching the League of Adventurers¡¯ Hall. Even those fools weren¡¯t dumb enough to attack the League.


    The safe play would be to report the attempted murder of a League-protected refugee and let them sort it out. But he¡¯d planned for this. It¡¯s why he pushed so hard to get Dylan registered. They¡¯d made an unfortunate mistake, and Charles intended to capitalize on it. Afterwards, he¡¯d put in a request for Vera as compensation instead of a lootbox. Freeing Vera was his plan all along; sticking it to Ebonscale was just a bonus.


    Charles looked up to see his phoenix circling above an area, signaling that they¡¯d found what they were looking for. ¡®That didn¡¯t take long.¡¯ He knew their position. Dropping his aura, Charles sprinted toward them. A handful of minutes later, he was stalking around their camp. The phoenix flamed out due to inactivity just before Charles arrived on scene. He¡¯d have liked to use its Dive-bomb ability, but held off until he was in position.


    Noting the direction of the breeze, he altered course to stay upwind, ensuring they wouldn¡¯t catch his scent. Okamijin were notorious for their well-developed sense of smell. He crept toward them, slow and deliberate, as they argued, activating Locate Weakness on Dreadfang, Rono, and both theropods.


    [Locate Weakness] was a Perception ability from his Dark framework. It detected past physical and mental traumas to exploit. He felt bad using it on Vera but couldn¡¯t afford to take the chance with a four on one scenario.


    ¡°You idiot.¡± Rono paced back and forth by the campfire, frustration twisting his features. He kicked a stone into the woods. It skipped past Charles, missing him by two reaches.


    ¡°At least I¡¯m no coward,¡± Dreadfang growled back, baring his teeth.


    Rono walked right up to Dreadfang, jabbing a finger at his face. ¡°I told you we should have reported back to Ebonscale first.¡±


    Dreadfang loomed over the shorter man. ¡°And let him escape again?¡±


    Rono pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. ¡°What if Guildmaster Maeve wants to interrogate him?¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°You think she wants to talk to him?¡± Dreadfang¡¯s shoulders slumped at the mention of her name.


    Rono spoke softly. ¡°We don¡¯t know what she wants, Dreadfang.¡± Then his voice hardened again. ¡°Because we didn¡¯t ask!¡±


    ¡°At least I got revenge for T¡¯alanza. She would have wanted that.¡± Dreadfang reached up, touching one of his tribal necklaces, as if seeking comfort.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad we could make your dead girlfriend happy.¡± Rono shot back. ¡°We¡¯ll probably be dead before the end of the week.¡±


    ¡®Or sooner,¡¯ Charles thought dryly.


    Vera noticed Charles, about to blow his cover with her usual greeting. Quickly, he brought a finger to his lips, signaling for her to keep quiet. Her eyes narrowed, flicking between him and Rono. Slowly, she stalked toward the other theropod.


    ¡°Shut it,¡± Dreadfang said, waving a dismissive hand. ¡°I was in and out. He was just a mundane. I killed him and got away clean.¡±


    ¡°And what part did this mundane play in the attack on the stronghold?¡± Rono crossed his arms, his glare demanding a response.


    Dreadfang shrugged. ¡°What does it matter?¡± he asked dismissively.


    Rono grit his teeth, barely holding his rage. ¡°It matters because that¡¯s exactly what Guildmaster Maeve is going to want to know.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± The okamijin nova took a moment to think, his first one, if Charles had to guess. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°That¡¯s my point, you buffoon!¡± Rono spun away from Dreadfang, pacing furiously. ¡°And now we¡¯ll never know.¡± His fists clenched at his sides. ¡°Because you went and killed the only person who had the answer!¡±


    Dreadfang grunted, his jaw tightening as he realized Rono was right. ¡°Well, they can¡¯t pin it on us. I was in and out quick enough.¡±


    ¡°First off¡ªit wasn¡¯t us¡ªit was you. And second, because you can¡¯t keep your muzzle shut. Get a round of beer in your belly and you¡¯ll be boasting to Guildmaster Maeve herself. Going on about how you tore out his guts with your own claws.¡± Rono jabbed a finger at Dreadfang.


    ¡°I¡ªI did no such thing. I only punched him, and it wasn¡¯t even ten times.¡± Dreadfang folded his arms defensively.


    Vera stalked over to the other mount. She snapped at her sister, who cawed and then hissed. Charles had seen this before: Fu-tang had taught all theropod riders to look out for this behavior. Vera was claiming pack leader, and neither Rono nor Dreadfang was paying attention. Their only hope was if her sister challenged the claim.


    ¡°Knock it off.¡± Rono picked up a stick and chucked it at the two theropods. Vera¡¯s sister hopped out of the path of the stick. The stick landed harmlessly, but the damage was already done. He¡¯d pissed her off enough to join Vera¡¯s pack. She made a clicking noise deep in her throat. Vera had successfully conscripted her.


    Canceling Locate Weakness on Vera and her sister, he watched as they quietly positioned themselves, ensuring Rono and Dreadfang were between them. He slipped the second dagger into an extra sheath on his belt and readied his bow. He waited for Locate Weakness to finish.


    [Dark orb] [Locate Weakness] complete. Weak points highlighted.


    [Dark orb] Dreadfang is mourning the loss of his draconi mate, T¡¯alanza.


    [Dark orb] Rono is terrified of the theropod, Vera.


    ¡®That¡¯s unfortunate,¡¯ Charles thought. He¡¯d hoped to discover a new mental vulnerability. He¡¯d only get one shot before Dreadfang would activate his defense and start shooting down all projectiles. Standing, he took a steadying breath, notched an arrow, and took aim at Dreadfang¡¯s highlighted elbow. Both his arrow and breath released simultaneously.


    Dreadfang howled in surprise as searing pain ripped through his elbow. The arrow¡¯s shaft lodged in the joint, rendering it inoperable. Wasting no time, Charles fired shot after shot, anticipating Dreadfang¡¯s predicted response.


    ¡®Stage one: trigger defense.¡¯ Charles aimed for the other weak point marked on the okamijin¡¯s hand. The second arrow went wide. The third missed, but still lodged itself in his thigh. Hitting such a small target at this distance proved exceptionally challenging. The fourth arrow exploded mid-air, shot down by a micro firebolt. At last, the pincushion activated his ranged defensive ability.


    ¡°Traitor!¡± Dreadfang barked when he saw his attacker. Purple blood trickled from the wound as he growled, yanking the arrow from his leg with his good arm.


    It didn¡¯t hit any arteries. ¡®Unfortunate.¡¯ Charles thought. He would¡¯ve liked to see spurts of blood, a sure sign of nicking or severing an artery.


    ¡®Stage two: separate.¡¯ His original plan was to take on all four of them in stages, but Vera¡¯s revenge offered a different opportunity. She¡¯d be the wedge to drive both adventurers apart, preventing them from supporting each other.


    It was easy to tell when Rono¡¯s aura was active. Technological plates unfolded along his spine, and the muscles in his arms transformed into steel-cabled fibers, boosting his unarmed attacks and blocks. A brawler archetype, Rono was a decent fighter.


    Vera crouched low, readying herself to pounce. She let out a sharp squawk at Rono, demanding his attention. This was how she hunted¡ªsowing terror into her prey, forcing them to flee and giving her the perfect opportunity to give chase. Rono¡¯s face paled. A flicker caught his eye; his head snapped to the side as he saw a second theropod circling to flank him.


    ¡°Mother help me.¡± Rono¡¯s attention bounced between the two approaching pack mates. His boots transformed into cloven feet, and he sprinted deeper into the forest, giving Vera exactly what she wanted. She cawed with glee, her eyes gleaming, and both raptors chased after him.


    ¡°Fine¡­¡± Dreadfang cradled his wounded arm, watching his partner abandon him. ¡°I¡¯ll do it myself.¡± He wrestled with the arrow lodged in his elbow, howling in rage as he only worsened the wound.


    ¡®Stage three: negate healing.¡¯ Charles also knew Dreadfang¡¯s archetype was nova, specializing in area-of-effect damage. He planned to use that against the okamijin. Taking cover behind a thick tree, he readied another arrow and waited the full second. Trigonometry showed the path of the arrow with a crimson line only visible to Charles.


    [Trigonometry] was the passive ability from his Ranged framework. It displayed the path of his projectiles, including any ricochets, and activated after one second of holding a primed shot.


    Charles stepped out from behind the tree, placed the crimson line on Dreadfang¡¯s head, and released his shot. Immediately, he took cover, relying on Proprioception to track what happened next. Dreadfang¡¯s defense intercepted the arrow again. Charles noted with satisfaction that the defensive was still up. Longer cooldowns usually offset longer duration abilities.


    ¡°You¡¯ll die like T¡¯alanza,¡± Charles taunted from behind the tree. ¡°Alone, full of terror and regret.¡± He needed the nova to transform.


    Dreadfang bit at the arrow lodged in his arm, growling as he barked, ¡°Don¡¯t you say her name!¡± Gripping the arrow¡¯s shaft with his free hand, he whimpered before snapping it. His mangled elbow was now free, the broken arrow tossed to the ground. ¡°I¡¯ll show you terror.¡± Dreadfang¡¯s growl turned into a cruel laugh.


    Charles needed to be careful. Thanks to Dreadfang¡¯s aura, the more damage he took, the deadlier he¡¯d become. Dreadfang preferred to hold off on healing to maximize his damage. This would give Charles the time and destructive window he needed to carry out his plan.


    The rhythmic crackling chorus told Charles that his opponent had finally used one of his transformations. White prisms sprouted from Dreadfang, distorting his form and covering his body. A spectrum of colors danced across the trees, surrounding the area in a dazzling display of scintillation. Charles clenched his jaw and readied himself for what came next.


    Dreadfang continued laughing, his injured arm still hanging limp at his side. He didn¡¯t need arms for his next ability. His crystal shell exploded from his body in a burst of razor-sharp shards, shredding everything they struck. White shards coated all the trees facing Dreadfang.


    ¡®How long until¡ª¡¯ The delayed secondary explosion Charles had been waiting for finally erupted, shotgunning bark, wood splinters, dirt, and rocks into the air, further shredding the area. Dreadfang stood on a slightly raised circular pillar¡ªthe only ground that wasn¡¯t pelted with shards. The area surrounding him was now cratered, and soil rained down around them both as he kept laughing. Only the larger trees still stood, although stripped of their bark, missing half their trunks, and doomed to a slow, rotting death.


    Not even Charles had made it through unscathed. Green blood oozed from minor cuts and scrapes. His clothing had absorbed most of the damage. Ripped, tattered, and full of holes, they wouldn¡¯t protect him again. Unfortunately, Charles needed Dreadfang to do that again.

 Chapter 29 - Veras Revenge

    (Charles)


    ¡°Is that the best you¡¯ve got, pup?¡± Charles taunted, borrowing from the okamijin vernacular. Notching another arrow, he dashed out and fired a quick shot. He slid behind the next tree for cover as the projectile blew up, just like the last two.


    He pulled out a sewing needle and pricked his finger, casting Stitch. [Stitch] was a Physician ability from his Outfitter framework. It allowed him to mend clothing and minor wounds.


    Normally, ritual abilities like Stitch couldn¡¯t be used in combat, but Charles¡¯s aura, Drive, got around that limitation. [Drive] was a Willpower ability from his Fire framework. It gave him the focus to perform rituals in combat, at the cost of increasing their cooldown. His wounds sealed shut, but Stitch wouldn¡¯t be ready in time for Dreadfang¡¯s next attack.


    The white prisms reformed with their rhythmic crackling, signaling the nova readying another barrage. Prepared, Charles downed the ironbark vial he¡¯d picked up from V¡¯ega¡¯s earlier. It reduced each instance of damage by a minor amount and was effective against Dreadfang¡¯s crystal form attacks.


    Another volley of crystalized shards coated the area, peppering both soil and wood. Charles braced himself for the secondary effect¡ªBoom. Rocks, splinters, and dirt blasted him from all sides, his attire too tattered to intervene again.


    A thick haze of soil and sawdust swirled, obscuring the surrounding area. Proprioception kicked in, warning Charles of the falling trees and their trajectory. He didn¡¯t wait for his sight to clear, taking off toward Dreadfang while still hidden. Now he needed to get Dreadfang out of his transformation.


    ¡®Stage four: break the seal.¡¯ Not a single tree came down on him for his poor judgment and recklessness. It wouldn¡¯t have killed the common-ranked adventurer, but a little karmic justice would¡¯ve been nice.


    Dodging debris¡ªrocks, dirt, and trees¡ªCharles made his way to Dreadfang. He¡¯d already stowed his bow and unsheathed two daggers. One was common-ranked, specialized in resonance damage. He found his other mundane blades worked well and hadn¡¯t yet decided on any enchantment upgrades. He¡¯d gotten the resonance dagger from a lootbox. Charles had two fighting style abilities: Skirmisher Style and Triple Sword Style.


    [Skirmisher style] was a Swift ability from his Ranged framework. It allowed him to reload his weapon in the blink of an eye. He could wield shortbows, dual wield pistols or hand-crossbows, or a mix of both with proficiency. [Triple Sword Style] was a Balance ability from his Melee framework. It allowed him to dual wield any combination of dagger, shortsword, and longsword with proficiency.


    Dreadfang howled in surprise as Charles plunged the resonance dagger into his back. Relying on the nova¡¯s confusion, he pressed his advantage, striking with impunity. Normally, Dreadfang enjoyed the protections provided by his crystalline form: damage reduction against most damage types. However, resonance bypassed those protections, maximizing its carnage against crystal and stone defenses.


    Leaping back after the third stab, Charles watched the crystals drop to the ground as Dreadfang¡¯s body shed them and untransformed. Charles wasn¡¯t worried the nova might retaliate; he just needed space to throw the grenade.


    He readied the rainy-day explosive and chucked it at Dreadfang. Another micro bolt of fire appeared, intercepting the grenade, but it was close enough to still drench the okamijin with water. Charles grew concerned¡ªDreadfang¡¯s ranged defense might not have a cooldown. He traded his resonance dagger for a shortsword.


    Dreadfang stood there, confused. Holding out his hands, he inspected his soaked, unharmed body. ¡°Water?¡± He snorted, sending droplets flying from his nostrils.


    Charles gave him no time to think, diving back in with both blades ready. Dreadfang bared his teeth in a menacing smile, made a fist with his good arm, and did exactly as planned. Arcing energies ripped across his waterlogged coat. He stood convulsing in pain, paralyzed by the shock as he electrocuted himself.


    Charles grinned as Dreadfang writhed. His ability to charge his unarmed strikes backfired, sending the full power back into his now-conductive body. Charles needed to use this time wisely. He carved away, focusing on Dreadfang¡¯s torso. It was surprising how much abuse a common-ranked adventurer¡¯s body could take. Charles got in several clean strikes, leaving the nova gashed, punctured, and bleeding before he could recover.


    Dreadfang threw his head back, letting out an echoing roar. This was how he activated one of his most potent buffs. Readying himself for the next assault, Charles hoped he¡¯d done enough damage. The okamijin¡¯s good hand morphed into a long-scythed mantis blade. Winding up, he swung at the rugged elf¡¯s neck.


    Charles raised his shortsword in defense, activating Executioner¡¯s Block. [Executioner¡¯s Block] was a Death ability from his Melee framework. It blocked an attack, reflecting double the damage back if the attacker was within execute range. If not, the ability would enter an extended cooldown.


    The block succeeded, but Dreadfang took no damage. ¡°That¡¯s unfortunate,¡± Charles muttered as the ability went on a one-minute cooldown. He hadn¡¯t done enough damage to bring the nova under a quarter health¡ªthe execute threshold for the ability to retaliate. Dreadfang readied another swing.


    ¡®Brand?¡¯ Charles debated. ¡®No. I¡¯ve still got options.¡¯ He threw himself backward, catching a gash across his chest as he hit the ground. Rolling to his side, he quickly picked himself up and dashed away to create space to think.


    Between Dreadfang¡¯s aura and that roar buff, even his regular attacks hit exceptionally hard, and Charles knew he couldn¡¯t take many more direct hits. Over the next minute, he needed to carry out two tasks: get Dreadfang into execute range and avoid dying. He had a potent ability that could accomplish both tasks, but it came with unfortunate side effects.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Out of time, Charles needed to close the gap with Dreadfang before the nova got any ideas about using his ranged area attacks again. With all the trees gone and nowhere to hide, he knew it¡¯d be a quick death. While closing, he traded his dagger for a longsword, not wanting to get too close. He just needed to buy some time.


    At the last moment, before they clashed, he chose not to take the risk, activating his own defensive¡ªDance with Death. [Dance with Death] was a Resonance ability from his Dark framework. It allowed him to absorb an infinite amount of non-dark damage for one minute. Now he could focus on bringing Dreadfang into execute range. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself for the pain to come.


    Dreadfang swung his mantis blade, but Charles, standing too close, couldn¡¯t avoid the blow. He took the hit, a black shimmer appearing between him and the scythe, absorbing the impact¡ªsaving it for later. Though the ability shielded his body, it did nothing to dull the pain, forcing him to feel every bit of it. Gritting his teeth, Charles pushed through the agony and lunged forward with his longsword.


    Locked in their savage dance, they exchanged strikes, both growing more desperate. Dreadfang¡¯s fury mounted as the black shimmer absorbed his attacks, leaving the rugged elf unharmed despite the assault. Meanwhile, Charles slashed, stabbed, and bled him. Dreadfang¡¯s next swipe was slower than the last¡ªblood loss was catching up. Charles lunged, opening a fresh wound. Though his strikes came slower, they grew more brutal with each blow. The rugged elf continued trading pain for a life.


    Charles couldn¡¯t tell if the okamijin was within execute range, so he kept absorbing damage he¡¯d have to face eventually. Careful not to drop Dreadfang¡¯s health too low, he needed the nova¡¯s mistake to go unnoticed a bit longer.


    Switching tactics, Dreadfang¡¯s hand returned to normal¡ªthe scythe attacks too slow for him. Pummeling Charles with an unarmed onslaught of claws, he raked them across the rugged elf¡¯s chest. Charles, unable to keep his silence, cried out in pain as Dreadfang sank his teeth into the space between his neck and left shoulder¡ªthe black shimmer delaying only the damage. In exchange, Charles plunged his shortsword deep into the okamijin¡¯s abdomen, up to the hilt.


    [Melee orb]: [Executioner¡¯s Block] ready for use.


    Charles couldn¡¯t use Executioner¡¯s Block while Dance with Death was up, or there wouldn¡¯t be any damage to reflect. He¡¯d need to end it early, and if he misjudged the timing or Dreadfang¡¯s health, he wouldn¡¯t survive long enough to use his brand.


    Readying his shortsword, he dismissed Dance with Death. A black slice immediately slashed across the top of his hand, opening a wound. Dreadfang hadn¡¯t missed it, practically salivating at the sight of the rugged elf¡¯s emerald blood.


    ¡°Finally,¡± Dreadfang said, realizing the elf was vulnerable once more.


    ¡°Make it count,¡± Charles said.


    Dreadfang smirked as his fist crackled with arc energy, his coat no longer wet enough to conduct. Leaning into the punch, he aimed for the rugged elf¡¯s head. Lifting his shortsword to intercept, Charles activated Executioner¡¯s Block again. The block succeeded, but more importantly, the small piece of parchment hanging from Dreadfang¡¯s belt ripped in half.


    The okamijin¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°How?!¡± He stared down at the remaining scrap attached to his belt. The parchment had prevented his death, working once before breaking. A simple ritual would conjure him a new one. His head snapped up, scanning the battlefield.


    Charles knew exactly what he was looking for. Dreadfang had two synergistic abilities: the first was a powerful healing skill that only required him to be in darkness; the second was a passive ability that allowed shadows to count as darkness. Charles had tricked Dreadfang into removing the trees and their shade at the start of the fight. ¡®Stage five: execution.¡¯


    ¡°How do you want it?¡± Charles called out, gripping a blade in each hand. He gave Dreadfang a choice: go out fighting or running.


    Dreadfang¡¯s lips curled into a snarl and his eyes darted toward the new tree line.


    Charles had his answer. ¡°Have it your way.¡±


    As Dreadfang sprinted toward the trees, Charles stowed his blades. Unsheathing his bow, he fired a test shot. Dreadfang yipped, stumbling as the arrow buried itself in his shoulder. With his defenses stripped, it was time for Charles to end it. He notched another arrow, taking aim. This time, he waited the full second and tagged his fleeing opponent with Trigonometry. Releasing the arrow, Charles used Final Goodbye.


    [Final Goodbye] was a Destiny ability from his Range framework. It was an execute attack that did extreme damage. The attack drained his health to increase its power, enough to kill either the target or him¡ªit always claimed a life. Sailing true, the arrow struck Dreadfang in the back, and his body crumpled to the ground, dead.


    Charles pulled out his sewing needle again and pricked his finger, casting Stitch. The wound on his hand sealed shut. Seconds later, another dark slice tore across his other hand, opening a fresh wound. This would continue until the Dance with Death debuff wore off. The timer showed 23 hours, 15 minutes, and 6 seconds remaining.


    Dance with Death¡¯s near invulnerability was especially powerful, but powerful abilities always had drawbacks, especially at common rank. His drawback was to suffer damage over time until the debuff ended, dealing constant low dark damage to him. The more damage absorbed, the longer it would last. Just over eight hours had been his previous record.


    The damage Dreadfang inflicted in less than a minute was impressive. The sharp, searing pain would remind him of that fact for the rest of the day.


    Charles considered looting Dreadfang¡¯s body but decided against it; he still wanted to claim Vera as his reward and didn¡¯t want any guild bureaucracy to interfere. He¡¯d let Ebonscale collect their fallen members, and gear, intact. ¡®Now for Rono.¡¯


    A terrible shriek rang out, abruptly cut short¡ªVera had gotten her revenge. Charles headed toward the source of the scream. He found the theropods quickly; all he had to do was follow the squishing, slurping, and bone-snapping sounds. ¡°So much for intact.¡± Charles frowned, watching them gorge themselves on Rono¡¯s remains.


    Vera heard him step into the clearing and lifted her green, gore-covered snout to greet him. The other theropod seized the distraction to snatch another piece for herself¡ªa sickening pop sounded as she tore off a leg.


    ¡°Good girl,¡± Charles said, keeping a careful distance as they ate. ¡°Stay hidden until I return.¡± They didn¡¯t make translation rings for raptors, but she didn¡¯t need one¡ªthey understood each other well enough. Charles would need to return quickly before her unattended pack started hunting townspeople for food¡ªor worse, sport.


    He mentally triggered his Scorching Brand, teleporting instantly back to Merchant¡¯s Circle. The brand under his feet stopped glowing and faded into obscurity. Charles¡¯s sudden appearance caught both Dylan and his new friend off guard. Glad to see Dylan looking much more alive, he turned to the elf and asked, ¡°You from the guild?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m¡ª¡±


    Dylan cut him off, exclaiming, ¡°Sacred excrement, Charles. Are you okay? What happened to you?¡± He put a finger through one of the many holes in Charles¡¯s tattered tunic.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he said, wincing as another surge of pain streaked across his cheek. Taking out his sewing needle, he cast Stitch and closed the wound. He brushed his sleeve across his face, wiping away the bit of blood left behind.


    Dylan looked at Charles, then at the elf, and asked, ¡°Is that supposed to happen?¡±


    Charles ignored the question. ¡°Don¡¯t let him out of your sight. I¡¯ll come find you when I¡¯m done.¡±


    The elf nodded silently in acknowledgement. Charles turned, starting down the street toward the League of Adventurers¡¯ Hall.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Dylan asked after him.


    Charles sighed. ¡°Paperwork¡­¡±

 Chapter 30 - Running on Borrowed Time

    (Nathan)


    Nathan glanced at Dylan. "Do you know that guy?" They both watched the elf with too many blades clinking down the street. Lifeforce showed the adventurer at 34% health. A moment later, it dipped to 32%, then jumped back to 34% after the rugged elf healed himself again.


    ¡°That¡¯s Charles.¡± Dylan stood motionless, the cloth bag swaying from his fingertips¡ªthe same one Charles had tossed to him before running off.


    The rugged elf had vanished for nearly half an hour, only to reappear in front of them, teleporting without warning. His body was a patchwork of cuts and scrapes, his clothes just as ragged. Nathan worried the other guy looked worse.


    ¡°We should get you back to the hospital, fast.¡± Nathan watched Dylan¡¯s health bar. It was rising¡ªjust far too slowly.


    Dylan¡¯s face remained deathly pale, his nose, lips, and ears blackened with frostbite. ¡°You¡¯re from the hospital? How¡¯d you know I was gonna get hurt?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± Nathan muttered. ¡®This is all my fault.¡¯ He hadn¡¯t unlocked many restoration abilities. ¡®I never should¡¯ve left him alone.¡¯ But he had more than enough offensive abilities¡ªhe might¡¯ve been able to fend off the assailant.


    ¡°I¡¯m your caseworker for this contract,¡± Nathan sighed. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry this happened. Once you¡¯re patched up, I¡¯ll make sure your contract gets reassigned to someone more competent.¡± He cast Metabolize again.


    ¡°Why?¡± Dylan¡¯s health still hadn¡¯t hit double digits.


    Nathan rechecked Dylan¡¯s head, concern growing. False Life should¡¯ve been suppressing any traumatic amnesia, shock, and even his concussion. ¡°Because I panicked and left you alone.¡± He gently grabbed Dylan by the jaw, turning his head side to side. ¡°You sustained serious injuries while I wasn¡¯t there to protect you.¡±


    Dylan shrugged. ¡°Not the first time I¡¯ve died,¡± he said casually.


    Nathan waited for his lawful orb to chime in¡ªnothing. ¡®Is Polygraph broken? Can abilities even break?¡¯ It wasn¡¯t like when Meekan spoke; Dylan wasn¡¯t skirting around anything. ¡®Did I hear that right? He¡¯s died before?¡¯


    ¡°Oh, hey, there¡¯s some healing potions in here.¡± Dylan peeked into the bag, holding it open with both hands. ¡°Can I just use one?¡±


    ¡®Oh Mother, please don¡¯t let him use the terrifying adventurers¡¯ expensive potions.¡¯ Then again, it might come down to that if they didn¡¯t reach the hospital soon.


    Nathan shook his head. ¡°Not yet. You¡¯re not in danger of dying right now. The hospital¡¯s just a short walk away.¡± He pointed down the street.


    ¡°Yeah, we stopped by last night. They couldn¡¯t help with my vermilion ivy rash. Wait¡ªthat¡¯s weird. It¡¯s not burning, itching, or tingling.¡± Dylan stared down at his legs, baffled.


    ¡°I can take care of that for you.¡±


    ¡°You can?¡± Dylan looked up. His eyes brightened with hope, a smile spreading across his face.


    ¡°At the hospital.¡± That was enough to get the chubby man moving. ¡°But we need to hurry.¡± Nathan set off down Market Street, and, thankfully, Dylan followed.


    ¡°What¡¯s the rush? The day shift going home early or something?¡±


    ¡°No. The ability I used on you is going to expire,¡± Nathan said, carefully avoiding its name, ¡°and when it does, you¡¯ll be in a lot of pain. It¡¯s masking how serious your injuries really are.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you just¡­¡± Dylan wiggled his fingers. ¡°You know, do it again?¡±


    Nathan kept his eyes fixed ahead, refusing to answer¡ªor lie. ¡°What do you mean, you¡¯ve died before?¡±


    Dylan launched into the story of his not-so-daring escape from the Ebonscale stronghold as they headed to the hospital. He was just getting to the part about landing in the lake when he suddenly went quiet.


    Nathan had been diligent about recasting Metabolize each time it wore off, but Dylan¡¯s health hovered at 11%. False Life made him feel like he was over half health, masking his other injuries. Nathan watched as Dylan doubled over, shivering.


    ¡°N-N-Nathan,¡± Dylan¡¯s teeth chattered, ¡°I d-don¡¯t feel so good.¡±


    Nathan quickly scooped Dylan up, cradling him in his arms. The shivering, chubby man was heavy, but still within Nathan¡¯s strength to carry. He hurried the rest of the way to the hospital, hauling Dylan as gently as he could.


    ¡°We need help out here!¡± Nathan shouted as he neared the hospital doors, hoping Sabath would hear him. Moments later, Sabath appeared, holding the door open as Nathan squeezed inside. ¡°Fetch me a stretcher.¡±


    Sabath darted into a nearby bay where the stretchers were kept. He raced back around the corner with one, parking it in front of them. ¡°Who¡¯s this guy? What happened to your contract?¡± Sabath asked.


    Nathan carefully laid Dylan on the stretcher. ¡°He is my contract.¡±


    Sabath shot him a puzzled look. ¡°Mother have mercy. What did you do to him?¡±


    ¡®Abandoned him,¡¯ whispered an intrusive thought. Nathan shoved it aside. ¡°Nothing. We¡¯re taking him to my office.¡±The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Sabath walked the stretcher backward as Nathan pushed. He hit the double doors with his back, and they swung open, locking into place as the three of them passed from the reception area into the main thoroughfare. The doors would automatically close after fifteen seconds.


    ¡°Make a hole!¡± Sabath called out as they raced down the hallway. He quickly switched from walking backward to jogging alongside, steering the stretcher.


    ¡°Sinclair!¡± Nathan spotted a colleague with a potent health restoration ability.


    Without missing a beat, Sinclair hurried after them, calling out, ¡°How can I help?¡±


    ¡°Very low health¡ªcan you stabilize him?¡± Nathan asked as they rounded the corner, his office just down the hall.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Sinclair said. The hallway lights flickered and dimmed as the elf cast his healing ability, absorbing the light and converting it into health. Sinclair¡¯s body glowed mint green as the stretcher slowed, allowing him to catch up and pour the healing energy into Dylan¡¯s frail frame.


    Nathan watched Dylan¡¯s health surge to 87%. ¡°Thank you. We¡¯ll take it from here.¡±


    Sinclair nodded and jogged back to his station. Nathan felt a wave of uselessness wash over him. Mender was his archetype, but he hadn¡¯t unlocked a single health-restoring ability. He didn¡¯t count Metabolize; it would be powerful when combined with healing-over-time abilities¡ªtoo bad he didn¡¯t have any.


    ¡°Thank you, Sabath.¡± Nathan parked the stretcher in the center of his office, stepping on the foot pedal. The wheels shifted into stationary posts. Their stretchers served triple duty as exam tables, patient beds, and transportation.


    His office, like all physicians¡¯ offices, was a dual-purpose space. The front half was for examinations, treatments, and procedures. Cabinets, a sink, and a countertop lined with various medical devices filled the area, though Nathan rarely used any of them¡ªhe relied on a more effective ability to diagnose patients. The back half of the office housed his desk, a large comfy couch, and a simple chair.


    ¡°You found him like this?¡± Sabath asked, bending down to open a cabinet and pulling out a linen blanket.


    ¡°Yes. Wait, no,¡± Nathan quickly corrected himself. ¡°First, I found him uninjured, then there was a fire.¡± Nathan helped Sabath drape the blanket over Dylan, who had passed out in the hallway.


    ¡°A fire? Should we expect more injuries?¡±


    ¡°No. Well¡­ actually, yes.¡±


    ¡°Quite the contradiction today,¡± Sabath mused. He was unapologetically blunt, trying to ground Nathan.


    ¡°Sorry, an injured adventurer¡ªmaybe more¡ªmight stop by. If they haven¡¯t already, but not because of the fire.¡± Nathan held Dylan¡¯s wrist, checking his pulse. ¡®Quick. Is over 100 normal for a human?¡¯


    Sabath stepped aside, giving Nathan space, ready to jump in if needed.


    ¡°I made a mistake. I ran to get help with the fire instead of staying with him.¡± Nathan gestured toward Dylan. ¡°He was attacked, and... I almost didn¡¯t make it back in time.¡± He turned to Sabath. ¡°Can you get his contract reassigned? He¡¯s been through enough¡ªhe deserves someone competent.¡±


    ¡°Did you know he¡¯d be attacked?¡±


    ¡°No, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°Did you really need help with the fire?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Sabath said bluntly, turning and walking out of the room.


    ¡°No?¡± Nathan hurried after him.


    Sabath spun around, his expression firm. ¡°I¡¯m not reassigning the contract.¡±


    ¡°But I made a mistake. He¡ª¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s your problem. Don¡¯t make it mine. Sounds to me like you made the right call with what you knew. Besides, do you have any idea how much paperwork it takes to reassign a contract?¡±


    Nathan looked away, shaking his head slightly. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Neither do I.¡± Sabath resumed walking toward his station. ¡°And I plan on keeping it that way.¡±


    Nathan stood speechless, watching the sassy elf walk away.


    ¡°Water?¡± a raspy voice croaked from his office.


    Nathan hurried to the sink, grabbing a mug from the cabinet. He filled it quickly and brought it to Dylan. ¡°Are you hungry?¡± he asked, helping Dylan sit up to drink.


    Dylan wrapped both hands around the mug, taking a greedy gulp. ¡°Sadly, no.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s a bad thing?¡± Nathan asked, wondering if loss of appetite was a symptom.


    Dylan propped himself up on one elbow. ¡°No. It¡¯s a flak thing.¡±


    Nathan adjusted the stretcher, inclining the top half so Dylan could sit more comfortably. ¡®Did he say flak? Where¡¯d he find that?¡¯ Flak was an ancient elven provision his people used to explore new or inhospitable worlds. It kept for an exceedingly long time, providing the body with a day¡¯s worth of nutrients. His people had settled on Xel¡¯oria millennia ago. ¡®Surely flak doesn¡¯t last that long?¡¯ Curious to confirm he heard correctly, he asked, ¡°Flak?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± There was a hint of annoyance in Dylan¡¯s voice.


    Nathan placed both hands on the bed railing. ¡°How long have you been off your world?¡±


    Dylan scrunched up his face in thought. ¡°Four, maybe five days?¡±


    ¡°Not even a week, and you¡¯ve already found flak?¡± Nathan¡¯s brows and ears perked up.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you can stomach that stuff.¡± Dylan grimaced. ¡°It¡¯s awful.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never had flak,¡± Nathan admitted. He¡¯d only heard of it, a lost tradition buried in elven history.


    ¡°I¡¯d offer you some, but thankfully, Charles hasn¡¯t given me another loaf.¡±


    ¡®The scary adventurer has access to flak?¡¯ Nathan had to admit, the thought of trying the ancient provision was tempting. ¡°That explains why you¡¯re not hungry. When did you last eat?¡± He wanted to make sure Dylan¡¯s next meal would be ready.


    ¡°Last night.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll join us for dinner, then. We should talk about... well, everything.¡± Designed to hold even lithkai, the stretcher barely shifted as Nathan sat on the end. Dylan looked small, like a plump child in an enormous bed. With almost nothing to go on¡ªone person couldn¡¯t represent an entire race¡ªNathan wondered if all humans were six fingers shorter than elves.


    ¡°What about magic? Can we talk about magic?¡± Despite everything, Dylan¡¯s harrowing experience hadn¡¯t dampened his spirit.


    ¡°Sure, that¡¯s an excellent idea. I¡¯d like your permission to use some magic on you right now, if you don¡¯t mind.¡± Nathan waited for his response, not wanting to make any more assumptions on Dylan¡¯s behalf.


    Instead of answering, Dylan tilted his head and asked, ¡°Does magic always require permission?¡±


    ¡®This poor man.¡¯ The question twisted Nathan¡¯s gut; he didn¡¯t want to force his magic on Dylan. They¡¯d only just met, and Nathan didn¡¯t even know him well enough to say if he¡¯d want to be brought back after death. ¡®What have I done?¡¯


    Nathan frowned. ¡°Yes and no. Ideally, morals guide us, along with the rules and regulations of the League of Adventurers, which dictate the proper etiquette for using magic on sentients like you and me. However, nothing really stops adventurers from using it¡ªexcept for the occasional innate balancing that requires a willing target for particularly powerful abilities.¡±


    ¡°Like absorbing a magic orb?¡±


    Nathan nodded. ¡°Exactly, that¡¯s one example.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean by rules and regulations?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re more like agreed-upon guidelines and are only enforceable on licensed adventurers. For example, if you know the person is another licensed adventurer, you can assume permission to save their life. But if they¡¯re mundane or you¡¯re unsure if they¡¯re licensed, you should get consent before using magic on them.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad you didn¡¯t wait to save me,¡± Dylan replied with a relieved smile.


    Nathan felt a bit of his guilt lift as he took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯m truly sorry about that, but I didn¡¯t have time to ask. My other choice was to let you die, and your contract requires that I take care of both your physical and mental health.¡±


    ¡°Alright, go ahead. Magic away.¡± Dylan spread his arms wide, grinning.

 Chapter 31 - It Only Costs an Arm and a Leg

    (Nathan)


    Nathan cast Triage on Dylan. It wasn¡¯t flashy¡ªno spoken phrases, no gestures. It just worked. The results alarmed him as he read.


    [Physician orb]: [Triage] report ¨C


    <u>Physical Damage</u>


    <ul>


    <li>


    Torso (front, upper): arc burns


    </li>


    <li>


    Head (general): frostbite


    </li>


    <li>


    Nose: severe frostbite


    </li>


    <li>


    Ears: severe frostbite


    </li>


    <li>


    Lips: severe frostbite


    </li>


    <li>


    Legs (upper, middle, lower): plant toxin


    </li>


    <li>


    Feet (soles): friction burns


    </li>


    </ul>


    <u>Systems</u>


    <ul>


    <li>


    Pulmonary function: high blood pressure (chronic), high pulse rate (chronic)


    </li>


    <li>


    Digestive function: excessive calorie intake (chronic)


    </li>


    <li>


    Endocrine function: early insulin resistance (chronic)


    </li>


    <li>


    Respiratory function: decreased lung capacity (chronic)


    </li>


    <li>


    Nervous function: dopamine (deficient, chronic), serotonin (deficient, chronic)


    </li>


    <li>


    Adrenal function: high cortisol (chronic)


    </li>


    <li>


    Urinary function: kidney calcium deposits (chronic, warning¡ªblockage imminent)


    </li>


    </ul>


    The list continued with minor details, but Nathan dismissed the notification. He could always run it again and had more than enough to start. ¡°Mother have mercy, Dylan! Does your world have any kind of mender or physician?¡± Nathan asked, concern etched across his face.


    ¡°Of course we do. I¡¯ve got the best medical coverage my company offers. It better be the best¡ªI paid an arm and a leg for it.¡±


    ¡°Barbaric. You shouldn¡¯t have to sacrifice body parts for medical care.¡± Nathan frowned, briefly wondering where the extra limbs might have been attached.


    ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s just an expression.¡±


    ¡®An idiom. That makes more sense.¡¯ Nathan took a deep breath. ¡°You seem to be suffering from chronic depression and anxiety. I¡¯d hypothesize you are overeating as a coping mechanism for your mental illness, which is causing cascading failures in your heart, lungs, and an organ called the pancreas.¡±


    Dylan sighed. ¡°I already know I¡¯m fat and sad¡­¡± he muttered dejectedly.


    Nathan felt a pang of sympathy. ¡®He¡¯s more than just a list of symptoms.¡¯ Placing a gentle hand on Dylan''s shoulder, he softened his tone. ¡°Dylan, you''re not just a set of problems I have to fix. I¡¯ll help you with the physical stuff, but we¡¯ll figure out the rest too, alright?¡±


    Dylan blinked, his eyes flickering to the floor as he gave a nod.


    ¡°Any issues or pain when you urinate?¡± Nathan asked.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Dylan shot him a suspicious look. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll likely have a calcium deposit blocking your urinary tract soon if we don¡¯t address it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to have kidney stones?!¡± Dylan sat up straight.


    ¡°I can treat the arc burns, frostbite, and plant toxins right now.¡± Nathan walked over to a glass jar and took off the lid. He reached in and grabbed a white, blue, and green gummy. One of his most useful abilities was Status Gummy. [Status Gummy] was a Culinary ability from his Physician framework. It allowed him to prepare gelatin candies that cured specific statuses when consumed. He walked back over to Dylan to explain how they worked.


    ¡°Take one and wait at least¡ª¡±


    Dylan¡¯s eyes widened, and he swiped all three gummies from Nathan¡¯s hand before he could finish warning him. ¡°Ooh, piece of candy.¡±


    ¡°Dylan, please don¡¯t¡ª¡± Nathan¡¯s eyes widened in horror as Dylan tossed all three gummies into his mouth and started chewing.


    ¡®Where¡¯s the bucket?¡¯ Nathan spun around, frantically scanning the office. He remembered the empty sanitation bucket under the sink and quickly retrieved it, thrusting it in front of Dylan.


    ¡°What¡¯s the bucket for?¡± Dylan asked, glancing up at Nathan after swallowing.


    Magical supplements, like flak and the gummies, were absorbed almost instantly. With nothing in his stomach, Dylan latched onto the bucket with both hands and dry heaved. Nathan pinched his nose with one hand and helped Dylan hold the bucket with his other.


    ¡°Dylan, those weren¡¯t treats.¡± Nathan waited as another wave of nausea hit Dylan. ¡°You need to wait at least ten minutes after taking one before it¡¯s safe to use another.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I just¡ª¡± Dylan buried his head in the bucket for another wave of dry heaving.


    ¡°The good news is you¡¯re cured of your arc burns, frostbite, and plant toxins. The bad news? You¡¯ll suffer crippling nausea until the cooldown wears off.¡± Nathan handed Dylan the bucket and waited for the nausea to pass.


    Dylan wiped his face with the damp cloth Nathan had given him. ¡°Do you think Charles is okay?¡±


    ¡°Your adventurer friend with an affinity for blades?¡± Nathan raised an eyebrow as he fetched a stool to sit by the bed.


    Dylan nodded, furrowing his brow. ¡°Yeah, he didn¡¯t look so good. Do you think Charles was poisoned?¡±


    ¡°Poisoned?¡± Nathan shook his head, thinking it over. ¡°I don¡¯t think so, though I can¡¯t be sure. I didn¡¯t use Triage. What makes you think that?¡±


    Dylan sat up a little straighter, color returning to his cheeks as his health continued to improve. ¡°Did you see his blood? It was green.¡±Stolen novel; please report.


    Nathan smiled faintly. ¡°That¡¯s the normal color for elf blood. I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be fine¡ªhe had over two-thirds of his health left. Out of curiosity, is human blood always red? There weren¡¯t any hematological anomalies in your results.¡±


    ¡°Yep, we¡¯re all red-blooded.¡± Dylan let out a weak chuckle, then tilted his head. ¡°Wait, how can you tell how much health he¡¯s got?¡±


    ¡°I can tell how much health everyone has.¡± Nathan tapped his chin, debating the risk of explaining Lifeforce to Dylan. ¡°It¡¯s one of my passive abilities.¡±


    ¡°Are you a wizard, too?¡± Dylan¡¯s eyes lit up with excitement.


    Nathan chuckled softly, shaking his head. ¡°Wizard, now that¡¯s an antiquated term. I suppose you could say I¡¯m an aspiring wizard. We use the term adventurer. I¡¯m unranked at the moment.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to be an adventurer too,¡± Dylan said. ¡°So, you can see everyone¡¯s health? That sounds pretty handy.¡±


    Nathan sighed. ¡°And... distracting.¡±


    Dylan leaned forward, curiosity sparking in his eyes. ¡°Can you see the health bars of everything?¡±


    Nathan raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re very curious, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m on an actual alien planet, and magic is real. Who wouldn¡¯t be curious?¡± Dylan asked.


    Nathan smiled to himself, thinking, ¡®He¡¯d fit right in at Nightshade.¡¯ He glanced at Dylan. ¡°The notes in your contract say you¡¯ve already started your journey as an unranked adventurer?¡± Something nudged him to ask his next question, and after a brief hesitation, he continued. ¡°Dylan, would you like to join us at Nightshade and train to become an adventurer?¡±


    Dylan blinked, pausing. ¡°What¡¯s Nightshade?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an adventuring guild¡ªNightshade, Guild of the Arcane.¡± Nathan pointed to the purple embroidered flower on his tunic.


    Dylan¡¯s expression shifted, and he picked at his nails. ¡°I don¡¯t think Charles would like that very much.¡±


    Nathan tilted his head, surprised. ¡°Your adventurer friend doesn¡¯t want you to become an adventurer?¡± His mind raced¡ªwas Charles being hypocritical, or did the rugged elf know something about Dylan that Nathan didn¡¯t?


    Dylan shrugged and took a sip of his water. ¡°He¡¯s not an adventurer anymore. I think he got fired; doesn¡¯t really like to talk about it.¡±


    Nathan furrowed his brow. ¡°I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s possible.¡± Membership with the League of Adventurers was voluntary, except for community service, but technical details like that would only bog Dylan down in minutia. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of the League dismissing adventurers.¡± He considered mentioning the Vault¡ªa clandestine facility meant to hold dangerous magic, items, and adventurers¡ªbut decided against it for now. If Charles had been a threat, they¡¯d have vaulted him.


    Dylan¡¯s gaze dropped to the bed as he toyed with the edge of the blanket. ¡°Marlin said Charles was running around with a suspended license.¡±


    Nathan frowned, his mind whirring with the implications. ¡°Ah, licensed adventurers have to maintain good standing with their guild sponsor. The League suspends their license if they don¡¯t.¡± He caught himself, realizing he was jumping ahead. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m getting ahead of myself. There¡¯s a laundry list of things I¡¯ll help you get sorted out.¡± He softened his tone. ¡°But first, we need to take care of your more urgent medical needs.¡± He stood up from the stool. ¡°Stay here and don¡¯t touch anything.¡±


    Stepping out of his office, Nathan hoped Windlock, an okamijin mender, was on shift today. He swung by the front desk to check with Sabath. To his relief, he found she had just arrived and was starting her rounds.


    Known for her wind ability, which cleansed and fortified lungs, gills, and other gas exchange systems, she always checked in with the intensive care unit first for any overnight emergencies. Her usual patients were those suffering from allergies, but she had also saved many lives from smoke inhalation. Nathan found her in the hallway, returning from the intensive care unit.


    Thankfully, it had been a quiet night in the hospital, and she had time to check on Dylan. They found him wandering the halls, not in the office where he was supposed to be.


    ¡®He doesn¡¯t listen very well.¡¯ Nathan frowned. ¡°Dylan, why aren¡¯t you in bed?¡±


    Dylan began to answer. ¡°I¡ª¡± but froze, his eyes widening when he saw Windlock. Without finishing his sentence, he quickly spun around and headed back the way he came.


    Windlock and Nathan exchanged confused glances before following him back to Nathan¡¯s office. When they arrived, Dylan couldn¡¯t stand still, fidgeting on his feet as if performing a nervous jig.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Nathan asked, his brow furrowing. ¡®Is he scared?¡¯


    Dylan avoided looking at Windlock, continuing his anxious footwork. ¡°I¡¯ve really got to pee.¡±


    Nathan blinked, surprised. ¡°Oh.¡± He turned to Windlock and said, ¡°We¡¯ll be right back.¡±


    She smiled, suppressing a chuckle. ¡°I¡¯ll be here.¡± She reached into her pocket, pulled out her tablet, and sat down on the stool to wait.


    Nathan led Dylan to the restroom, and on the way, he asked, ¡°Are you okay? Back in my office, you looked scared.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡± Dylan continued his knock-kneed shuffle. ¡°It¡¯s just... seeing another one of them¡­¡±


    Nathan tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. ¡°Another one of what?¡±


    Dylan hesitated, then lifted his hands to his head, mimicking long ears with his index fingers. ¡°The werewolf people.¡±


    Nathan nodded. ¡°Okamijin.¡±


    ¡°Bless you,¡± Dylan said.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Nathan opened the restroom door for Dylan and motioned him inside. ¡°But they¡¯re one of the primal races. You should refer to them as okamijin.¡±


    ¡°Primal race?¡± Dylan asked, unable to wait as he walked in and shut the door behind him.


    ¡®Oh bother, how do I explain taxonomy?¡¯ Nathan thought it might be too clinical, so he decided to simplify. ¡°Each sentient race has an origin: primal, elemental, mythical, or elvenoid.¡±


    ¡°Uh, there¡¯s no toilet in here¡ªjust a bucket.¡± Dylan¡¯s panicked voice called from the other side of the door.


    ¡®He¡¯s not bucket trained?¡¯ Nathan winced, then remembered Dylan was from another world with different customs. ¡°You can urinate and defecate in the bucket.¡±


    ¡°And then what?¡±


    Nathan heard a strong stream hit the bucket before he could answer. ¡®Healthy flow. Good.¡¯


    ¡°Sorry, couldn¡¯t wait any longer.¡±


    Nathan leaned against the wall beside the door. ¡°Windlock, the okamijin physician, can help with your kidney stones.¡±


    ¡°The guy who killed me at Merchants¡¯ Circle was an okamijin.¡±


    Nathan really wished Dylan would stop saying words like killed or died, but he understood. ¡®A trauma response.¡¯ Dylan needed Windlock; she was the only local physician Nathan knew who could help. He considered how to get Dylan to trust her. If not, they¡¯d have to check with the hospital alchemist for anything without side effects, like lowered bone density, body cramps, brain fog, or heart failure.


    Hoping he¡¯d earned enough trust, Nathan said, ¡°Dylan, Windlock is a mender, just like me. She wants to help you, and I¡¯ll be right by your side the entire time.¡±


    The sound of Dylan¡¯s ongoing urination filled the brief silence. ¡°Fine, but if you disappear on me like murder-hobo Doctor Who, I¡¯m going to be mating pissed.¡±


    Nathan didn¡¯t entirely understand what Dylan had just said, but he understood the part where Dylan agreed. The squeak of the faucet, followed by running water, reassured Nathan that Dylan¡¯s hygiene habits were at least decent.


    The door opened, and Dylan stepped out. ¡°I couldn¡¯t figure out how to flush it.¡± He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the room behind him.


    ¡°Dylan, it¡¯s a bucket. You don¡¯t flush it.¡±


    Dylan wrinkled his nose in disgust. ¡°You just leave it there for the next guy? Gross.¡±


    Nathan chuckled. ¡°The bucket¡¯s enchanted; it activates when the door closes. Go ahead, turn around and watch what happens when you close the door.¡±


    Dylan tilted his head slightly, a skeptical frown forming. He walked back into the restroom, resting a hand on the door for a moment. Still unsure if it was a prank, he gave Nathan a quick glance before closing the door behind him.


    ¡°Sacred excrement!¡± Dylan exclaimed as he flung the door open. ¡°It¡¯s gone. It just vanished.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how a restroom works.¡± Nathan smiled, suppressing another laugh. Watching Dylan find novelty in simple, everyday things was oddly adorable.


    Dylan narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ¡°But where does it go?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a physician, not an architect.¡± Nathan shrugged. ¡°You¡¯d have to ask an architect how that magic works.¡±


    Nathan led them back to his office and had Dylan return to the bed.


    Windlock glanced up from her tablet. ¡°His respirations seem fine to me.¡±


    Nathan bit his lip, his eyes flickering with hope. ¡°There are calcium deposits in his kidneys. I was wondering if you could break them up.¡±


    ¡°Using my resonance ability?¡±


    Nathan nodded. ¡°I think it¡¯ll work well.¡±


    ¡°Intriguing proposal.¡± Windlock mulled it over, trying to hide her grin. ¡°You know I¡¯m a sucker for innovative procedures. I¡¯m in.¡± She tucked her tablet away and approached the bed.


    Nathan turned to Dylan. ¡°Windlock¡¯s going to use vibrations to break up the calcium deposits in your kidneys. Afterward, the remnants will pass through your system painlessly.¡±


    ¡°That sounds way better than the other way they come out,¡± Dylan said.


    Windlock raised a furry eyebrow. ¡°What other way?¡±


    ¡°Peeing.¡±


    ¡°Barbaric.¡± Windlock shuddered. ¡°Alright, Dylan, kindly remove your shirt for me and then roll onto your side when you¡¯re ready.¡±

 Chapter 32 - Nothing Beats Getting into Charles Pants

    (Nathan)


    Dylan grunted, struggling to sit up and yank the tattered shirt over his head. Nathan¡¯s heart twinged with sympathy¡ªpoor medical care on Dirt had taken its toll on Dylan. He would do whatever it took to help the man regain his health and integrate smoothly into life on Xel¡¯oria. Once the shirt was off, Dylan slumped back down as Nathan eased the bed into a flat position.


    Dylan rolled on his side. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m unfamiliar with human anatomy,¡± Windlock said. ¡°And the Network has nothing useful. Can you show me where your kidneys are? An approximate location will do.¡±


    Dylan pointed to the middle of his back, near his spine, gesturing to both sides.


    ¡°This might tickle.¡± Windlock¡¯s clawed hand hovered near Dylan¡¯s lower back, her gaze steady.


    ¡°Ah¡ªha-ha!¡± Dylan twisted forward, laughter spilling out in short bursts.


    ¡°Try to remain still,¡± Windlock said.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± Dylan squirmed slightly, his grin sheepish. ¡°I¡¯m really ticklish.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d say¡ªI haven¡¯t even touched you yet.¡± Windlock narrowed her eyes in thought. ¡°Let¡¯s try another approach.¡± Before Dylan could respond, she slapped her hand flat against his back, pinning him in place. He winced in surprise, but didn¡¯t squirm or giggle.


    ¡°Good. Now I¡¯ll reposition my hand.¡± She explained each step as she performed it.


    Nathan observed his colleague at work. Everyone had their own methods, but hers was commanding¡ªshe preferred issuing statements over making requests.


    ¡°You¡¯ll feel vibrations. They won¡¯t hurt.¡± Windlock adjusted her hand behind Dylan¡¯s kidney. ¡°Let¡¯s give your mind something else to focus on¡ªjust in case it tickles.¡± Her other hand gripped his arm with steady, firm pressure.


    Dylan¡¯s eyes drifted shut, his body visibly relaxing. ¡°Wow, that feels kind of nice.¡± His voice wavered with the hum of vibrations. ¡°Like a sonic massager.¡±


    Windlock made micro adjustments to the angle of her hand. ¡°I¡¯m exploring your chest cavity using ultrasonic vibrations¡ª¡±


    Dylan perked up, cutting her off mid-sentence. ¡°You¡¯re like a magic ultrasound machine.¡±


    Windlock tightened her grip slightly. ¡°Please refrain from interrupting me during the procedure.¡±


    Dylan wilted under her grip. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve located the deposits and will begin breaking them up. You¡¯ll feel intense vibrations¡ªit might hurt.¡±


    ¡°Hurt? What¡ª¡± Dylan¡¯s words cut off as his eyes rolled back, his entire body shuddering under the onslaught of vibrations. Staccato ¡®aaahs¡¯ escaped him, reverberating through the room as Windlock continued her work.


    She eased her hand away, satisfied with her work. ¡°I¡¯ve cleared all the deposits.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for your help,¡± Nathan said.


    ¡°No.¡± Windlock smiled. ¡°Thank you.¡± She was already adding notes about her new procedure to the Network. ¡°You always bring me the most fascinating cases.¡±


    ¡°Wow, that was amazing. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever felt this relaxed in my entire life.¡± Dylan flopped onto his back, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. ¡°I should get kidney stones more often.¡±


    ¡°No, you definitely shouldn¡¯t.¡± Windlock rose from her seat, heading to wash her hands. ¡°Nathan, have you come up with a plan to improve his diet?¡±


    Nathan raised his hands in surrender. ¡°He¡¯s on flak now.¡±


    ¡°Flak?¡± Windlock¡¯s sharp gaze swept over Dylan. ¡°You can¡¯t beat that for nutrients. Honestly, anything would be better than whatever he was eating on¡­¡± She paused, glancing at her tablet.


    ¡°Don¡¯t say it,¡± Dylan groaned, rubbing his temples.


    Her lips curled slightly as she found what she was looking for. ¡°Dirt.¡±


    ¡°Infernal Mother¡­¡± Dylan exhaled in defeat.


    Windlock excused herself, slipping out to continue her rounds.


    Nathan raised the bed into a sitting position and refilled Dylan¡¯s mug. ¡°You¡¯ll need to drink plenty of fluids.¡± Nathan¡¯s stomach growled¡ªa reminder that he¡¯d forgotten to eat again, as usual.


    Dylan arched an eyebrow, glancing at Nathan¡¯s stomach. ¡°Was that you?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Nathan sighed. ¡°Not all of us have access to ancient elven pioneering supplements¡­¡±


    ¡°Go get something to eat,¡± Dylan said, taking a sip from his mug.


    Nathan hesitated¡ªhe didn¡¯t want to leave, but Dylan was right. ¡°Will you be okay if I grab a quick bite?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll manage.¡± Dylan¡¯s gaze wandered around the room. ¡°Got any magazines or books about magic I can read while you¡¯re gone?¡±


    Nathan pursed his lips in thought, glancing over at his desk. Medical reference books sat alongside a few coloring books he kept for children, though he doubted Dylan would be interested. ¡®Well¡­ maybe the coloring books.¡¯ He gave a small shake of his head. ¡°Sorry, not unless you¡¯re up for learning about alien anatomy¡ªor doing some coloring.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± Dylan shrugged casually. ¡°After that massage, I¡¯m ready for a nap.¡± He let his eyes drift shut.


    ¡°Alright, but no wandering around this time.¡± Nathan switched off the overhead lights. ¡®Should I close the blinds too? No¡ªwhat if he gets up again? Can¡¯t have him hurting himself in the dark.¡¯ He started to ask if Dylan was sure about being alone, but the soft rumbles of sleep apnea answered him¡ªDylan was already snoring.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Nathan headed toward the cafeteria. Physicians weren¡¯t the only professionals at the hospital¡ªagriculturists, alchemists, artists, architects, and chefs all held service-based contracts, just like rounds. Professional adventurers were arguably the most valuable, providing services and goods powered by magic. Creating items for the League¡¯s lootbox system wasn¡¯t their only option for gaining experience or contracts.


    Most guilds offered an orb as a sign-on bonus for anyone pursuing that archetype. Yet, despite these incentives, the professional archetype lacked the prestige of combat-focused ones¡ªlike corruptor, brawler, or summoner¡ªmaking it a less popular choice.


    Nathan had always cared more about helping others than hunting monsters. When he came of age under Nightshade¡¯s stewardship, accepting the Physician orb was an easy choice. His diagnostic abilities not only benefited others but also allowed him to save enough to buy his younger brother Dorian¡¯s first orb¡ªsince Dorian had no interest in becoming a professional.


    The cafeteria, like all hospital services, was open to the public. Nathan stepped aside, letting a draconi family with a hungry child take his place in line. He smiled as they chose their meal, knowing his pescetarian dishes were safe from most draconi palates¡ªthey favored heartier meats enriched with minerals.


    Nathan was pleased to find baked sunstone darter on the menu¡ªa local catch renowned for its flavor. The fish¡¯s flaky texture paired perfectly with zesty citrus notes. After finishing his steamed vegetables, Nathan leaned back in his chair, savoring the pleasant fullness in his stomach. Forgetting to eat was a side effect of his tendency to hyperfocus, never a deliberate choice¡ªhe loved food too much for that.


    Magically prepared food and drink offered buffs along with nourishment. This dish, for instance, enhanced Nathan¡¯s swift attribute for a full day, sharpening his digital dexterity¡ªan invaluable boost for precise procedures and surgeries. However, food buffs didn¡¯t stack; they overwrote each other, so eating mundane food for the rest of the day kept the preferred bonus.


    Nathan stood, scraping the leftovers from his plate into the compost bin and placing his soiled kitchenware in a tub by the exit. With his own needs taken care of, it was time to check on Dylan.


    A powerful stench met Nathan in the hallway, just outside his office. ¡®It smells like a stable in here,¡¯ he thought, his nose wrinkling in disgust. He moved toward the window behind his desk, ready to throw it open, but stopped when he saw a sad, shirtless, chubby man sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands folded in his lap. Dylan hung his head, staring at his feet.


    Concern flickered across Nathan¡¯s face as he tilted his head. ¡°Dylan?¡±


    Dylan¡¯s shoulders slumped even lower as he mumbled, ¡°I couldn¡¯t find a door.¡±


    Nathan arched an eyebrow. ¡°Is everything alright? Why do you need a door?¡±


    Dylan shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on his feet. ¡°To open and close. I didn¡¯t realize your office doesn¡¯t have a door.¡±


    ¡°None of the offices have doors. But we can pull the curtains if you want some privacy.¡± Nathan gestured toward the curtains and the track above the doorway.


    ¡°Oh.¡± Dylan released a long sigh. ¡°Would¡¯ve been good to know that earlier. Some privacy would¡¯ve been nice.¡±


    Nathan¡¯s eyes narrowed, a frown tugging at his lips as he tried to piece it together. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    Dylan finally lifted his head, his gaze drifting toward the corner of the room. Nathan followed it. Nothing was there¡ªexcept the bucket.


    Nathan¡¯s expression stiffened with sudden realization. ¡®Oh no,¡¯ the thought hit him. ¡®He doesn¡¯t know how the buckets work.¡¯ He groaned, closing his eyes and smacking his forehead. ¡°Dylan, did you¡ª¡±


    Dylan¡¯s sigh deepened. ¡°Yep,¡± he said quickly, still avoiding eye contact.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Nathan said gently. ¡°This is a hospital¡ªeveryone defecates.¡± He approached the pungent bucket, grimacing as he thought, ¡®I should¡¯ve explained it better¡­ but where did I go wrong?¡¯


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I had to go¡ªand you said not to leave.¡± Dylan frowned. ¡°It gets worse when I¡¯m nervous.¡±


    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s fine¡­ I¡¯ll just¡ª¡± Nathan¡¯s eyes stung, his eyelashes fluttering as he struggled to finish the thought. With a resigned sigh, he grabbed the soiled bucket and carried it to the restroom to clean it out.


    Fifteen minutes later, Nathan returned, sliding the mundane bucket back under the counter. Dylan was still sitting there with his belly out, and Nathan couldn¡¯t help but imagine how uncomfortable he must feel. Suppressing the urge to skip the basic needs step, he forced himself to focus, reminding himself of his earlier mistake when he¡¯d jumped ahead to ask Dylan about finding his purpose as an adventurer¡ªwhich was the last step of the contract.


    Dylan pursed his lips, shifting them to the side as he hesitated. ¡°So¡­ not all buckets magically flush?¡±


    Nathan gave a simple nod, treating Dylan with dignity despite the misunderstanding. ¡°Correct¡ªonly common buckets.¡±


    Dylan¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Wait¡ªI just asked about regular buckets.¡±


    Nathan shook his head slightly. ¡°No¡ªcommon-ranked, not common as in ordinary. Common is the first tier of magical classification. We use the term mundane for non-magical things.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Dylan said, scratching the back of his head. ¡°So¡­ mundane buckets don¡¯t flush¡ªonly common ones do?¡±


    Nathan clasped his hands in front of him, searching for the right words. ¡°Um¡­ that¡¯s not exactly right. Not all common-ranked items share the same enchantment. Common-ranked items hold only one enchantment, uncommon-ranked hold two, and so on.¡±


    Dylan squinted, frustration flickering in his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m still confused. How do I know which bucket to use?¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± Nathan nodded slowly, realization dawning. ¡°I think I see the problem. You¡¯re not supposed to use just any bucket¡ª¡±


    Dylan winced and raised a hand to cut him off. ¡°Yeah, I got that part.¡±


    ¡°Stick to the ones in the restrooms.¡± Nathan offered a small smile. ¡°I¡¯ll show you the restrooms when we get to Nightshade. Speaking of which, that¡¯s where we¡¯re having dinner tonight. If you get hungry or thirsty before then, just let me know, and I¡¯ll grab you something sooner, alright?¡±


    Dylan finally met Nathan¡¯s eyes and nodded. ¡°Okay.¡±


    Nathan frowned, his gaze drifting over Dylan¡¯s clothes. ¡°Do you own any other clothes?¡± He scanned him from head to toe, noting the tatters in his shirt, though his pants and boots seemed in decent shape¡ªjust a bit soiled.


    Dylan shook his head. ¡°Only what I¡¯ve got on.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take you to get a new wardrobe.¡± Nathan rubbed his chin, thinking. ¡°We¡¯ll probably need to have everything resized to fit you properly.¡±


    Dylan¡¯s face brightened. ¡°I know someone who can do that.¡±


    Nathan blinked, surprised. ¡®He¡¯s been on Xel¡¯oria less than a week and already knows someone with a niche ability?¡¯ ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Charles,¡± Dylan said with a grin. ¡°Can we get all my clothes from him?¡±


    Nathan nodded, processing the request. He didn¡¯t mind where they got the clothes, as long as they were of high quality. ¡°I don¡¯t see a problem with that. May I ask why?¡±


    Dylan pinched the fabric of his pants, a proud smile spreading across his face. ¡°Have you ever worn anything made by Charles?¡±


    Nathan gave a small shake of his head. ¡°Today was my first time meeting him.¡±


    Dylan hopped off the bed, brimming with enthusiasm. ¡°Oh man, you¡¯re missing out. Check out these pants.¡± He shoved both hands into his pockets, flaring them out as he spun around.


    ¡°They look like fine pants,¡± Nathan said with a chuckle, amused by Dylan¡¯s delight.


    Dylan¡¯s grin widened. ¡°Best. Pants. Ever. Do you see how many pockets these have? They put cargo pants to shame.¡±


    Nathan raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar term. ¡®Cargo pants?¡¯ he wondered, but decided it wasn¡¯t worth interrupting Dylan¡¯s obvious excitement.


    ¡°Ever had pants that fit like a second skin? Or hold you the way you only dreamed another person would?¡± Dylan¡¯s voice grew more animated, his hands sweeping through the air in exaggerated gestures.


    ¡°These pants are mind-altering. Life-changing. Nothing beats getting into Charles¡¯ pants.¡±


    He froze mid-sentence, his expression locking in place. Raising a finger, he cringed. ¡°That¡­ didn¡¯t come out right.¡±


    Nathan chuckled, shaking his head.


    ¡°I meant, nothing beats a pair of Charles¡¯ pants,¡± Dylan corrected. ¡°You¡¯ll never be more comfortable than in Charles¡¯ pants.¡± He winced, shaking his head. ¡°Excrement. Did it again.¡±


    Nathan couldn¡¯t hold back his laughter, his shoulders shaking with amusement


    Dylan, undeterred by his stumbling or Nathan¡¯s laughter, forged ahead. ¡°But look, I died in these pants, and they¡¯re still perfectly fine.¡± He brushed at one of the red splotches. ¡°Minus the bloodstains.¡±

 Chapter 33 - On the House but Off with the Pants

    (Nathan)


    Hearing Dylan use that word again¡ªdied¡ªhad a sobering effect on Nathan. He clenched his jaw, hating himself for the lie he was about to tell, especially to someone as innocent as Dylan. But he had to protect himself.


    ¡°Almost died,¡± Nathan corrected, his voice more controlled. ¡°I arrived in time to heal you.¡±


    Dylan¡¯s excitement faded, his head tilting slightly as his brow furrowed. ¡°Why do you keep doing that?¡± There was no accusation in his voice, only a soft, curious patience that caught Nathan off guard. The maturity in Dylan¡¯s words surprised him.


    Nathan kept his guard up, though he hesitated. ¡°Doing what?¡± He didn¡¯t know Dylan that well, but a part of him wanted to trust him. Maybe then, he wouldn¡¯t have to carry the burden alone. But sharing was dangerous. Dangerous for both of them. He couldn¡¯t do that to someone else¡ªcould he?


    Dylan¡¯s expression softened. ¡°Trying to gaslight me into believing that I didn¡¯t die?¡±


    Nathan blinked, unfamiliar with the term. ¡°Gaslight?¡±


    ¡°Where I come from, it¡¯s a form of mental abuse,¡± Dylan gently explained. ¡°Trying to convince someone that their memory or perception of the past is wrong or happened differently. You seem like a nice guy¡ªlike you care. So I don¡¯t get why you¡¯re doing that.¡±


    Dylan triggered an existential crisis in Nathan, his words like arrows, stripping away Nathan¡¯s defenses and self-justifications, burying themselves deep into his heart. Stunned, Nathan didn¡¯t know how to respond.


    ¡®Am I abusive?¡¯ he asked himself. His instincts screamed at him to keep lying or, at the very least, change the subject. ¡®Is my mental health more important than his?¡¯ The part of him that wanted to tell Dylan everything twitched. Nathan¡¯s breath quickened, his pulse racing. He didn¡¯t know what to do. ¡®Lie? Omit? Or¡ª?¡¯


    Nathan sat at the foot of the bed. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± he muttered, lowering his head. ¡®You¡¯re right? You idiot!¡¯ The words were already out, and no matter how badly he wanted to take them back, he couldn¡¯t.


    Dylan joined him at the foot of the bed¡ªwide enough for both of them. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    A sudden wave of nausea hit Nathan as his carefully staged world crumbled around him. His eyes darted to the bucket under the sink. ¡®He¡¯s going to ask questions.¡¯ Nathan¡¯s mind spiraled, tangled in intrusive thoughts.


    Then Dylan asked a question Nathan didn¡¯t expect. ¡°Is it important that no one finds out I died?¡±


    ¡®He¡¯ll find out, and then everyone will know.¡¯ Nathan gave a small nod, fighting the urge to get sick all over the floor. His palms grew clammy as he wiped his brow with the sleeve of his tunic.


    ¡°Then we won¡¯t tell them. If anyone asks, I didn¡¯t die today.¡±


    Nathan looked up, tears welling in his eyes. His voice wavered as he asked, ¡°Why?¡± His thoughts raced, filling the silence. ¡®Why do this for me? What do you want?¡¯ He desperately needed to know.


    Dylan shrugged, glancing away as if it were the simplest answer in the world. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s obviously important to you, and it doesn¡¯t cost me anything to leave the whole dying bit out.¡± He gave Nathan a kind smile. ¡°Plus, you¡¯ve been really nice to me¡ªeven after I defecated in your office.¡± He chuckled. ¡°I think you¡¯re a good person, Nathan.¡±


    Nathan felt a strange mix of gratitude and guilt. ¡®You¡¯ll change your mind if you ever find out the truth.¡¯ His chest tightened as he wondered what it was about Dylan that made him want to risk exposing his darkest secrets. Marlin was right¡ªDylan was trouble. But Nathan had a job to do, and the next task was getting Dylan some clothes.


    Dylan broke the silence with a soft question. ¡°Can I ask you something personal?¡±


    Nathan tensed. ¡®Don¡¯t ask about the ability. Anything but that.¡¯ He forced a weak smile. ¡°That depends.¡±


    Dylan leaned in, squinting as he stared into Nathan¡¯s eyes. ¡°I thought your eyes were blue?¡±


    A genuine smile tugged at Nathan¡¯s lips as he blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°Oh, that¡­¡±


    Realizing how close he was, Dylan straightened. ¡°Yeah, I thought they were blue when we met. You¡¯ve got kind eyes, by the way.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Nathan replied, resting his hands on his lap.


    ¡°But after you¡­¡± Dylan paused, remembering his promise. ¡°Healed me.¡±


    Nathan gave a small nod of appreciation.


    ¡°They were yellow, and since we arrived at the hospital, they¡¯ve been blue¡ªexcept just now, when they turned yellow again.¡± Dylan waited expectantly, looking to Nathan for an explanation.


    [Moonstone Gaze] was the passive ability from his Prismatic framework. It shifted his eye color when he experienced powerful emotions.


    Nathan hesitated, then said, ¡°That¡¯s one of my passive abilities.¡±


    Dylan sighed in relief. ¡°So I wasn¡¯t just imagining it. Thank Mother.¡±


    Nathan gave a small smile, but his gaze dropped. ¡°My eye color changes when I get¡­ emotional.


    ¡®What¡¯s the matter with me?¡¯ Nathan wondered. ¡®We need to go before I tell him too much¡­¡¯ Dylan was too easy to talk to, and that was dangerous. There were things Nathan hadn¡¯t even shared with his best friend, Meekan.


    Nathan clapped his thighs and stood, hopping off the bed. ¡°Well, I can¡¯t take you to dinner tonight half-naked.¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Dylan hopped down after him, a grin spreading across his face. ¡°Only if we get them from Charles,¡± he insisted.


    ¡°You want to go find your injured friend, whose home and shop you burned down?¡± Nathan asked, raising an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if he has any wares left, but we need to reimburse him for his losses anyway.¡± He shrugged and headed toward the door. ¡°Okay, let¡¯s go.¡±


    Concern flashed across Dylan¡¯s face. ¡°Oh no.¡± He froze for a moment, realization dawning. ¡°I forgot about the treehouse! Wait!¡±


    Nathan and Dylan made their way from the hospital to Merchants¡¯ Circle without incident. When they arrived, Charles¡¯ lot was still empty, and none of the other merchants had seen him since the fire.


    Nathan frowned, glancing around. ¡°Charles hasn¡¯t returned, and I don¡¯t have anything that¡¯ll fit you. Would it be okay if we got you a shirt from another vendor?¡± He noticed the growing attention Dylan was attracting.


    People stared openly at Dylan as they walked. Nathan knew it was a combination of his robust frame and blunted ears¡ªneither of which were covered.


    ¡®He needs to feel safe,¡¯ Nathan thought, his concern deepening. ¡®All this attention is making him feel even more alienated.¡¯ This would only make it harder for Dylan to integrate into society.


    Dylan huffed, clearly unhappy. ¡°Yeah¡­ Okay.¡±


    Nathan¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡®He¡¯s probably still worried about his friend.¡¯ He recalled a shop just down the road that might have something to fit Dylan.


    A bell chimed as they stepped into Big, Tall, and Small.


    ¡°Watch your step in here,¡± Nathan warned, glancing at the floor.


    A moment later: ¡°Excrement!¡± Dylan yelped, accidentally punting a short wooden stool across the shop. ¡°That¡¯s gonna leave a mark,¡± he groaned, bending to rub his bruised shin.


    ¡°There are a lot of tripping hazards in here,¡± Nathan added, this time more specific.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Dylan mumbled, straightening. He turned and nearly ran into someone half his height. ¡°Ah!¡± he yelped, stumbling back as he found himself belly-to-face with a female gnome.


    ¡°Dylan, meet Lady Buttercup Belltower Bitterbunch of the Waxford Conglomerate,¡± Nathan said, gesturing toward the proprietor.


    Buttercup gave a slight nod. ¡°Thank you, dear Nathan.¡± She tilted her head, her gaze lifting to Dylan. ¡°But you, tall, wide, and handsome, may call me Buttercup.¡±


    Transfixed, Dylan stared down at the gnomish woman, his gaze flicking between Nathan and Buttercup. ¡°She¡¯s so small,¡± he muttered.


    Buttercup grinned up at him, her smile curling wider. ¡°Compliments will get you everywhere in this shop. What can I do for you?¡±


    ¡°I was hoping you might have a shirt that fits him?¡± Nathan asked.


    ¡°Nope, all out of shirts.¡± Buttercup smirked, her eyes trailing over Dylan. ¡°And jackets, vests, capes, cloaks, tunics¡ªwhatever you might be thinking of to cover up this hunky man.¡±


    Nathan blinked, stunned by Buttercup¡¯s sudden change in demeanor. She was usually far more formal. ¡®Is she hitting on him?¡¯ Nathan wondered.


    Buttercup¡¯s gaze drifted to his pants, noting the stains. ¡°Oh my,¡± she said with mock concern. ¡°Those pants are filthy.¡± She glanced at Nathan. ¡°He should probably take those off too¡ªI could wash them for him.¡±


    ¡®She¡¯s definitely hitting on him.¡¯ Nathan gave a slow nod.


    Dylan raised his hands, taking a step back. ¡°No, no, that¡¯s okay.¡±


    Buttercup sighed and shrugged, barely concealing her disappointment. ¡°I suppose he does look a bit cold.¡± She pursed her lips, squinting at Dylan. ¡°I might have something in his size.¡±


    Dylan glanced down, hastily covering his chest with his arms.


    Buttercup retrieved the stool Dylan had sent sailing across her shop, along with a couple of tunics. Climbing onto the stool, she held the first tunic against his self-covered chest, her expression contemplative, then swapped it for the second to compare.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± Buttercup asked Nathan. ¡°Olive or ginger?¡±


    Nathan scrutinized the tunics as she swapped between them every few seconds. The silence stretched until Buttercup broke it.


    ¡°I like them both,¡± she said to Nathan. ¡°They complement his short brown hair.¡±


    She turned to Dylan. ¡°Is it dye or gel? How do you get such a rich, loamy tone?¡± Tucking both tunics under her arm, she ran her hand through his hair, lifting it to inspect the roots.


    Dylan shifted uncomfortably, and Buttercup, realizing this, quickly stopped running her hand through his hair. ¡°Sorry,¡± she said earnestly. ¡°I¡¯ve just never seen hair like yours¡ªI couldn¡¯t resist.¡±


    ¡°They both look good,¡± Nathan agreed with a nod. He turned to Dylan. ¡°Do you have a preference? I know you only wanted one, but we could get both if you¡¯d like.¡±


    Dylan stood with his arms still crossed and gave a simple nod.


    ¡°Will you need anything else today?¡± Buttercup asked Nathan.


    ¡°No, just a shirt for dinner tonight,¡± Nathan replied.


    Buttercup¡¯s gaze flicked between them, her brow lifting. ¡°Dinner? Are you two¡­?¡± She gestured between Nathan and Dylan.


    Nathan waved his hands, shaking his head quickly. ¡°Oh, no. Nothing like that.¡± A blush crept across his cheeks at the thought.


    Dylan shivered, hugging himself tighter. ¡°It is cold in here, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Buttercup stepped over and handed Dylan the olive tunic. ¡°Here, dear.¡±


    ¡°Mind if I warm up outside?¡± Dylan asked, pointing toward the door.


    ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll be right out,¡± Nathan replied.


    The bell chimed again as Dylan stepped out of the shop.


    Buttercup folded the other tunic. ¡°Does Dylan have any family nearby?¡±


    ¡°I highly doubt it. Why?¡± Nathan asked as he pulled out his gem pouch.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Buttercup hesitated, looking away briefly. ¡°Let¡¯s just say I¡¯m a city girl, but that¡¯s a mountain I¡¯d love to climb.¡± She peeked at Dylan through the glass door. ¡°If you catch my meaning.¡±


    ¡®Oh, my.¡¯ Nathan chuckled. ¡°I think everyone caught it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m familiar with elven courtship¡ªkinship, I think you call it?¡± Buttercup asked, checking she had it right.


    Nathan gave a slight nod.


    ¡°And I was wondering if he had any family nearby who could introduce us.¡± She stepped behind the counter, climbed onto a stool, and placed the folded tunic on top.


    Elves had exceptionally close family bonds, looking after and caring for one another. It was customary for a close relative to make formal introductions to initiate courtship. Part of the vetting process involved ensuring the suitor had a loving, caring heart and would take good care of their family.


    ¡°Dylan isn¡¯t an elf.¡±


    ¡°Oh? I should¡¯ve guessed. None of you are so well-proportioned, and those ears are far too adorable. And that hair? Mother,¡±¡ªshe bit her lip¡ª¡°his hair is simply irresistible.¡± She paused, pondering. ¡°Was I too forward?¡±


    ¡®Definitely,¡¯ Nathan thought. Blunting the blow, he said, ¡°A little. How much for the tunics?¡±


    Buttercup flashed him a sly grin, leaning casually against the counter. ¡°Invite me to dinner tonight, and they¡¯re on the house.¡±


    Nathan blinked, caught off guard by her request. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°I can¡¯t do that.¡±


    Buttercup raised an eyebrow. ¡°Can¡¯t do what? Invite me to dinner or accept the discount?¡±


    Nathan scratched the back of his head, uneasy with the conversation. ¡°Neither,¡± he said, stumbling. ¡°Either?¡± He winced inwardly. ¡°Both,¡± he finally settled, knowing haggling with a gnome never ended well.


    Buttercup chuckled. ¡°Listen, dear Nathan, I was going to give you the tunics for free anyway. People pay good gems to watch well-endowed, shirtless men wander around. And to think, it only cost me a couple of tunics¡ªI made out on this deal.¡±


    ¡®No charge?¡¯ Nathan hesitated, unsure how to handle the situation. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lady Buttercup, but Dylan is a refugee, and I¡¯ve taken a contract to help him.¡±


    Buttercup tilted her head, her expression softening slightly. ¡°Ah. And you don¡¯t want to take advantage of him.¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± Nathan said with a small nod.


    Buttercup¡¯s playful smile returned. ¡°Well, that makes one of us. But the price remains¡ªno charge.¡±


    ¡®There¡¯s a first time for everything, I guess.¡¯ Nathan decided not to argue further about the discount. ¡°Thank you, Lady Buttercup.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, dear,¡± Buttercup replied. She sighed wistfully, her eyes glazing over. ¡°Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I need to daydream about that short, brown hair a little longer.¡±

 Chapter 34 - So Say We All...

    (Nathan)


    The bell chimed as Nathan stepped out onto the street, falling into step beside Dylan.


    Dylan hesitated, his hand hovering at Buttercup¡¯s height, searching for the right word. ¡°Are¡­?¡±


    ¡°Gnomes,¡± Nathan answered, reading the unspoken question.


    Dylan nodded slowly. ¡°Are they always that¡­ aggressive?¡±


    ¡°Always,¡± Nathan said, glancing back at the shop. ¡°Though it¡¯s usually about gems and credits.¡±


    Dylan tilted his head, curious. ¡°Credits? Like digital money?¡±


    Nathan halted mid-step, blinking in surprise. ¡°You have digital currency on Dirt?¡±


    Dylan nodded with a small shrug. ¡°Yeah, we¡¯ve got paper money and digital money. Oh, and we¡¯ve got metal money¡ªcoins.¡±


    ¡°Paper and metal?¡± Nathan asked, shaking his head in disbelief. ¡°That wouldn¡¯t last long on Xel¡¯oria.¡± He led them down the street toward the League of Adventurers¡¯ Hall. Once they reached the hall, they could follow the road to the outskirts of town, where the Nightshade stronghold was located.


    ¡°It¡¯s not really paper,¡± Dylan explained as he matched Nathan¡¯s pace. ¡°We just call it paper money¡ªit¡¯s actually made of fabric.¡±


    ¡®Life on Dirt sounds confusing,¡¯ Nathan thought. ¡°Still,¡± he said aloud, ¡°the draconi would just eat the metal coins. That¡¯s why we use gems¡ªdurable, yet unappetizing.¡±


    Dylan froze mid-step, staring at Nathan. ¡°Draconi eat metal?¡±


    Nathan turned toward him, nodding matter-of-factly. ¡°Oh yes. Lots of metal. Most of what they eat contains high concentrations of metals and minerals.¡±


    ¡°What do they eat that has that much metal?¡± Dylan asked, his curiosity insatiable.


    ¡°They eat everything¡ªthey¡¯re omnivores,¡± Nathan replied. He noted how well the olive tunic complemented Dylan¡¯s complexion and hair. Buttercup really knew her stuff.


    Dylan pursed his lips thoughtfully. ¡°What about weapons? Could they eat swords?¡±


    Nathan chuckled at the mental image, shaking his head. ¡°By the Mother, that¡¯s quite a thought. Sure, they could eat metal weapons¡ªif no one was wielding them, if they didn¡¯t cut themselves, if they could fit them in their mouth, and if they had enough time.¡±


    Dylan glanced ahead, considering. ¡°Is that why I¡¯ve seen crystal blades?¡±


    Nathan nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ¡°That, and metal is scarce, since it¡¯s a delicacy for the local populace.¡±


    Dylan gave Nathan a quizzical look. ¡°Do elves eat metal?¡±


    Nathan shrugged casually. ¡°Not raw, but we can digest it.¡±


    As they walked toward the Nightshade guild stronghold, their conversation shifted to all the ways to eat metal and why most utensils were crystalware instead of silverware. Dylan¡¯s questions seemed endless, but Nathan didn¡¯t mind¡ªit only confirmed what he¡¯d suspected: Nightshade would be a perfect fit for him.


    ¡®Finally, back home.¡¯ Nathan thought, savoring the familiar comfort of the sprawling farmlands around Nightshade. The main hall stood at the stronghold¡¯s center, with the dorms to its right. Beyond the main hall lay the crafting studios, and out of sight, hidden behind the buildings, were the training grounds, obstacle course, and armory.


    Dylan¡¯s eyebrows shot up. ¡°You live here?¡± He turned to Nathan, pointing toward the distant compound.


    ¡°You do too.¡± Nathan rested a hand on Dylan¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°This is way bigger than the Xavier Institute¡­¡± Dylan paused, his gaze sweeping over the landscape as he took it all in.


    The name wasn¡¯t familiar to Nathan. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of that guild.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not¡­ never mind.¡± Dylan waved a hand, dismissing the topic.


    ¡°Would you like to see your room?¡± Nathan asked with a smile, pleased by Dylan¡¯s reaction. Nightshade wasn¡¯t a large guild, with only a single stronghold. It wasn¡¯t the oldest, largest, or strongest guild on Xel¡¯oria¡ªbut it was home.


    Dylan nodded eagerly, and they entered through the gates, heading toward the dorms. In all four decades Nathan had spent at Nightshade, he¡¯d never seen the gates closed. They were mostly for show; the waist-high rock wall around the perimeter wouldn¡¯t stop anyone. But in a world of magic, appearances were often deceiving.


    Before Nathan could reach the dorm door, it swung open on its own. He stepped back just in time as Guildmaster K¡¯hab emerged. The guildmaster¡¯s silver scales shimmered with a faint blue iridescence in the right light. He kept his crest simple¡ªtwo light horns curled back and down along the sides of his head.


    ¡°Guildmaster K¡¯hab¡­¡± Nathan said, caught by surprise. The guildmaster rarely came to the dorms. Nathan noticed K¡¯hab¡¯s formal attire, typically reserved for esteemed guests. There hadn¡¯t been any word of visitors¡ªperhaps Meekan would fill him in later if it was someone interesting.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Greetings, Nathan,¡± K¡¯hab said with a slight bow of his head, a typical draconi greeting. ¡°Wedge tells me there was another incident this morning,¡± he said, raising a brow.


    Nathan¡¯s stomach twisted. ¡®Dorian¡­¡¯ He shut his eyes and gave a brief nod. ¡°Yes. Sorry about that. My brother¡ª¡± He stopped himself. ¡®The Guildmaster doesn¡¯t want to hear your petty excuses.¡¯


    Nathan straightened, forcing a calm he didn¡¯t feel. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m very sorry about that.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± K¡¯hab said with a slow nod. ¡°I¡¯ll have a word with him when he returns.¡±


    Nathan tilted his head. ¡°When he returns? He only just got back today.¡±


    ¡°His team picked up another group contract¡ªthey¡¯ve already departed,¡± K¡¯hab explained.


    ¡®He always does that¡ªshows up, makes a mess, and then sneaks off instead of facing the consequences. So infuriating.¡¯ He exhaled slowly through his nose, as though pushing the frustration out with his breath, rolling his shoulders to release the tension before it dragged him under.


    K¡¯hab¡¯s golden eyes settled on Dylan. ¡°And you must be Dylan. A pleasure to meet you.¡± He dipped his head in a slight bow.


    ¡®How does he know Dylan?¡¯ Nathan watched as Dylan reached out with his arm, froze, quickly snapping it back to his side. His smile faltered.


    ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Dylan,¡± Dylan said awkwardly, suppressing a smile.


    K¡¯hab glanced at Nathan, easily reading his expression. ¡°Meekan mentioned he¡¯d be staying with us.¡±


    Nathan blinked in surprise. ¡°Meekan?¡± he and Dylan echoed in unison.


    ¡°I¡¯ve arranged two adjoining rooms for you both. See Wedge¡ªhe¡¯ll get you sorted.¡±


    ¡®He doesn¡¯t think I can handle this myself.¡¯ Nathan sighed, dragging a hand through his spiky blue hair. ¡°Two rooms?¡± he asked aloud.


    ¡°Your old room is structurally unsound¡ªWedge mentioned something about repeated foundational stress fractures?¡± K¡¯hab waved a clawed hand in dismissal. ¡°I¡¯m not sure about the specifics¡ªit¡¯s all architecture talk. I trust Wedge to handle it.¡±


    Nathan sighed inwardly, knowing he¡¯d have to smooth things over with Wedge. ¡®Great¡ªwe¡¯re going to have to talk to Wedge.¡¯ He wasn¡¯t eager to face the architect, who was probably still grumpy from Dorian¡¯s latest stunt.


    ¡°Guildmaster, you didn¡¯t have to go out of your way¡ªI should¡¯ve handled it.¡±


    K¡¯hab rested a reassuring hand on Nathan¡¯s shoulder, his golden eyes softening. ¡°It¡¯s already done.¡±


    To Nathan, K¡¯hab had always been more than just a guildmaster¡ªhe¡¯d founded the guild shortly before taking in Nathan and Dorian as orphaned wards.


    Nathan glanced at the hand on his shoulder, a reminder that K¡¯hab was the closest thing he and his brother had to a parent.


    Straightening, Nathan tried to savor the moment, reminded that elves outlived most races by magnitudes. One day, it would just be him and Dorian¡ªthe last of their family.


    ¡°Thank you, Guildmaster,¡± Nathan said quietly.


    K¡¯hab lifted his wrist, glancing at his chronometer. ¡°Now, go get yourselves settled. If you¡¯re quick about it, you¡¯ll finish in time for dinner. I¡¯m sorry I won¡¯t be able to join you tonight.¡±


    ¡®Tonight?¡¯ Nathan frowned, puzzled. Guildmaster K¡¯hab had only ever eaten at the dining hall during special events.


    ¡°Thank you, Mr. Guildmaster, sir.¡± Dylan nodded, mimicking K¡¯hab¡¯s earlier greeting.


    K¡¯hab chuckled softly. ¡°Please, just call me Guildmaster¡ªor K¡¯hab, since you¡¯re not technically a member yet.¡±


    Nathan blinked as Dylan waved after the departing Guildmaster. ¡®Only Lord Kairos calls him K¡¯hab.¡¯ The Guildmaster¡¯s unusually casual demeanor left Nathan disoriented. ¡®Everyone¡¯s acting strange today.¡¯


    Dylan strolled through the door, smiling. ¡°He seems like a really nice guy.¡±


    Nathan, lost in thought, held the door open for him. Strict, demanding, cunning, even devious¡­ these were the words Nathan would use to describe Guildmaster K¡¯hab¡ªnever ¡®nice.¡¯ He glanced at Dylan, still baffled by the Guildmaster¡¯s kindness. ¡®What¡¯s the lesson?¡¯ Nathan wondered. ¡®There¡¯s always a lesson. What am I missing?¡¯


    ¡°Is he like your boss or something?¡± Dylan asked, interrupting his thoughts.


    Nathan snapped back to the present. ¡°Guildmaster K¡¯hab oversees the entire guild. He¡¯s everyone¡¯s boss.¡±


    ¡°If I join, he¡¯d be my boss too?¡± Dylan asked, tilting his head.


    ¡°You¡¯re thinking about joining the guild?¡±


    Dylan gave a casual shrug, his curiosity piqued. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m not totally sold on using flowers instead of wands to do magic stuff, but I want to learn everything I can about magic,¡±¡ªhe shrugged again¡ª¡°and he seems like he¡¯d be a cool boss.¡±


    They found Wedge¡¯s room on the first floor, tucked at the end of the hall. Nathan knocked softly, poking his head through the open doorway. ¡°The Guildmaster said we should stop by so you can show us our new quarters.¡±


    Wedge sat at his desk, handwriting with an actual lead pencil and paper. It was archaic, but he loved the feel and sounds of the lead as it scratched across the pages. Once, he¡¯d told Nathan it was music to his ears.


    The heavy metal chair screeched as Wedge stood up, turning around to greet Nathan. ¡°Good evening, Nathan. I hope your day was less eventful than mine.¡± A traditional lithkai greeting.


    Nathan frowned, thinking back on the day¡¯s unfortunate events. ¡°I doubt it,¡± he said with a small smile. ¡°But I appreciate the sentiment.¡±


    ¡°League identification cards, please.¡± Wedge held out a large gray hand.


    Nathan reached into his pocket and pulled out his League card. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he said to Dylan. ¡°You can give him your card¡ªhe¡¯ll use it to attune you to your room.¡±


    Dylan hesitated for a moment, then reached into his pocket, pulling out and handing over his card.


    ¡°It is a blessing to meet you¡­¡± Wedge¡¯s eyes flicked up to meet Dylan¡¯s, his expression unreadable. ¡°Dylan of Dirt.¡± Dylan winced. ¡°I hope your day was less eventful than mine.¡±


    Dylan sighed. ¡°And also with you.¡±


    Nathan and Wedge exchanged a curious glance.


    Dylan cleared his throat and tried again. ¡°So say we all¡­?¡±


    Nathan shook his head, continuing with the introduction. ¡°Dylan, this is Wedge, one of the lithkai and the guild¡¯s architect. He¡¯s in charge of all the architecture in the stronghold.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nice¡ªuh, I mean, a blessing to meet you, too.¡± Dylan offered an awkward smile.


    ¡®At least he¡¯s trying,¡¯ Nathan thought with a shrug. ¡°So, where are our rooms?¡± He shifted uncomfortably, catching Wedge¡¯s smile¡ªand not liking it one bit.


    Wedge stepped out of his room, gesturing to the one next door. ¡°Nathan, these will be your new quarters.¡±


    ¡°Right next to yours?¡± Nathan frowned. He¡¯d miss the view from the second floor.


    ¡°Let your brother try knocking the wall down again,¡± Wedge said with a wide grin on his stony face. ¡°I will be here to stop him.¡± He pounded a fist into his palm for emphasis.


    ¡®That¡¯s if he even notices I¡¯ve moved,¡¯ Nathan thought dryly.


    ¡°After Nathan¡¯s quarters is the restroom, Wedge said. "And just past that is Dylan¡¯s quarters."


    Nathan noted having a restroom close by would be helpful in getting Dylan bucket trained.


    Dylan stared intently at Wedge, as if puzzling something out.


    ¡°Questions?¡± Wedge asked as he walked over to Nathan¡¯s runelock door, attuning it with Nathan¡¯s League card. Click. The tumblers shifted as the door accepted the card.


    ¡°How does it work?¡± Dylan asked, his gaze fixed on Wedge.


    Wedge walked over to Dylan¡¯s door, attuning it the same way. ¡°The door is runelocked¡ªonly you or I can unlock it from the outside. Come inside, and I will show you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know how to use the door¡ªI meant, how do those work?¡± Dylan pointed toward the two shields slung across Wedge¡¯s back.


    ¡°My shields?¡± Wedge arched an eyebrow, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.


    Dylan¡¯s eyes narrowed as he studied the shield. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m pretty sure I saw you at the League Hall earlier, and I¡¯ve just got to know¡ªcan you dual wield them?¡±

 Chapter 35 - Tactical Tackle-hug

    (Dylan)


    Wedge smiled and reached up to grab a shield in each hand. The seven-foot-four statue-man stood firm, now dual wielding shields.


    Dylan¡¯s eyes sparkled, and his whole body buzzed with excitement. ¡°That¡¯s amazing!¡± he exclaimed in awe.


    Wedge¡¯s stony lips curved into a smile, infected by Dylan¡¯s excitement. ¡°If you join the guild, I will show you my dual shield fighting stance.¡± He unequipped his shields with a fluid motion.


    ¡°Wedge is also one of the combat teachers,¡± Nathan said.


    Since Dylan had little to unpack, they got him settled first. He now owned the clothes on his back, along with a desk, chair, bed, nightstand, mirror, and an empty wardrobe. The room was still barebones, but it was his barebones room. The bed was much larger than the one in his old apartment. That one had been full-sized, but this one had to be even bigger than a king.


    Dylan stepped back, tapping a finger on his chin as he took it all in. ¡°It¡¯s a bit sparse, but still nicer than my apartment back on Earth.¡±


    ¡°Do you miss it?¡± Nathan asked softly.


    ¡°Earth?¡± Dylan asked.


    ¡°Yeah¡­ Do you miss being back on Dirt?¡±


    ¡°Honestly, this is the first time I¡¯ve thought about it since I got here. I¡¯ve been too busy just trying not to die again.¡±


    ¡°I hope you can take it easy now. No one¡¯s going to ki¡ª¡±


    Dylan raised a hand, cutting him off. ¡°You said that last time¡ªdon¡¯t jinx it.¡±


    ¡°All I meant was that you should give yourself time to breathe and sort out your feelings. I¡¯m here to help, even if it¡¯s just to listen.¡± Nathan stood by the door, giving Dylan space.


    Dylan breathed in the fresh stonework, noting the absence of the musky scent he¡¯d expected from a stone castle.


    ¡°So, do I miss Earth?¡± Dylan echoed, mulling it over. ¡°I miss chatting with my online friends¡ªthey would¡¯ve loved this place.¡± He absently cleaned his nails. ¡°Haven¡¯t had a real-life friend since I dropped out of college, though.¡±


    Nathan pulled out the chair by the desk and took a seat, listening quietly.


    ¡°I miss my dad and stepmom,¡± Dylan said with a sigh, his gaze fixed on the subtle marbling of the stone floor. ¡°But Dad and I haven¡¯t spoken since the fight¡­¡± He shook his head, brushing away the memory¡ªone he didn¡¯t want to face.


    Dylan glanced up at Nathan. ¡°You know¡­ I thought I¡¯d miss my video games.¡± He gave a weak chuckle. ¡°But I¡¯m kinda living in one, so¡­¡± His voice trailed off, his attention drifting back to picking his nails.


    Nathan gave Dylan the time and silence he needed. Dylan had never felt like he truly belonged¡ªnever part of the group, always labeled as weird or quirky. Society rarely made sense to him, yet he¡¯d followed the rules because ¡®that¡¯s the way it¡¯s supposed to be done.¡¯ Did he miss living in a world that constantly corrected him, telling him his way of thinking was wrong? Guilt gnawed at him as he admitted the truth: ¡®No. I don¡¯t.¡¯


    After a few minutes, he shook his head and whispered, ¡°I don¡¯t.¡± He looked up at Nathan. ¡°Is it¡­?¡± His throat tightened, forcing him to clear it. ¡°Is it bad that I don¡¯t?¡±


    Dylan¡¯s lower lip quivered as he fought back tears. ¡®Shouldn¡¯t I, though?¡¯ Cruel thoughts swirled in his mind, berating him about the lack of connection he felt to his home planet.


    Nathan frowned sympathetically. ¡°I can¡¯t answer that for you. If I tried, I¡¯d be robbing you of an important part of your healing and self-discovery. What I can tell you is that whatever you decide will be the right answer for you¡ªand that decision doesn¡¯t have to be made today.¡±


    Dylan glanced around the sterile room, wondering if it would feel the same for him here, too.


    Nathan followed Dylan¡¯s gaze. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Once we get you some clothes and a few personal items, it¡¯ll feel more like home.¡±


    Dylan realized why the room felt familiar. ¡®It¡¯s just like the one at Ebonscale,¡¯ he thought. ¡®Minus the dead body and missing wall.¡¯ Curious if it was just a coincidence, he asked, ¡°Do all guilds have the same quarters?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never been to another guild,¡± Nathan admitted with a shrug. ¡°So, I don¡¯t know. But the room should have everything you need.¡± He raised a finger, suddenly serious. ¡°Except for a restroom! Remember, not all buckets are the same.¡±


    Dylan winced. ¡®Oh god, why did I take a dump in his office?¡¯ His face flushed with embarrassment as he raised a hand. ¡°Got it¡ªonly poop in the restrooms.¡±


    ¡°And urinate,¡± Nathan added.


    ¡°And that.¡± Dylan hung his head with a sigh. ¡®I¡¯m never going to live this down.¡¯Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Nathan still made a point of showing Dylan the location of each restroom on the first floor. There were several, reminding Dylan of his brief stint in dorm life back in college. Each restroom also had a private shower.


    ¡®Way nicer than communal ones,¡¯ Dylan thought.


    Afterward, Nathan excused himself to freshen up with a change of clothes, leaving Dylan to sit on his bed. He noticed it didn¡¯t make that annoying squeaky ¡®bed¡¯ noise, even when he bounced on it.


    A short while later, Nathan returned to the room. ¡°Oh good, you¡¯re still here.¡±


    Dylan rocked back into a sitting position with a grunt. ¡°Where else would I be?¡±


    Nathan stared into the distance for a moment. ¡°The answers to that question will keep me up at night.¡±


    Dylan wanted to object on principle, but considering the past few days¡ªhe agreed. ¡°That¡¯s fair.¡± His stomach rumbled, a loud reminder that it was time to eat. He glanced down, giving his belly a pat. ¡°There he is! Hungry Dylan is back. I¡¯m going to eat so much food.¡± He wiped a bit of saliva from the corner of his mouth. The thought of actual food again was almost too much.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been living off flak for the past few days. Your stomach¡¯s probably shrunk a bit, so you should take it easy tonight,¡± Nathan cautioned. ¡°We don¡¯t know how you¡¯ll handle Mother of Dragon¡¯s cuisine.¡±


    ¡°Do you see this?¡± Dylan lifted his shirt, revealing his pot belly. ¡°This doesn¡¯t just happen overnight. If I know one thing, I know how to eat.¡± He slapped his belly with a loud smack.


    Nathan blinked, unsure how to respond.


    Dylan strolled past the stunned Nathan. ¡°Now let¡¯s go to dinner. I¡¯m starving.¡±


    Nathan raised a finger and hurried after him. ¡°I¡¯m concerned we might have different definitions of starving¡­¡±


    They took the scenic route to the dining hall. Nathan led them outside for a breath of fresh air before guiding them toward the main hall, where most communal activities took place. They entered through the grand front entrance, which opened into a spacious reception room. After weaving through the halls, they finally reached their destination.


    ¡°Dylan!¡± a feminine voice cried over the lively noise of the hall.


    Dylan craned his neck to see who was calling him. ¡®How does everyone know my name?¡¯ he wondered.


    The large dining hall held nearly a hundred people, all eating, chatting, and laughing. It reminded Dylan of a packed college cafeteria, but instead of endless rows of folding tables, there were long, sturdy wooden ones, adding a rustic, tavern-like vibe.


    Dylan¡¯s eye caught sudden movement¡ªa woman across the hall darting toward him. ¡°Are those cat ears?¡± She was moving too fast to tell.


    ¡°Dylan!¡± she called again, excitement evident in her voice. With too many people in the aisles between the tables, she opted for an alternate route. Two bounding strides later, she was dashing across the tables.


    Dylan could now see she was wearing a short green dress over pants. He glanced at Nathan, who mirrored his baffled expression.


    ¡°Meekan!¡± ¡°Hey!¡± ¡°Watch out!¡± ¡°Come on!¡± ¡°I¡¯m eating here!¡± and similar shouts echoed as she navigated the gourmet obstacle course. Nimble and precise, her boots avoided bowls, plates, mugs, crystalware, and countless forkfuls of food along the way.


    ¡°She¡¯s really fast.¡± Dylan watched her rocket toward him. ¡®Too fast¡­¡¯


    Nathan stepped aside, his expression perplexed, as the woman crouched and dove off the last table, arms and claws outstretched.


    Not fast enough to react, Dylan thought, ¡®Oh fuck.¡¯


    She tackled him. Her arms and claws wrapped tightly above his shoulders, her head barely missing his. Their bodies collided chest-first, the rest of her following as Dylan twisted at the last moment, trying to brace himself. The impact knocked him off his feet, and she clung to him in a fierce embrace.


    Dylan felt both terrified and comforted all at once. Instinctively, his arms cradled her protectively. Their cartwheeling collision morphed into a tumble as the tactical tackle-hug ran its course. Dylan slid to a stop on his back, still clutching her tightly.


    A muffled voice, buried in his shoulder, said, ¡°I¡¯ve missed you so much.¡± Her grip tightened, as if she never wanted to let go. After one final squeeze, she sat up on top of him. Surprisingly, she was much lighter than Dylan had expected. And those weren¡¯t cat ears¡ªthey were long, peaked fox ears.


    Squinting from his pinned position, Dylan asked, ¡°Are those real?¡± As usual, his mouth outran his brain. Without thinking, he reached for her ears.


    The fox-woman smiled warmly. ¡°As real as yours.¡± She reached out and gave his earlobe a playful tug.


    ¡°Meekan?¡± Nathan¡¯s concerned voice came from behind them.


    Meekan¡¯s ears drooped, and she turned to face him.


    Nathan crossed his arms and raised a brow. ¡°I¡¯m getting more concerned with how everyone¡¯s acting today. This is unusual¡ªeven for you.¡±


    Dylan caught Nathan¡¯s eyes shift from orange back to their usual blue hue.


    ¡°Oh!¡± Meekan realized she was still straddling Dylan. She blushed, apologizing, ¡°Sorry.¡± Rolling off him, she stood in one fluid motion.


    Still lying on the floor, Dylan stared up at the gorgeous half-fox, half-woman standing over him¡ªa vision with honeyed bronze skin. Her long, dual-toned hair started orange at the roots, fading into black at the tips. Dark lashes framed her almond-shaped brown eyes, and full, pillowy lips rested perfectly on her heart-shaped face.


    She wore a wrap dress that came to her knees, cinched at the waist with a matching fabric belt. Her pants and boots were standard fare. Dylan leaned slightly, trying to glimpse her backside¡ªno tails in sight.


    Meekan glanced over her shoulder, following his gaze. As if reading his mind, she let out a playful giggle. ¡°Nope. You can¡¯t see my tails.¡±


    Since landing in this terrifying yet wonderful new world, everyone Dylan had met was fit and conventionally attractive. Even the intimidating draconi, with their tails, scales, and crests, were shapely and interesting to look at. But this woman stole his breath, both physically and figuratively. Butterflies stirred in his stomach and fluttered up to his brain.


    Nathan stepped closer, squinting at Meekan. ¡°Are¡­ you wearing makeup?¡±


    Meekan shot Nathan a sharp glare, and he froze, visibly regretting his question.


    <blockquote>


    Dylan


    [ dil-uhn ]


    noun


    a kind, awkward, hot mess.


    verb


    to unintentionally be a detriment to one¡¯s future self.


    </blockquote>


    And then Dylan made a Dylan of himself. Flashing a big, goofy grin, he said, ¡°Hi, you¡¯re Dylan.¡±


    Meekan looked down at him, both eyebrows raised.


    Dylan froze. ¡®Fuck.¡¯ He tried again, stumbling over the words. ¡°I mean¡­ Hi, I¡¯m hot.¡±


    Nathan tilted his head, giving Dylan an unsure look.


    ¡®FuCk¡­¡¯


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Dylan stammered. ¡°I mean¡­ you¡¯re hot.¡± His eyes widened. ¡®FUCK¡­¡¯


    Sweat beaded on his brow as he tugged at his collar. ¡°Jesus, it¡¯s really attractive in here.¡± He cringed, squeezing his eyes shut. ¡®FUCK!¡¯


    Meekan covered her mouth, trying to hide her amusement as she continued to let him struggle.


    Dylan took a deep breath and tried again. ¡°It¡¯s Dylan to meet you.¡± He blinked. ¡®OH MY GOD, WHY?¡¯ Slumping to the ground, he buried his face in his hands, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. ¡®If I could just die, I think I can still salvage this,¡¯ he thought.

 Chapter 36 - Meat, Magic, and Misunderstandings

    (Dylan)


    Unable to watch Dylan suffer another moment, Nathan stepped in with the introduction. ¡°Dylan, this is Meekan.¡± He gave Dylan a quick, encouraging smile.


    Dylan refused to look up. His gaze remained glued to the floor, as if looking at her would make things worse. ¡°Hi, Meekan.¡±


    She crouched to Dylan¡¯s level. Her voice softened with an apologetic lilt. ¡°Sorry about knocking you over. I hope I didn¡¯t hurt you. It¡¯s just¡­¡± The shift in her tone was impossible to miss as she smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve been really excited to finally meet you.¡±


    Dylan melted at the kindness in her voice. ¡®Oh no. She¡¯s hot and she¡¯s kind,¡¯ he thought. Kindness¡ªhis personal kryptonite¡ªleft him hopelessly infatuated too often. It was a lesson he thought he¡¯d learned, but clearly, his heart missed the memo.


    Meekan reached down, slipping her hand into his. Dylan¡¯s entire body tensed at her touch.


    ¡®She¡¯s holding my hand!¡¯ he thought.


    Meekan stood, pulling him effortlessly to his feet. The fox-woman was surprisingly strong for someone with such a slender, light frame. ¡°It¡¯s not everyday I meet my best friend for the first time.¡± Meekan smiled at him, revealing a pair of sharp canines.


    Dylan blinked at her, half-startled, dazzled by her smile. Confused, he pointed at his own chest. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ your best friend?¡±


    Nathan gave Meekan a wounded look, his eyes flashing black for an instant before shifting back to blue.


    ¡°He¡¯s¡±¡ªNathan pointed to Dylan¡ª¡°your best friend?¡± Meekan nodded. Nathan¡¯s finger shifted toward her, his jaw tightening. ¡°You knew¡­¡± He narrowed his eyes. ¡°You knew about the contract.¡±


    Without missing a beat, Meekan deflected. ¡°Your friend Charles is here.¡± She tilted her head, gesturing with her nose toward the opposite side of the dining room.


    Dylan felt a wave of relief wash over him. He¡¯d been worried when they couldn¡¯t find Charles at Merchant¡¯s Circle, but some things still weren¡¯t adding up. ¡°Charles¡­?¡± he asked.


    Meekan gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°Having dinner¡­?¡± Dylan¡¯s lips twisted in doubt.


    Her ears twitched slightly as she nodded. ¡°Uh-huh.¡±


    ¡°With¡­ people?¡± Dylan squinted, tilting his head, still unsure.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Meekan said. She tugged his hand, and he followed without protest. This time, she took the long way around, skirting the edges of the room, no longer in a rush. Several people shot Meekan disapproving looks from her earlier stunt as they passed.


    At the first corner of the room, Dylan leaned in and asked, ¡°Have we met before?¡±


    Her pace didn¡¯t falter. ¡°Nope,¡± she said, continuing to walk.


    ¡°But you¡­ I¡¯m¡­?¡± Dylan halted, struggling to make sense of everything. ¡°How do you know me?¡±


    Meekan turned to face him, her expression pensive. She bit her lip and pondered briefly, then asked, ¡°What¡­ do you know about time magic?¡±


    Dylan gasped, eyes wide, scanning the room for eavesdroppers. Was she trying to get them killed? He reacted before he could think, or she could say another word, and found himself pressed up against her with a hand covering her mouth.


    Meekan giggled behind his hand, and his tension dissolved. Her brown eyes locked onto his, and, slowly, she reached up to pull his hand down. Leaning in, Meekan¡¯s lips barely moved as she whispered, ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± She pointed to herself. ¡°I have¡ª¡± She paused. ¡°I¡­ am time magic.¡±


    They stood so close, Dylan felt her breath laced with citrus as she spoke. Blushing at his own forcefulness, he took a clumsy step back to give her space. His eyes darted around the room, but only Nathan, waiting patiently a dozen feet behind, paid them any mind.


    Meekan followed him, closing the gap between them again. Continuing to whisper, she said, ¡°Everyone here¡ªexcept your friend Charles¡ªknows my secret. And I¡¯m choosing to trust you with it, too.¡± Her eyes remained locked on his. ¡°You asked how I know you. It¡¯s impossible to explain, maddening to experience, but that¡¯s how I know what I know¡ªTime.¡±


    Somehow, her hand was in his again before he realized it. She gently pulled him along as they slipped through the crowd and found their seats at the table.


    ¡°Hello, handsome,¡± a playful voice purred from a red draconi. Her golden eyes glittered, pupils narrowing like a cat¡¯s, and locked on him with a hunger that dinner wouldn¡¯t sate. ¡°I couldn¡¯t help but notice you entering the dorms with Nathan earlier today. Are you one of the new initiates?


    Nathan and Charles answered in perfect unison: ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, that¡¯s a shame. I¡¯m Ni¡¯ot, by the way.¡± She smiled at Dylan, flashing an impressive row of fangs.


    Distracted by the food¡ªdishes piled high with blue, green, and purple meats, all smelling richly of roasted spices¡ªAuto-manners took over before he could stop it. He gave the hungry red dragon a big smile and held out his hand for a shake. ¡°Hello Ni¡¯ot. I¡¯m Dylan. It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you.¡±


    Taken aback by his sudden boldness, everyone watched as the scene played out. Ni¡¯ot raised an eyebrow, glancing from Dylan¡¯s hand to his face before taking the offer. While Y¡¯rell¡¯s touch had been warm and silky, Ni¡¯ot¡¯s grip was firm, calloused, and hot.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°A pleasure indeed,¡± Ni¡¯ot said.


    Ni¡¯ot bit her lip, fighting a grin, then mouthed ¡°So hot¡± at Meekan. Meekan tried to hide her amusement, watching Dylan be himself.


    Dylan closed his eyes, swallowing hard. ¡®Goddamnit Dylan, you did it again,¡¯ he thought. Quickly pulling his hand back, he scanned the room for something¡ªanything¡ªto change the conversation. He didn¡¯t want to repeat the Y¡¯rell incident. Especially not in front of the pretty fox-woman.


    Too hungry to think of anything clever, Dylan went with the obvious. ¡°This all smells and looks amazing.¡±


    ¡°It does, doesn¡¯t it,¡± Ni¡¯ot agreed, with a lingering glance at Dylan. ¡°I have the hardest time resisting things that look so delicious.¡±


    Dylan sighed. ¡®That¡¯s it. Everyone¡¯s going to horny jail,¡¯ he thought, deciding to just focus on the wonderful food in front of him. His stomach rumbled, mouth watering at the scent of proper food¡ªsomething he hadn¡¯t had since arriving on Mother of Dragons.


    A fresh cut split open along Charles¡¯s neck, and Dylan frowned. The rugged elf was good at taking care of others, but Dylan wondered who took care of him. The tailor¡¯s needle pricked his finger, and the wound vanished. Dylan blinked, unsure what to make of the strange healing ability.


    ¡°You should probably get that looked at,¡± Dylan said, trying to sound casual, but his concern slipped through. If Charles wouldn¡¯t look after himself, someone should


    ¡°I did. There¡¯s nothing they can do. It just has to run its course. I¡¯ll be fine.¡± Charles rubbed at the spot absentmindedly, offering Dylan a stiff, forced smile.


    Across the table, Meekan pulled a vial of purple liquid out of her pocket. Dylan¡¯s curiosity grew as he watched her.


    ¡°Are you sneaking booze at dinner?¡± Dylan whispered, leaning over the table. He glanced around to see who else noticed.


    Meekan¡¯s ears twitched, and she glanced at the vial, then back at him. ¡°Oh, this?¡± she asked, smiling as she shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s just Prune Juice.¡± She took a sip, downing about a third of it. ¡°Actually¡­¡± She stared at the bottle, her smile replaced with concern. ¡°You might want some of your own.¡±


    ¡®How old does she think I am? I¡¯m middle-aged at most. Wait¡ªhow old is she?¡¯ Dylan wondered, shaking his head, trying to dislodge the spiraling thoughts of how out of his league the stunning fox-woman was. That, and the fact she just indirectly called him old. He flashed his best polite smile and shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think I need any prune juice.¡±


    Her frown deepened. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Yep,¡± he said with a nod. ¡°Absolutely sure I don¡¯t need prune juice.¡± He shifted awkwardly in his seat, averting his gaze from Nathan. ¡°I¡¯m pretty regular as it is.¡±


    Overhearing their conversation, Ni¡¯ot said, ¡°We¡¯ve got alcohol, you know. I¡¯d be happy to share a drink¡ªafter dinner, maybe?¡±


    Meekan hid behind her mug, snickering as she took another sip of tea. The tea¡¯s warmth spread through her hands, but it was the scene in front of her that really warmed her heart. Watching Ni¡¯ot chase after Dylan brought her great amusement, especially seeing his adorably awkward reactions.


    Charles leaned in toward Dylan. ¡°How do you do it? This is the second time in as many days I¡¯ve seen you draw the attention of a draconi.¡±


    Nathan set down his utensils. ¡°Okay, so it¡¯s not just me.¡±


    Dylan¡¯s gaze bounced between Charles and Nathan. ¡°What exactly are you two talking about?¡±


    Nathan adjusted his seat on the bench, leaning back slightly as if trying to distance himself from the statement. ¡°The fact you¡¯re a walking aphrodisiac¡ª¡±


    Tea sprayed back into her mug. ¡°Sorry,¡± Meekan said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. ¡°Please, continue.¡± Her enjoyment of the conversation was obvious.


    Nathan paused for effect, then added, ¡°And it¡¯s not just draconi. There¡¯s a gnomish woman asking after him too.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve only met one gnomish woman¡­¡± Dylan muttered, half to himself.


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯d like to know how it works.¡± Charles interlocked his fingers and rested them on the table, waiting expectantly for the chubby man to explain.


    ¡°How what works?¡± Dylan asked, still unsure what they were talking about.


    ¡°How do you attract draconi?¡± Charles asked.


    Dylan blinked slowly, his gaze flicking between an expectant Charles, an embarrassed Nathan, and a very amused Meekan.


    Ni¡¯ot had finished filling her plate and was already tearing into her meal. She chewed thoughtfully, speaking aloud to herself. ¡°He has a perfectly approachable height,¡± she said, pinning her steak down with a fork.


    ¡®Approachable? Was that a compliment?¡¯ Dylan wondered; unsure.


    ¡°And that gorgeous hair, an exotic, deep chestnut brown. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen that shade before.¡± Her knife sliced into the dripping slab of meat. ¡°A deliciously plump figure¡ªbet he¡¯s soft as a pillow.¡± Ni¡¯ot put the strip of tender meat into her mouth, making no effort to hide her thoughts as she continued to talk through her chewing.


    ¡®She¡¯s not wrong,¡¯ Dylan had to admit¡ªhe was very soft.


    ¡°And those irresistible button-sized ears?¡± She paused, taking a gulp from her mug. ¡°Sexual energy overflowing from the moment you meet. I mean, he greets you with a soul-seeking stare, a disarming smile flashing an aggressive display of teeth, followed by an immediate offer of physical contact.¡± She tapped the table lightly with her utensils, as if hammering the point home.


    ¡°If that doesn¡¯t start your furnace, I don¡¯t know what will.¡± Ni¡¯ot shook her head and took another bite of her steak.


    The table fell silent. Ni¡¯ot blinked, finally noticing the stares. ¡°What? I can see the appeal,¡± she said with a mouthful of food.


    Meekan slapped the table, laughter spilling out uncontrollably.


    Charles continued to stare at Dylan, squinting. ¡°I just don¡¯t see it.¡±


    Nathan sat slack-jawed, unable to find words to express himself.


    Dylan¡¯s stomach rumbled, and the aroma wafting from the dishes was heavenly¡ªa perfect blend of sweet and tangy. Without missing a beat, he piled his plate with colored meats and vegetables, pretending the last two minutes hadn¡¯t happened.


    He savored each bite; the flavors bursting beyond expectation. He spoke between mouthfuls, filling in the table on his past couple of days. He carefully skipped over the Time orb and his many resurrections, starting his tale with the explosion and ending with his arrival in Dartmouth.


    A long, ominous growl from the depths of his bowels made him freeze. ¡°That¡¯s weird.¡± Dylan interrupted his own re-telling of the beating he took from the okamijin, who ¡®almost¡¯ killed him.


    Meekan tilted her head. ¡°What¡¯s weird?¡±


    ¡°My fingers are numb.¡± Dylan gave the table a few experimental taps, frowning. ¡°I think I ate too fast.¡± He set down his utensils, pushed his plate away, and continued his tale.


    Nathan and Meekan exchanged worried glances, their concern deepening as Dylan¡¯s complexion paled.


    ¡®Why¡¯s he looking at me like that? I left the dying bits out¡­¡¯ Dylan thought. Beads of sweat dotted his brow. The dining hall was getting uncomfortably warm.


    Dylan took a long pull from his mug. A queasy churn stirred in his stomach, but there was no way he¡¯d waste the delicious meal he¡¯d just devoured.


    Nathan¡¯s eyes shifted to yellow as he leaned forward, his gaze sharp. ¡°Dylan, you don¡¯t look so well.¡±


    Dylan blinked hard, shook his head, then blinked again, raising a hand to shield his eyes. ¡°When did the lights get so bright?¡±


    The urge hit him like a spell gone wrong¡ªsudden and unstoppable. Dylan¡¯s hand moved to cover his mouth. His chair barked against the floor as he shot to his feet. Nathan and Charles¡¯ chairs cried out in unison as both elves sprang up to follow.


    ¡°I need a bucket,¡± Dylan mumbled, voice muffled by his hand. All three of them frantically scanned the room for anything resembling a bucket.

 Chapter 37 - The Potion Predicament

    (Dylan)


    Meekan leaned across the table and pointed toward the exit, where the kitchenware tub and compost box sat. ¡°Over there!¡±


    Dylan turned, fighting to keep it all down. He aimed for the compost box but only made it to the tub. It wasn¡¯t empty¡ªthe splash back was unavoidable as he lost the battle and his dinner.


    Nathan crouched beside him. Dylan was mid-hurl when he asked, ¡°Are you allergic to anything?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Meekan said, coming around the table. Nathan shot her a curious look.


    Dylan took a shaky breath during a brief reprieve. ¡°I¡¯m not even sure what I ate.¡±


    Nathan started listing off possibilities. ¡°Are you sensitive to lead, cobalt, copper, or mercury?¡±


    Dylan¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°I¡¯m deathly allergic to all of them.¡± He stumbled to the compost box for the next round of upheaval.


    ¡°Perhaps Meekan was right. You should consider Prune Juice in the future,¡± Nathan said.


    ¡®How the hell is fruit juice supposed to help with heavy metal poisoning?!¡¯ he wanted to ask, but he was too busy on his knees, emptying his stomach into the compost box. His vision blurred as the room spun, each pulse of his head like a hammer.


    Nathan slipped his arms under Dylan¡¯s armpits and hoisted him up. ¡°Grab his feet,¡± he said, but Charles was already moving. ¡°The infirmary is this way.¡±


    Dylan winced as sharp pain radiated from his gut into his limbs. ¡°I don¡¯t want to die again,¡± he whispered to Nathan.


    ¡°I know,¡± Nathan whispered back.


    Nathan and Charles carried Dylan down the hall, his limbs dead weight between them. Meekan sprinted ahead to get the door.


    Between spasms, Dylan thought, ¡®If I die, I hope I reset to before the meal.¡¯ He fought to stay conscious, having already blacked out once on the way.


    Nathan gestured with his nose toward a chair in the corner. ¡°Let¡¯s get him there.¡± It wasn¡¯t a hospital bed, but it would do.


    Charles lowered Dylan¡¯s feet and grabbed one of his arms from Nathan. Together, they eased him into the chair. Nathan tilted the seat just enough to keep Dylan from falling forward, but not far enough to risk aspirating.


    Nathan pointed toward a cabinet under the sink. ¡°Get him a bucket.¡±


    ¡°Not the bucket again. I¡¯ve got nothing left.¡± Tears welled in his eyes, not just from being sick, but from the frustration of wasting such a good meal.


    Meekan rushed to grab the bucket from under the sink and handed it to Dylan. He sighed. ¡°Thanks, but I¡ª¡± Before he could finish, another wave of nausea had him burying his face in the bucket.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to use Triage,¡± Nathan said. His eyes shifted yellow as he read the results. ¡°By the Mother, you¡¯re going into acute organ failure.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound good,¡± Dylan muttered into the bucket.


    Nathan¡¯s voice wavered. ¡°You¡¯re going to die¡­¡±


    Dylan could feel it¡ªsome things inside him weren¡¯t working anymore. His fingers were ice-cold, and his arms felt as if they didn¡¯t belong to him. Every pulse in his head throbbed like a dull drumbeat, and his heart wasn¡¯t quite keeping time. He tried to shift in the chair, but his legs were bricks, refusing to answer. Even blinking felt like an impossible task.


    Charles shot Nathan a hard look. ¡°No.¡±


    Nathan blinked. ¡°No?¡± he repeated, confused.


    The rugged elf stepped closer, jabbing Nathan¡¯s chest with a finger. ¡°You¡¯re a mender, and we¡¯re in a guild stronghold. Fix him or find someone who can.¡± His body tensed in pain, a green stain spreading across his tunic, but his expression didn¡¯t falter. Satisfied, Charles stepped back and pricked his finger with a needle.


    Meekan, trying to ease the tension, offered, ¡°What about a healing potion?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯ll buy him some time.¡± Nathan rushed to a cabinet, pulling out his League card as he spoke. ¡°Meekan, see if anyone has a global cleanse or poison cleanse ability.¡± She nodded and sprinted out the door.


    Nathan tapped the corner of his League card on the cabinet. The lock clicked audibly, even from across the room. He swung the door open and sifted through the vials, searching for the right one.


    Grabbing a vial of green liquid, he hurried back to Dylan.


    Nathan popped the top off the vial. ¡°Drink this.¡± He tilted Dylan¡¯s chin with one hand and carefully poured the liquid into his mouth with the other.


    Dylan¡¯s senses returned instantly, his mind clearing. But the steady approach of his mortality began anew as he continued to deteriorate. He followed Nathan¡¯s gaze to the wall, where a circular disk with strange symbols hung. ¡®A clock?¡¯ he wondered.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Nathan sighed, frustration etched in every breath. ¡°He¡¯s absorbed too much¡ªseveral poisons are ravaging him.¡± He crossed his arms, one hand drifting to his chin in thought.


    Charles jerked his head toward the hallway. ¡°What about the other menders?¡±


    ¡°I sent Meekan to check, but Nightshade barely has any menders. Everyone wants to be a flashy archetype with destructive abilities. Maybe three or four have the skills we need.¡±


    Charles pressed, his voice sharp. ¡°Then get one of them.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Nathan snapped. ¡°Every team is desperate for a mender, so they share the few we have. They¡¯re all out on contracts right now or at the hospital.¡±


    Charles frowned, frustration creeping into his voice. ¡°Menders and scouts are always poached first. What about brute force? If we can¡¯t stop the poison, we just keep healing him until it runs out.¡±


    ¡°Maybe?¡± Nathan didn¡¯t sound sure. ¡°That¡¯s a lot of healing, and I don¡¯t think his body can process the poison¡ªit might never stop killing him.¡±


    ¡°Are there any cure poison potions or something?¡± Dylan knew little about magic, but he¡¯d played enough games to know consumables usually solved status ailments.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have one strong enough.¡± Nathan frowned. ¡°You¡¯d need eight to clear them all from your system.¡±


    ¡°Okay, what¡¯s the problem?¡± Dylan winced as the pain surged back to its previous levels.


    ¡°There¡¯s a potion cooldown,¡± Charles explained. ¡°It doubles every time you take one, and you¡¯d need to wait a full day to reset it.¡±


    ¡°How long¡¯s the cooldown?¡± Dylan asked, already dreading the answer.


    ¡°Five minutes,¡± Nathan answered grimly.


    ¡°What happens if I take them without waiting for the cooldown?¡± Dylan figured it probably wasn¡¯t good.


    ¡°You¡¯ll die,¡± Charles said flatly.


    ¡°Taking a potion during the cooldown ravages your health¡ªit¡¯s not like the gummies. The damage scales with the timer. By the second, maybe third potion, you¡¯d be dead,¡± Nathan concurred with Charles.


    ¡°Gummies?¡± Charles narrowed his eyes at Nathan.


    ¡°Gummies!¡± Nathan exclaimed, his eyes flashing green for a moment before shifting back to blue. He turned to Charles. ¡°You¡¯ve got a teleport, right?¡±


    Charles nodded slowly. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if there¡¯s enough time, but it¡¯s all I¡¯ve got. I need you to get to the hospital and grab a jar filled with colored candies and bring it back as fast as you can,¡± Nathan said.


    Without hesitation, Charles pressed a hand to the wall beside Dylan¡¯s chair. A glowing runic circle appeared with a sizzle as Nathan described where to find his office in the hospital.


    Meekan slipped back through the door, shaking her head. ¡°I couldn¡¯t find anyone,¡± she said, frustration flickering in her voice.


    Charles sprinted past her. ¡°Nathan¡¯s got a plan,¡± he called over his shoulder.


    ¡°Where¡¯s he going?¡± Meekan pointed after the rugged elf. ¡°And what¡¯s the plan?¡±


    Nathan explained his plan to Meekan while she wet a small cloth and placed it on Dylan¡¯s forehead. Bottles and vials clinked as Nathan sifted through the cabinet, searching for another potion.


    ¡°What are you looking for?¡± Meekan asked softly, dabbing the cool cloth across Dylan¡¯s brow.


    ¡°Delayed-release healing potions,¡± Nathan muttered, shifting to the next shelf. ¡°Thank the Mother.¡± He grabbed a vial of slightly different green liquid and walked over to Dylan, glancing at the clock on the wall.


    Nathan tucked the vial into Dylan¡¯s hand, folding his fingers over it. ¡°We need to time this perfectly. I¡¯ll count to five once it¡¯s been five minutes¡ªthen you drink this.¡± In Nathan¡¯s other hand was a potion of darker green liquid.


    ¡°What¡¯s that one for?¡± Meekan nodded toward the second potion.


    ¡°I think there are only seven poison cleanse gummies left. If that¡¯s all we¡¯ve got, he¡¯ll need this potion too.¡± Nathan¡¯s concern bled through, despite his efforts to mask it.


    Dylan realized Meekan was holding his hand again. When he looked up, she gave him a gentle squeeze.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need Zepperlin, Ramone, and Le¡¯pard,¡± Nathan said urgently. ¡°Hurry.¡±


    Meekan pressed the cloth into Dylan¡¯s hand before dashing out of the room.


    The darkness crept back in, and Dylan fought to stay conscious. His head throbbed, the pain sharpest behind his eyes. He squinted against the harsh lights overhead, closing them for just a moment.


    ¡°¡­Four, five¡ªtake it now! Dylan? Dylan!¡± Nathan shook him, panic rising in his voice.


    Dylan¡¯s eyes finally opened, and he wished all the Nathans would stop floating around.


    ¡°Take the potion,¡± Nathan said, his voice sharp with urgency. He guided Dylan¡¯s hand to his mouth, tilting his head back.


    Dylan¡¯s throat, focused only on breathing, wasn¡¯t ready for the liquid sliding down. He sputtered and coughed, but Nathan clamped both hands over his mouth and nose.


    ¡®I can¡¯t breathe.¡¯ Dylan thought in panic, unable to speak. Nathan pushed down with his weight. ¡®He¡¯s trying to kill me!¡¯


    ¡°Dylan!¡± Nathan yelled, his eyes shifting to black. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I know it feels like drowning.¡±


    ¡®Goddamnit Nathan!¡¯ Dylan¡¯s hand flew up, delivering a sharp slap to Nathan¡¯s face. He kicked and flailed, desperate to break free.


    Nathan held firm. ¡°The potion still works in your lungs.¡±


    This was worse than the stabbing. Dylan tried coughing, but his air couldn¡¯t get past Nathan¡¯s smothering hold on him. He tried to bite but found no purchase. Desperately, he bucked beneath Nathan, but the elf was too strong, and he was too weak.


    ¡°You¡¯ve already lost some, and you need every drop.¡± Nathan pressed harder to keep Dylan from coughing.


    ¡®Everything¡¯s tingling. Why does everything tingle?¡¯ Dylan wondered. A strange dissonance spread through him¡ªhis body starved for oxygen, just as the healing potion began working. The effects kept him from slipping into unconsciousness while leaving him with enough awareness to keep panicking¡ªit was torture.


    Tears streaked down both their faces as Nathan smothered him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Just a little longer¡ªto make sure you¡¯ve absorbed it all.¡±


    After a few more seconds, Nathan released him. Dylan rolled away, gasping for air. Deep, rattling coughs wracked him, cutting off every breath. He slid off the chair, his numb legs refusing to hold him.


    Nathan rushed over, pulling Dylan into a tight hug. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so sorry,¡± he whispered over and over. He eased Dylan back into the chair, then stepped away to give him space, hesitant to speak again while Dylan recovered.


    ¡°Dylan, I¡¯m really sorry, but you were about to cough up the potion,¡± Nathan said, as much to himself as to Dylan.


    Dylan raised a shaky hand, testing a shallow breath. ¡°I know,¡± he rasped. After a bout of coughing, he added, ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡±


    Nathan¡¯s eyes shifted from black back to their usual blue. ¡°This potion won¡¯t feel as good as the last¡ªit gives the same healing, but spread out over time. I can boost the effect with my ability,¡± he said, casting a spell over Dylan.


    Warmth spread through him as the trickle of health surged into a river of life, chasing away the numbness. His heartbeat smoothed, steady and sure. Even the throbbing in his head shrank to a dull murmur. For a second, he just sat there, savoring the sensation of not dying. ''This is nice,'' he thought, exhaling slowly.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how long the potion will hold, but it¡¯ll buy us time,¡± Nathan said with a weak smile. They turned as Meekan and a tan-scaled draconi appeared in the doorway.

 Chapter 38 - Severed Hands and the Cost of a Verse

    (Dylan)


    Concern replaced the brief relief on Nathan¡¯s face. ¡°Where are Zepperlin and Ramone?¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t find them.¡± Meekan shook her head. ¡°But I¡¯ll keep looking.¡± She bolted back down the hallway without waiting for a reply.


    ¡°Meekan said you needed me?¡± Le¡¯pard strode into the infirmary, scanning the room.


    ¡°Dylan, meet Le¡¯pard. Le¡¯pard, this is Dylan.¡± Nathan¡¯s introduction was quick and distracted.


    Dylan reclined in the chair, eyes half-shut. He held up a hand and wiggled it in what he hoped was Le¡¯pard¡¯s direction. ¡°Hi.¡±


    ¡°We need to keep him alive.¡± Nathan gestured toward Dylan, moving swiftly to the cabinet to retrieve three blue vials.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with him?¡± Le¡¯pard asked, his eyes trailing Nathan as he dashed around the room. ¡°What do you need me to do?¡±


    ¡°Restore his health whenever it drops, and use this when your mana runs low.¡± Nathan pressed a blue vial into Le¡¯pard¡¯s clawed hand.


    ¡°A mana potion?¡± Le¡¯pard eyed the vial, concern etched across his face. ¡°How long do we need to keep healing him?¡±


    ¡°Until an elf appears in that corner.¡± Nathan gestured toward the glowing rune on the wall. The healing river inside Dylan ebbed, only for the prismatic elf to replenish it with another spell.


    Nathan locked eyes with Le¡¯pard. ¡°Dylan¡¯s running on a delayed-release healing potion, but I¡¯m boosting it with an ability. It¡¯s wearing off soon, and I¡¯m not sure the two of us can keep him alive.¡±


    Le¡¯pard¡¯s practiced eye scanned Dylan and the situation, piecing everything together with ease. ¡°How many potions has he taken?¡±


    ¡°Two. He needs to take this poison cleanse in¡­¡± Nathan¡¯s voice trailed off as he glanced at the clock, exhaling through his nose. ¡°I didn¡¯t check when he took the last one, but it should be safe in five minutes.¡±


    Le¡¯pard tilted his head, his gaze narrowing on Nathan. ¡°You didn¡¯t check?¡±


    ¡°He was too busy suffocating me,¡± Dylan replied.


    Le¡¯pard blinked, confusion flickering across his face. Nathan crossed the room and leaned out the door, scanning both ends of the hallway.


    The prismatic elf turned around. ¡°He tried coughing it up.¡± He folded his arms, fixing Dylan with a stare.


    Le¡¯pard gave a slow, understanding nod.


    Dylan crossed his arms, mirroring Nathan. ¡°And that was because he tried to drown me with it first¡­¡±


    Le¡¯pard¡¯s brow furrowed, confusion returning to his features.


    ¡°You were slipping in and out of consciousness because you were dying.¡± Nathan said flatly.


    The healing river inside him dried up, shadows creeping back in. Dylan no longer cared who won the argument. ¡°I think it¡¯s worn off.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Nathan glanced at the clock again, his voice tight with concern.


    ¡°Yep.¡± Dylan winced. ¡°I feel like shit again.¡±


    Le¡¯pard studied Dylan with a raised brow. ¡°Interesting description.¡±


    Nathan sighed. ¡°His culture¡¯s full of idioms.¡± He stepped back, giving Le¡¯pard room to work. ¡°I¡¯ve done what I can. It¡¯s your turn now.¡±


    Le¡¯pard strode to the sink, filled a mug, and took a long gulp. He cleared his throat twice, then drew a deep breath. The draconi began with a low rumble, his voice booming through the room and reverberating down the hallways. Dylan¡¯s ears felt the song as much as heard it.


    ¡®He¡¯s a bard,¡¯ Dylan thought as he listened to the wordless baritone. The deep, powerful notes resonated through the air, soothing his mind as much as his body.


    Le¡¯pard shaped his voice into sounds of wonder, sustenance, and beauty. Dylan had never been to the opera, but he was certain this was far better.


    Tears welled in Dylan¡¯s eyes¡ªnot just from relief, but from the sheer beauty of Le¡¯pard¡¯s voice. The harmonic draconi¡¯s song carried no discernible message, only raw, emotional healing.


    Verse after verse, Le¡¯pard paused only to sip water. Meanwhile, Nathan administered the poison cleanse potion as the harmonic draconi¡¯s magic fought to keep Dylan alive.


    Fifteen minutes had passed since Le¡¯pard began, and he stopped again¡ªthis time to down his second mana potion.


    Le¡¯pard shot Nathan a worried glance. Nathan, still stationed by the door, shook his head, scanning the hall for any sign of Meekan or another mender.


    Flushed and weary from each verse, Le¡¯pard¡¯s breath came heavier, and the strain crept into his voice. Each note felt heavier than the last, his throat tightening as fatigue set in, but he refused to let it falter. His muscles ached from holding steady, every verse pulled from a dwindling reserve of strength. Yet he pressed on, knowing that stopping now wasn¡¯t an option.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The pain surged back, sharper and fiercer than before, crashing through Dylan like a tidal wave. He curled onto his side, his arms hugging his midsection as if bracing against the onslaught. Each breath hitched, ragged and shallow, as he fought to stifle his cries¡ªbut the sounds escaped anyway, low and broken, slipping past clenched teeth.


    ¡®It¡¯s been too long,¡¯ Dylan thought, panic bubbling beneath the surface. ¡®If I die, I¡¯ll just end up back here. I don¡¯t want to go like that. ¡°Deathloop Dylan¡± sounds like a terrible way to go.¡¯


    Le¡¯pard drew another deep breath and began again. The notes dulled the pain, but only slightly; this was a losing battle. Dylan¡¯s health dropped faster than Le¡¯pard¡¯s magic could restore. Curled on his side, eyes shut tight, Dylan clung to the beauty of his voice.


    Four minutes later, Le¡¯pard finished the final verse and collapsed into his chair, elbows braced on his knees, gasping for breath.


    ¡°That¡¯s it.¡± Le¡¯pard sucked in another breath. ¡°I¡¯m spent. How long until the next potion?¡± He didn¡¯t even have the strength to lift his head.


    ¡°About a minute,¡± Nathan said, his voice dropping. ¡°But we can¡¯t use a healing potion.¡±


    ¡°Why the Infernal not?¡± Le¡¯pard snapped, still catching his breath.


    Nathan bit his lip, glancing at Dylan, who was curled on the chair, writhing in pain. ¡°He might need one more poison cleanse potion.¡±


    Le¡¯pard glanced at Dylan, then dropped his gaze to the floor. Dylan lay with his back to them, muffling his whimpers.


    The harmonic draconi stood, filled his mug to the brim, and dumped it over his overheated head. ¡°Give me another.¡± He held out his hand, water streaming down his face.


    Nathan shot Le¡¯pard a confused look. ¡°You can¡¯t¡ªyour cooldown isn¡¯t up.¡± His eyes shifted back to yellow as realization dawned.


    The harmonic draconi kept his hand steady. ¡°I won¡¯t die if I take another potion.¡± He nodded toward Dylan. ¡°But your friend will, if I don¡¯t. Now hand me the infernal mana potion.¡±


    Nathan hesitated, his grip tightening around the blue vial. He knew exactly what it would do to his fellow mender, and the weight of that choice anchored him in place for a heartbeat too long. With a reluctant sigh, he extended the last mana potion. Le¡¯pard took it, holding it up to the light, inspecting it with a frown.


    ¡°What was your friend¡¯s name again?¡± Le¡¯pard stared at the blue vial, turning it slowly in his hand.


    ¡°Dylan.¡±


    ¡°Well, Dylan.¡± Le¡¯pard twisted the top off, raising the vial in a mock toast. ¡°If you survive this, you owe me one.¡± He downed the potion in a single gulp, and they both waited for it to take effect.


    Le¡¯pard patted his stomach, glancing around. ¡°Hmm, maybe¡ª¡± A second later, he doubled over, dropping the empty vial. ¡°Ugh, there it is. Sacred Mother, that stings.¡± He slumped back into his seat.


    ¡°Your elf friend has three, maybe four, verses to get here.¡± Le¡¯pard opened his mouth and launched into the first verse.


    Dylan¡¯s rigid body eased, his thoughts drifting. ¡®Where are you, Charles?¡¯


    Le¡¯pard sang until he could sing no more¡ªand then he pushed past that. No one counted the minutes he bought them. Exhausted and trembling, barely upright in his chair, his voice finally gave out. Dylan¡¯s whimpers and Le¡¯pard¡¯s ragged breaths hung heavy in the silence.


    The harmonic draconi rasped through a parched throat, ¡°Give him the potion.¡±


    Nathan kept his gaze fixed down the hall, avoiding both of them. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±


    Dylan lay motionless on the reclined chair, his chest barely rising and falling. His mind teetered on the edge of consciousness.


    ¡°You¡­ can¡¯t?¡± Le¡¯pard let out a dry laugh. ¡°I¡¯ve given him everything I¡¯ve got¡ªand then some.¡± His eyes stayed shut, his trembling elbows braced on his knees.


    ¡°There¡¯s still time. If I give him a healing potion now, and we don¡¯t have enough status gummies to purge the poison, he¡¯ll die anyway.¡± Nathan swallowed hard, forcing himself to stick with the plan.


    ¡°What difference does it make? Give¡ª¡± Le¡¯pard broke off as Charles materialized beside Dylan, a glass jar tucked under one arm and a few wrapped loaves under the other.


    Charles strode over, setting the jar and loaves on the countertop by the sink. ¡°Apologies for the delay. I was arrested.¡±


    ¡°Arrested?!¡± Nathan upended the jar onto the countertop, quickly sorting out the green ones.


    Charles stepped toward Le¡¯pard, who remained slumped over. From his pocket, he pulled the severed hand of an elf and held it under Le¡¯pard¡¯s nose. ¡°Get this to the hospital. Immediately.¡±


    Le¡¯pard straightened, horror dawning in his eyes. ¡°Are those¡­ teeth marks?¡±


    Charles ignored the question, letting the hand drop into Le¡¯pard¡¯s lap before turning back to Nathan.


    ¡°When you¡¯re done saving Dylan, send your best theropod handler and a corruptor with crowd-control expertise to your office.¡±


    ¡°To my office? Why?¡± Nathan glanced up, still sorting the status gummies.


    ¡°Please, don¡¯t put her down.¡± Charles swung his bow off his shoulder and propped it against the wall by the doorway.


    ¡°What do you mean, arrested?¡± Nathan resumed picking out the green status gummies.


    ¡°We assaulted an officer.¡± Charles slid both daggers from their holsters and tossed them beside the bow.


    Le¡¯pard stared at the severed hand, his voice rising. ¡°Did you kill them?!¡±


    Charles shook his head. ¡°No. We were close enough to the hospital; he should still be alive.¡± He drew both swords at once, the blades clattering to the ground beside the other weapons as he continued disarming.


    The rugged elf unfastened the quiver from his thigh and propped it in the corner between the floor cabinet and the wall.


    ¡°This hand was¡­ chewed on.¡± Le¡¯pard grimaced, holding it out to Charles.


    ¡°Once Dylan and Vera are safe, I¡¯d take it as a personal favor if you stopped by the constabulary.¡± Charles turned and made for the hallway.


    ¡°And where are you going?¡± Nathan called after him.


    Charles paused in the doorway. ¡°To turn myself in.¡± And with that, he was gone.


    ¡°Get that on ice.¡± Nathan nodded toward the hand.


    A slightly winded Meekan reappeared in the doorway. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I couldn¡¯t find them. They might be in town or at the hospital¡ªI¡¯m not sure. How¡¯s he doing?¡± Her gaze shifted to Dylan, concern shadowing her features.


    Nathan propped Dylan up, guiding the poison cleanse potion to his lips. ¡°Alive, for now.¡±


    Meekan peered around Nathan at Dylan, biting her lip. ¡°What else can I do to help?¡±


    ¡°Grab the container from Le¡¯pard and get it to the hospital¡ªfast,¡± Nathan instructed.


    ¡°How¡¯s that supposed to help Dylan?¡± Meekan tilted her head, frowning.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t. There¡¯s a hand in there that needs to be reattached to an officer at the hospital. I don¡¯t know what happened, but we need to hurry.¡± Nathan held up six green status gummies.


    Meekan snatched the box and sprinted toward the hospital.


    ¡°Dylan, can you hear me?¡± Nathan¡¯s voice was steady but urgent.


    Dylan let out a weak grunt.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have time to do this one at a time,¡± Nathan said.


    Dylan gave another low grunt.


    ¡°Sorry, but this is about to be the worst ten minutes of your life.¡± He shoved all six green status gummies into Dylan¡¯s mouth.


    Nathan readied the bucket and adjusted Dylan¡¯s chair upright. Dylan chewed, swallowed¡ªand, as promised, endured the worst ten minutes of his life. Just when he thought there was nothing left, another wave of nausea hit him hard.


    After the ten terrible minutes, Nathan wiped Dylan¡¯s mouth and chin with a damp cloth before taking the bucket. ¡°Thank the Mother we didn¡¯t use the last healing potion.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Dylan muttered, the words barely escaping before exhaustion claimed him.

 Chapter 39 - Laughter, Jail, and Judgement Day

    (Dylan)


    Eight hours later¡­


    Dylan woke to a dull ache in his arm, Meekan¡¯s slumbering form making it numb. She slept soundly on top of it, her hand clasped around his. She¡¯d pulled up a chair beside him and dozed off facing him. With her brown fox eyes closed and her fluffy ears tucked neatly against her head, she almost looked human. Her hair, once styled for last night¡¯s dinner, now hung loose in messy strands.


    Someone had adjusted his chair while he slept, leaving him in a semi-reclined position. Curious if there was any lasting physical damage but not wanting to wake Meekan, he kept his arm still. Instead, he flexed his toes cautiously. A wave of relief washed over him as sensation spread through his stiff muscles. His ankles cracked softly as he rolled them, testing his mobility. ¡®That¡¯s a good sign,¡¯ he thought.


    All three had fallen asleep with the infirmary lights still on. Dylan lay back in his reclining chair, Meekan curled beside him, while Nathan sat slumped in a nearby seat, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.


    Another ache pulsed through Dylan¡¯s gut, a lingering reminder of the previous night¡¯s ordeal. He prodded his belly, meeting a soft resistance that sent small ripples of discomfort through him. Aside from some lingering tenderness, everything seemed in order.


    ¡°You¡¯re awake,¡± Meekan said, still perched on his arm, her fox eyes blinking up at him.


    ¡°I¡¯m awake.¡± Dylan forced himself to break eye contact, a hint of warmth stirring in his chest. It was way too early to get lost in those brown eyes.


    Meekan let go of his hand to sit up straight, stretching her arms high above her head. A loud yawn, followed by cute squeaks, accompanied the arching of her back as she roused herself awake.


    Nathan stirred awake. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± He rolled his stiff neck; a side effect from using his own shoulder as a pillow. Dylan noticed his eyes were blue again¡ªa welcome change to seeing his other, darker colors.


    ¡°Surprisingly, I feel fine. Just a little tender inside.¡± Dylan kept poking at his stomach.


    ¡°Are you hungry?¡± Meekan asked, her ears twitching upright.


    ¡°Pretty sure I¡¯m starving for real this time.¡± Right on cue, his stomach let out a loud gurgle.


    Meekan padded over to the counter, returning with a square object wrapped in kraft paper. ¡°Charles left you something to eat,¡± she said, handing it over.


    Dylan pinched the bridge of his nose and hung his head. ¡°Are there any other options?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Nathan and Meekan said in unison.


    Dylan rolled his eyes, halfway to a pout, before his stomach betrayed him with a loud growl. With a heavy sigh, he took the wrapped loaf from Meekan. He couldn¡¯t fault Charles for the gesture¡ªhe was lucky to have anything to eat at all¡ªbut that didn¡¯t make it any easier to choke down the flak.


    Dylan tore off a small piece of the bluish-gray flak, grimacing as he bit down. The texture was rough, like stale cardboard, and the salty tang clung to his tongue, making him shudder. Unfortunately, it was the only food they knew was safe for him to eat.


    He forced down another bite, shivering as the taste lingered. ¡°So¡­ at what rank do I get to survive on eating glyphs or whatever?¡±


    Nathan furrowed his brow, concern etched across his face. ¡°Dylan, you can¡¯t even digest normal food.¡± He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I even have to say this, but please don¡¯t go around swallowing expensive magical items.¡± His voice firmed. ¡°It¡¯s wasteful¡ªand, more importantly, a choking hazard.¡±


    Meekan pressed her hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking as she tried to stifle a laugh.


    Nathan crossed his arms, giving her a pointed look. ¡°Dylan almost died because he tried to eat food his body couldn¡¯t process.¡±


    ¡°I know, I know.¡± Meekan chuckled, trying to control herself. ¡°I¡¯m just picturing him running around, shoving gems and glyphs into his mouth while you chase after him.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not funny,¡± Nathan said, fighting a smile.


    ¡°Wait¡ª¡± Dylan swallowed hard. ¡°Are you saying I have to keep eating?¡± He forced down another bite of flak, grimacing. ¡°Forever?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Nathan nodded, chuckling. ¡°That¡¯s how eating works.¡± He broke into laughter at the sheer absurdity of the conversation.


    ¡°But¡­¡± Dylan stared down at the flak, then looked up, tilting his head. ¡°Why are you laughing?¡± Meekan and Nathan were in hysterics, tears streaming down their cheeks from uncontrollable laughter.


    Dylan¡¯s belly convulsed as the chuckles snuck up on him. ¡°Why am I laughing?¡± He struggled to hold it back, failing miserably.


    He¡¯d almost died, barely surviving a catastrophic death loop that might¡¯ve burned through his remaining resets¡ªwhatever that meant. And now? He was eating the saddest sandwich, talking about stuffing magic objects into his mouth, and questioning if he¡¯d ever be able to stop eating. Perspective was funny like that.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Dylan set the flak aside¡ªeating and laughing didn¡¯t mix. Meekan pointed at him, a snort escaping before she could stop it. Her eyes went wide with embarrassment as she clapped a hand over her mouth, still giggling uncontrollably. Doubled over, Nathan stomped his foot, wheezing between chortles.


    ¡°Don¡¯t eat it!¡± Meekan howled, clutching her sides as laughter overtook her.


    Le¡¯pard, looking fresh and rested in a clean set of clothes, strolled into the doorway. He glanced at the three laughing loons and arched a brow. ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡±


    All three turned to look at him, then immediately dissolved into more laughter, too breathless to explain even if they wanted to.


    Le¡¯pard already knew the answer¡ªhe¡¯d been there. A slow grin spread across his face as he watched them make fools of themselves, and before long, the chuckles caught up with him too.


    When the laughter finally subsided, Le¡¯pard grinned. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re feeling better. Just wanted to check in on you.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Dylan said, managing a small smile.


    Le¡¯pard gave Nathan a nod before heading down the hall toward the dining room, still chuckling to himself.


    With half of his uneaten flak lying in his lap, Dylan thought of his friend. ¡°Where¡¯s Charles?¡±


    Nathan wiped the last traces of laughter from his eye. ¡°He said something about getting arrested.¡±


    ¡°Arrested?¡± Dylan shot upright. ¡°What do you mean? How? When?¡± He jumped to his feet, flak at the ready.


    Meekan rested a hand on Dylan¡¯s arm, gently steadying him. ¡°We don¡¯t know what happened.¡±


    ¡°Do we know where he is now?¡± Dylan tore off a sizeable chunk of flak, chewing it with grim determination.


    Nathan stood and began gathering the empty vials scattered around the room. ¡°He said to meet him at the constabulary once you were feeling better.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s in jail?¡± Dylan turned to Meekan, eyes wide. ¡°We¡¯ve got to get there before something bad happens.¡±


    The vials clinked softly as Nathan packed them into a bag. ¡°Charles should be fine¡ª¡±


    Dylan shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s not him I¡¯m worried about. He¡¯s like John Wick¡ªonly with magic.¡± The thought of an angry, forced-out-of-retirement Charles made him shudder.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine now. Let¡¯s get to the constabulary¡ªor station, or whatever it¡¯s called.¡± He shoved the last of the flak into his mouth, ignoring the horrid taste.


    Nathan tossed a crumpled cloth into a laundry bin. ¡°First, you¡¯ve got to change your shirt.¡±


    Dylan glanced down at the crusty stains and grimaced. ¡°Ugh¡­ gross.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Nathan sighed. ¡°And I wish you¡¯d let me get you some new pants.¡± He eyed Dylan¡¯s stained, bloodied mess of pants.


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± Meekan gave his pants a quick glance and wrinkled her nose. ¡°They¡¯re really starting to smell.¡±


    Dylan hung his head, eyes shut, as the blow landed. ¡®Great¡ªnow I¡¯m officially old and stinky,¡¯ he thought. With a heavy sigh, he stepped into the hallway and froze, glancing left, then right, unsure which way to go.


    ¡°You¡¯re lost, aren¡¯t you?¡± Meekan said with a knowing smirk.


    Dylan kept glancing back and forth. ¡°Yep.¡± He could only hope the answer hit him before he became the old, stinky, helpless guy.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got him,¡± Nathan said, straightening the seat. ¡°He¡¯s my responsibility.¡±


    She reached up and gave Nathan a quick hug. ¡°Right, but he¡¯s my friend, too.¡± Then she stepped over to Dylan, and he realized they were the same height¡ªif you didn¡¯t count her ears.


    She wrapped him in a tight hug, leaning in to whisper, ¡°Everything will get better, I promise.¡± Then she pulled away, pinching her nose. ¡°Maybe consider a shower¡­¡± Her apologetic smile softened the jab. ¡°I¡¯m sure Charles would appreciate it.¡±


    Dylan hung his head, defeated. Yep. Stinky. Again.


    ¡°Mind cleaning up while we¡ª?¡±


    Meekan shooed them off with a playful flick of her hand. ¡°Go on. I¡¯ve got this. Even Runemist won¡¯t know we were here.¡±


    Nathan led them back to the dorms along a different route. Outside, the sun was warm and rising¡ªit was still morning. They arrived without incident.


    Dylan opted for a quick shower¡ªno way was he letting the pretty fox-woman call him stinky a third time. To his relief, the showers were just like the ones on Earth, complete with bars of soap, which he used on both his hair and body.


    His reflection in the mirror caught him off guard¡ªa lightly bearded Dylan stared back. Shaving, unlike exercising, was one of the few habits he still kept. But it had been nearly a week since his last shave. After checking both profiles, he decided the beard was growing on him, and he¡¯d keep it.


    On their way to the Dartmouth Constabulary, Dylan noticed that most people walked to get around, reserving mounts and vehicles¡ªmagical or mundane¡ªfor hauling. It took them nearly an hour to reach their destination, right next to City Hall.


    After a stretch of quiet, Dylan turned to Nathan. ¡°The League of Adventurers runs the hospital, right?¡±


    Nathan gave a small nod. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Do they handle the police, too?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Nathan said, shaking his head. ¡°The League handles municipal services¡ªmedical, fire, rescue, and issuing League cards. But they stay out of making or enforcing local laws.¡±


    They turned down another street lined with imposing buildings, like the League of Adventurers¡¯ Hall. ¡°So, your cops are just unpowered locals?¡±


    ¡°Mundane,¡± Nathan corrected. ¡°That¡¯s what we call normal people without magic abilities.¡±


    ¡°Okay, but what happens if someone like Charles breaks the law?¡±


    ¡°If the locals need help, they can issue a request through the Contract System. Charles turned himself in before they had to issue one for him.¡±


    ¡°Will that¡­ help him?¡±


    ¡°Usually, the courts let the League handle their own.¡±


    ¡°But Charles isn¡¯t a licensed adventurer anymore¡ªhe¡¯s retired. So¡­ what happens to him now?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    They climbed the steps into the Dartmouth Constabulary. They weren¡¯t allowing Charles any visitors, but the judge had postponed his hearing until Nathan had arrived.


    An attendant escorted Dylan and Nathan to their seats in the courtroom, which reminded Dylan of his time on jury duty. Polished wood furniture gleamed under soft lighting, filling the air with the scent of aged wood and polish. Wood railings and paneling lined the walls, while plush carpeting dampened echoes and white marble adorned the ceiling.


    The biggest difference between Mother of Dragons and Earth courtrooms was the judge¡¯s bench. Here, it sat level with them instead of looming overhead.


    The attendant returned a minute later with an extra chair, placing it beside Dylan¡¯s. Shortly after, Charles arrived, flanked by two uniformed draconi. They guided him to his seat and took their places nearby in the gallery.


    Dylan noticed Charles wasn¡¯t wearing handcuffs¡ªor any other restraints, for that matter.


    The rugged elf leaned over and said, ¡°Glad to see you¡¯re still alive.¡±


    The entrance opened, and a petite gnome entered the room. Her shoulder-length, wavy silver hair was flipped to one side. She wore a bold ensemble in pink, black, and purple¡ªstraight trousers, a tucked-in low-cut shirt, a buttoned vest, and a sharp, lapelled jacket. The vibrant colors drew as much attention as her confident stride.


    ¡®Another gnome?¡¯ Dylan wondered.

 Chapter 40 - Murder, Mayhem, and Mounts: The People vs. Charles

    (Dylan)


    At first, Dylan thought the uniformed men were Charles¡¯ defense attorneys. Or maybe attack attorneys? He wasn¡¯t really sure how courts worked on Earth, let alone here on Mother of Dragons. The gnomish woman walked past them and took her seat at the judge¡¯s bench.


    As soon as the Judge sat down, Dylan shot to his feet. He didn¡¯t know if standing was the right move, but he was pretty sure that¡¯s what people did back on Earth. The last thing he wanted was to mess things up for Charles over some dumb etiquette mistake.


    Still settling into her seat, the Judge paused at the sudden movement from the chubby man. She raised an eyebrow. ¡°Yes?¡±


    Dylan looked between Charles and Nathan¡ªthey seemed just as confused as he was. Panic surged, and before he could stop himself, Auto-manners kicked in. ¡°Your Majesty.¡± He bowed. ¡®Why am I bowing? Why isn¡¯t anyone else standing?¡¯


    Her eyes narrowed at him, and she leaned slightly forward. ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°I mean, your Highness.¡± Dylan winced, dipping even lower, as if doubling down on his mistake might somehow fix it.


    The corners of her mouth twitched with amusement. ¡°You may take your seat.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Dylan dropped into his seat and leaned forward, wracking his brain for the right title. ¡°Your Honor¡­?¡±


    Nathan leaned in close, his voice a low hiss. ¡°Please, stop talking.¡±


    The judge took a deep breath, leveling a finger at the rugged elf. ¡°Listen, Charles, I don¡¯t know what game you¡¯re playing, but I don¡¯t care how charming your friend is¡ªI¡¯ve no intention of going easy on you. We¡¯re still processing the paperwork from yesterday¡¯s double-murder.


    ¡°And as for you.¡± Her gaze pinned Dylan in place. ¡°I¡¯m not a queen or a monarch¡ªjust a civil servant. Judge Urvana will do.¡±


    Dylan slumped into his chair, his face burning with embarrassment. ¡°Sorry, Judge Urvana.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to be trouble, aren¡¯t you?¡± Urvana shot Dylan a look and shook her head. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s get started.¡±


    Dylan couldn¡¯t stop himself. ¡°Don¡¯t we have to wait for the lawyers?¡±


    His hand shot up to cover his mouth. ¡®Goddamnit, Dylan.¡¯ He bit his lip hard. ¡°Sorry,¡± he mumbled through his fingers.


    Urvana shot him a withering look before shifting her attention to Charles. ¡°You¡¯re facing the following charges, listed in chronological order.¡± She picked up her tablet and began reading aloud.


    ¡°Reckless driving on a mount¡ªmultiple counts. The final count is still pending.¡± She shot him a sharp look. ¡°You jumped over pedestrians instead of going around them?¡±


    Charles gave a solemn nod, his expression unreadable. With a sigh, Urvana returned to her tablet.


    ¡°Fleeing an officer. Upon seeing you¡ªquite literally¡ªbounding down the road, the officer ordered you to stop. You did not comply.¡± She scrolled to the next offense.


    ¡°Resisting arrest. The officer gave chase and caught up to you in front of the hospital. They attempted to detain you, but once again, you did not comply.¡±


    Urvana paused, staring at the tablet for a long moment. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she set it down with a soft thud. ¡°Assaulting an officer. Your mount bit off the officer¡¯s hand, Charles!¡± She pinched the bridge of her nose. ¡°Fortunately, the menders reattached it. He¡¯s expected to make a full recovery.¡± Her voice was a mix of annoyance and disbelief.


    Charles gave a small, curt nod at each charge, his jaw tightening with each one. He remained silent¡ªthere was no need to speak. His face stayed impassive, but a flicker of regret darkened his eyes when Urvana mentioned the officer¡¯s hand.


    She sighed and picked up the tablet with one hand. ¡°Fleeing the scene of a crime.¡± She held up one finger. ¡°First count: failure to turn yourself in and self-report the incident.¡±


    ¡°Parking in a no-parking zone.¡± Urvana arched a brow at Charles. ¡°You summoned a vehicle right in front of the hospital¡¯s loading zone?¡± She glanced down at her report. ¡°And it¡¯s still parked there?¡±


    Dylan¡¯s stomach twisted as the charges piled up, each one landing like a punch to his gut¡ªespecially the bit about illegal parking. Charles had told him there wasn¡¯t parking that close to the League of Adventurers¡¯ Hall.


    ¡®This is all because of me,¡¯ Dylan thought as he slouched lower in his seat, guilt weighing heavily on him. He glanced at Charles, wondering how he could stay so calm despite the ever-growing list of offenses.


    ¡°Fleeing the scene of a crime.¡± She held up two fingers. ¡°Second count: failure to turn yourself in.¡± She looked up from the tablet for a moment. ¡°You could¡¯ve at least moved the vehicle¡­¡± she muttered.


    ¡°Reckless endangerment on a mount.¡± Urvana stopped and ran a hand through her hair, gathering her composure. After a steadying breath, she asked, ¡°Why did you ride your mount inside the hospital?¡±


    Charles opened his mouth to speak, but the Judge silenced him with a raised hand. ¡°That was rhetorical. We¡¯ll go over everything once I finish this laundry list of charges.¡± She took a breath. ¡°Improperly stabling a mount¡­¡± She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°An office without a door is not a proper place to stable your mount¡­¡± She sighed but continued. ¡°Petty larceny: you stole a glass jar filled with medical supplies.¡± A single laugh escaped her. ¡°They¡¯re free, you know that, right? You could¡¯ve just asked.¡± She shook her head and kept reading.


    ¡°Damage to hospital property: blocking an office with medical cabinets so your mount couldn¡¯t escape. I can¡¯t wait to hear that explanation.¡± Urvana scrolled down her tablet. ¡°Fleeing the scene of a crime.¡± She held up three fingers. ¡°Third count¡ªand you still hadn¡¯t turned yourself in.¡±


    She had to scroll twice more to get past the list of items Vera had destroyed. ¡°Negligence of a mount: you left a theropod¡ªof all things¡ªsitting in the middle of the hospital. Without food or water.¡±


    Nathan sat stiffly beside Dylan, arms crossed over his chest. He mostly maintained a composed fa?ade. It was his eyes that betrayed him¡ªblack with the glimmer of frustration. His lips twitched, caught between a sigh and a grimace.


    Urvana set the tablet down and fixed her gaze on Charles. ¡°How do you plead?¡±


    Charles and Nathan both stood, but Nathan spoke first. ¡°Judge Urvana, you can remove the petty larceny charge. I gave explicit instructions for Charles to retrieve the medical supplies on my behalf.¡±


    Urvana gave him an approving nod and picked up her tablet, tapping the screen as she updated the case. ¡°Charge withdrawn. Now, how do you plead?¡±


    Nathan gave a small nod and eased back into his seat, arms folded once more across his chest.


    Charles drew a breath. ¡°Gu¡ª¡±


    Dylan shot to his feet, his chair screeching as it skidded back and crashed into the half-wall behind them. He winced at the sound and flashed a weak smile. ¡°Sorry¡­¡±


    Then it hit him¡ªwhat he was supposed to say. ¡°Objection!¡± he blurted.


    Charles, Nathan, and Urvana stared at him in a mix of bewilderment and disbelief.


    Dylan had their attention. And since no one had stopped him yet, he pressed on. ¡°Technically, since Charles was just following Nathan¡¯s instructions to get the medical supplies, none of these charges should be his fault.¡± He smiled to himself, thinking he was clever.


    Urvana raised an eyebrow. ¡°So, you think I should charge Nathan instead?¡± She motioned toward the mender.


    Alarmed, Nathan¡¯s head snapped from Dylan to the Judge. ¡°Wait, what?¡±


    ¡°No! No, no, no!¡± Dylan shook his head, waving his hands wildly. ¡°Nathan only did it to keep me alive. I was going to die, and¡ª¡±


    Urvana cut him off, shifting in her seat. ¡°So, you want me to charge you instead?¡± Her confusion mirrored Dylan¡¯s perfectly.


    Dylan opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, struggling to find a way out. At last, he looked up at the Judge. ¡°Can I get a mulligan?¡±


    Urvana tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. ¡°A what?¡±


    ¡°A do-over. Can I get a do-over? I¡¯d like to withdraw my objection.¡± Dylan dropped into his seat. ¡°That is my final answer.¡± He clamped his mouth shut, determined not to say another word.


    Urvana closed her eyes, chuckling softly to herself. ¡°I¡¯ll give you points for being cute and entertaining, but you need to stop talking, or we¡¯ll never get through this.¡±


    Dylan nodded, eyes locked on the desk in front of him, desperately avoiding Nathan and Charles¡¯ incredulous stares.


    Urvana folded her hands neatly. ¡°Now, the only person I want to hear speak next is Charles.¡±


    ¡°Guilty on all charges,¡± Charles said, promptly taking his seat. A fresh wound split open above his right eyebrow¡ªa lingering effect of the Dance with Death debuff. Green blood trickled down his temple before he retrieved a needle and pricked his finger. The wound closed, and he pulled out a handkerchief, wiping away the mess.


    ¡°Charles, why are you bleeding in my courtroom?¡± Urvana¡¯s voice brimmed with exasperation.


    Charles folded the cloth with care and tucked it into his pocket. ¡°My apologies. It¡¯s a lingering condition from yesterday¡¯s fight.¡±


    Urvana leaned forward, resting her elbows on the bench. ¡°The same fight where you killed two licensed adventurers?¡±


    Dylan furrowed his brow. ¡°Wait, the double-murder was yours?¡± He turned to the rugged elf beside him. Charles gave a single solemn nod.


    Dylan blinked. ¡®Charles killed two people?!¡¯ he thought. ¡®Well, technically, he¡¯s killed me three times.¡¯ His brow furrowed deeper. ¡®Yeah, that checks out. Not sure why I¡¯m surprised. We¡¯ll have to work on this whole murderhobo phase he¡¯s going through.¡¯


    Noticing everyone staring at him again, Dylan shook his head and waved a dismissive hand. ¡°Sorry. Never mind.¡±


    ¡°So,¡± Urvana said, ¡°since we have no dispute about what happened, please explain why it happened.¡± She settled back, reaching behind the bench to grab a pitcher of water and a mug.


    This didn¡¯t line up with Dylan¡¯s limited understanding of the American legal system. As far as he knew, the law only cared about the what¡ªthe why didn¡¯t really matter, except for proving motive. And even then, that only mattered before conviction, not after.


    Charles explained Dylan¡¯s dire situation and the plan to save him. He recounted Nathan¡¯s instructions¡ªget to the hospital, retrieve the medical supplies, and return as quickly as possible. He came up with a plan to ride his mount to the hospital and teleport back with one of his magic abilities.


    Charles had ridden Vera countless times, having helped raise and train her from a chick. To him, it wasn¡¯t reckless¡ªhe knew her exact capabilities as a mount. Urvana frowned but conceded, technically, there wasn¡¯t a law against jumping over people. She removed the charge from his record.


    Charles agreed the officer was just doing his job by investigating a potentially dangerous situation, but there hadn¡¯t been time to stop and explain. The chase, the fight, and the officer¡¯s brief maiming were unfortunate consequences.


    ¡°Saving one life doesn¡¯t excuse endangering others,¡± Urvana warned. ¡°Those charges will stay on your record.¡± She poured herself another glass of water, the first already gone.


    Urvana asked about the vehicle next. Charles explained that he knew there would be consequences and he wouldn¡¯t have access to his storage ability after turning himself in. So, he summoned his treehouse and grabbed as much flak as he could carry¡ªit was the only food Dylan could safely eat.


    She pressed him to explain. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you dismiss it afterward?¡±


    Reluctant to give details about his abilities, the rugged elf said, ¡®It has a daily cooldown, and I might¡¯ve needed something else.¡¯ He offered no further explanation.


    The Judge agreed that was a logical approach, but still violated the law. The charge would stay on his record, though she promised to be lenient.


    Charles commanded everyone¡¯s attention as he explained why he had to ride Vera through the hospital. Leaving her alone was too dangerous¡ªsomeone else might temporarily lose the use of a hand. So, he kept Vera close. As they moved through the hallways, staff, patients, and visitors gave them a wide berth.


    Reluctantly, Charles explained Vera would become a threat the moment he left her alone to teleport back with the medicine. He filled the sink with water, barricaded the exits, and asked Nathan to send a recovery team as soon as possible. He would have gone back for Vera, but he turned himself in as soon as Dylan had the medicine.


    Urvana sat back in silence, drumming her fingers lightly on the bench as she mulled over her thoughts.


    ¡°Filling the sink was quick thinking¡ªand an oversight in our investigation. Since you turned yourself in before causing more trouble, I¡¯ll remove the negligence charge. The rest, including reckless endangerment, stays.¡± She tapped on her stone tablet.


    Urvana glanced at the trio. ¡°I hesitate to ask, but if anyone has anything to add, raise your hand.¡±

 Chapter 41 - Monster Eulogies and Tailored Apologies

    (Dylan)


    Surprisingly, Nathan was the only one to raise a hand. Urvana seemed relieved that Dylan¡¯s hands stayed firmly on the desk.


    ¡°Yes?¡± Urvana turned her full attention to the physician.


    ¡°Charles went to great lengths to escort, care for, and protect Dylan. He clothed, fed, and sheltered him, eventually getting him registered with the League. Without Charles, Dylan wouldn¡¯t have his refugee status. I picked up Dylan¡¯s contract myself and appreciate everything Charles has done for him.¡±


    ¡°Yesterday, someone attacked Dylan, gravely injuring him, and Charles went out to make sure it wouldn¡¯t happen again. Later that night, Dylan was on the brink of death without a specific medical intervention, and only Charles could retrieve it in time.


    ¡°He did exactly as I asked: get to my office, retrieve the medicine, and return as fast as possible. If Charles had been even a couple of minutes slower, Dylan wouldn¡¯t be here.


    ¡°Another mender exhausted themselves keeping Dylan alive while we waited, and we burned through several potions in the process.¡±


    Urvana narrowed her eyes at Nathan. ¡°So, we¡¯re back to you two being the instigators of all this?¡± She pointed between him and Dylan.


    ¡°How long has Dylan been in your care?¡± Her voice was sharp.


    ¡°Since yesterday,¡± Nathan said.


    ¡°In one day, this poor man nearly died¡ªtwice?¡± Urvana¡¯s eyebrows shot up, her disbelief plain.


    Nathan winced, his eyes closing as he nodded.


    Urvana turned her gaze toward Dylan, her frustration mounting. ¡°Why are you wearing soiled clothes?¡±


    Dylan flinched, knowing this was his fault. ¡°These are all I have. I was¡ª¡± Urvana raised a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. He shrank back, his face reddening as he glanced nervously at Nathan.


    ¡°No other clothes to his name?¡± She glared at Nathan. His black eyes shimmered with disappointment, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.


    ¡°I have the report on his attempted murder from Charles¡­¡± Urvana shook her head, exhaling sharply, as if finding her own words unbelievable. ¡°I¡¯m already regretting this next question, but¡­ what did you need Charles¡¯ urgent, lifesaving intervention for?¡±


    Nathan¡¯s gaze dropped as he rubbed the back of his neck. He bit his lip, clearly struggling. ¡°Food poisoning¡­¡±


    ¡°Food poisoning?¡± Urvana repeated slowly, her voice thick with disbelief. ¡°Food poisoning is an intimate night with the restroom. It shouldn¡¯t require multiple menders, half a dozen broken laws, and a small fortune in potions.¡±


    Dylan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His heart sank as he watched Charles¡¯ trial evolve into something more.


    ¡°This is the first refugee contract I¡¯ve come across here in Dartmouth, but I¡¯m familiar with the general requirements,¡± Urvana continued. ¡°And you¡¯ve admitted that this man¡¯s basic needs aren¡¯t being met. You have until the end of today to feed, clothe, shelter, and ensure his physical security.¡±


    Urvana raised a finger, pinning Nathan with a stern look. ¡°And you do not want to find out what happens if we reach the ¡®or else¡¯ part.¡± She sounded angrier with Nathan than she¡¯d been with Charles.


    ¡°Yes, of course, Judge Urvana.¡±


    Urvana brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, frustration simmering beneath the surface. ¡°Charles, I¡¯m going to take the next hour to calm down, confer with the League of Adventurers, and decide on your sentencing. We¡¯ll resume when I return.¡± The gnomish judge stepped down from the bench, her steps quick and purposeful as she marched out of the room.


    The door clicked shut behind her, and Dylan let out a long, shaky breath, the tension in his chest easing. He turned to Charles, his voice hesitant. ¡°So¡­ did you really kill two people?¡±


    Charles shrugged, his expression unreadable. ¡°They attacked you in the middle of a crowded market, putting your life¡ªand everyone else¡¯s¡ªat risk. They wouldn¡¯t have stopped until you were dead, and it was within my power to make sure they never hurt you or anyone else again.¡±


    ¡°Were they the ones from the road?¡± Dylan asked.


    Charles nodded.


    The mention of the road jogged Dylan¡¯s memory, and he suddenly recalled the treehouse¡ªand how he¡¯d burned it down. His stomach twisted in guilt as he shifted in his seat again. He took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯m really sorry that I burned down all your stuff. And¡­  sorry I didn¡¯t apologize earlier at dinner.¡±


    Charles crossed his arms and gave Dylan a sidelong glance. ¡°I warned you about the candle. And don¡¯t worry¡ªeverything¡¯s fine.¡±


    Dylan furrowed his brow. ¡°But¡­ I thought your treehouse went up in flames?¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Charles gave a quick nod. ¡°It did. But it¡¯s a storage ability¡ªit protects everything inside. You couldn¡¯t break anything in storage unless you actually got into the storage room, which is why I keep it locked. So, all my things are fine.¡±


    Finally, some good news. Dylan grinned. ¡°Wait, so you still have clothes I can buy?¡±


    Charles sat up, his expression barely shifting, though a slight furrow creased his brow. ¡°You want to buy my clothes?¡±


    ¡°When you¡¯ve had the best, you don¡¯t want the rest.¡± Dylan paused, blinking as the unintended slogan hit him. ¡°Someone should write that down. It¡¯s catchy.¡±


    Charles gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. ¡°As long as I¡¯ve got access to my treehouse, I can set you up with some clothes.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Dylan said with a nod. ¡°Because I¡¯m pretty sure Urvana said I need a wardrobe by tonight¡ªor Nathan¡¯s going to jail.¡±


    Dylan glanced over at Nathan, who hadn¡¯t spoken a word since Urvana tore into him. ¡°You know none of this was your fault, right?¡±


    Nathan blinked, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes still black with the weight of Urvana¡¯s words. But Dylan¡¯s insistence cracked the wall of self-hate he¡¯d built. ¡°No, Judge Urvana¡¯s right. This is all my fault. I¡¯ve failed¡ª¡±


    ¡°Wrong.¡± Dylan refused to let Nathan blame himself for things that weren¡¯t in his control¡ªa bad habit he knew all too well.


    The prismatic elf stared at Dylan, his black eyes flickering with uncertainty. He didn¡¯t agree aloud, but the tension in his posture softened¡ªjust a little.


    Dylan rested a hand on Nathan¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You kept me alive¡ªtwice, by my count. I¡¯m not sure anyone else could¡¯ve pulled that off in your shoes.¡± He leaned in, his voice low. ¡°You gave me control over my own choices.¡± Agency was a powerful thing.


    He turned to Charles with a smile. ¡°And now I¡¯m going to have the best threads League credits can buy, and¡­¡± Dylan paused, the weight of his words settling over him. ¡°I finally feel safe.¡±


    ¡°Safe?¡± Charles and Nathan said in unison, their voices a mix of disbelief and curiosity.


    Dylan nodded, staring straight ahead. ¡°I¡¯m on a dangerous planet with magic, people, creatures, plants¡ªand apparently food¡ªall trying to kill me. Life¡¯s never gone easy on me and that¡¯s probably not going to change. But I¡¯ve got friends. Really good friends.¡±


    Charles tilted his head, a slight furrow forming on his brow. ¡°Friends?¡± he echoed, as if trying the word on for size.


    ¡°Charles.¡± Dylan turned to him. ¡°You killed two people to protect me and are probably going to prison for it. And Nathan¡±¡ªhe shifted to face him directly¡ª¡°you saved me from dying twice and never once made fun of me for pooping in your office.¡±


    Charles leaned in slightly. ¡°You did what in his office?¡±


    Dylan waved off the question. ¡°That¡¯s not important. My point is, back on Earth, I had trouble finding anyone to write me a letter of recommendation. Sure, the dragon and wolf people here still scare the shit out of me, but I feel seen¡ªlike I matter¡­¡± His voice softened as he paused, realizing he didn¡¯t have the words to express just how much that meant to him.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a healer and one really scary tailor looking out for me. So yeah.¡± Dylan nodded. ¡°I feel safe.¡±


    ¡°You and I are¡­¡± Charles pointed to himself, then to Dylan, his movements slow and deliberate. ¡°Friends?¡±


    Dylan gave Charles a concerned look. ¡°Who hurt you?¡±


    Charles¡¯ gaze drifted as he considered Dylan¡¯s question. For a moment, Dylan thought the rugged elf might unburden himself, sharing a glimpse of his past. But as the seconds stretched on, Charles shook his head, brushing the thoughts away.


    Nathan¡¯s eyes returned to their usual placid blue, though a trace of weariness lingered beneath. ¡°That¡¯s kind of you, Dylan, but Judge Urvana is still right. We need to get you settled by the end of the day.¡±


    The three of them, along with the two uniformed officers, waited in silence for Urvana¡¯s return.


    Two hours later¡­


    The doors finally opened, and Judge Urvana strolled in. Without a word or even a glance, she passed them and took her seat at the bench. Clearing her throat, she said, ¡°You¡¯ve all given me a lot to consider. I¡¯ve also spoken with the League of Adventurers¡¯ representative.¡±


    Urvana leaned forward, straightening her lapelled jacket. ¡°During our recess, I had the pleasure of entertaining two guildmasters. Before today, I¡¯d never even seen a guildmaster.¡± Her eyes narrowed as she studied each of them, ensuring they felt her dissatisfaction.


    Unable to help himself, Dylan asked, ¡°What¡¯s that mean?¡±


    Nathan rubbed his forehead while Charles¡¯ jaw tightened. Leaning toward Dylan, the prismatic elf whispered, ¡°Please stop talking¡­¡±


    Urvana picked up her tablet. ¡°It means I have a headache. Three headaches, to be precise. But first, let¡¯s move on to sentencing. Charles, I¡¯ve spoken with the injured officer, and they¡¯ve requested a formal apology. I want it in person, and it better be sincere.¡±


    That didn¡¯t sound too bad to Dylan. Charles gave a stoic nod, and Dylan was pretty sure he¡¯d have reacted the same way if they¡¯d sentenced him to a lifetime of hard labor.


    ¡°I also agree with the officer¡ªif you truly had control over your mount, this wouldn¡¯t have happened. So, I¡¯ve decided to honor his request to have your mount euthanized. You¡¯ll have time to say your goodbyes after we conclude this case.¡±


    Charles¡¯ knuckles whitened as he gripped the table, his eyes losing focus as Urvana¡¯s words sank in. The tension in his body became palpable¡ªuntil he couldn¡¯t hold it in any longer. He shot to his feet, his chair slamming into the half-wall, harder than Dylan¡¯s. The officers scrambled to react, too slow to stop him if he¡¯d meant harm. Urvana raised a hand, halting them and giving Charles the chance to speak.


    ¡°Please.¡± Charles¡¯ lip quivered. ¡°Don¡¯t¡­¡± His voice caught in his throat. ¡°Don¡¯t punish Vera for my actions.¡± His iron grip made the wood groan beneath his fingers. His voice dropped to a whisper. ¡°Please don¡¯t kill her.¡± Tears slipped down his cheeks, catching everyone off guard.


    Charles sniffled, his pleading eyes locked on the Judge. ¡°Isn¡¯t there any other way? I¡¯ll take anything.¡± He blinked away the tears, but they kept coming. His lip trembled as he begged for Vera¡¯s life.


    Urvana¡¯s gaze remained cold, unyielding. ¡°It concerns me, Charles, that you shed tears for an animal. Where are the tears for the lives you took yesterday?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not her fault. She¡¯s just an animal¡ªshe doesn¡¯t know any better.¡± Charles released the table, clenching his fists as he leaned on his knuckles. ¡°But monsters know better¡­ and they still choose to harm.¡± His eyes locked on Urvana. ¡°You don¡¯t cry for monsters¡ªyou kill them.¡±


    Dylan blinked and shot a sidelong glance at Nathan, whose jaw hung open. ¡®Jesus Christ, Charles is hardcore,¡¯ Dylan thought, his mind spinning. This was the same guy who¡¯d killed him three times without hesitation¡ªnow begging for his pet¡¯s life. Charles had more depth than he let on.


    ¡°You don¡¯t see the irony here? You knew better, yet you still chose to harm them. Does that really make you any better than a monster?¡± Urvana asked coldly.


    Charles didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°I can live with what I¡¯ve done¡ªand I don¡¯t expect anyone to cry when I¡¯m gone.¡±


    Dylan stared, unblinking, ¡®What the fuck, dude?¡¯


    Nathan also stared at Charles, his yellow eyes wide with disbelief. Urvana sighed, rubbing her temples as though the entire day rested there.