ã€ŠThe Spider Dilemma [A Fantasy Progression LitRPG] BOOK 3 ONGOING!ã€‹


 Chapter 1: Death May Die

    You know your day is gonna be shitty when, first thing in the morning, you die.

    It wasn¡¯t even a fast death. She hadn¡¯t been given that mercy. Instead, her time in the mortal plane had been painstakingly prolonged for the last four months, the doctors filling her with medicines, attempting every therapy, stretching her thinner and thinner. And now, today, while waking up, she felt herself snap.

    She knew, with the certainty of the dying, that today was her last day.

    She relaxed in the hospital bed. Nobody was there to keep her company: the doctor was taking care of some other patient, probably knowing the same thing she had just realized; the nurses were gone too, again, probably, for the same reason. Her parents were home: not because they didn¡¯t care about her, no, they had just been told to leave and rest a while. They had promised to come back soon. Maybe they¡¯d even manage to keep the promise.

    She looked out of her window, where a stretch of blue sky greeted her, together with the very top of a naked tree. It was autumn. A mild one, as they came. They kept getting milder, summer reaching outside its domain, bringing warmth in a season where clouds, rain and fog should have ruled.

    Yet, there was the sun. Shining brightly on her face.

    She mumbled something unintelligible as she lifted her arm to cover her face, and her mind registered the tugging of the IV tube and electrodes connected to her. Unpleasant, but she had grown used to it.

    That was more or less when she stretched the last bit and, finally, oh so finally, broke, the seams giving up, her body looking around at the world and deciding it had had enough, that it wanted a relatively permanent vacation.

    But, as always, it wasn¡¯t a fast process. It started, quite simply, with a little cough. It didn¡¯t even hurt.

    A nurse came in, hearing her. She checked her parameters on the screens, noticing the oxygen was a bit low but not even being alarmed, because that was the norm for her. Nobody would blame the woman for what came next, because nothing could have stopped it.

    The nurse brought her breakfast, some biscuits and tea. She half expected the tasteless things to be stale. They weren¡¯t. Then she took out a little treat, giving her a conspiratorial smile, and handed her a few squares of chocolate. She did it sometimes. She shouldn¡¯t, but nobody saw her, and the patients never complained.

    After that, she just sat and waited. She tried to read, but the coughing made it impossible soon enough.

    The doctor came, then called his colleagues. Then came her parents. Her mother was crying. Her father just stared into the room, arm around her shoulder, trying, and failing, to comfort her. Then the mask covered her face, oxygen being forcibly pushed into her lungs. Followed soon enough by a tube feeding air directly in her. Of course she wasn¡¯t quite awake by then. She wasn¡¯t there anymore.

    She was¡­ somewhere. Inside her mind, maybe. Quite awake, thinking fast.

    She remembered how, one time, she had read that in the moments before death, the mind accelerated, slowing down the world around you, letting you think about anything and everything. It was that moment that books and movies liked to call ¡°seeing your life flashing before your eyes¡±.

    She walked the corridors of her mind and looked around, seeing her past and feeling the present. She distinctly felt the tube going down her throat, the air slowly entering her airways. She heard the slowed voices of the doctors, her mother crying.

    And she felt, in real time, the beeping of her heart on the monitor. It was so fast!

    Somewhere, in the distance of her mind, a little lightbulb turned off, obscuring a part of her brain forever. Then another. And another. Faster. As fast as the beeping of her heart.

    Until it, too, stopped. And all the lightbulbs exploded, her mind going dark.

    Of course, they didn¡¯t give up.

    They used the defibrillator, and it managed to turn back on a few lights here and there. For a moment. Then all was dark again.

    It¡¯s useless, she wanted to say. But she couldn¡¯t.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    The fast beeping of her heart stopped and became one, long note again.

    And that was that.

    It was really dark.

    Let¡¯s hope Buddhists were right, she thought in her last moments: I want another chance. One without disease, without the medicines. Just me and life.

    Dark.

    Then a little light.

    A small, white, box.

    And, within, a few words.

    [Disease Immunity] Obtained!

    [Poison Immunity] Obtained!

    ¡°...Huh?¡±

    [Respawning as¡­]

    Error¡­

    Error¡­

    Unable to respawn as [Human]...

    Looking for acceptable [Species]...

    Searching¡­

    Searching¡­

    [Species] found!

    Lucky.

    The rectangle of light disappeared.

    It was dark again.

    And then¡­ there was a suffused light. And she could feel her body again. She felt constricted, folded in on herself. She also felt cumbersome. She still felt the phantom sensation of the bed under her back, firm and comfortable, even if now she felt like she was floating in something¡­ warm.

    Is this what the afterlife feels like?

    She tried to move an arm, and felt it was weak. She also felt it was touching something: a smooth surface. A wet, smooth surface.

    She tried to push with both her arms. The surface gave in slightly. So she kept going, pushing harder with all the strength her unused muscles could muster, feeling the rest of her body pushing as well.

    A crack formed on the smooth surface. She immediately moved her hands there, trying to pry the crack further, Then she bent even further, pushing with her¡­ legs¡­ that felt like a lot of legs right there! Like, more than the two she was used to. Her brain was disconcerted. Another part of her, a new part, told her to SHUT THE FUCK UP AND KEEP PUSHING! And she did.

    The fissure on the surface grew in size, bigger and bigger.

    More light streamed in from it, blinding her. Her eyes felt so sensitive, as if they had never been used.

    Then, finally, with one last push, it broke.

    She tumbled out of her prison, head over heels, rolling like a little ball. She felt¡­ grass, and something soft and silky on her body.

    Then she stopped. Or rather, was stopped. By something. A lot of somethings, long and thin.

    She looked up, and saw eight little legs keeping something big, black, and furry up. It rather looked like one of those strange tables you could find if you looked too deep in an Ikea catalog. Or on Amazon. Unable to control herself, she giggled at the thought.

    The eight table legs (another giggle) moved.

    And now she was staring at a big, blue, stretch of sky, contoured by verdant oaks and birches. A bird, small and colorful, reminiscent of a sparrow, flew in that span of sky, before disappearing. It was all beautiful, in that simple way that only nature could be.

    But she wasn¡¯t quite looking at that. Oh, no, she was looking at the woman staring right down at her. Her hair was a fiery red, tied in a very long ponytail that reached down to her midriff. Her eyes were a simple, kind, brown. And her smile was warm, filled with joy. The pale skin at the corners of her mouth was a bit wrinkled, as if trying to make sure the woman always kept smiling.

    She was wearing a white shirt that reached down to, again, her midriff. Where, normally, her legs should be. Only, there were no two legs there, but a spider¡¯s body. Black, furry, eight legged.

    ¡°Jorogumo¡± was the first thing that came to her mind. The japanese spider demon (she liked anime).

    The other, new, voice in her mind corrected her: Arachne.

    The ¡°arachne¡± woman on top of her smiled and shouted: "Got a lively one here!"

    Then she looked at her and, chuckling, reached down and closed the newborn¡¯s mouth: "Don¡¯t want your first meal to be a fly now, do you?"

    That was more or less the moment when her brain noped out of it and she fainted.

    [Respawn Completed Successfully]!

 Chapter 2: Grandmother

    Her name was¡­

    It doesn¡¯t matter anymore! said the little voice in her head.

    ¡­Right. Well, anyways, she was dreaming. There was no other way to put it. She was certain of it. Like, come on! How could any of this be real? The trees all around her were so green that they redefined the concept of the color green. If she put her arm under the sun, she could feel summer¡¯s heat not so gently touching her skin. And she was quite sure it was autumn when she¡¯d¡­ fallen asleep!

    Oh oh! And if that wasn¡¯t enough, there was the part where the lower half of her body was that of a giant spider!!!

    Would you shut up?

    Again, that little voice. Yep, she was definitely dreaming. She was actually in her hospital bed, half dead, having the upgraded version of a fever dream! Give her a few minutes, or hours, and she would wake up, her parents by her side, the doctors saying that it had been a close call but that now all was well. Maybe they¡¯d say she was starting to get better, that they¡¯d found a cure and she would soon be going back home. Yes, that¡¯s exactly what was going to happen!

    Again, would you shut up? And stop spouting nonsense.

    She tried to shut the voice out of her mind. Had she known how, she would¡¯ve crossed her legs and started meditating. Problem was, in this dream she had eight legs, which made the action a bit more complicated.

    She tried anyway, just for the sake of it.

    Blah blah blah! Don¡¯t you dare shut me up you little thief! This is not a dream and you¡¯re not supposed to be here.

    Well, at least she and the voice in her head (which, she now noticed, had a distinctly different pitch to hers) agreed on that last part.

    Yeah, right, see, you¡¯re not stupid, now, please, would you leave and give me back what you stole!?

    Would you shut up!

    Finally, she had enough, and screamed back at the voice.

    Unfortunately, she didn¡¯t pay attention, and did that not only in her head, but with her mouth as well.

    Fortunately, the only thing that came out of her mouth was a little high pitched screech that sounded a bit combative. A nearby arachne heard that, looked at her, and cooed:

    ¡°Ooohhhh, look at her! She¡¯s got the spirit!¡±

    Then went to tell the other women about it with a big smile on her face.

    Well, now, that was underwhelming. Deep down, she felt the slightest bit offended.

    Finally, her majesty the thief of bodies acknowledges me!

    What the hell do you mean by that?

    She thought back. Of all the things she had expected to be doing in a fever dream, talking to a voice in her head that accused her of having stolen a body was¡­ well, it wasn¡¯t actually at the bottom of the list. At the very bottom was ¡®having a tea party with her math teacher while amiably playing chess with Cersei Lannister¡¯.

    Yes, that was actually in her list. Yes, she had a lot of free time in the hospital, how did you guess?

    The more I dig into your memories, the stranger it gets. Who the hell is this Cersei Lann¡­ oh, nevermind, found the information. Jeez, that¡¯s some twisted shit you¡¯ve got here.

    ¡­ Wait a moment!

    Are you looking into my memories?

    Duh, of course I am. You¡¯ve stolen my body, this is the bare minimum.

    I didn¡¯t steal your body! If it wasn¡¯t clear enough, I was in a hospital up until a few minutes ago. No, scratch that, I¡¯m still there. I haven¡¯t left my bed in months. How, for the love of god, do you think I managed to walk away, go to some cemetery, dig up a body, and steal it? No, even better, why? Actually, wait a moment, why am I even arguing with a voice in my head? None of this is real.

    Who ever said you stole a dead body? You stole a live one. This one. My body. And please, stop saying this isn¡¯t real. It is.

    Our nameless protagonist was about to come up with some witty comeback that would prove none of this was real, but was stopped in her tracks by a ripping sound, followed by the sound of something rolling, followed by the sensation of something hitting her spider half at what felt like terminal velocity, and taking her down. Cherry on top, the thing kept giggling the whole time.

    What do they say where you come from? Oh, right, STRIKE!

    She fell to the ground face first, the legs of her spider half curling up around her body protectively. Which nearly caused her to start rolling herself.

    She immediately turned around and stood on shaky legs. They weren¡¯t strong enough to carry her whole weight yet. She looked down at the giggling thing that had hit her and, of course, it was another arachne. This one had short black hair, her big eyes, which were staring at her, of the same color. It was like staring into the void, while the void stared back, only without all the existential horror that should have caused. She looked down and saw that her spider half was also black. The kind of black that on earth could only be imagined while staring for long enough at a shade of blue. Was it stygian blue? Something like that.

    Then she noticed another detail. Something that hadn¡¯t crossed her mind until that moment. The little arachne was naked. And covered in slime. That wasn¡¯t the problem. Or rather, it was. For her. Because, she realized, if the little girl, who had just come out of an egg, was naked, then she, as well, was naked.

    The realization hit her hard. She felt her face burn as she covered herself with her hands, her spider legs wrapping around her lower body again, as if trying to cover something of which location she was not sure.

    The little arachne girl¡¯s eyes seemed, impossibly, to widen even more, as she observed her first case of ¡®tomatification¡¯, and seemed so satisfied she started to laugh. Which was more akin to an insect¡¯s chittering.

    Feels pretty real to me.

    Said the voice in her head. And oh, the amount of smugness in her tone.

    Before another mind-discussion could begin, an adult arachne walked over (Let¡¯s call it walking for the sake of my fraying sanity) and noticed the two.

    "Already making friends?"

    She was the same arachne who had stopped her a few minutes ago. The smile was still there. If anything, it was wider. Happier.

    Then she glanced down at the girl covering herself, and an eyebrow shot up in amusement and, if that was possible, questioningly.

    "You a shy one, eh?"

    <hr>

    She didn¡¯t know how long she stayed there, looking around as more little arachne broke out of their eggs, rolling out and, usually, being stopped by the adults before they hit something. Or someone.

    The Smiling Woman, as she had decided to call her, was always there, examining the little ones, playing with them, and gossiping with the few other women that passed by sometimes. Her energy seemed endless.

    And, all the while, our nameless protagonist kept walking around, looking at the world around her. For a fever dream, she thought, this was very detailed. She had realized that what she believed were oaks and birches were not, in fact, those trees. Not all of them. The leaves weren¡¯t right, being far too large and segmented. And that¡¯s without taking into consideration the bark¡¯s color: in some places it was a bright, almost artificial, red, while in others it changed to dark blue and even black.

    The impression it gave her was that a bored kid had just decided to paint all those trees every color of the rainbow and then some.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    All the while, her new friend kept following her around, looking as much at the forest around her as the chestnut haired girl in front of her, those black eyes peering a hole in her skull. She looked curious, almost amazed at all the things around her. Which was fair, considering everything was new to her, a newborn.

    Ah, I had missed these sights.

    The moment would have been perfect, wasn¡¯t it for the little voice in her head.

    Yeah, yeah, it really looks good and all. Let me guess, now you¡¯re gonna tell me I should appreciate the sight and all that, right?

    She answered back.

    You said it yourself. It¡¯s not every day you can look at the world as if it was new to you.

    You talk as if this wasn¡¯t for you.

    It shouldn¡¯t, but since you had to take my place in my body things went wrong and now I can still remember things about¡­ before. Details, forms, random images. All in all, it makes this place look familiar and old. And that sensation isn¡¯t helped by the oceanic amount of cynicism and excuses about this not being real in here.

    Because this isn¡­

    Stop saying it¡¯s not real. You feel the ground under your feet, you¡¯re seeing and touching those trees and their leaves, and that girl is creeping you out with her staring. Which, by the way, is a natural thing. You should be doing that too, instead of walking around with legs that are not yet ready to completely sustain your weight.

    And, as if on cue, her legs gave out under her. She didn¡¯t feel tired, she just felt like they were incapable of moving anymore. Immediately, the girl following her sat down beside her and kept looking, reaching out a hand to touch her very short hair, while she went for her spider half with the other.

    She felt like recoiling, but the sensation of the hand on her spider half wasn¡¯t that unpleasant. Tentatively, she moved her hand towards the other girl¡¯s spider half, and touched. It felt, well, silky. The layer of black hairs covering her wasn¡¯t unlike a cat¡¯s fur, if a bit more stingy.

    See, not so difficult. Let your instincts take over and feel like a child.

    She recoiled as the thought struck her.

    The other girl physically drooped a bit as she saw her reaction, her eyes sad.

    Out of guilt at seeing her like that, she went back to caressing her, and immediately she brightened up and went to hug her. She bristled, but didn¡¯t have the heart to push her away.

    That¡¯s how the Smiling Woman found them.

    "Oh, look at you two!!! Already soulmates, and you¡¯ve just hatched! This is a sign!"

    She laughed in delight and went to hug them both, somehow managing to lift the both of them. For how small she looked, the arachne was incredibly strong.

    She put them down, then nodded.

    "Well, I wish I could leave you be like this, but it¡¯s time. You and the other little ones are gonna meet our boss around here!"

    She chuckled and turned around, taking them both by the hands, leading them somewhere.

    "Don¡¯t worry. She¡¯s a bit grumpy, and old, and she can be scary, but she¡¯s good. Most of the time. When it¡¯s not a Grasei. That¡¯s a day of the week by the way. She seems to dislike that day in particular. But today is not that day so that¡¯s not gonna be a problem. Oh, and she¡¯s gonna do the most important thing of all: she¡¯s going to give you a name!"

    If she had had any doubt about the Smiling Woman¡¯s endless amount of energy, she no longer had any. In the five minutes it took them to reach a clearing where they stopped she never shut up once.

    I¡¯ve yet to hear her take a single breath. Does she have some kinda Skill? [Expanded Lungs]?

    ...What?

    Oh, right, Skills, Levels, Classes, it¡¯s all new to¡­

    The voice in her head stopped dead in her tracks. Which¡­ was understandable.

    The dark clearing they were in was, well, white. Spider silk covered every single tree and most of the ground, creating something that felt like a moquette under her feet.

    When she looked up she understood why the place was so dark: over her head, stretching from one end of the clearing to the other, was a giant web blocking the sunlight.

    But that wasn¡¯t what had stopped both her and the voice in her head. No, that was the giant of a woman calmly, no, coldly, looking their way from the very center of the open space.

    She, like all the things around her, was white. As in, her hair, the fur on her spider half, and her very skin, were snow white.

    All the hatchlings¡¯ mouths were hanging open. The giggling that had followed them while walking here had stopped completely, the clearing falling in a reverential silence as even the trees stopped moving in the slight wind.

    The giant spider woman looked from left to right at all the little arachne, her gaze reminiscent of that of a general examining their troops before a grand battle. Then, she sighed.

    "Are you already talking their ears off Makira?"

    The Smiling Woman, Makira, smiled widely and shrugged.

    "I¡¯m preparing the little ones, Grandma. They¡¯re usually scared when they first meet you, so I tried to reassure them that you¡¯re not some kind of evil spirit."

    The white arachne, who was, it seemed, Makira¡¯s grandma, crinkled one side of her mouth up, then went back to being serious, as if that was too much effort.

    "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Give their poor ears some peace and make them walk closer. My eyes are good, but I want to See them, not just look at them."

    For some reason she felt like the ¡®see¡¯ there had a capital S. How did she know that? She wasn¡¯t sure. It was¡­ an instinct inside her. That new part of her that sometimes took the form of that little voice.

    Makira nodded and motioned for the kids to move forwards, smile still on her face. The other women who had followed the little procession just sighed, exasperated.

    The old arachne watched with keen eyes the newborn, her face emotionless.

    When they stopped a few meters away she nodded.

    "I am Grandmother. I have a name, but it¡¯s old, and it never fit me anyways. I won¡¯t make the same mistake with you. Now, without further ado."

    ¡­Wait, so Grandma was her actual name? Well, it certainly fit, all things considered.

    The white arachne bent down, the human part of her body forming a ninety degree angle with her spider half. Her hair fell down around her face, so long they nearly touched the ground. So long, in fact, that they covered the spiderling she had bent down over, creating the world¡¯s strangest privacy curtain. She stayed in that position for all of one minute, then lifted her head with a nod and went down the line. The girl she left behind had her mouth hanging open in¡­ she didn¡¯t know. Fear? Awe? Surprise?

    Grandmother continued on, her face as uncaring as before. And, as she got closer to her, she started hearing something: whispering.

    Until, finally, she got to her. She saw the hair falling to cover her, the world becoming a white void where the only other forms of color were the chestnut of her hair and her spider half¡¯s fur and the off white color of the old woman¡¯s face. She looked up, and saw that her pupils, too, were white. She seriously started to wonder if someone had somehow bleached her completely.

    Grandmother, on the other hand, looked her up and down. Then her eyes stopped for a moment and stared at something right by her side.

    She looked down¡­ and saw her little friend that seemed to be darkness personified (spider-ified? Arachne-ified?). She hadn¡¯t noticed how she hadn¡¯t let go of her hand up until now. She also hadn¡¯t noticed her slight trembling. Was she scared?

    Grandmother looked at her, lowering her head further, the hair now touching the ground, and stared her right in the eyes.

    "Little one, it is not your turn yet. Let go of your friend and leave us alone. Nothing will happen to her or you. I promise."

    Her voice was soft and kind, a complete contrast to the way she had spoken up until now, even though the emotion didn¡¯t reach her eyes. But that wasn¡¯t something arachne kids noticed. On the other hand, our protagonist wasn¡¯t a kid. She was young, sure, but her time spent in the hospital had taught her all there was to know about reading a person¡¯s true feelings. She saw it most when the doctors came in saying that the latest therapy hadn¡¯t worked, and then lied saying it wasn¡¯t a problem, that there were still many chances. She had come to hate those lies and, at some point, even the doctors. Then she had understood it wasn¡¯t their fault, or rather, that they were doing everything in their power and then some.

    So, she saw how the kindness in Grandmother¡¯s voice didn¡¯t reach her eyes. Truly, they were¡­ empty. Still, those words were enough to, if not calm, at least convince her friend to let go of her and walk out of the hair curtain.

    Then Grandma swept her gaze back towards her. She murmured something inaudible, and her pupils shrunk to literal pinpoints. Then, in a whisper, she spoke.

    "Ah, now that¡¯s interesting."

    A shiver went down her spine.

    The arachne stared at her, craning her neck, looking from every angle.

    "Indeed. Unexpected. There are two souls inside you. One old, one new. Has Death decided to increase our numbers further? Or was it something else?"

    A pause, as her face came closer.

    "Hmmm¡­. determination, and denial. Intelligence, and chains to the past. Knowledge, and the wisdom to use it right. Yes, you¡¯re quite the package. You have potential."

    She stared, those eyes looking deeper and deeper¡­ where? If she didn¡¯t know better, she¡¯d say she was looking at her soul. But that was impossible, right?

    For once, the little voice in her head didn¡¯t answer back.

    "If¡­ if. Maybe. But first, you¡¯ll have to learn to be one, not two. For that, I name you Issekina, little ones."

    The moment the words left Grandmother¡¯s lips, they left an impact. They felt so right. The name, that simple, seemingly nonsensical word, filled her, made her feel complete.

    As she moved on, the voice in her head simply said:

    Wow, she¡¯s good.

    And that was it.

    That moment, when she felt the name filling her with certainty, with purpose, she had to accept it. This, all of this, was real. The forest, her spider half, the giant woman seemingly made of snow, the girl beside her who trembled as Grandmother lowered herself to See her, the voice in her head. That was real. It wasn¡¯t a dream.

    She had died, and the world had listened to her prayers, giving her a second chance. In another world. As an arachne.

    You know what they say: Don¡¯t look a gift pegasus in the mouth.

 Chapter 3: Goodnight

    Do spiders sleep? Now, that¡¯s one hell of a good question to ask in this situation.

    The answer? No, they do not. Mainly because spiders don¡¯t have eyelids. And we can all agree that, if they did, they¡¯d be much more terrifying than they already are.

    Now, luckily for Issekina, arachne didn¡¯t have such a problem since they were still half human.

    But that raises the question: how does an arachne sleep?

    The answer: in chaos.

    Have you ever had to share a room with a brother or sister? Yes? Well, in that case, imagine doing the same thing, but with a hundred siblings. And the room is actually a forest covered in spider silk from top to bottom. And the siblings have the ability to climb the walls and, sometimes, even the ceiling.

    After imagining this, do a little bit of introspection and realize that maybe your sibling isn¡¯t the worst person in the world to share a room with. Of course, they¡¯ll never have to know and you¡¯ll take that knowledge to the grave.

    Arachne, as Issekina found out, could and would sleep in any position imaginable. Some, the normal ones, would just find a comfortable spot on the ground and fall asleep in a bed of bushes with covers of spider silk (or actual covers, which she had no idea where they came from). Others would find it more comfortable to stay inside an impromptu hammock, which their Guardians would make for them on the spot. A few liked the idea of sleeping on branches and secured themselves with some of their own silk so as not to fall during the night.

    Finally, there were the ¡®beasts of Satan¡¯, as she had come to call them, who would hang upside down from a branch by curling their legs around it, and somehow neither fall nor tire.

    Issekina? Right now she was having a mental argument with her counterpart.

    No, no and then no! I am not doing that!

    Oh come on! You¡¯ve got to try it at least once! It¡¯s super comfortable! I distinctly recall loving it when I was alive.

    I am not hanging upside down from a branch to sleep! And what¡¯s comfortable about having all the blood flowing towards your head?

    Hey! That¡¯s a wonderful sensation! Really, you should try.

    I will not sleep upside down. I am already half a spider and have no interest in getting some bat qualities.

    That is extremely offensive! We¡¯re nothing like bats.

    Then don¡¯t make me sleep upside down like one of them.

    Fine! You party pooper.

    Issekina sighed and scuttled around, looking for somewhere nice to sleep. She looked at a group of bushes and, immediately, decided it would not be comfortable, even if it was covered in spider silk, which was surprisingly soft.

    That¡¯s when she heard a little screech coming from above. It was one among many: after all, none of the newborn arachne were capable of speaking yet. Still, this one in particular seemed to call to her. She looked up and there, hanging from a hammock, was her little friend spun of darkness.

    Hah, nice way to put it!

    For some reason, from the moment she had accepted all of this was real and felt the name settle in her, the Voice had become cheerful.

    She walked towards the tree trunk, and hesitated. She had seen her other sisters (only sisters, no brothers) just up and ascend these trees as if their spider legs had some kinda superglue at their end, but she was afraid she¡¯d fall and break her neck and die again.

    ...Well, you¡¯d have to fall from pretty high up. Us arachne are a little more hardy than humans. Or most other species, truth be told. Falling from a tree won¡¯t kill you.

    Oh, because that¡¯s so reassuring coming from you.

    Listen, this body is also mine for the time being, and I¡¯m pretty sure that, if you die, I die too, so trust me when I say you won¡¯t die from a simple fall. Now, stop whining and start climbing. At least you probably won¡¯t be like one of those normies sleeping on the ground.

    The word ¡®normie¡¯ coming from the Voice was so out of place it actually managed to get a chuckle out of her.

    She put one of her legs on the tree, then another. Then a third. And a fourth.

    Soon, she was hanging from the trunk, her human body parallel to the ground. She felt the strain in her legs, and already she was starting to feel like she needed to rest.

    She climbed upwards towards her friend.

    When she reached her the dark arachne hugged her and smiled excitedly. Issekina got the sensation that, had she been able to talk, her friend would have started chattering without end about what it had felt like, being Looked at, receiving her name.

    Issekina realized she wanted to know her friend¡¯s name.

    Then her mind froze for a second: when had she started to call that little girl friend? When had it started to feel so right?

    Seems like that chatterbox was right. You two are soulmates. Lucky us!

    Speak of the devil: Makira, the Smiling Woman, climbed the tree they were on and smiled at them. She didn¡¯t look tired at all.

    "There you are. I knew you¡¯d want to stay together. Give me a second Anda, I¡¯ll get Isse here a hammock in a moment!"

    And then she started producing spider silk out of her¡­

    Don¡¯t you dare say it¡¯s her butthole!

    The Voice was more like a scream.

    ... I wasn¡¯t!

    Yes you were! If you¡¯ve forgotten, I¡¯m in your head!

    Oh no! The thought police!

    She chuckled internally.

    Meanwhile Makira was making a hammock. She produced spider silk and weaved it together in criss-crossing patterns with a speed that would have let her win any cat¡¯s cradle game anywhere in the world.

    Finally, she hung the finished product on two trees and smiled.

    "There, done! Now you two can sleep near each other."

    That said, she skittered off to help another little arachne settle down.

    Issekina, or Isse for Makira (she actually preferred the nickname), walked onto the hammock and tested it gingerly. It gave a bit, but it was surprisingly solid. She shuffled around, then sat down.

    And it was the most comfortable thing she¡¯d ever slept in in her entire life.

    So you¡¯re a ¡®hanger¡¯. Well, better than being one of the ¡®grounded¡¯ at least.

    Are you actually serious or are you making fun of me?

    I¡¯m extremely serious. That¡¯s how arachne call each other.

    Why do you even do that?

    Because it¡¯s funny, and because it lets people who sleep up high feel superior.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ...You lot make no sense at all.

    You talk as if you humans make sense. Who would be sadistic enough to spend all of their youth in schools and studying, never getting enough sleep.

    Before they could start bantering again, her little friend hugged her.

    Instinctively Isse hugged Anda back.

    And then a voice sounded around the clearing.

    "Calm down little ones. Night has come. It¡¯s time to sleep."

    The voice came from an old looking arachne. Her skin was brownish, as if she¡¯d just come out of the sun after tanning for ten hours straight. Her hair was gray, with a few spots of¡­ blue? Yep, that was definitely blue, and it didn¡¯t look like she¡¯d colored it. Her eyes were a deep, dark, blue, too. Like the waters of the ocean during a sunny day, with an endless abyss of darkness awaiting.

    She looked at all the little arachne and smiled. The smile was kind and a bit resigned, even pained, as if she knew what came next. As if she¡¯d seen all this countless times.

    "Everyone found their spot?"

    She looked around as countless eyes stared at her, questioning how they could possibly sleep right now. They felt so energized!

    "Good. Then, let us begin. [Goodnight Story]."

    And she began to tell them their story.

    <hr>

    Once upon a time, millenia ago, during the Age of Legends, there was a [Hero]. His name¡­ was Houlan, and he was the greatest champion of the Gods. He was part of all the greatest wars, from the Crusade of Glass to the Wars of the Bridges.

    He served every rightful cause he could from the day he picked up a sword, at the age of eighteen. He was gifted, so much so that, by the time he had reached the age of twenty five, he was already a Level 34 [Righteous Swordsman].

    When he managed to reach Level 40, not five years later, the Gods chose him to be their messenger, to fight for them, to do their bidding. He accepted, becoming a [Chosen Swordsman of the Gods]. He served them all, but first among them was Richker, the God of War, who had followed him from the very first moment, guiding him and, sometimes, even helping him. For that was a time when the Gods could still touch our world without punishment.

    So the brave [Swordsman] fought for what he believed was right. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn¡¯t. We are not Judges. We have not the right to say if he was right or not.

    With all this, Houlan was still human. Still a mortal. Oh, he lived a long life, longer than most, considering what he did. But still, a mortal life. And, as all mortals do, one day, he died.

    He died, surrounded by the people he loved, by those he had helped, and by those he had served under. He died with a smile on his face, for he was happy, knowing he had done everything in his power.

    That day, the world cried and fell silent. Even the Gods.

    Until one of them made a fatal decision. The God of War was a general and a soldier at heart. He had seen every battle from the creation of the world. And he had seen few heroes like Houlan. So he decided to defy Death itself.

    He walked upon the Lands of the Dead, in the place where the souls of the good, the deserving, rested, awaiting reincarnation. He walked those places, and found Houlan¡¯s soul. He asked the [Hero] to keep serving him and the other Gods, to go back and keep being the legend he had been.

    Houlan, the poor fool, accepted. He had always been a loyal servant of theirs.

    So it was that the Gods, together, worked a grand ritual and, defying Death, brought the man back in his body, rejuvenating it, giving him all the time he could ever desire and then more.

    They brought a soul back from the Land of the Dead.

    And actions like that, have consequences.

    Death was furious, for the Gods had gone against the one Law that had ever persisted since the creation of All: None Shall Come Back from Her Rest.

    So it was that Death met the Gods, and asked them to unmake what they had done. She came in kindness, first, reminding them of their Vows.

    Yet the Gods laughed at that, uncaring, for they were Gods, and that was but one soul out of the many who had always respected the Law.

    This angered Death even more. So he promised that they¡¯d regret what they had done, that they would remember the days to come, and never again break its one Law.

    The nature of gods is Creation. The nature of Death is Endings. The second of the Oldest Laws stated: One Shall Not Make the Other¡¯s Workings.

    But one Law had been broken. So another must too, for Balance was the most important thing of all.

    So, for the first time since the Age of Beginnings, Death Created.

    She Created Arachne.

    Monsters sewn together from the darkest nightmares and the souls of those condemned to the Nothingness. Hunters, made to be unstoppable, capable of harnessing the greatest of Magics: Soul Magic. The Magic of the World itself.

    We walked into the world one night. And started our Age of Hunts.

    The humans panicked and feared, for where we walked nothing was left behind but silk and Death. They sent their [Heroes], and we beat them all.

    The Gods sent him, Houlan, and we tore him apart, first in body, then in soul, that the Gods may never again try to bring him back. That the Gods may know this was their fault.

    They sent their own [Hunters]. Armed with faith and knowledge from the Gods themselves, they could cut our thread and our Magics. They tried to end us, end the ¡®Plague of Silk¡¯ as we were called. They failed. But we were stymied.

    Today, we live and hunt in the dark, not as powerful as the day we were born, but still there. A reminder to the Gods of their great Sin. A reminder that Laws are not meant to be broken, for that causes only chaos.

    Our Hunt is still on. It is just a matter of finding the right moment to strike.

    <hr>

    As goodnight stories went, this one was the worst she¡¯d ever heard.

    Granted, she¡¯d grown up with her father creating stories for her each night. Issekina smiled at the memory: since she¡¯d been five years old, her dad had walked in her room each night and, even when things weren¡¯t the best, even when something was wrong, smiling, asked her what she wanted the story to be about. The stories always had her as a protagonist and two other things of her choice.

    And he always began the stories this way: ¡°This is a story about ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö, a ball and a garden.¡±

    Or something like that. Other kids grew up with stories like Little Red Riding Hood or Cinderella or things like that. Meanwhile she had always had a new story with her as the protagonist.

    Still, even though this goodnight story was, well, more like a badnight story meant to give you nightmares, she still felt sleepy.

    While the old arachne told the tale, she could see her sisters slowly start to nod away into the land of dreams.

    She tried to resist, because it felt unnatural, but the voice was soothing. Anda had snuggled down in her hammock, an arm still around her waist, her head on a silk pillow, snoozing silently.

    By the time the old woman finished her tale, an expression of melancholy in her eyes, Issekina closed her eyes and drifted away.

    And the forest was silent.

    <hr>

    Have you ever had a lucid dream? It¡¯s one of those dreams where you know you¡¯re dreaming and can change the way everything looks, bending ¡®reality¡¯ to your will.

    Issekina, personally, had never had the pleasure. Until now.

    She opened her eyes.

    And stared at a flying castle.

    Her brain, or part of it, took its sweet time to register what was happening and understand it. Then her mouth opened wide.

    Meanwhile, in the real world, her sleeping self opened her mouth and started munching on some hair¡­ because.

    She stared at the giant flying castle with a great oak tree sprouting up towards the lightless ¡®sky¡¯, roots hanging down from the earth under the palace.

    The place looked pristine, with archways of white stone all around the walls, making it look like the Coliseum. Painted windows overlooked the outside with scenes from her past life, both sad and happy. It made her feel nostalgic.

    "This place doesn¡¯t look half bad."

    Said a voice right beside her. No, not a voice, the Voice.

    She turned¡­ and saw another arachne. She was an adult, her light green hair cut short in what she presumed was a bobby cut. Her heterochromic eyes, one red, the other green, were staring down at her. She was smirking.

    "You¡¯re the Voice."

    Issekina said helpfully.

    "And you¡¯re the thief."

    She answered back.

    "And please, stop calling me Voice. I have a name and it¡¯s Issekina."

    "...Yeah, I know, but that¡¯s my name too, and it would make things quite weird if I were to call you that."

    The Voice chuckled, her head moving while her hair stayed in place, as if they weren¡¯t part of her.

    "Ha! No, dear, that¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong: Issekina is my name. You, on the other hand, have none. Because this body isn¡¯t yours. So you can go pick a name for yourself. Or ask Grandma for another one. I don¡¯t care, so long as you give me back my body."

    At that, Isse stopped and stared at the Voice¡¯s body. And felt angry.

    "Go fuck yourself."

    The Voice opened her mouth as if to interject, then stopped, registering what had just been said. Then she laughed.

    "Oh, you¡¯ve got balls, I¡¯ve gotta give you that. Who do you think you are, little human, to take my place? Look at yourself! You cannot even accept your new nature. In your mind you still see yourself as a human. You won¡¯t survive in this world as you are. You¡¯ll be torn apart."

    The Voice smirked.

    "And I¡¯m all for seeing that."

    She turned away from her and skittered towards the palace.

    "¡¯Till that day, I¡¯ll be waiting here. And when you¡¯ll have enough, I¡¯ll be there to take my place and put an end to this farce."

    She started laughing.

    <hr>

    And then she woke up, new words resounding in her head:

    [Condition: Hostile Halved Soul]

 Chapter 4: Poison? Tasty!

    Imagine, if you will, waking up from a dream. Imagine opening your eyes and jolting upwards with the energy only fear can give you. Imagine looking around in the darkness and taking a deep breath, as you realize that it was all a dream.

    Then imagine remembering, stretching out your hand towards your legs, and touching instead the soft-but-coarse fur of a spider. Imagine feeling the unfamiliar and yet so familiar weight of another person wrapped around you and breathing lightly in their sleep. Then imagine realizing that all you remember is real and that dream, likely, was more than just a dream.

    This is what happened to Issekina as she woke from the terrible nightmare of a grand castle inhabited by an arachne of old. As her mind echoed those words:

    [Condition: Hostile Halved Soul]

    The words distinctly felt red, if that made sense. Because how could a word feel like a color?

    For that matter, what the hell did that mean?

    It means we¡¯re not friends, little one.

    Helpfully answered the Voice.

    It means that I¡¯ll help you, because I have to, since this is my body. But at the first occasion, I will take back what is mine.

    What a beautiful thing to wake up to, don¡¯t you agree?

    Issekina sighed. She¡¯d been alive for not even a day, and already there were problems. And big ones, if she decided to trust the Voice.

    She looked down at her little fuzzball of a friend, and caressed her hair, combing them a bit. The little girl answered by snuggling just a tiny bit more. Trapping Isse in the hammock. Now, wouldn¡¯t it be funny if nature decided this was the moment to call? It surely would have, and for that reason it did. Isse realized in that moment she felt full, and wondered just how the hell an arachne went to the toilet.

    When she asked herself that question, a sound started playing all around the clearing.

    It was sweet and gentle, like a mother¡¯s caress on a child¡¯s head. Like honey in a hot cup of milk. It was that, and then it was refreshing, energizing, like the sight of mildew on grass as you breath the fresh morning air.

    It sounded like a harp.

    And it came from all around her, as if there were hundreds of players all around them playing the same song with perfect synchronicity.

    Isse looked around, her eyes widening in wonder, as she felt a different energy fill her body and take the place of her fear.

    All around her the little arachne started to wake up, batting their eyes, getting used to the suffused light of the clearing.

    Anda untangled herself from Isse and looked around in amazement, just as uncertain and surprised as everyone else.

    I missed this.

    Said the Voice, her voice dripping with nostalgia. She could almost feel the smile on the arachne¡¯s face in her mind.

    What is this?

    This, girl, is a song. Written and executed by the ¡®Silken Choirs¡¯, the arachne¡¯s orchestra. Death gave us an understanding of soul magic, and the knowledge of harmony necessary to manipulate souls. From that was born our music.

    She could almost see it: spider people attacking entire human settlements, overpowering every [Guard] and [Soldier] there, not taking any prisoners, and all the while, in the backlines, their [Mages] disrupted the magic of their enemies, distorting the spells to their will, while [Musicians] played a song of endings and trapped the souls of their enemies in the strings of their instruments.

    The image sent a shiver down her spine. Problem: it wasn¡¯t caused completely by the revolt of seeing people being massacred. No, there was a kind of guilty pleasure there, a desire to become that powerful.

    Whatever you¡¯re doing, stop it!

    She told the Voice. To which, she heard a cackle.

    I¡¯m just showing what was. The emotions you¡¯ve felt, that¡¯s all ambition. It seems there¡¯s something worthy of an arachne in this head of yours.

    It¡¯s wrong.

    It¡¯s what we are. What you are. Accept it, it¡¯ll make everything easier.

    Why should I be a literal killing machine? Why can¡¯t I, like, be some cute girl and live a normal life? That¡¯s exactly what I asked for when I died.

    Tough luck then, little thief. You cannot be a ¡®cute girl¡¯, as you put it. Not among any other race in this world. They would try to kill you and most probably burn the body just to make sure you won¡¯t come back.

    She sighed internally as thoughts of Murphy¡¯s theory fucking her lives up flitted through her brain.

    And then Makira skittered in the field, smiling as wide as yesterday. No, even wider, if that was possible. Was it just her, or did the corner of her mouth actually reach her ear?

    "Good morning, little ones! It¡¯s time to wake up."

    Surprisingly, her voice wasn¡¯t loud, despite being energetic. It was enough to get the arachne to come down from the trees, but not to the point where one would jump in displeasure.

    "Today is your first actual day among us! That means we¡¯ll be doing a few examinations and checks, and then let you be for the rest of the day. It may be boring, but it won¡¯t take too much. But first, breakfast!"

    Now, they had eaten yesterday, do not fear. It¡¯s just that Isse had forgotten about it completely seeing how, like, she was now a spider. There were more pressing matters in her mind. That morning, she got a reminder of what that entailed.

    Now, you remember the description about how arachne slept? About how chaotic that was. Well, now imagine a large group of children capable of climbing trees, swing from them and, most important of all, with a rudimentary understanding of how to use their own spidersilk to make simple things like ropes, would fare when they had to wait for their food.

    The older arachne didn¡¯t even try to put some order in the chaos, only intervening when things got a bit too out of hand, like when one of the children somehow managed to make a noose with their spider silk and nearly hung another girl with it.

    Still, in the end, everyone had their breakfast, and miraculously without a single casualty being made in the process.

    What was on the menu? Why, naturally, meat.

    Someone clapped their hands twice, the sound reverberating louder than it normally should. It was, again, Makira.

    "[Listen Well]! Everyone got their food? All of you? Perfect! Now, don¡¯t start eating just yet! Hey, I see you, yes, you back there. Put that steak down."

    She pointed at an arachne in the back, who guiltily put her steak down on her plate.

    "Good, now, time for your first lesson. Us arachne are half spiders, which means we can get nutrition in two different ways. The first one is the simple, most direct one, which is just eating. Then there¡¯s the second, faster, way, which is sucking the nutrients out. Observe! First you cocoon the food source."

    And, as if it was nothing, she took a piece of random meat and covered it in spider silk, cocooning it.

    "Then you inject it using your fangs to start to slowly turn your food into a sloppy paste of nutrients you can then suck out for an on-the-run meal. Yes, I know, it sucks, pun intended, doesn¡¯t taste like much, but that¡¯s what you do when you need to get somewhere fast and can¡¯t afford to stop."

    There was a reason Isse had first called Makira the ¡°Smiling Woman¡±, that being she always seemed to smile. In that moment, she stopped abruptly, looking more serious than she had ever had¡­ in the twenty four hours she had known the woman. Which, admittedly, wasn¡¯t a lot of time, but she felt like it had been enough to understand part of the arachne.

    Now this I hadn¡¯t missed at all. The constant sensation of doom just lurking around every corner. Reminding you you¡¯re never safe. Only downside of being an arachne: everything hates you and wants to kill you. Except spiders.

    "Now, I want you all to try to do this, while I and the other [Carers] go around giving you another round of food, since the process of ¡®sloppification¡¯, as I personally dubbed it to the general dislike of all my sisters, takes a while to finish."

    Now, Isse made the mistake most arachne did when they first heard about this practice: she asked herself the question ¡°How bad could this possibly be?¡±

    To know the answer, she¡¯d have to wait approximately four hours. She clumsily cocooned the nice, good looking and extremely appetizing steak in her spider silk, then was stumped. Makira had talked about using her fangs. How did that work? Where were they hidden? And why had she talked about them as if there were more than two?

    Gods be damned, that¡¯s what you get when it¡¯s not a natural born arachne. You don¡¯t even have the instincts we have from birth!

    Well then, can you give me a hand?

    The Voice sighed, then she felt a distinct and surreal sensation of nodding¡­ inside her head.

    Well, at least I¡¯ll get to use one of my new Skills. [Would You Kindly] bare your fangs?

    Issekina felt a shiver go down her spine as a feeling of numbness overtook her mouth for a single moment, as if someone had placed an ice cube there out of the blue. Then she felt muscles and tendons move without her control in her face, contorting it, and suddenly her mouth felt fuller.

    There, that¡¯s how you do it. Remember the sensation, because that Skill is now on cooldown for who knows how long.

    She opened her mouth and passed her tongue over her teeth, feeling the presence of canines that, she hadn¡¯t noticed, weren¡¯t there a few moments ago. Then her tongue slid backwards and she finally noticed four other little bumps just hidden under the skin.

    She sank her teeth in the cocoon, and felt more hidden muscles in her mouth contract, feeling some kind of fluid trickle out of her teeth into the little sack.

    Good. In a few hours you¡¯ll understand just how bad it can possibly be.

    She lifted her face from the now slowly changing meal and looked at her friend Anda, who had her usual look of curiosity on her face as she stared at her own cocoon, seemingly willing it to do its magic faster.

    And she¡¯s going to be in for a nasty surprise as well. Poor thing.

    Isse decided not to ask any further questions. Mainly because one of the older arachne walked by her with a dozen plates (actual plates too. White ceramic, little trims on the borders. Did they produce those?) with a steaming steak and placed it in front of her and her soulmate.

    At that point all thoughts of strange meat sloppy and pessimistic spiders in her mind disappeared and she dug in. The meat was medium rare, done in such a way that it practically melted in her mouth. It wasn¡¯t particularly tasty, in that there were no spices on it, probably to account for the fact that newborn arachne would probably find that way too much for their senses. But to her it was just like eating a dish at a three Michelin stars restaurant and discovering the chefs had forgotten all the herbs existed. It was good, but it was missing something.

    And now you¡¯ve managed to ruin a perfectly good meal. Thank you.

    Not my fault I had some good food in my past life. Unlike you, probably.

    Arachne were meant to be fighters, not cooks. This is probably the best food you¡¯ll ever get someone to cook for you. It¡¯s not like we can easily obtain spices, or send one of our little ones to apprentice with a [Chef].

    But you have to admit the food I ate was way better than this.

    And you have to admit the food you¡¯re eating is way better than what you ate in that hospital.

    Touch¨¦.

    She dug in again. Sure, the meal wasn¡¯t the tastiest thing she¡¯d ever eaten, but it was also the best thing she¡¯d had since walking in that sterile room nearly a year prior. Her diet there was strictly controlled, all food checked to make sure it wouldn¡¯t upset her stomach and cause some adverse reactions. There¡¯d been a period when her disease had made it impossible for her to eat, meaning they¡¯d had to pump the nutrients directly inside her stomach. Luckily for her, that hadn¡¯t lasted long: the doctors had managed to cure that part of her malady. Unluckily, that hadn¡¯t been enough to stop her premature death.

    So she ate and appreciated the meal more than before. The Voice approved of the approach. Apparently it, no, she, felt what Isse felt.

    A strange peace fell upon the clearing as the little arachne ate and, finally, stopped moving around, playing, and roping each other.

    The [Carers] sighed at that and, chuckling, started talking to each other, reminiscing the times when they had been newborns, asking if they, too, were this fiendish, and laughing all the while as they reminded each other of the stupid things they¡¯d done in those times.

    The atmosphere gave Isse a strange feeling of familiarity. It made her feel warm inside, warmer than she¡¯d remembered being in her last year. Maybe this life wasn¡¯t so bad.

    And then there are moments like this one. The moments where you don¡¯t regret being born an arachne. Treasure them, little girl, for there won¡¯t be many.

    For once, Issekina didn¡¯t answer back. She just nodded and kept eating, the food somehow getting better with each bite.

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Apparently, when people said that company made all food taste better, they weren¡¯t lying.

    <hr>

    "Now, little ones, we¡¯re gonna¡­ hey, you, stop that right now! As I was saying, now we¡¯re going to¡­ no! Girl! Stop eating your sister¡¯s hair right this instant! You just had breakfast, gods be damned. What do they feed you now? Ok, so¡­ you right there! I already told you to stop!!! Ok, [Everyone, Calm Down]!"

    The small clearing came to a stop as the Skill touched every child and, apparently, even the small birds and other animals that were kept in little cages over the newborns¡¯ heads.

    "Well, and my sisters said that Skill was useless. Ha! Anyways, as I was trying to say before, today we¡¯re going to test how powerful your poison is. This isn¡¯t going to take a lot of time, and afterwards you¡¯ll be free to do whatever you want for the rest of the day."

    "Now, as you already know, you were all born with three sets of fangs. One is for the digestive fluids you use to make your¡­ fast food, as Makira sometimes calls it. But you¡¯ve probably felt you have two other sets. The second one, the one you have to use right now, lets you inject your poison. The third is for something else entirely and you won¡¯t be told to use it for a very long time. So, do not use it. [That¡¯s an Order]!"

    The second Skill washed over the children and immediately made their desire to use the third set of fangs fade. Or rather, it bottled it up somewhere in their heads, not to be opened for a very long time.

    Of course, that didn¡¯t stop a certain child with a sometimes helpful voice in her head to ask:

    What¡¯s the third set of fangs for?

    Oh, that¡¯s for mating. You inject a male of any species with it, and they¡¯ll be ready to go, and go for quite a while at that, even if they¡¯re shitting their soul out of their asshole. I think you can very well imagine what would happen if you used that on a child.

    Not for the first time since she¡¯d been born, Issekina regretted receiving an answer.

    That¡¯s just how it works girl. We do have to reproduce somehow, and there aren¡¯t exactly many people willing to go at it with an arachne¡­ Well, actually, I think I once met a freak who was into one of us. Had a [Fetishist] Class or something like that.

    Wait, there¡¯s a Class for that?

    Of course. There¡¯s a Class for everything. From [Loafer] to [Airbender] to something as esoteric as [Gorger of Tears and Stars].

    ...You just invented the last one.

    Yes, but there¡¯s a good chance something like that once existed. You got the point. So be careful what you do, you might well end up having a Class you don¡¯t like, and once you get one removing it is quite difficult.

    Noted.

    There was this strange ambivalence with the Voice. On one side, she acted like she hated the guts out of Isse and wanted her gone. Then there were the moments when she acted like a kind woman who wanted to help her. She really didn¡¯t know what to think of her.

    "Now, kids, each and every one of you take one glass and fill it up with your poison. We¡¯ll then see just how potent it is."

    And so they did. Every arachne took what reminded Isse of a shot glass and, some more, some less, carefully injected some poison in them. It felt quite satisfying, leaving a lovely feeling of emptiness in the girls.

    "Remember, little ones. Arachne never stop producing poison during their whole life. That means you¡¯ll have to regularly empty your glands if you don¡¯t want to, well, for lack of a better word, explode. Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s unlikely you will forget since it¡¯ll become painful."

    Said the woman who Isse had come to call ¡°The Teacher¡±. She reminded her of an elementary school teacher she¡¯d once had who somehow managed to keep a class of unruly and decidedly unwilling kids in check and make them study. And this one managed to do her job only thanks to her Skills. She shivered as she thought just what that old teacher could have done in this world.

    When every child was done, they waited in line in front of the Teacher, glasses in hand. Unsurprisingly, no one poison looked like the other: there were always some small variations in color.

    "Very well. Now, be patient for just a few minutes more. And please, don¡¯t do what I¡¯m about to do. I have the Skills to do it, you don¡¯t."

    That said, she took the first glass and watched the girl in front of her with calm eyes and a little smile. She observed the poison, which had a greenish hue, sniffed it like a sommelier, and drank the whole thing in one go, as if she were taking a shot of vodka and not what looked like highly lethal poison.

    She let the thing stay in her mouth for a moment longer, taking in the taste, and gulped it down. She didn¡¯t even bat an eyelid.

    "Hmm¡­ tastes like citrus. Low mana density. Third grade poison I¡¯d say. This much should manage to kill an adult lizardman in a matter of seconds. Yes, you¡¯d be perfect for the assassination squads."

    She smiled and waved the girl away, motioning for the next one to come.

    And that was how it went for every single one of them. Every poison was tested in the same manner by, Isse would discover in the future, the [Sommelier of Poisons], and given a rating from first to seventh. Granted, up until now no one arachne had managed to obtain a first grade judgment, but that was going to change soon. With Anda nonetheless!

    When the little ball of darkness offered her glass to the older arachne, whose name had changed from ¡°Teacher¡± to ¡°Poison Lady¡±, it was smoking. Like, literally, the glass was smoking as if someone had put a cigarette inside.

    The Poison Lady¡¯s eyebrows raised to meet her hairline as she took one sniff at the rising smoke and recoiled.

    "Nope, not testing that. I don¡¯t have any [Acid Resistance] Skills. Little one¡­ Anda, am I right?" the woman asked the girl, who nodded -This is a first grade poison if I¡¯ve ever seen it. Now: [Acid Proof Glass]. That should keep long enough for me to actually look into it."

    She then proceeded to put the glass carefully on the table.

    And then it was Isse¡¯s turn.

    She offered her glass to the woman and she repeated the usual ritual. When she drank the poison, her eyebrows soared high into her hairline as she put it down and looked at Isse with a concerned look.

    "...Little one¡­"

    She stopped, as if pondering what she was about to say.

    "Well¡­ your poison tasted like water. Which is to say, it didn¡¯t have a taste whatsoever. It also didn¡¯t have much kick in terms of, well, poison. It¡¯s Seventh Grade. I¡¯m sorry."

    She heard a few snickers around her.

    The Poison Lady immediately turned towards the direction of the sound, her eyes homing on the one who had produced the offending sound.

    "Maybe before laughing you should let the adults finish, hm, Sixth Grade poison?"

    The chittering girl immediately shut up.

    "As I was about to say, you girl have nothing in terms of poison. It probably qualifies as actual drinking water. But it has a high mana density. You could make Mana Potions out of this. Or drink it directly, but I would be against the idea, since it would probably still make you sick. Unless you have some levels in [Poison Resistance], naturally."

    Issekina nodded and sighed internally. And here she was, hoping she¡¯d be more special, only to discover that her specialty was being the worst at something. Well, apart from the high mana stuff. For the matter, what the hell was mana?

    Stars, are you actually serious? I know for a fact your world has fantasy stuff everywhere, and you don¡¯t even know what mana is? Didn¡¯t you, like, do anything fun during your life?

    Well, playing Dungeons and Dragons wasn¡¯t exactly high on my list of things.

    Because you didn¡¯t have any friends.

    You shut the fuck up and take that back, I had plenty of friends. We just weren¡¯t interested in that kind of stuff!

    Yeah, yeah, sure. They really were your friends! Absolutely! They were such good friends that they didn¡¯t even visit you once at the hospital. Really good people who really cared about you. Right, right.

    The sarcasm emanating from the Voice was palpable.

    Look, I may be the spirit of an old arachne who thrived in causing massacres and blah blah blah all the stuff the propaganda wants people to believe, but among our people we understood what allegiances, bonds and friendships meant. Stars, maybe we understood, no, still understand such things better than most people. So let me tell you girl, you were alone. You just didn¡¯t want to admit it because it was going to make you feel worse. And that¡¯s understandable. Still, don¡¯t make the same mistake here. I don¡¯t want to rebuild my reputation when I get this body back.

    The whole discourse would have been heart warming if it wasn¡¯t for that last sentence.

    Just fucking explain to me what mana is and stop looking so much in my past life. It¡¯s gone anyways.

    Right, right. Anyways, mana is¡­well, to put it simply, it¡¯s the soul of the world. It¡¯s everywhere, permeates everything and exists in any and all situations. It can be manipulated, its nature changed and bent into the shape we desire. That¡¯s what [Mages] do. They tap in the mana inside themselves and manipulate it to create spells. Then, when they exhaust themselves, the mana around them simply goes and slowly fills their ¡®reservoirs¡¯ back to capacity.

    Then what do Mana Potions do?

    Well, that depends on the potion. They¡¯re usually divided in two categories: Fillers and Accelerants. The former is just concentrated Mana in a bottle and gives you a quite literal infusion. Fast, but it risks hurting you in the long run since the mana in there isn¡¯t usually pure enough, and the body has to purify it for you. The latter are ten times more difficult to make, but they¡¯re safer, and tend to have benefits on the long run. They practically open up your Mana Pathways and let the natural Mana around you in faster. It¡¯s slower than the Fillers, but the effect lasts longer, you don¡¯t poison yourself, and if you keep using them for a very long time you can open up your Pathways in a permanent way.

    The explanation was surprisingly straightforward.

    I imagine you used those a lot when you were alive.

    Nah, I wasn¡¯t a [Mage]. I was a [Warrior]. Went into the thick of battle and felt the blood of my enemies cover my sword and my body. Their screams were my music, my laughter the lyrics, and all the rest was just background noise.

    ¡­Aaaaaand she decided to stop the conversation there.

    Still, the fact that she was only good for making some potions left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth that had nothing to do with her apparently tasteless poison.

    She wanted to prove that she was better than that, just as good as her little soulmate Anda. So what if she couldn¡¯t burn someone¡¯s body away with some acidic poison? She had something better.

    She still remembered the strange box that had appeared in her mind when she¡¯d died. The box that had given her a second chance. And she remembered the words it had said:

    [Poison Immunity] Acquired

    If what the Voice had told her of this world was right, then she was completely immune to any form of poison. And technically the acid in that glass right by her side still counted as poison, right? What would the other arachne think if she managed to do something not even an adult could?

    She wasn¡¯t sure where that train of thought was coming from. It was completely unlike her. But who cared, right? After all, as she¡¯d said, this was a completely different world, and she was in a different body. So she could let herself change.

    That was why she took the no longer smoking glass in front of her and, before the [Sommelier of Poisons] and [Silken Carer] could do anything, drank it.

    <hr>

    Somewhere, in a place between the Sixth and the Seventh Veil of the world, a single step away from the absolute Nothingness that awaited outside reality itself, a being that was unlike anything on this green, damaged, planet, older than anything other than the Gods themselves, who had created It, sat with what could be considered its legs crossed.

    The being was the personification, nay, the physical, if anything on this Plane could be considered physical, form of the System. That which gave Classes, Levels and Skills to all living, sentient, beings of this world that had reached a certain level of sapience. Which meant that the numerous species like humans, lizardfolk, gnomes, dwarves, beastkin of all shapes and sizes, goblins and many more such as vampires and shadows, had the ability to become more than their bodies would normally allow, if they were worthy of it, while the same didn¡¯t apply for animals or lowly monsters.

    The System was the closest thing to an omniscient and all-seeing god in this world. It was probably a better God than the one in the memories of the little girl who¡¯d been lucky enough to cross its path when this world and hers had collided after a failed ritual.

    And, while It observed everyone in this world doing a better job than a certain Santa Claus, a single, small, fragment of its mind focused on what the little human turned arachne had done.

    It remembered giving her, in accordance to its protocols, the ability to be immune to poisons and diseases. It was a simple wish to grant, completely inside the parameters. But now it had to stop and think for a moment: the thing the girl had just imbibed was clearly acid. Its eyes saw the liquid, read its capacities and properties, and showed it that it was acid, which clearly meant that the girl¡¯s Skill shouldn¡¯t protect her, letting the dangerous substance burn right through her mouth, leading to severe blood loss that would most likely lead to her death in atrocious pain.

    But, at the same time, another side of itself argued that the acid had come from a poison gland inside another arachne, which meant the substance was to be considered as poison. Which meant that the girl¡¯s Skill should come into effect.

    In the split second between the glass touching the girl¡¯s lips and the acid entering her mouth, the System debated whether the Skill should come into effect or not.

    Then, as it was about to choose the former idea, a stray thought, a little suggestion implanted a long time prior, pointed towards the absolutely normal reasoning behind the second idea, making it notice that, indeed, since the acid didn¡¯t burn through the Shadow-Arachne¡¯s mouth, then it should be considered poison.

    In the end, the System agreed with itself and, after adjusting a small parameter, put the situation out of its mind and went back to fully observing the world.

    <hr>

    The acid, now considered poison, touched the girl¡¯s lips and tongue. She tasted mint, and her eyes widened at the sweetness of the substance. It was one of the tastiest things she¡¯d ever imbibed.

    She gulped down the contents of the glass and smacked her lips in satisfaction.

    The [Sommelier of Poisons] blinked in surprise, the scream of horror trapped in the back of her throat as she waited for the child¡¯s stomach to melt away and kill her.

    Instead, she watched as Isse put the glass back down and stared right at her with¡­ was that actually smugness?

    No, surely there must have been something wrong.

    Or maybe she¡¯d just taken another glass?

    The woman put a finger in the glass and touched the still wet bottom. She hissed as the remaining acid immediately started eating away at the flesh of her finger.

    She nearly shouted a very inappropriate expletive, but managed to bite it back. Grandma knew just what Makira would do to her if she heard the children say that as their first words.

    "You, little miss, are in big trouble." she said after a moment, before pulling on Issekina¡¯s ear and walking away.

    "Children, you may leave and have some fun. Oh, and [Don¡¯t Touch Anything]!"

    She then started walking away towards the deeper reaches of the woods, towards the clearing where Grandmother resided, all the while making sure to pull as much as possible on the newborn¡¯s ear and nearly shouting at her about how stupid she¡¯d been.

    Well, and I thought I was crazy.

    Said the Voice.

    Issekina, even through the surprisingly great pain of having her ear pulled, couldn¡¯t help but smile a little.

 Chapter 5: Colors of the World

    Have you ever had anyone pull your ear? Like, for real, not just the friendly thing grandparents sometimes do to reprimand you. I mean actual pulling, where you feel your ear warm up, and suddenly the world is whistling strange, mysterious tunes, while you feel your flesh and cartilage stretching as you wonder how deformed the appendage will become by the end of it. If it¡¯ll still be there, naturally.

    Issekina, at that moment, wasn¡¯t sure about that last part. The ¡®Poison Lady¡¯ looked extremely angry, even if nothing had happened in the end. Well, nothing except her pride getting hurt.

    Through the haze of pain, Isse couldn¡¯t recognize the path they were taking. Well, actually, she wouldn¡¯t have even without the pain: she had been born two days ago, after all. She couldn¡¯t already know everything about these woods she and her sisters lived in. Stars, so far she¡¯d visited only, like, five locations in total: the place where she¡¯d been reborn, Grandmother¡¯s clearing, the sleeping areas, the aptly called ¡°Mess Hall¡±, where the trees formed a natural vault, and the Poison Testing Area, with all its suspended cages filled with wild animal.

    Surely, there was more to this place than that.

    As she was dragged through the colorful woods, she started to notice the beginning of a lack of said colors and the appearance of progressively more and more white covering every surface.

    Then they entered a clearing. One covered from top to bottom in spider silk, as white as snow. And, at the very center, towering over the newborn and the adult arachne, sat a giant of a woman, her body, both the spider and the human half, from her eyes to her hair, of different shades of white. Grandmother.

    Her eyes, all eight of them, were closed. Of course, that meant nothing. Actually, Isse had the slithering suspicion that the woman didn¡¯t really need to sleep. Nor did she believe that simply closing her eyes would impair her sight in any way.

    She was right, of course.

    Because, while back on Earth being old meant getting progressively weaker, in this world age meant only one thing: that the person had had more time to gain Levels and Skills, becoming more powerful. ¡°Respect your elders¡± gained a whole new meaning when said elderly man, in a moment of great anger, took that dusty sword from the wall of his house and suddenly began breaking bones and cutting people apart. Or began calmly casting [Fireballs] while laughing maniacally.

    And Grandmother was old. So very old.

    She turned her head towards the ¡®Poison Lady¡¯ dragging the clearly pained child towards her, and the shadow of a smile appeared for a moment on her face.

    Oh, to be young again.

    Then she thought better and slightly shook her head: Actually, no, I take that back.

    She looked down at the adult and, with a slightly raised eyebrow, asked:

    "Iadara, what has the child done, that you would drag her here and nearly pull off her ear?"

    Iadara, no nickname since she hated every single one that had ever been given to her by Makira or any of the others, finally let go off Isse¡¯s ear and pointed accusingly at her:

    "What she¡¯s done? She nearly killed herself, that¡¯s what she¡¯s done. One of her sisters is capable of producing acidic venom, and this child decided that, since her own poison was practically flavored water, she should drink it."

    The slightly raised eyebrow on Grandmother¡¯s face got another inch closer to her hairline.

    "And yet I see her right here, alive and relatively well. It would seem that your analysis of said poison was wrong."

    Iadara stomped two of her spidery legs and huffed.

    "Don¡¯t joke like that Grandmother, you know I never get such things wrong. I myself do not know how the child survived. That is one of the reasons why I brought her here. That, and to ask you to teach her a lesson."

    Grandmother opened one of her eyes and stared at the woman.

    "Me? Teach her a lesson? Iadara, you know better than most that I¡¯m not¡­ good with such things. At best, she¡¯ll be traumatized. At worst, she¡¯ll become a more unstable version of Makira."

    At that, Iadara visibly shivered. What was wrong about Makira? She seemed like a good arachne. Caring, always smiling.

    "Ok, well, just¡­ do your thing Grandmother. Talk to her. And then tell me how she managed to survive. I have to go back, my Skill is about to run out and I don¡¯t want the other children to start drinking poison like I drink wine."

    And she left. Just like that! After admitting there was a good chance Grandmother would traumatize her!

    Isse looked up at the elder arachne. And saw a small smile appear on her face.

    "Well then, let me See."

    She bent down, her hair surrounding the young girl, her piercing eyes staring right into her own, the whites seemingly expanding endlessly, slowly devouring reality around them, the various tonalities of that pure color becoming one in an endless place of nonexistence.

    Isse lost herself in that sight, so much so that she didn¡¯t hear Grandmother whisper the words ¡°[Total Appraisal]¡±.

    And then it was over.

    She lifted her body high, her hair falling behind her shoulder, and stared at the child. The smile had disappeared, instead something similar to anger showing on her face.

    "You are one of the Wishers, Issekina. You were brought here, and have great potential, but you have yet to make peace with the past, both yours and the one that was given to you as a gift."

    She was still looking down at her, but her eyes moved slightly to the left at that final part. She looked that way, half expecting there to be Anda embracing her like last time, but instead saw nothing.

    Could it be¡­ was she looking at the Voice?

    "And yet, all I see is separation. To the point where you, Siidi, have even gotten a bloody class: [Hostile Soul-Half]. It is a dark road, the one you¡¯re traveling. One that will not give you what you desire."

    At that moment, she remembered that first night. The dream she¡¯d had, where she¡¯d met the Voice. How, upon waking up, those same words had appeared in her mind. [Condition: Hostile Halved Soul]. So it was real.

    Grandmother stared down at her. No, at them. Her expression was severe, bordering on angry. The first emotion she¡¯d ever seen on that woman¡¯s face. She tried to make herself as small as spideringly possible, trying to disappear in front of those eyes.

    "Tomorrow, you will come here again, after eating. You may leave."

    That said, she closed her eyes.

    Before she knew it, Isse was out of the clearing and running as fast as she could. For once, the Voice was silent. Scared, just like her.

    As she ran, a shadow entered the clearing. It was Makira, a slightly resigned smile on her face.

    "There, you¡¯ve traumatized her Grandma."

    The elder didn¡¯t even open her eyes as she answered: "Good. They¡¯ll be working together on that then. Remember, daughter, when in doubt, scare them: fear is always the solution."

    "No it isn¡¯t, and you know that full well."

    "You are wrong: fear is like a wound, and the trauma it can leave behind is like a scar. And you know better than most just how good a lesson a scar can teach."

    Makira sighed and shook her head. Her mother wasn¡¯t wrong, but she was old. Too old. Too scarred. She always forgot that most people could only take so many scars before they just gave up and died.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Especially children.

    <hr>

    Grandmother had told her to leave. Which she¡¯d done, quite well she might add.

    Problem: she¡¯d run away so fast she hadn¡¯t even looked where she was going. Well, not that she¡¯d have known where to go to begin with, but that was unimportant considering that the arachne occupied (or infested was probably a better word) more than half the forest known to the outside world as the Woods of Boren and she would have met someone sooner or later.

    Or she¡¯d run too far away and end up outside their territory, getting eaten by some wandering pack of Mimetic Wolves.

    So Isse ran, unable to understand if the fear she was feeling was her own or the Voice¡¯s. Wait, hadn¡¯t Grandmother said a name before letting them go? Siidi? Was that the Voice¡¯s name? The one she¡¯d had before becoming a part of her mind?

    Still she ran, because it felt like her life depended on how fast she could get away from the elder.

    She ran.

    And ended up tangled in a web.

    Oh, the irony, that a spider, nay, an arachne, could end up tangled in a web. To an outside observer it would look hilarious. It wasn¡¯t for Isse. A deep, primal, instinct inside her, fueled by her and the Voice¡¯s fear, because, now she understood, she was scared too, took over, and made her trash around in a desperate attempt to free herself. Which only made things worse.

    In under thirty seconds she¡¯d managed to somehow tangle her arms behind her back and get her legs splayed out or crisscrossing under herself. The only part of her still capable of moving was her head, and that wasn¡¯t going to last for much longer seeing how much she was still thrashing around.

    "My my, lookie lookie what my webs caught. A young one! Did you get lost, little one?"

    A voice asked from somewhere behind her.

    Isse immediately froze up, following the typical philosophy of ¡®if I look dead it¡¯ll leave me be¡¯, which with an arachne worked just as well as whispering ¡®if I cannot see it then it cannot see me¡¯ while closing your eyes in front of a Skeleton King¡¯s army.

    "Now now, little one, don¡¯t be scared, I won¡¯t hurt you. Did Grandmother just scare you? That stupid old fart, never understands her ideas don¡¯t work well with children."

    She felt a gentle hand land on her spider half and stroke the fur where it met her human half. It was, surprisingly, quite pleasant. She stopped playing dead, opened her eyes, and her mouth opened in surprise.

    In front of her was another old looking arachne. Her hair was graying, but here and there one could still see splotches of¡­ was that actually purple? Was there such a thing as hair dye in this world?

    Her eyes were a gentle, quiet, green, as if the color was trying to hide, thinking itself unimportant compared to the rest of the woman.

    Her spider-half, too, was covered in purpl-ish fur, with flecks of white here and there.

    But what truly left Isse speechless, what made her question her eyes, was how colorful this whole area was. This small slice of forest was covered, from top to bottom, in spider silk of all colors and hues, from a deep, dark, red that almost bordered on black at the bottom, to tonalities of brown and gray while rising, to much lighter and lively oranges and blues and yellows and even pink and her brain was going into overdrive while trying take them all in.

    The old arachne¡¯s smile widened slightly and a small chuckle escaped her lips.

    "Now, that¡¯s more like it kiddo. Like what you see?"

    And she moved out of Isse¡¯s sight, letting her take in the beauty of the space around them. Only then did she notice that there was a sort of pattern: the meters upon meters of spider silk, weaved to make actual fabric, not the stuff she and the other kids were wearing that was made up on the spot by their [Carers], were placed in such a way as to recreate something resembling nature: the bark of the trees, the leaves, the sky with its uncountable clouds in infinite forms, and then animals, both hunters and hunted. She was sure that that swathe of night-sky black with red on her left was trying to recreate a wolf bleeding on the ground.

    It was incredible.

    "Yes, you really do like it."

    Isse found it hard to even nod her head in agreement. Had she been able to speak she wouldn¡¯t have found the words to describe the wonder this place made her feel.

    A small part of her brain tried to remind her that this was nothing, that she¡¯d seen more greater art back on earth, made by some of the greatest painters of their times, from The Nightmare to The Kiss (the one made by Francesco Hayez, not that monstrous amalgamation of yellows that was the one made by Klimt).

    You¡¯ve seen better, kept saying a little part of her that wasn¡¯t the Voice, and yet it was such a small part, its voice nearly a whisper. Because it didn¡¯t matter. Something beautiful, made with one¡¯s effort, stayed beautiful, had to, even in the face of greater things. This woman had created, with silk alone, art that could rival the art of her world. The true art, not that modernistic stuff that kept popping up every now and then and had no reason to be considered art. Yes, Isse disliked Dadaism, how did you guess?

    "Ah, but I do recognize you. You¡¯re the one Grandmother liked. Oh, you poor thing."

    That broke her out of her reverie as she stared at the older arachne. Who, in turn, had started to untangle her like one would with a ball of yarn.

    "She likes many of us. She can See potential, and helps us achieve it. But she isn¡¯t the kindest in helping. Stars, I¡¯d say she¡¯d do anything to let us achieve that potential. Anything and everything."

    She shook her head as she finally managed to untangle all of Isse¡¯s feet and helped her get back on the ground.

    Never in my life was I more grateful to be Grounded, said the Voice.

    "But she loves us all. She¡¯d give up all of herself to help her children and grandchildren. She is an arachne after all. The greatest of us. And, for a while, she was one of the last of our kind."

    She looked the girl up and down, sizing her up, and nodding her head.

    "The shirt you¡¯re wearing, that must be Makira¡¯s work. I¡¯d recognize her shoddy work anywhere. The girl can make a sling or craft a bow in seconds, but she couldn¡¯t knit or sew to save her life. How about I get you something better? To make it up for the scare."

    She smiled and, before Isse could even answer, scuttled away towards a roll of silk hanging from a tree branch. She took one end and pulled, unrolling a few meters, then turned around and sized her up again, nodding her head, her expression calculating and serious. This was, after all, her job, her greatest passion, and her Class: [Stringmistress of Colors]. Level 49. She¡¯d been stuck on that threshold for nearly a decade now and, she feared, she would never reach the fabled Level 50. She was, after all, just a [Seamstress]. Better than most, but just that. Or, at least, that¡¯s what she told herself in her delusions. Her sisters and Grandmother knew she was much more than that, but the decade of stagnation had taken a lot out of her.

    Still, she didn¡¯t let any of that show on her face as she smiled and chose the design for the girl¡¯s new dress. Usually they didn¡¯t let her make things for the newborn because they grew up fast and tended to outgrow anything she made. She had never cared. She could make her own silk, knew how to color it, and it took her nothing to resize or even make something new entirely.

    Still, Grandmother had told her that she¡¯d have to at least wait a bit more.

    So she did. Because it was Grandmother, and however much she disliked the elder, she knew better than most.

    But today she would break that little rule. There was nothing wrong with that.

    She took a pair of large fabric scissors from a belt around her waist and, with a [Seamless Cut], let the blades glide over the silk and part it in two pieces.

    She brought the green silk to a big table not too far from Isse and started working.

    The little spiderling curiously skittered towards the woman and watched her work.

    The older arachne had taken out another pair of much smaller scissors and had started cutting away at the fabric, slowly creating something that resembled a shirt, but¡­ fancier? She didn¡¯t know what she was actually looking at. She¡¯d always bought her clothes from big shops, and never stopped to even wonder how the things she wore were made, how much effort was put in some of the designer clothes she got, the time and hard work behind it all.

    Now she could, and because of that she watched with great interest as the arachne skillfully, without the capital S, crafted what was probably the most beautiful dress she¡¯d ever seen. When she¡¯d finished cutting up the fabric, she took a needle and two spools of different threads, one white, the other yellow. She used the white one to sew together the two halves of the dress, and used the yellow one to add some color here and there to reduce the monotony. Then she added a few frills using what remained of the fabric.

    All in all, the process took no more than fifteen minutes, but time had stopped meaning anything from the moment Isse had started observing the work.

    "For you, child. When it¡¯ll start feeling a bit too snug, come find me, I¡¯ll adjust it for you. Now go," she pointed somewhere into the forest "that way. That¡¯s where you¡¯ll find your little sisters. Make them go green with envy."

    The woman smiled.

    And watched the little girl scuttle away as she tried on her new dress. It reached to where her human half met the spider half, no further. Which was normal for arachne dresses. No sane seamstress of that species would create something that reached any further, since it would certainly hinder the wearer¡¯s movements. At most, they would add a little flap that covered a part of spider half¡¯s back, similar to a train on a bride¡¯s dress, but that was rare now. The old traditions of their species had died centuries prior, when the Hunters had nearly managed to complete their mission of extinction. They were still alive, which was what mattered most, but oh how much had been lost.

    There had been times when there were clans of arachne, with their own customs and traditions, with their symbolisms and stories. Times when the trains of their dresses had, sewn into them, the symbol of the clan, to distinguish each other.

    The old [Stringmistress] knew of those times. Grandmother had told her all about it. And, once, before Level 40, she¡¯d been a [Seamstress of Tradition]. She knew, and because of that she felt nostalgia. What a horrible emotion it was, nostalgia, especially considering she¡¯d never seen those times. Yet she longed for them, with all of herself.

    So she worked, day and night, leveling, or trying to, in the hopes that, one day, those times would come back.

    As she watched the little arachne walk away, her eyes still filled with childish wonder, she nodded to herself and smiled. Yes, she knew it, this was the time. This was the generation that would bring all those traditions back. For them, she would try it all.

    And, somewhere, far away from the old arachne, far away from any form of life, Something, that which gave Levels, the System, noticed the new conviction, and added a new, small, amount of percentage that got the woman ever so slightly close to her next level. It wasn¡¯t much, sure, but it was more than she¡¯d gotten in a very long time.

 Chapter 6: Playground

    Isse kept walking in the forest, delighted at her new dress. It was a simple joy, one she thought she¡¯d never get to feel again. After all, she was in another world, and she was an arachne. Which meant, as the Voice had once said, that she¡¯d never get to stay among other races and live a normal life, with normal comforts.

    And, after seeing the shirt Makira had made for her, she¡¯d thought that would be the extent of her clothing: something made on the moment to cover herself.

    She had been proven wrong. Again.

    Why didn¡¯t you tell me arachne could make such things?

    Because I died before that woman was even born, duh. And because you didn¡¯t ask.

    ...Fair enough.

    She shook her head and kept walking the way the old arachne had told her to go, hoping to find her sisters.

    So, wanna talk about you? Your past? The fact that Grandmother knew your name?

    There¡¯s not much left of my past in here, answered the Voice, giving Isse the strangely clear certainty that she was pointing at her own head, Just a bunch of scattered memories that come back now and then. Happy moments, glorious fights, that one memorable breeding. You know, the usual things. I had even forgotten my name before Grandmother told me.

    Wait, you forgot your own name?

    Ehm, I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve noticed, but I died. People are not supposed to remember their past lives when they reincarnate. It¡¯s surprising that I still have the memories I have now. Probably some mishap caused by you taking my rightful place.

    Look, I¡¯m sorry, ok, but I didn¡¯t have a choice. I don¡¯t even know what happened.

    Oh, that¡¯s simple: you died, the System noticed your soul among the thousands that die every day, and it chose to bring you here.

    ...Lucky me¡­ I guess?

    Lucky indeed. You should thank your probably inexistent God. Or your favorite stars. What is it with you humans and your strange ways to define fortune? Stars don¡¯t bring luck. They just watch all we do. Stupid little voyeurs.

    That got a chuckle out of her.

    She walked for what felt like half an hour, but was probably just a few minutes. She¡¯d always found it funny and unnerving how time seemed to stretch like a rubber band when you didn¡¯t know what you were doing. How mere minutes could become hours in the blink of an eye.

    She walked, and the forest didn¡¯t seem to change one bit. Always the same trees, the same variations of colors. Surprisingly, green was the rarest among them all. As if the forest itself had thought it was too boring and decided it wasn¡¯t worthy of her. The trees themselves reminded her of old birches: brittle bark that you could easily peel off with your fingers to reveal the younger, smoother, inner bark. The whole rainbow surrounded her, and then some, the leaves a spectacle of colors that put the beauty of a clearing covered in autumn¡¯s fallen leaves to shame.

    It was disorienting. It was breathtaking if only you took the time to stop and look.

    She did, for a short while. And the Voice, too, silently looked through her eyes, feeling what she felt, and smiling slightly. She didn¡¯t remember much of her old life, of the places she¡¯d seen when she was fighting, of the wonders and horrors she¡¯d witnessed. She got the feeling she should be grateful for losing all of that: she¡¯d get a second chance to feel that marvel. And never remember the nightmarish sights. She was sure, for one, that she¡¯d never seen these woods. They were something new. Something young. It made her hope, for a moment, that the world had changed in the right way.

    Isse began walking again, and, after a while, reached a small clearing. It was, like all the places she¡¯d seen that were actively inhabited by arachne, covered in spider silk from top to bottom, turning it all into a white wintry-wonderland. All that was missing was the actual snow.

    Her sisters were all there, or at least she thought they were. She hadn¡¯t exactly stopped to count them all. Which would¡¯ve been a hopeless endeavor, seeing how much they moved around.

    She walked in, and was immediately spotted by one of the [Carers]: Makira.

    She had long since come back from her short meeting with Grandmother and was currently chatting with the others, keeping an attentive eye on the kids. But she stopped when she noticed her.

    "Oh, you¡¯re back! I was beginning to get worried for a moment there. Are you alright dear? Still feeling unbalanced from your meeting with Grandma? She can have that effect on people, don¡¯t worry. She means well. Usually. Oh, and I see you met Aru, our [Seamstress]. I noticed because of the new clothes. Normally we wait before we let you young ones get some good ones. You grow so fast. I imagine she made it as a present to make you happier. Good girl."

    The barrage of sentences hit her like a car going at full speed, leaving her momentarily disoriented.

    "Calm down Maki, you¡¯re going to give her a headache." shouted another [Carer].

    Her features tried to show resignation, but she couldn¡¯t control the small smile that appeared on her face.

    "Yeah, yeah, don¡¯t worry, I know when to stop."

    "You sound like Iadara when someone puts a casket of wine in front of her."

    "That woman is the literal definition of ¡®Turning your addiction into your job¡¯." piped up another [Carer], eliciting a chuckle from the other adults.

    Makira herself smiled a bit: "Come on girls, don¡¯t gang up on her. Everyone has to have a way to stave off boredom."

    And then they started chatting amiably among each other. But not before Makira sent Isse to play with her other sisters.

    The clearing, she found out, was something of a play area. Only, instead of having normal things like a sandbox, a slide, a little castle or things like that, there were swings made out of spider silk, their seats huge compared to the ones she remembered from earth, when she was still in her human body, an honest to god catapult, which was used to fucking yeet a few little arachne towards conveniently placed patches of more elastic silk, and instead of your boring little castles, well, the best word to describe it would be ¡®A gigantic overgrown tree that was more twisted than a psychopath¡¯s mind¡¯.

    That¡¯s clearly the handiwork of a [Druid], said the Voice.

    What the hell is a [Druid]?

    They¡¯re mages attuned to nature. They manipulate what already exists around them to make what they want, with respect. Some kind of ¡®Maintain the Balance of Nature¡¯ shtick. They hate it when someone confuses them with [Green Mages], who tend to create nature out of nowhere. Good in a pinch, but the things they make are unstable and die off in a matter of days, if not hours.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Well now, that was interesting.

    The twisted tree, its branches placed in such a way as to help a small arachne climb up its trunk, looked anything but natural.

    So, wanna climb it?, asked the Voice, a hint of hope in her tone.

    Not really the type to play King of the Hill. Queen. Whatever.

    Oh come on! Stop being a party pooper and have some fun for once in your life.

    I am not a party pooper. Stop calling me that.

    A little part of her brain wondered, for a moment, if two people could even make a party. In particular, two people living in the same body. Gods, was this what conjoined twins had to deal with their whole lives?

    Then prove it. Climb. That. Tree. I dare you!

    Fifteen minutes later, Isse was regretting the moment she had given in to her intrusive thoughts (aka: the Voice). To say the competition to get on top of the tree was vicious would be an understatement. It was a bloody fight, where any and every tactic, no matter how underhanded, no matter how many war crimes it made you commit, was acceptable. Isse had seen, in these last fifteen minutes, more girls getting Mufasa-Betrayed than she¡¯d seen the Lion King in her life.

    At some point Anda had joined her, only to fall to the ground and get carried away by the other sore losers to form a tactic to ascend together. Alliances were made and broken at the speed it took for an Italian to say ¡®Yes¡¯ when asked if they wanted pizza for dinner.

    And all the while Isse was climbing up, miraculously managing to not get thrown down. Well, mainly because of the Voice that kept telling her about incoming threats. She had a better situational awareness than Isse.

    She climbed, and one of her sisters fell on her from higher up. Her hands found two of her legs and held on for dear life.

    Without thinking, Isse reached out a hand and took hers, straining her young muscles to try and take her up to her level.

    What are you doing idiot? You don¡¯t help the enemy on the battlefield!

    This is not a fucking battlefield Siidi, it¡¯s a game and she is my sister.

    Doesn¡¯t matter. Let her go. Trust me, you¡¯re going to regret it if you help her.

    Isse was divided. On one hand, she wanted to help her little sister and show that she was better than the other kids, that she wasn¡¯t a betrayer. On the other, she had the feeling the Voice was right. The only sister she thought she knew was Anda, and currently she and a group of other arachne were beginning to climb the tree again screeching for bloody revenge.

    In the end, she came to a final decision and swung the girl away from her on another branch. It was a bit lower down than her, but at least she wasn¡¯t going to have to start from the beginning.

    She smiled slightly and began climbing again as the Voice sighed in discontent.

    She was nearing the top when something hit her again. This time from the side.

    It was another arachne, obviously. This one had short red hair, and the fur on her spider half, too, was dark red.

    Isse didn¡¯t have the chance to see more of her as she lost her balance and fell, managing at the last moment to grab a branch with her hands. Her sister loomed over her, a smug smile on her face, looming like one of the villains from an old black and white film.

    (Ok, that¡¯s a strange thing to think. I¡¯ve never seen a single black and white film.)

    She stared in the girl¡¯s eyes and half expected for lightning to strike something in the background while thunder created the perfect cover for her evil laughter.

    Nothing like that happened, but the girl moved one of her spider legs and started to prick the fingers of her left hand, evidently desiring to savor the power she had right now and wanting to see the desperation slowly creep in her enemy¡¯s eyes as she slowly lost her grip before falling down to her doom.

    One¡­ two¡­ three¡­ four¡­ five¡­

    Isse lost her grip with one hand. She tried to grab at the same branch again, because she had never understood why in those films the protagonist never did that, instead just holding on with the one hand they had left. Like, dude, you lost your grip, alright, but they didn¡¯t cut off your hand. Be more like Indiana Jones.

    But, apparently, the girl on top wasn¡¯t so stupid, and kept batting away her hand with one of her spidery legs, while she used another to start doing the same with the other hand.

    ¡­ Six¡­ Seven¡­

    ¡­Was the girl actually humming?

    ¡­ Eight¡­ Nine¡­

    She looked her dead in the eyes before, finally, removing that last finger. It was a matter of one second, but she clearly saw that, behind the glee, there was some sort of resignation. Again, she had won. And her little prey hadn¡¯t even fought back that much. Too easy. Not entertaining enough. She was going to always be the Queen of the Tree, and it would be too easy.

    Ten¡­

    And Isse fell, the world slowing down as she looked the girl in the eyes.

    What a bitch!, shouted the Voice in her mind, clearly angry.

    Then, after a moment, she added:

    Gotta respect that mercilessness.

    Am I gonna die?, she asked as fear reared its ugly head back out.

    Nah. Arachne aren¡¯t easy to kill, remember. And the adults put a lot of silk down there to cushion all falls. Your pride is the only thing that¡¯s gonna be hurt.

    She fell. And then lurched to a stop.

    Her arm hurt from the drastic change of direction, and she hissed in pain. She looked up. And right there, staring at her with what she believed was a bemused smile, was the girl she¡¯d helped before. She could read, on her face, the words ¡®Look how the tables have turned.¡¯

    They looked each other in the eyes for a moment, then the girl, unexpectedly, shoved Isse towards a nearby branch. As she grabbed hold of it with both her hands and her spider legs, she looked up, and read, in the other girl¡¯s yellow eyes (Like a cat!, she thought), that they were even.

    Catgirl, as she¡¯d decided to call her for now, then began climbing with renewed fervor, most probably desiring to take her well deserved revenge against the same girl who¡¯d thrown Isse down.

    And that¡¯s when she came to a decision.

    She chittered towards the climbing girl, since her vocal chords were still incapable of speech. Makira had said that they should be capable of speaking in a matter of days. She¡¯d also added that she couldn¡¯t wait. Understandable, since she was, quite literally, a [Chatterbox]. An evolution of the [Gossip] Class.

    Catgirl turned back towards her, an eyebrow raised. Isse made a gesture of two hands shaking, then pointed at herself and at the girl, then up, after which she made the gesture of a fist striking her palm.

    To translate this little game of charades, she was proposing an alliance to beat the current Queen of the Tree.

    The girl inclined her head to the side and thought about it for a moment, then smiled and nodded.

    Ten minutes, and a bloody battle of two against one later, Isse and Catgirl were standing triumphantly at the top of The Tree, laughing in joy, as the Red Girl lay at the bottom, surrounded by a lot of quite angry arachne children.

    All the while, Makira and the others had watched the scene in amusement. Their smiles were starting to become painful, but that was ok. There were worse things to be pained about.

    "Ok, children," Makira clapped her hands, getting their attention, "It¡¯s time for lunch!"

    The clearing was filled with cheering.

    "You¡¯re going to have a taste of the food you¡¯ve sloppified this morning!"

    To which, the Voice groaned.

    Oh Stars, no.

    Turns out, Siidi was right. The meat sloppy that steak had become during that morning was awful. It¡¯s not that it tasted bad, not really. It¡¯s actually that it tasted of nothing. It was so flavorless that her brain decided to assign a taste similar to a few of the antibiotics she¡¯d had to drink as a child, leaving behind a kinda sweet aftertaste.

    Anda, too, wasn¡¯t thrilled. The moment she excitedly bit into her own cocoon her face scrunched up, then she forced herself to drink down, and her face became that of an old woman from how wrinkled it looked.

    She stopped eating, and something similar to a ¡®Bleh¡¯ came out of her mouth, mixed in with a bit of chittering.

    It was filling, that¡¯s for sure, but it wasn¡¯t pleasant.

    That¡¯s when the adults came out with more normal food, laughing among themselves at the spiderlings¡¯ reactions.

    It was on that note that her quite eventful morning came to a close.

 Chapter 7: Mind Castle

    That night Isse didn¡¯t dream. She just laid there, a small smile on her face, Anda lying beside her on her own hammock, an arm around her waist. There was something to be said about falling asleep with someone in your arms. Something comforting. That warmed your heart and made you feel good. It was so clich¨¦, but that was because it was true. Isse had never had the chance to feel that sensation. She¡¯d never had a boyfriend back home, nor a friend this close.

    Hell, now that she thought about it, she had never even been invited to any pajama parties or such. She¡¯d always hung out with her friends at school or outside. Maybe Siidi was right. Maybe they¡¯d never really been that close to begin with. She was just a face with a name, and she had the feeling that, back home, they were already starting to forget that simple word.

    Her name.

    What was her name?

    The name she had before coming here. She¡­ she had forgotten. Issekina was her name now, and it filled the space where the old one had been. There was nothing of the old her in that place. It was disheartening, in a way. She had nothing to tie her to her old world. Nothing that made her want to go back. Her parents, maybe, but did she have the right to go back to them? After all the pain and suffering they¡¯d gone through because of her? No, they deserved some peace and quiet. They were going to be sad, to cry and wail and be angry, but they¡¯d eventually get over it. They had to. She hoped they would. She wasn¡¯t worth destroying what was left of their lives over.

    Then the sad thoughts were swept away, both by the sleepiness and the warmth of her sister¡¯s, her soulmate as Makira called her, hug.

    She slept.

    And darkness was there to greet her.

    <hr>

    The next morning, as the gentle harp played around the clearing, she woke up with the sensation of words resounding in her head. They were hers, because it was her body, but at the same time they weren¡¯t:

    [Hostile Soul Half Level 2!]

    [Skill - Host: Enhance Senses obtained!]

    [Skill - Make Suggestion obtained!]

    What did that mean? Was it good? And why did those words keep feeling red? It didn¡¯t feel good.

    Don¡¯t worry your little head over it, said the Voice, It¡¯s something for me. It¡¯ll help us.

    And those words felt right. So she stopped worrying about it and started the day.

    Then a memory surfaced in her still sleep-addled mind: how Grandmother had told her to come visit her after breakfast. A shiver ran down her spine as fear took hold of her guts with an iron fist and started squeezing. Siidi, too, went abruptly silent in her mind, the little tune she¡¯d been humming in time with the harp dying in her metaphorical mouth.

    Well, fuck, had forgotten about that one.

    Their thoughts were completely in sync on that front.

    We can¡¯t just, you know, not go?, asked Isse with a hint of hope in her thoughts.

    No, we can not. Or do you want to get your soul sucked out or something?

    ... Can she actually do that?

    I don¡¯t know and I sincerely do not want to know.

    What, you, the all knowing Voice In My Head, don¡¯t know anything about Grandmother?

    Well fuck you too lady, I died before she was born.

    Or you forgot.

    I would never forget a woman like her.

    Suuuuuuureeeeeeeee¡­

    Don¡¯t use that patronizing tone with me, young lady.

    Said the newborn.

    A little chuckle escaped her lips as Siidi sighed. Was this how siblings felt all the time? If so, she didn¡¯t envy them. Now that she thought about it, didn¡¯t some of her friends have siblings? She¡­ wasn¡¯t sure. It was just the beginning of her third day, and already she was forgetting so much?

    "Good morning, little spiderlings. How are you feeling this morning? Ready for another day?"

    Low chittering erupted around the clearing in what the adult arachne believed was agreement.

    "Very well, then get up lazypaws, and come have breakfast. Today is a big day. Well, like most days!"

    Not for the first time, Isse wondered how some people managed to be this energetic first thing in the morning. It was probably some kind of black magic fuckery.

    So she walked down her tree, Anda following her with sleepy eyes, her head ever so slowly nodding off into the world of dreams. It would be a while before she came to. Then she¡¯d put to shame even Makira¡¯s endless energy.

    They had breakfast. Again, meat. This time it was rare, not well done like yesterday, which slightly put Isse off, since she¡¯d never liked it that way. She soon found out that her arachne body had slightly changed her tastes, making her truly appreciate the blood still inside. It made the meat sweeter, but not as if someone had put sugar on it. More like a natural aftertaste that gave the meal more depth.

    Wow, so many complex words to say ''it¡¯s good''. Girl, you are verbose.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Shut up and enjoy the meal.

    So they did.

    And then, when it was time to go¡­ somewhere, she didn¡¯t know where they were bringing her sisters now, she was stopped by Makira.

    "Now there, little Isse, I¡¯m sorry, but you can¡¯t go with them. Grandmother wanted to see you, remember? Don¡¯t worry, she won¡¯t hurt you. She just wants to help. And she will. She may seem harsh, but she just wants what¡¯s good for you¡­"

    After a while Isse just shut her endless droning out of her mind. She understood that Grandmother wanted to help, but that didn¡¯t mean she liked the prospect.

    The woman accompanied her, her voice slowly becoming a soothing tonic for her nerves. Sure, she wasn¡¯t listening, but the sound was like a radio in a car: you didn¡¯t always listen to the people on it, but it helped fill the silence when nobody talked.

    They walked.

    And then, silk began appearing all over the place. Small bits of spiderwebs touched her skin and slid off. She was pretty sure that, had she not been an arachne, by now she would be tangled and probably swarmed by a dozen of her kin.

    They kept walking, silk parting ahead of Makira¡¯s steps, and then they were there, in that white clearing.

    Grandmother, as always, was at its dead center, her eyes closed, but her head turned right their way, looking without looking.

    "You arrived. Good. Come, child."

    She spoke, her voice deep as the darkest depths of the sea yet also feminine, as old as time, and, maybe, just a bit tired.

    Issekina walked towards Grandmother, her steps uncertain, sometimes faltering, until, in the end, she was right in front of the big, old, arachne. She looked up, and white eyes stared right at her, the ivory pupil just a pinprick in those wintry valleys.

    "You are divided. You should not be. You should both be in control, be one. Trying to be the one in control will just lead to an endless cycle of despair that will inevitably get you killed."

    The words were so matter-of-fact, so emotionless, that she might as well be a tired middle school teacher talking about America¡¯s Civil War. Or the groceries. You choose which one sounds more boring.

    "That will be fixed. Starting from now."

    She lifted her right hand and, ever so slowly, reached out towards Isse¡¯s head. Then, gently, she touched her hair. Cold immediately seeped from them and reached down towards her face, her eyes hurting with the beginning of the worst brain-freeze-headache of her life.

    "[Trials Of The Mind]." she spoke softly.

    And the world went dark.

    <hr>

    There exist theories about the possibility to create, in one¡¯s mind, a place called ¡®Memory Palace¡¯, also sometimes referred to as ¡®Mind Castle¡¯. It is a place built out of a memory of a place often visited and well known by a person. A place where one can, theoretically, store memories like one does documents in an archive. It is not an easy process, takes time, and a lot of introspection.

    Yet, Issekina had to do nothing like that. Maybe it was luck, most probably it was all a consequence of the interminable hours spent in a hospital bed with nothing to do. Sure, she had books, and television, and games, but after a few months even those grew dull. So she had spent a very long time just¡­ living in her mind. Creating her own little worlds inside her head, stories where she was the protagonist and walked around defeating ever stranger and stronger enemies, in a world that slowly grew so large it would put Narnia¡¯s worldbuilding to shame.

    Such a long time spent changing herself, seeing all her flaws and finding ways to fix them, telling herself she was going to apply those ideas when she finally left that hospital.

    It had shaped her mind.

    It had shaped the place in front of her eyes right now.

    A grand palace of marble and wood, decorated with arches of impossible proportions in a style that reminded her slightly of a cathedral. Gargoyles adorned the sides, their monstrous faces making funny expressions as they waited for rain to quench their eternal thirst, not knowing that would never happen. Stained glass windows adorned the whole place, their colors creating hypnotic and nonsensical patterns in most places, while showing moments of great heroism in others. Her fantasies, forever trapped in that glass.

    And, at the very center, jutting out like a sore thumb, was a grand irish oak, its green leaves reaching as far high as the tallest spire, overshadowing everything in a reminder of what Isse had always wanted people to think of her: that she was a brave and strong person.

    Her parents and the doctors always told her that she was, but those were mere words she didn¡¯t believe in. Couldn¡¯t let herself believe in. For what was so brave about sitting in a hospital bed? What was so strong about being unable to get up in a sitting position without someone¡¯s help some days?

    She didn¡¯t feel strong and brave. But here? In this new world? Maybe she¡¯d get the chance.

    "You know, all things considered, I like this place. It¡¯s quite flashy," said a voice behind her. No. The Voice.

    Isse turned around, and there, standing on her spidery legs, was Siidi, smiling slightly.

    "But I don¡¯t want to spend my life here, trapped as I watch you walk the world and use this body as yours. It¡¯s not. This was supposed to be my body, my new life. Not yours."

    Issekina opened her mouth to probably say some kind of witty comeback, but was stopped in her tracks when a deep, old, tired, disembodied voice, spoke all around them. It sent shivers down her figurative spine, because it felt wrong on so many level. Someone was in her mind other her and Siidi. It felt so violating.

    "It doesn¡¯t matter who was supposed to get this body, spiderling. What matters is who has it now. Which happens to be both of you. But you are separate, divided, split. Two sides of the same coin. And, like a coin, heads cannot exist without tails. That is why you are here."

    Grandmother paused.

    "This place is beautiful, child. I am surprised one so young can have something like this. But you are Gifted, it is to be expected. Do not worry, I shall not touch this place."

    A sound like fingers snapping echoed around them.

    Then the scenario changed.

    No longer was the beautiful castle-cathedral around them. Now, they were in a room with a ceiling so high they couldn¡¯t see the top. And, all around it, criss-crossing without rhyme or reasons, hung hundreds of thousands upon thousands of white threads of spider silk. Looking up gave Isse a headache nearly immediately. Which translated in her mind beginning to shake, the walls around them moving as if an earthquake was wreaking havoc around.

    Naturally, that didn¡¯t help, because as she looked up and stared at the now moving threads creating mesmerizing patterns, it only got worse, with the added effect of making her unable to look away.

    "Get a hold of yourself little human," shouted a voice that sounded oh so distant. She didn¡¯t listen. She didn¡¯t care. All that mattered were the beautiful visions that those myriads of threads kept creating. She was sure that, if she kept looking long enough, she would find the answer to any and all questions she had in her life.

    Her face felt wet as tears streamed down her eyes while she stared at those beautiful images, seeing nostalgic moments from her past life. There, on the right, for a moment she saw her parents teaching her how to swim, her mother encouraging her as she doggy swam around with her armbands helping her stay afloat. Meanwhile her father, in the background, couldn¡¯t wait for her to learn to swim so that he could throw her in the water.

    Then it disappeared, and instead she saw, there on the left, her mother cooking her favourite dish: gnocchi with ragout. A simple dish, but her mother used some kind of special recipe she swore up and down had been passed on for centuries now by her family, from mother to daughter. She¡¯d never gotten the chance to tell it to her, in the end.

    And then, oh, right up there, yes, there were the doctors as they finally gave her that medicine she had waited for so long! Right there, in that little syringe they were now injecting in her IV drip. She could nearly feel it as it travelled down and entered her arm, the liquid just that tiny bit colder than her body, so she felt it travel down her veins for a moment, feeling the hot, nearly burning, sensation caused by the contrast, before it disappeared down and up her arm, and she sighed in relief.

    She was there, after that, walking to school, meeting her friends again, talking and laughing and embracing each other. There was this strange sound there, in the background, like someone shouting. And there was this strange feeling on her face, like it was wet, but when she brushed a finger to her nose and eyes it came off completely dry.

    Her friends asked if everything was alright, and she nodded, smiling, saying that all was well, that it simply couldn¡¯t get better.

    But it did, as not long after she finally got asked out by her crush!

    Then time seemed to fly, as she graduated from high school, she, her friends and her boyfriend spending that evening at an expensive restaurant with wine and good food to keep them company as they reminisced about those past few years, unloading all the stress, insulting teachers and remembering fondly their best moments.

    Then she was in college.

    And on the night she got a degree in architecture her boyfriend proposed to her, asking her to marry him.

    And then¡­

    Then it all disappeared.

    And she woke up.

    <hr>

    Isse lay on the ground as Grandmother stared down at her, white eyes piercing right through her soul.

    "Leave all that behind, little one. Tying yourself to those desires will only hurt you."

    Her expression was emotionless, as always, yet she was almost certain that, for a moment, she saw sadness in those eyes. Then the emotion was drowned into that white nothingness.

    "You will come back here in one week. You are dismissed," she added, before lifting her eyes away from her, closing them, as she looked towards the white, silken ceiling, looking for a sun that wasn¡¯t there.

    Slowly, carefully, since she still felt unstable, she got up from the surprisingly soft ground, and crawled away as fast as she could without falling over.

    She realized, then, that her face was wet. Wet from tears and blood running down her nose. And she realized: it had all been fake. Everything she¡¯d seen. Just a creation of silk built in her mind to mock her desires, what she wished from the bottom of her heart. Just a way to remind her how much life had fucked her over, how much she¡¯d lost. How much she would never, could never, get back. How much she most probably would never get even in this world, for she was an arachne, despised by all other living beings.

    You are not worthy of this body.

    This was what the Voice kept telling her, ire barely restrained.

    You were given a second chance, and yet you¡¯re still bound to your old self. You are an unworthy idiot!

    No, she wasn¡¯t! She would prove it. She just¡­ needed time. Time to get used to this. Time to forget. Time to change.

 Chapter 8: Trust Me, Im a Pharmacist

    Averick was a [Runner]. His job was to bring messages from people to people in the small town of Gunsee and, sometimes, to neighboring cities. Or, in this case, to a little house right outside his town.

    The house itself was old. It had been there for decades now, built for a retired adventurer who had died a few years back. Old age. A rarity among them. The man had always joked about being one of the luckiest people alive. He had repeated those same words on his deathbed, surrounded by his old friends and companions of a lifetime of danger. Those that had survived, that is.

    The house had been left there, nobody daring to live in it. It didn¡¯t feel right to encroach on that place full of happy, old, memories.

    So there it had stood, for nearly five years, the occasional townsfolk going there to dust the place up, keep it in working order. Nobody had asked it, but the people did it anyway because that man had helped them on multiple occasions, and at least keeping that old house clean, ready for someone new to walk through that door and claim it as their own, felt right.

    But nobody had dared for oh so long.

    That is, until a month ago, when a young woman had appeared in town asking if anyone lived there.

    She looked strange. Her clothes were so colourful, covered with this big drawing of a cactus wearing a big, yellow, hat with a large fold, and with a moustache, a desert in the background.

    A few kids had asked her if she was from the Tower Academy, and she had looked dumbfounded, asking what that was. And that was when the people understood that something was truly wrong: everyone knew what the Academy was. A grand tower somewhere in the Visant Desert, on the continent of Aknos, where all forms of magic were taught and constantly rediscovered or created. Anyone who hadn¡¯t lived all their lives alone in a cave knew about it, so either this girl was one such, which was pretty unbelievable since she acted too civilised, or there was something more to it.

    Still, however strange the girl looked and acted, she was courteous and kind, and eventually managed to convince the people of that little town to let her stay in the old house. They had nothing against it, since its old proprietor himself had clearly told them to give it to anyone who looked in need.

    Afterwards, things got stranger still: the girl came back the next day to thank the town mayor for his kindness, and explained her situation better. She said she was suffering from memory loss and that she had forgotten pretty much everything about where she was.

    Now, the [Mayor] was a savvy man who found it hard to believe this girl. So, unbeknown to her, he had used a Truth Stone, a little crystal enchanted with a [Detect Truth] spell that was used, as the name itself stated, to see if what the person was saying was true or not. Luckily for the girl, the crystal used to hold the spell was of low quality, which meant that the spell itself wasn¡¯t particularly powerful, leading to it being capable of understanding only the literal meaning of the words. One could also call her lucky because of the way she unintentionally expressed herself, because she said ¡®It¡¯s like I don¡¯t know anything about the world.¡¯

    Now, the Truth Stone glimmered a light red colour regarding the part about memory loss, showing that was a lie, but it also glimmered green on that last line.

    The [Mayor] was, obviously, confused. After all, how could someone know nothing about the world and yet lie about them losing their memories. It didn¡¯t make any sense. Hence why he made a small leap of logic, and thought that, probably, the girl herself was uncertain about the memory loss part of her discourse, making the Truth Stone read it as a lie. It was, after all, a basic tool. He couldn¡¯t afford much more than that.

    So, he let the girl stay, on the condition that she find an occupation, since nobody was going to give her food for nothing. At least, not for long.

    Then the man put her out of his mind and got back to work, administering the town, making sure everything worked as it should, going to meet the [Farmers] to see if they needed anything in particular and to give them a helpful hand with his Skills, one of which was [Town: Fertile Soil].

    He was, all in all, a good man who cared for the people who had chosen him for this job.

    He also believed that said people would do something about the mysterious girl, because he had not a single clue about what he could do. He had asked her if she wanted him to call a [Mage] that could maybe find out what had happened to her, but she had asked him not to, saying that his time was too precious to waste on something as insignificant as this.

    All of this said, he was quite surprised to hear that the girl had found herself a place to work at the local [Alchemist]¡¯s shop. The job itself was known to be extremely complex, which led most people who practiced it to be extremely picky when they chose apprentices. To hear that the girl had managed to convince the in-middle-age-crisis [Alchemist] Herman to not only take her in as an apprentice, but also compliment her on her abilities, was nothing short of a shock. And when he had come by to see how she was doing and ask how that was possible, she had just shrugged and said ¡°I still remember the things I studied¡±. Which made no sense, but when he¡¯d said as much Herman had nearly booted him out of his shop.

    In the following weeks the girl, who was named Alice (¡°you say it with a C, not an S¡± she kept repeating) became quite liked by the town as a whole, if still seen as quite strange. Herman himself always lamented how she kept repeating the things he said in different, stranger, ways, and how she disliked the fact that her Class was [Apprentice Alchemist] instead of [Pharma]-something. He had never heard that word. But she was good, and that¡¯s all that mattered.

    Not long after people found out that she¡¯d started a little garden in the back of the adventurer¡¯s house where she grew all sorts of plants that, she said, had some medicinal uses. The people who visited only saw orderly rows of colourful plants and thought it was pretty, but that was it. They weren¡¯t [Herbalists], they knew nothing about medicinal herbs and their uses in crafting drugs to help cure all sorts of ailments, big and small.

    They didn¡¯t know that one could use mint to cure stomach aches, as it helped reduce inflammation of the superior tract of the intestines. Or that valerian could be used to help people fall asleep. Or even that liquorice could be used to help someone with low blood pressure.

    Nor did they know of how, in the right doses, an extract from Digitalis Purpurea could help people with a weak heart, helping that poor muscle contract and increase the afflux of blood all over the body.

    There was so much they didn¡¯t know.

    So much knowledge she had.

    For Alice was from Earth and, most important of all, she had studied pharmaceutical chemistry in university.

    That¡¯s how she¡¯d managed to find work as an apprentice under Herman so fast. Sure, alchemy and chemistry were completely different from one another: the latter worked with the active principles contained in all plants, using all sorts of complex reactions to extract exactly the needed substance that could be used to cure a specific ailment, while the former used specialized ingredients charged with more or less magical effects that, when mixed together, created potions that were the wet dream of any doctor Alice had ever known. She didn¡¯t want to begin to imagine just what some people she knew would give to get their hands even on a single healing potion, even a low quality one.

    But she¡¯d soon found out there were limits even to those miraculous concoctions. Simply put, health potions were divided in two categories: Accelerant and Purity Type. The first and most common worked by accelerating a body¡¯s natural regeneration. Simple, right? Wrong! Because, sadly, the potion considers part of the body even things like bacteria and viruses. Which could very well lead to someone drinking a sip of potion and die the next day because of widespread infection. That¡¯s when the second type came in: many times more complex to craft, and subsequently more expensive, Purity type healing potions could not only heal by literally rebuilding parts of one¡¯s body, they also acted as some sort of disinfectant, exterminating all external bacteria and viruses up to a certain point.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    All things considered, Alice liked it here: she had a well-paying job that was more or less what she had studied for, had her little garden filled with medicinal plants of all sorts and, most important of all, she got a chance to live in a world of magic! Like in all those stories and manga she¡¯d read in the sleepless nights caused by her chronic insomnia.

    Which, by the way, was becoming a problem, since this world didn¡¯t have her medications.

    When Averick arrived at her home that day it had been two days since she¡¯d last managed to get a good night¡¯s sleep. She¡¯d had a total of two and a half hours of shut eye. So, at the moment, she was as irritable as a cat that¡¯d just come out of the rain and seen the owner¡¯s dog eating from his bowl. Again.

    In short: a lot.

    Her eyes were slightly bloodshot, with heavy purple bags underneath them. The gears in her brain turned slowly as the little hamster inside began seeing the light and hearing the voices of his ancestors. Oh, no, wait, that wasn¡¯t the hamster, that was actually Alice. She was hearing voices. Someone was saying her name.

    The gears in her mind began turning a bit faster, and she realized she wasn¡¯t actually hearing things again, no, there was someone knocking on the door to her little house and saying her name. She turned around, her neck creaking like a breaking chair, then got up and mechanically opened the door.

    "Hi Averick. I heard you."

    "No, you did not. I¡¯ve been calling you for the last five minutes. I was about to break in."

    Averick was the closest thing Alice had to a friend. He was a twenty-year-old man, younger than her, with an easy smile and kind eyes.

    They had met after Alice¡¯s first week in Gunsee, on a Grasei, which was this world¡¯s way of naming what she presumed was a Sunday. She had been trying some kind of cocktail in a bar. The [Bartender] called it ¡®Crow¡¯s Glory¡¯, a drink made in honor of a [King] on another continent. It was this pitch-black liquid that had a taste reminiscent of cognac with a shot of some sweet yellow substance in the center. If you looked at the cocktail from the top it looked a lot like an eye staring right at you and being very judgemental.

    Anyways, she¡¯d been nursing her drink, and like you¡¯ve all probably guessed, Averick here decided to hit on her, because that¡¯s what always happens. As you can all probably guess, the tipsy boy failed miserably and, because he couldn¡¯t admit defeat, decided to keep trying, making an idiot of himself and managing, this way, to at least befriend her.

    Since then, he¡¯d come to know the girl better. And he understood one very important thing about her: Alice was crazy.

    Maybe it was the insomnia, most probably it was just her, but she was not normal. In that, she kept poisonous plants in her backyard, in a separate zone from the ones she was growing to make medicines. Also, she had accidentally set on fire the shed in the back when she¡¯d tried, and failed, to make some rubbing alcohol.

    "Time is relative and I¡¯m sleepy, what is it?"

    "The things you asked for have arrived. The [Merchant] brought it to Herman this morning. He told me to come call you."

    Now, Averick had seen a lot of things in his rather short life. Or, at least, that¡¯s what he liked to say whenever he tried to hit on a girl that caught his fancy. He was a Don Giovanni like that. Anyways, he¡¯d ¡®seen a lot of things¡¯, but the borderline creepy smile that appeared on the girl¡¯s face when he told her that, paired with the relief and gratitude in her eyes, was a mix he wouldn¡¯t forget anytime soon.

    "Thank you," was all she said, before walking away towards the not-really-but-entirely-too-far town. Her sleepy brain told her she¡¯d have to do something about that. Maybe build a car, or move the house. To which she answered with a shush and a reminder of how she¡¯d burned down the shed in the back just by trying to make alcohol.

    In ten minutes she had entered the town and reached a small building on a corner. A big sign on top of the door read ¡®Wood¡¯s Solutions¡¯. Personally, she didn¡¯t like the name, but Herman had told her that was also sort of on purpose. It was so bad, he said, that people remembered it just because of that. Sure, afterwards, when they told someone to give the place a try, they said things like ''You can¡¯t get the place wrong, it¡¯s the corner shop with the ugliest name around'', but that helped too.

    As she walked in front and peered inside, she saw rows upon rows of bottles lining various shelves, all divided in categories. Closest to the door were the classics: healing potions, mana potions and stamina potions. They were the most requested ones after all. Further away, though, one could find stranger things, from invisibility potions to something called a food potion.

    She opened the door and walked in with a little pep in her step.

    "Heeeermaaaaaaan, where are you? Averick told me you have my things!"

    A gruff voice from the back of the shop answered back: "I¡¯m here you dimwit, where else would I be?"

    "I don¡¯t know, maybe for once you decided to get that sorry ass of yours outta here, take the stick up your ass out and have some fun outside."

    That was the sort of relationship the two had: a constant stream of friendly insults flying around the shop as they worked in relative harmony. The man found her strange because of the way she kept acting, while she found him strange because he was not human.

    Indeed, Herman was a beastkin. A bear beastkin, in particular.

    They were a race present especially on the continent she found herself on, Eva. Originating from the jungle down south, they were basically humanoid animals. Naturally nobody said that to their faces, not unless they wanted said faces to stay where they were, or keep the form they had. Because describing them that way made them sound like savages, which they weren¡¯t.

    Something meowed under her, and Alice looked down at a small black kitten with startingly blue eyes sitting there. Her name was Lilith, and she was one of Herman¡¯s pets, the other being a big ass black wolf dog ironically called Gold. He liked to joke that he called him that way because he had a heart of gold, which was true, since he had been really docile when she¡¯d gone to see him, accompanied by the beastkin.

    The bearman walked out of the door to the back, one hand on his hip, the other holding a small bottle of dark blue liquid and a packet of seeds.

    "I¡¯ve been working on brewing you a High Grade Sleeping Potion with this Moonleaf since it came here this morning, but if you¡¯re gonna be an ungrateful little bitch I¡¯ll just keep all this to myself."

    Silence reigned in the room for a moment as Herman the [Pet Owner]/[Woodland Alchemist] and Alice the [Apprentice Alchemist]/[Gardener] stared at each other.

    Then: "Did I say just how shiny and well kept your fur looks today?"

    The bearman broke down into laughter, making Alice smile. He was a gruff bastard, but of the good sort.

    "Take it, and get yourself a good night¡¯s sleep. If this doesn¡¯t work then go pay a visit to Sammy."

    "Isn¡¯t he the [Smith]?"

    "Yes. He¡¯ll knock you out with a hammer," he laughed, then turned back towards the back of the shop, closing the door, but not before making sure Lilith hadn¡¯t walked into the back. She hadn¡¯t. She was still staring at Alice. And she kept staring through the glass as she walked out and back home.

    <hr>

    That night, Alice sat on her bed, holding the bottle of Sleep Potion with nearly religious reverence.

    This was a bit of an extreme solution, even Herman had told her as much, but she had already tried brewing something with the valerian she had bought from the beastkin¡¯s supplier, but it had only made her sleepy, which then made her disgruntled when she didn''t manage to actually fall asleep.

    This was it. Either the potion worked, or the hammer most certainly would, concussions and brain damage be damned!

    She popped the cork off the vial and drank it all in one go. The taste was sweet, reminding her slightly of the cookies her mother used to make. Images of chocolate chips and creamy inside with hints of cinnamon filled her mind as she lay down in bed.

    ¡­

    And didn¡¯t fall asleep.

    She stayed there, on the bed, face looking at the wooden ceiling as she slowly counted sheep. After reaching four hundred she began counting wolves, and imagined them entering the pen and devouring those useless animals that couldn¡¯t even help her fall asleep. After reaching four hundred again and having caused a massacre, she decided she needed to get out of her room before she decided that a repeat of the ¡®Backyard Fire Incident¡¯ was necessary to the inside of her room.

    She calmly raised herself up, feeling more awake than when she¡¯d gone to bed, put on some woolly slippers she¡¯d bought after Herman had paid her first paycheck, and walked out.

    And stopped in her tracks, as she was greeted by a sheep pen filled with running and bahing sheep that were being played with by wolves.

    All around her, a clearing of bright orange grass surrounded her, searing her eyes and making her brain go haywire as it tried to understand what was happening, the hamster in her brain desperately trying to find an extinguisher somewhere and realizing that those budget cuts to the brain department weren¡¯t such a bright idea.

    In all that chaos, a jovial voice spoke: -Ah, a new one appears!-

    Alice turned towards the source of the voice, seeing it was a tall fellow wearing a fedora and a fox mask that reminded her a lot of those kitsune masks she saw in manga. Apart from that, he was dressed sharply, as if he were ready for an interview with some big company, wearing a black tuxedo with a white button-up shirt underneath, black trousers and black leather shoes.

    -Welcome to the Land of Dreams, newbie.-

    [Dreamer Class Obtained!]

    [Dreamer Level 1!]

    [Skill ¨C Walk the Dream Obtained!]

    [Skill ¨C Fall Asleep Obtained!]

 Chapter 9: Luck Is a Bitch

    Imagine: you are walking down the street, maybe whistling a little tune like Jingle Bells, because that song always fits, even in the middle of summer with forty degrees under shadows. People wave at you as you walk by, because they know you, because you and your family are friends with most of them. This is your neighborhood. A dog barks from a house nearby: a tiny chihuahua. The little bastard could use something to keep that barking at bay, it¡¯s annoying, seeing how it usually starts to bark at six in the morning. Precisely. It was useful when you had to go to school, but now that it¡¯s summer break and you can finally sleep it¡¯s just unbearable.

    Still, you¡¯re not the kind of neighbor that complains about such small things. You tell yourself that you¡¯ll just get used to it and tune out the sound after a while. You know won¡¯t manage that, your mind is already thinking about where you could buy some earplugs. Maybe the local pharmacy has some. Seems like a good excuse to see that cute girl, Alice. A really charming individual. Some people would say that the bags under her eyes make her look a lot less attractive, but you don¡¯t care. You think of them as little light purple hands supporting her beautiful light green eyes.

    Imagine then, if you will, closing your eyes. Not as in, completely, no, just batting them. That single moment of darkness that people don¡¯t ever notice.

    Liam did just that. As he walked down the street towards his house, ready for an afternoon of light fun, maybe a game or two with his online friends, then have dinner and watch a film with his parents, he batted his eyes.

    And he found himself on a battlefield.

    <hr>

    The System observed the boy, its programming stopping for a short while as it dedicated a good chunk of its processing power to understanding how to fix the current situation.

    It Looked at the boy, and Saw him and everything he was.

    Liam Roy, 22 years old, male, human, chestnut eyes and hair, small button nose with a slight imperfection in the nasal sect, 28 teeth, missing all four wisdom teeth, slight breathing fatigue caused by asthma at a young age, small opening in the mitral valve in the heart, nothing serious for now, bone callus on the left ulna, everything else nominal.

    It knew the boy¡¯s fears and wants, the things he liked and disliked, it knew everything he remembered and even the things he had forgotten.

    And, in all this, there was a single problem: the boy hadn¡¯t made a wish.

    [Error¡­]

    [Unable to Execute Protocol: Last Wish]

    [Attempting to Circumvent Protocol¡­]

    [Attempting¡­]

    [Attempt Failed!]

    [Looking for Alternative Solution¡­]

    [Looking¡­]

    [Alternative Solution Found!]

    [Engaging Protocol: Luck Is a Bitch!]

    [Drawing Up Random Class!]

    [Class Assigned!]

    [Sending Query: Why is the Protocol named this way?]

    [Sent!]

    [Expected Time for Answer to Query: T-Minus ¡Þ Minutes]

    [Returning to Protocol: Observe and Judge!]

    That situation taken care of, the System went back to its usual state. The rest of its mind informed it of all the actions of the mortals and few immortals on the planet. It took note, assigned the righteously earned points to the right individuals, decided the eventual Classes they would receive or evolve into, and then kept Observing. Just another day.

    <hr>

    The first thing that hit him was the screaming.

    Or does it count as shouting? asked a little intrusive thought in his mind.

    That was more or less the last moment of peace he had. Because he was on a battlefield full of soldiers. And said soldiers didn¡¯t care who he was or how he had gotten here. They saw a man, and they didn¡¯t recognize the colors of his clothes. Most of them didn¡¯t notice that he wasn¡¯t wearing any armor: there was no time for that on the battlefield.

    The second thing that hit Liam was a shield. Right in the face. The impact was so sudden he didn¡¯t realize he was hit until he lay on the ground, dazed, his nose broken and bleeding, his head abuzz.

    What was happening? Where was he? Wh-

    Something pierced his left shoulder. He screamed, the pain on his face forgotten as an even greater pain radiated from the new wound. Tears appeared in his eyes and flowed uncontrollably as his mind tried to understand what to do, since some subconscious, nearly animalistic, instinct had already told the rational part of his mind to go fuck itself and taken over. He looked around for a single moment, trying to figure out what had hurt him, and noticed the sword stuck in his shoulder. And the hand holding its hilt. Hand that pulled, taking the weapon out.

    Pain flared again and he screamed.

    He didn¡¯t know it, but he had been lucky that first time. The soldier had slipped, and a blow that should have hit him in the heart had instead found his shoulder.

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    The unknown soldier, helmet covering his head, raised the weapon high and went for the killing blow.

    Liam rolled sideways, missing the sharp blade by a few centimeters. The soldier didn¡¯t miss a beat and booted him in the side, going for another strike.

    Liam rolled again, but this time towards the soldier. His left shoulder screamed, and he screamed with it, as he pushed himself towards the man, hitting him in the legs. The man keened forward, trying to stay on his feet, but the momentum behind his swing carried him over, making him fall over the young man. They scrambled around, Liam trying to lift the man, and failing miserably because he was wearing armor and Liam wasn¡¯t exactly muscled, while the soldier tried to stab him with the sword, and kept failing because either he sacrificed a part of his body to kill the boy or he didn¡¯t.

    In the end, Liam got lucky. His hand touched the handle of something: a knife. It was hanging from the man¡¯s waist, inside a leather sheath. He pulled, the knife coming out, and before he even realized it he planted the weapon in the man¡¯s neck, blade perpendicular to the jugular, cutting deep into his airways.

    The man gurgled, blood already flowing to fill the empty space inside him since it couldn¡¯t get out much because of the knife effectively blocking it in.

    The man reached out towards it and tried to bat away Liam¡¯s hand, wanting to get the extraneous body out of himself, but adrenaline was coursing through the boy¡¯s veins and he managed to keep it in place even as the metal ¡®gloves¡¯ of the armor hit him and caused minor cuts.

    The soldier was so out of his mind with fear that he completely forgot about his Skills, which would have turned the short encounter around in a moment, allowing him to kill the boy. He scrambled, but already his vision was going dark, his lungs full of blood. He coughed, but the blade in his larynx didn¡¯t let much of the blood out.

    Some still managed to end up on Liam¡¯s face, but he was beyond caring as he pushed the knife even deeper, the blade stuck on the cartilage ever so slowly carving its way further back. A few more seconds and it would probably touch the spine.

    Fortunately, that didn¡¯t happen, since the man finally died, his dead body slumping over Liam. The boy immediately pushed it off, his shoulder making him hiss in pain again.

    He could have done the intelligent thing and stayed where he was, covering himself with the soldier¡¯s body, which would have surely hidden him from the other, distracted, soldiers. You didn¡¯t exactly have much time to look under your feet when you were fighting for your life.

    But, as stated before, Liam¡¯s rational mind had been temporarily sent on a vacation, so he lifted himself from the ground and, after a moment¡¯s thought, took the soldier¡¯s sword. It wasn¡¯t heavy. Anyone with a bit of education about medieval weaponry would tell you that swords were crafted to be as light as possible, so that anyone could use them. You had to fling a heavy weapon around pretty hard to hit someone, and that wasn¡¯t a good idea on a battlefield packed with both enemies and allies.

    So Liam took the sword in his hands, securing the knife on his belt, picked a random direction, and ran away, hoping to get out of wherever he was. The questions had stopped flowing in his mind, their place taken up by the natural instinct all living beings had to stay alive.

    But then, Liam was a son of the twenty-first century, and the moment that thought crossed his mind, the song ¡°Staying Alive¡± by the BGs began playing back in the background of his thoughts.

    Now with a soundtrack, Liam ran, and he was lucky enough that, for the first minute, nobody seemed to notice his existence.

    Then Lady Luck, being the bitch she was, which didn¡¯t change from world to world, gave Liam a parting kiss and looked the other way, deciding to help someone else.

    So Liam stumbled and practically shoulder charged a [Soldier]. The man felt the sudden impact, and him being a little less green than Liam¡¯s last adversary, activated the Skill [Maintain Footing], which allowed him to stay on his feet even if the impact should have unbalanced him. He finished the man he¡¯d been fighting against, then looked down, seeing Liam already scrambling away from him on the ground. He didn¡¯t even question the situation, instead going for the free blow. One less enemy to worry about after all.

    That¡¯s when Luck decided that she liked Liam again, and made him trip again. As he fell, the boy felt the air moving at the nape of his neck, and realized he¡¯d been this close to losing his head.

    He scrambled to his feet and kept running, ¡°Staying Alive¡±¡¯s chorus playing in the background, and that was it for that fight. The [Soldier] just saw a boy run away, and didn¡¯t think about pursuing him. He had to stay in line and, more or less, he was grateful, because that had gotten him a short breath of relief.

    He turned back to the battlefield, looking for his best enemy as he chugged down a Stamina Potion. Energy filled him up, and he reminded himself not to overdo it, ¡®less he wanted to poison himself.

    Meanwhile Liam ran.

    He was nearly at the edge of the battlefield. He was going to make it!

    The joy was short-lived, because he was trampled by a running horse. He hadn¡¯t studied medieval military strategies, hence he didn¡¯t know that running towards the sides of an army led to the areas where the cavalry fought.

    He fell to the ground, feeling his bones break under hundreds of newtons of force applied by the horse. His ribcage was nearly pulverized, sternum fractured and pressed against his somehow still beating and unperforated heart. Same went for his lugs. How lucky, am I right?

    How lucky he felt, as his body burned in agony and he desired for it all to end, his life be damned. Somehow, he was still clinging to consciousness, because he knew that, if he closed his eyes and gave in to oblivion, he would die, and even if he wanted to he couldn¡¯t bring himself to just do it! So, he lay there, on the ground, mud ruining his clothes, body bleeding from the inside, breathing ragged and painful.

    And Lady Luck stared right at him, smiling mischievously, and took a physical form.

    After what felt to Liam like days, the sounds of battle drowned out, a face appeared in his field of view. A woman. Or a man with long hair. His vision was blurred.

    "Get him out of here!" she or he shouted.

    Then she looked down at him, and whispered a Skill: [Reduce Pain].

    Like a shot of morphine being injected in his veins, Liam felt a sensation of freshness wash over him, and the pain¡­ didn¡¯t disappear, but now instead of agony he felt a level of pain comparable to the moment you stab your toe against your furniture, only all over his body. Unpleasant, but definitely better.

    He sighed.

    And lost consciousness.

    [Lucky Soldier Level 3!]

    [Mage Crafter Level 1!]

    [Skill ¨C Lucky Dodge Obtained!]

    [Skill ¨C Luck Bank Obtained!]

    [Skill ¨C Object: Infuse Spell Obtained!]

    [Skill ¨C Lesser Proficiency: Crafting Obtained!]

    [Spell ¨C Miniaturize Obtained!]

    [Conditions Met ¨C Lesser Proficiency: Crafting -> Proficiency: Weapon Crafting!]

    [Condition: Dreams Painted Red Contracted!]

 Interlude - Mistakes Were Made

    King Alban III was a big man. Not big as in fat, no, just¡­ big. Everything about him seemed to have been magnified with the help of a magnifying glass. At two meters and fifty, he was the tallest human in the world. Once upon a time there were whispers that he had Giant¡¯s blood flowing in his veins, but that was quickly disproved. He was one hundred percent human, with human parents and no giants whatsoever among his ancestors going back thirteen generations. And had he gone even further back, the most he would have discovered was that one of his great great great¡­ you get it, grandmas had a lot of intimate relationships with giants. But nothing had come from them.

    Currently, King Alban was sitting on his throne in the throne room of the capital city of Eriman . It was, appropriately, extremely big, but surprisingly simple. One could have called it a big wooden chair and be done with it, because that¡¯s what it was. Sure, it had a comfortable cushion to sit on, and it had been carved by a Level 40 [Carver], using Skills that made the wood more durable and, somehow, helped in keeping one¡¯s concentration, but in the end it was just a chair.

    King Alban was, among the [Kings] of his world, what you would call the exception. He was a simple man, who rather preferred spending money on making the lives of his people better than commission a big, useless, chair out of gold that would, most probably, be much less comfortable than the one he was currently sitting on. There was a reason why even other rich people tended not to buy such extravagant decorations.

    This opinion alone put the man on a higher level of intelligence than most of his brethren. And yet, he did not flaunt his superiority, both moral and intellectual. He liked to act like any other person when not necessary. He found it funny how dumbfounded most other dignitaries and envoys from other kingdoms looked when, out of the blue, he lifted the mask of the man who let his subordinates do all the work for him, and showed just how much he knew about his country¡¯s affairs. One¡¯d think that, after nearly a decade, someone would learn.

    Yet they didn¡¯t, and he capitalized on it.

    Still, sometimes he wondered if he was surrounded by idiots in his court as well.

    Idiots like the [High Mage] currently standing in front of him, twiddling his fingers nervously behind his back. How did he know that? He had, long ago, had a mirror installed over the entrance door to his throne room. It had been a spur of the moment decision, one of the rare ones he had ever made, but sometimes it came in handy. Not right now. It didn¡¯t take a genius to see that the man in front of him was a walking wreck on mana burn and very close to mana poisoning.

    [High Mage] Argus was a much smaller man than his [King]. Well, it really didn¡¯t take much to be taller than him, since he was a dwarf. Normally, he reached no higher than a person¡¯s elbow at best, but with Alban his head was at waist height. He was wearing his usual gear: the typical tunic most [Mages] wore, his of a warm, dark, gray color, just like his eyes, enchanted with [Fire Resistance]. That wasn¡¯t because he was the stereotypical dwarf that worked at a forge and knew everything about metals. Like, yes, he did know a lot about metals, thank you very much and stop being speciesist, but he had put the enchantment there because he had realized that most [Battle Mages] had a penchant for low-mana-cost-high-damage spells like [Fireball] or [Fire Spire] or¡­ well, anything related to fire.

    Fire magic was the cheapest in terms of mana cost, with the downside of being extremely complex to learn and cast.

    Second to that came lightning magic, but he had other protections and artifacts on his person that could help with that.

    Argus was a bit of a generalist: he knew spells from most schools of magic, had an affinity for earth magic, like most dwarves did, and specialized in spatial manipulation spells. He also had an aversion towards death magic and its complete opposite, blood magic. Too convoluted, in his opinion, and he had no interest in entering the eternal debates around the morality of those two schools of magic.

    But why then such an accomplished [Mage] was standing in front of his [King] looking so nervous, ready to bolt out of the room with a [Minor Teleportation] Spell? Well, the short answer was, he had fucked up big time.

    The long one, well:

    "So, let me get this straight. I want to be sure about what you just told me: you executed the ritual precisely as the book stated, step by step. The circle was created, using the materials that were asked for, like ¡®melted crystals¡¯ and all that stuff you twinkle fingers like to use. Materials which I spent a considerable part of this month¡¯s budget to obtain, I would also like to point out. Then you did your thing, called upon gods know what to tear apart the veil of reality and open a doorway towards another world, putting at risk the stability of both realities. And then you come here, and tell me that the rite was a success¡­ but you forgot to input coordinates into the spell matrix, and now the people you summoned are somewhere on this planet and we don¡¯t know where.

    "And then, as if the world wanted to give us another big middle finger, you¡¯re telling me the spell is no longer working because, apparently, the System decided it needed a cooldown!-

    [King] Alban was having the closest thing to an aneurism one could have without dying.

    [High Mage] Argus took a step back, then nodded sheepishly: "Yes, your Majesty, apparently the spell was meant to be used a single time. Whoever created it didn¡¯t think we¡¯d be using it more than once. The same goes for the System, apparently."

    "And how, in the endless and ever changing names of the Stars, did you not notice you were missing a part of the spell matrix. The most important part, to that."

    This question seemed to calm the [Mage] as he sighed and took a leatherbound book out of his bag of holding. The cover was a plain brown, with no title or other sign to show who had written it and what it contained. It was so nondescript that nobody would give it more than a cursory glance. The sensation lingered even now, the book trying to erase itself from his memory and sight, as if trying to make the [King] forget that it was there and could contain anything useful. It was clearly an enchantment of some sort, but no matter how much Argus tried to study the spell¡¯s matrix, he simply couldn¡¯t concentrate enough to give it more than a cursory glance.

    "Well, the book is missing a few pages," he said, opening it to the final page, where the spell that was supposed to turn this war around was written. It was a twenty page long explanation on how the summoning circle should be drawn, using which ingredients, at what time of day during which phase of the moon. To the already complex spell, add the fact that the book¡¯s enchantment kept affecting even the reader. It was so mind bogglingly complex it was giving him a headache just looking at it. And, as the [High Mage] turned to the last page, he noticed a detail he hadn¡¯t seen when he had first been shown this book by that strange pair of brothers on a carriage.

    The last page had been ripped off cleanly. It was such a clean cut no one would have noticed it without them actively looking for it.

    That was, he realized, the point. Someone had done this on purpose, left this to him at such a desperate time, with precisely that flaw in that part of the spell¡¯s matrix. Someone wanted people to come here, in this world, but why not in his kingdom?

    Stars, why didn¡¯t they perform the rite themselves? He found it hard to believe that whoever had found this book couldn¡¯t do what he had had his [High Mage] do.

    "There¡¯s something fishy here."

    "...What are you talking about Your Majesty?"

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    "Nothing Argus. Clearly this wasn¡¯t your fault. Not completely. You are free to go. Take the day off, rest, and prepare yourself, we¡¯re leaving for the battlefields in three days."

    The [High Mage] sighed and nodded. He had been hoping he wouldn¡¯t be hearing those words. It meant they had failed. It meant they were going to lose. Stupid wars. Why couldn¡¯t the world just learn to live in peace, without that stupid, endless, desire of expansion, that all consuming greed that had led to the destruction of entire races? For what? Something that would collapse sooner rather than later in an endless cycle of infighting and desire for freedom.

    The [King] sighed and slumped in his throne. Not a very regal position, but who was there to judge him? His court was either on the battlefields or in their territories, trying to stabilize a crumbling economy and keep the people alive. His [High Mage] had left the room. The [Jester] was in a corner, silently sitting, uncaring. It wasn¡¯t his job to think big. His only job was to make people smile. And he succeeded at that more on the streets than in these gloomy hallways, where the true weight of that war could be felt.

    He was alone.

    So he let himself slouch.

    And he sat there, crown slightly askew on his head, the simple gold catching a stray ray of light, reflecting it on his black robes. His eyes looked around the empty throne room, resting on the landscape outside the large windows, roiling fields of brown, freshly harvested land, with the occasional mounds of hay here and there waiting to be stored away in drier places before the advent of autumn.

    Then his eyes fell on the mirror. On his reflection. And he smiled bitterly as he thought to himself: What good is a [King of the People] if he cannot even help his people? I am failing.

    He knew that, yet his Class didn¡¯t change. He wasn¡¯t downgraded to some lesser version of the [King] Class, no blood dripped on those words even if his people¡¯s blood bathed the grounds of the battlefields. He stayed the same, and he didn¡¯t know why. He allowed himself to wallow in his sadness, letting the feeling of weakness that had been gnawing at the back of his mind for so long surface for a moment.

    And then the [Jester] talked:

    "Do not despair, o¡¯ foolish king. For surely, if the gods don¡¯t care about your place upon this world, there are those who are interested."

    The man, young yet sometimes older than Alban, was smiling slightly.

    "Do you know something I don¡¯t, Manny? Has the Game chosen not to Checkmate me?"

    The [Jester] shook his head. No jingling sound filled the room, for he had taken off his hat with those little silver bells. He was passing a hand through his hair, as tired as his [King] apparently.

    "I am no Player, young king. [Jesters] aren¡¯t meant to Play. We are meant to smile and make smile, and anyone of us who doesn¡¯t follow this simple rule is unworthy of our Class. No, Alban, I¡¯m just saying that you¡¯re a good [King], and that someone has noticed, has seen through that transparent mask you insist on wearing. Masks are not for [Kings], Alban. They are for [Jesters]. And you¡¯re way too boring to be one of us."

    Someone knocked on the door to the throne room. Three knocks, a pause, one knock, another pause, then two more.

    Alban¡¯s eyebrows shot into his hairline as he registered the simple code he had taught to his [Attendants]. Every major party in the world, from great kingdoms that had survived longer than a few generations to representatives of the Game had their own code. This way he could know who to expect to meet before they walked into the room. It was a good trick, so simple only the truly sharp noticed it. A trick he had created after realizing how much nations liked to send envoys unannounced to surprise their [Kings]. It happened more often than expected, manners be damned.

    Now, that code was for an especially young kingdom that had risen rather recently after a decades long war and, before that, centuries of persecution.

    He took the crown off his head and placed it on the armrest of his throne. These people didn¡¯t care about such things. They showed respect only to those that gained it through their actions. So he sat, and hoped for the best, because after the failure that was ritual these people were about to bring another ray of shining hope that he¡¯d endeavor to trap in a box of mirrors, so that it may never stop shining.

    The doors opened, and three people walked in.

    The first thing anyone would notice about his guests was the color of their skin: green. The same green of a clearing of grass after heavy rain. Dark, but with lighter tonalities here and there.

    Following that they would notice the slightly pointed ears and, if the light hit their faces the right way, the red eyes.

    And, when they¡¯d eventually smile, their rows of sharp teeth.

    Goblins.

    They were here.

    One of them, at the front, was dressed in simple traveling clothes, white and comfortable, a shortsword at his side and a bag of holding at the other.

    The two behind him, instead, wore full plate armor and helmets that left not a single bit of skin exposed. The visors, though, were open, letting anyone in the room see what was under the armor. It would have been more impressive if there weren¡¯t just a [King] and his [Jester] in the room.

    "Good morning, envoys of the Goblin Kingdom. I welcome you to the Kingdom of Decora. I hope your travels through my lands were uneventful, even in these trying times."

    The goblin in front nodded his head.

    "I would like to ask for forgiveness for the¡­ surprise call. But we believed time was of the essence, and you don¡¯t have much. My name is Cremrion Nevres. You may call me Crem, [King] Alban."

    "I welcome you and your companions, Cremren Nevres. Since you¡¯ve kindly offered that I call you by this nickname, you may drop the honorifics."

    The goblin looked up from his small bow and smiled, flashing his teeth slightly.

    "You seem like a no-nonsense man, Alban, so let us skip to the reason I have been sent here. We have noticed your country is at war. We have also noticed that, as of now, your young country hasn¡¯t made a deal with any of the churches of the Gods. You seem to have refused every single one of them. Why is that?"

    Alban shrugged:

    "They offered assistance and power in the form of trained [Paladins], high level at that, but their conditions were quite unacceptable. Representatives in the war councils? Presence in the kingdom¡¯s politics? Freedom of movement for the College of Memoirs? Too much power to them in the long term, for a small short term benefit."

    Crem nodded.

    "A good assessment. One that not many make. Most just accept the deal when it is proposed during times of war. Yet, now, your troops are helpless against the endless faith of those zealots. A [Mage]¡¯s mana can and will end, their blind belief won¡¯t."

    "That is, indeed, the situation. Have you come here to make me face that reality? Because I have already done so."

    "No, Alban. I have come with a proposal. A helping hand, to take you out of this pit of quicksand you¡¯re sinking in."

    Alban stared at the goblin for a short while. Then nodded slightly.

    "Go on."

    "A deal, signed in my presence as envoy of the Kingdom of Goblins, forced over both parties by my Skills and the Goblin King¡¯s own. A pact of mutual help. We shall come for you in these trying times, and you will do the same when someone inevitably attacks us again. We will also give you a few units of our own [Paladins] to help balance the situation and, if need be, a few of our [Strategists]. At the same time, you will allow us to build temples in honor of the God of Dreams and Impossibilities under whose aegis we managed to win our freedom. Only that. No presence in war councils, politics, or such. Merely a reminder of who came in your time of need."

    It seemed to good to be real.

    Yet his Skills didn¡¯t detect any lie or secondary goal. Only a genuine desire to help.

    "Why me?" he simply asked.

    The goblin¡¯s smile became just a tad larger.

    "Have you any [Diviners] in your court, Alban? Or a [Soothsayer]? Elders, even a two bit [Tea Leaves Reader] should be enough. A new age is coming. An era of change even greater than the Era of Hunts thousands of years ago. And you, Alban, seem like someone capable of change, of accepting and bringing it. We¡¯d like the Era to change faster, and your death would probably make things more difficult."

    That was it. Their reason. It was so simple and improbable Alban nearly laughed. Who trusted [Diviners]?

    Yet these goblins did, and whether their beliefs were right or wrong, they were offering to help. And that was all he needed to raise himself from the throne, shake the [Diplomat] goblin¡¯s hand, and leave the throne room to discuss things in detail.

    So, the [Jester] was the only one left in the throne room. Overlooked. But that was alright. He wasn¡¯t putting on a show, so there was no need for him to be noticed.

    He walked behind the throne, and stared out of the grand window. Out and away, towards distant mountains and battlefields.

    And all the while, his thoughts kept saying only this:

    I¡¯m glad the Brothers Two were dressed in white.

 Chapter 10: Mourning Calls

    Liam woke up on a bed.

    And instantly wondered if he was dead and this was the afterlife. Because that was Tradition. A strange Tradition, sure, but one anyways, so he might as well respect it.

    And, as tradition dictated, he realized immediately that this wasn¡¯t the afterlife, and if it was he wanted a refund, because a green colored tent didn¡¯t look like a good place to stay in after a life of tribulations.

    "Oh, you¡¯re finally awake." said someone from his side.

    He turned around, and saw a man with shoulder length blonde hair looking at him from a nearby chair. His posture was slumped, his shoulders hunched over, making him look small. He was definitely tired.

    He wore something similar to a coverall, all black, except for a few places here and there on the arms that appeared slightly discolored.

    His gloves, surprisingly big all things considered, were resting on a small table by the side of the chair. They smelled of alcohol, and were nearly gray from use.

    "Morning calls, boy, and you¡¯ve been summoned by the [King] himself for an audience."

    Liam opened his mouth, his lips parting slowly after an indefinite amount of time sealed, and realized he was thirsty.

    He tried to communicate it to the man, but he just pointed to a pitcher of water and a glass sitting on the small table beside the gloves. How hadn¡¯t he noticed those?

    He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. He extended a hand and tried to lift the pitcher. He nearly immediately gave up as he felt the lack of strength in his arms. He knew for sure he¡¯d make it fall if he took it in his hands.

    The man hit himself on the face as he realized the mistake and batted his hand away, pouring him a glass of water and helping him drink it.

    "Sorry about this boy. If it were me, I¡¯d have you stay in bed for another day or two. But the [King] said to call you the moment you woke up. I¡¯m gonna make sure you¡¯re not going to die the moment you step away from this bed, though. Worst case scenario, I¡¯ll tell him you still have to wake up. Or he¡¯ll have to come here."

    He drank down the water greedily, and immediately regretted it as he felt pain lance through my torso. He looked down, but could only see the light clothes he was currently wearing, noticeably not the ones he had when he¡¯d appeared on that battlefield, and a hint of white bandages.

    He then remembered what had happened. He remembered the last moments before that face appeared in his vision, how that horse had run him over, seemingly destroying his ribcage. How he had managed to survive through sheer luck as the bone fragments didn¡¯t puncture his lungs or his heart, or anything too vital truth be told.

    And he wondered how he could still be alive.

    "How¡­ am I¡­ alive?" he asked, his voice rough from being unused for however much time he¡¯d been unconscious.

    "Nothing short of a miracle, boy. Our [War Necromancer] managed to Level Up once just from fixing your broken ribcage. Said it was in so many pieces he couldn¡¯t even reassemble it back together, had to rebuild the bones from scratch using the fragments. He also said something about ¡®upgrading the bone structure while he was at it¡¯, but I assume that¡¯s nothing to be afraid of. He¡¯s yet to kill someone that isn¡¯t an enemy."

    Liam¡¯s brain went into overdrive as he drank the information in. And then it stopped abruptly like a computer program glitching out as he realized two things: one, this man had talked about a [War Necromancer]. As in, one of those mages that raised dead bodies to make zombies and skeletons. The typical villains in most stories? And, as if that wasn¡¯t enough, said necromancer had healed him and ¡®upgraded¡¯ his body! That felt so violating.

    "I know kiddo, you didn¡¯t ask for this. Probably a teleportation spell went awry somewhere and now you¡¯re here. Not your fault, we¡¯ve understood that a while ago. You¡¯ll just have to answer a few questions, then we¡¯ll be sending you back towards the country you came from."

    That country was England. He was from London. And, after what he had just heard, and what he remembered from that battle, he doubted he was anywhere on Earth.

    But would anyone believe him if he told them he wasn¡¯t from this world? Or would they just call him crazy? Maybe they¡¯d force him to fight again. Force him to go on that battlefield where he¡¯d nearly died multiple times. Force him to take a sword and a knife, make him kill people, cut their throats and gut them, bathe the ground in red so that it may drink and grow strong and entertained.

    His thoughts went spiraling down a red stairway in a red room with mirrors facing his way, and he could see the [Soldier] he¡¯d killed, the people dying around him, the horse coming for him, a headless knight on top, flames erupting from the stump, as it screeched towards him with sword drawn, a messenger of death for him and him only.

    Red seeped into his vision from around the room, his breathing becoming more and more ragged.

    The [Soldiers] were whispering something. The same thing that voice had told him when he¡¯d blacked out.

    [Condition: Dreams Painted Red Contracted!]

    They screamed and he clutched at his head, his mind wondering for a moment how this worked, how it was possible for him to be dreaming when he was awake. What he didn¡¯t know was that the System wasn¡¯t used to his world¡¯s way of describing maladies, mental and physical. And so, what for him was commonly known as PTSD, the System called a ¡®waking dream¡¯, a daydream.

    He didn¡¯t know that, and he didn¡¯t have the mental capacity for that right now. He was lost.

    And then a hand landed on his shoulder. He turned around and started screaming even before seeing the figure of the flaming headless knight.

    But the knight wasn¡¯t whispering the same words as those other ghosts of his mind. No, it simply said this: [Soothing Presence].

    The red slowly left his eyes. The mirrors began to bend and twist, slowly melting into the ground. The stairs were gone. The walls opened up. And he was in the tent again. The man who¡¯d helped him was still sitting in the same place, posture still relaxed, even if now the gloves were on his hands.

    But then, if he was still there, who was touching his shoulder?

    He turned, and saw a small, feminine, hand. He looked up, seeing the slender arm, and upwards still, finally looking in the eyes the woman who¡¯d somehow gotten him out of that downward spiral of maddening, twisted, memories.

    He opened his mouth to talk, and only then noticed he was shaking uncontrollably. So he just looked at the woman and, still shaking, nodded his head in thank you. She nodded back, her face serious.

    The man then spoke:

    "Thank you, [Knight Commander] Amarie. I was about to administer a dose of anesthetic to calm him down."

    Only then did Liam notice the syringe the man was holding in one of his hands.It was big, filled with a small dose of pinkish liquid. It looked quite well made, considering these people seemed to be in some sort of medieval time period. A fine tool.

    "It was no problem, [Surgeon] Davis. But, may I suggest you don¡¯t use one of those on a patient in the same state as this boy? That doesn¡¯t stop the Dreams, it only makes it more difficult for the [Soldiers] to get out of them."

    "I know, Dame Amarie, but it was that or risk him becoming violent, and the gods know what could happen then. I¡¯d rather he doesn¡¯t go ¡®musician¡¯ on us."

    What did he mean ¡®go musician¡¯? What was so bad about a musician on a battlefield? Well, actually, there were multiple bad things, but they were mostly bad for the mad player than the soldiers.

    "Fair. How¡¯s it going in regards to my proposal for [Thought Healers] on the battlefields?"

    "Poorly. The [Financers] of the kingdom don¡¯t deem the expense worth it. It will bite their ass later on, and they¡¯ll change their mind. Hopefully, when it happens, we won¡¯t be killed."

    The man, no, the [Surgeon], had spoken in such a dejected and tired tone he looked ten years older.

    "You alright to go boy?" asked the Dame.

    Liam nodded, and finally managed to find the strength to speak again.

    "Yes. Thank you. What was that?"

    "A Skill. Low level one, but surprisingly useful in the aftermath of any battle."

    Liam raised his eyebrows slightly.

    "What is a Skill?"

    The Dame opened her mouth, then stopped, stumped. She looked down at the boy, and her own eyebrows shot in her hairline for a moment, before she regained her composure and looked at the [Surgeon].

    "Maybe it¡¯s worse than we thought?"

    The man shook his head.

    "He only got one Red Skill. A standard one, not an evolved one, probably. If you¡¯re wondering if that¡¯s scrambling his memories, then no, believe me, it¡¯s not that."

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "But then how¡­"

    "I don¡¯t know. I am a [Surgeon], I only know how to fix people so that they may live another day. I don¡¯t know the workings of the mind. Unless it entails opening someone¡¯s head to see their brain."

    There was some humor in that last sentence, but it sent a shiver down Liam¡¯s spine.

    "Don¡¯t, [Surgeon] Davis. Your jokes have never managed to help anyone."

    Then she turned back towards Liam, looking him up and down.

    "Look, boy, I don¡¯t know who you are, I don¡¯t know where you¡¯re from, and I have no idea how you appeared on that battlefield. I do want to know the answers to all those questions, but that¡¯ll have to wait. Now, let me give you some tips for the upcoming meeting. His Majesty is not a kind man, nor a patient one. He dislikes lies, and has a Skill that acts like one of them [Truth] spells, so, whatever you do, don¡¯t lie to him. If you¡¯re lucky he¡¯ll find you uninteresting or useless and let you go."

    She didn¡¯t say it, but he felt the second part of that sentence linger around him: if you¡¯re unlucky, he¡¯ll keep you around.

    "Now, to answer your question, Skills are abilities given to us by the System, a being created by the Gods to make our lives easier, to reward us for our efforts. Skills go from simple upgrades to one¡¯s physique to powerful abilities that can break the laws of reality. Naturally, the powerful things come with higher Levels. The higher Level you are, the stronger you become, with better Skills, but significant spikes in difficulty when it comes to gaining Levels. Skills and Classes also come in ¡®colors¡¯. Black is basic, green is uncommon, gold is rare. There are also rumors about purple Skills and Classes, but they say those come with Levels at 70 or higher, and the people who get there are so rare they might as well not exist."

    Liam nodded his head, absorbing the information like a sponge left to dry in the desert for a week before being thrown in a lake.

    Then he connected the dots.

    "Wait, but you also talked about ¡®Red Skills¡¯, right?"

    The woman¡¯s smile turned sad, with a hint of unpleasantness.

    "You¡¯re an attentive one. Yes, they exist. You¡¯ve got one, doesn¡¯t take an [Appraisal] to see that. They¡¯re not Skills strictly speaking. They are Conditions. Negative effects on your body and mind. Most [Soldiers] will get one at some point in their career. They¡¯re hard to remove, nearly impossible, like most Skills. I¡¯m sorry boy. The only thing I can tell you is to stay away from the battlefield. That should help."

    She shook her head, then looked him dead in the eyes.

    "Now follow me. I won¡¯t tell the King about your questions. It will make you look strange. Which equates to ¡®interesting¡¯ for him."

    She offered him her hand to help him up. He took it after a moment of hesitation. She gripped his hand, and she felt surprisingly strong as she lifted him bodily from the bed to help him stand on the floor of simple wooden boards.

    "Can you walk?"

    She asked after seeing him fumble for a moment to get his balance back. His legs ached. Hell, his entire body ached. But he grit his teeth and nodded.

    Dame Amarie stared him dead in the eyes as she looked him over and whispered under her breath ¡°[Check Condition]¡±. Her expression darkened.

    "You¡¯re in no condition to walk boy. You should be resting still."

    Liam shook his head.

    "I can do that later. Let¡¯s rip the band-aid off."

    The Dame furrowed her brows.

    "What¡¯s a band-aid?"

    <hr>

    King Tibur Vanders, also called, behind his back, the Hollow King, was a man with simple desires: he wanted power, and he wanted his life not to be boring. Anything that could help him achieve any of the two was taken with no cares for the other¡¯s desires.

    It was a greedy mentality perfectly fitting of someone who had been an adventurer before becoming a [King]. That was the kind of thing that was possible in the continent of Rodar, better known as ¡®The Cursed Continent¡¯. If you wanted to say a joke about the place, it would be along this line: ¡°It¡¯s as if the gods looked at that continent and said ¡®Fuck that place in particular¡¯.¡±

    It was a place where misfortune abounded and, with it, possibilities. Chances to rise! And many more chances to fall lower than the lowest piece of scum in this world. Because a man¡¯s misfortune was another one¡¯s fortune.

    This is what had happened with Tibur Vanders. Once a Level 26 [Renown Swordsman], he had soon become bored of the usual dungeons filled to the brim with bloodthirsty monsters. Sure, if they managed to ambush you then you were in for quite the interesting fight, but apart from that they were just relatively mindless things that thought like animals. Sure, animals that could melt your face off, or spear your guts while accidentally walking by, or even chew you in half without you even noticing while you slept, but still animals.

    And while they sometimes managed to satisfy his thirst for adventure, and surely kept him well fed, the adventuring business didn¡¯t give him many hopes to rise through the ranks. Because he was good at his job. High Silver, close to Gold, even, but he knew he¡¯d never reach Adamantine. He wasn¡¯t crazy enough. Just greedy.

    So he¡¯d waited around, and at the first occasion, had organized a coup d¡¯etat and dethroned some small [King] that nobody would miss.

    Now he was a feared man who commanded one of the strongest armies on the continent, with everything he could ever desire!

    And just yesterday his armies had won another battle! He and his high ranking officials had been celebrating since then.

    Then, just to make his day better, he¡¯d heard that some boy had appeared in the middle of the battle, seemingly out of nowhere, had run through the whole battlefield somehow managing not to get killed, had ended up in front of a running horse, been nearly stamped to death, and still managed to survive. If that wasn¡¯t interesting, he didn¡¯t know what was!

    He had waited for the boy to come out of his coma since then.

    And now that he was in front of him, he was all the more curious.

    Because he wasn¡¯t High Level. He didn¡¯t look particularly strong, or smart, or anything really. He seemed average at best. Granted, there was a good chance that was because he had nearly died and was now sitting hunched over on a chair he¡¯d been kindly offered.

    Still, even with that, there was something in him. He was certain of it! How? Because of one of his Skills: [Sense Talent]. Obtained when he¡¯d hit Level 20 of his [King] Class, it had helped him in getting this far. He had actually hoped to get one of those [Sense Loyalty] or [Sense Disloyalty] Skills. They were the most standard ones for [Kings], but he¡¯d soon found out he had no need for them: there were other, more practical, ways of ensuring his people¡¯s loyalty to him.

    So his Skill kept pinging insistently at the boy in his mind, whispering to him that he had great potential. Potential for what? He didn¡¯t know, and that was what made the boy so interesting.

    He twisted a golden ring on his hand enchanted with an [Appraisal] spell, and more information appeared in his mind: the boy¡¯s Classes, Skills, and the one Condition.

    His eyes widened just a tiny bit as he saw the words and numbers: A Level 3 [Lucky Soldier] and a Level 1 [Mage Crafter]. He was so low level that it was as if he had never leveled all his life. How could that be? Also, how was it possible for the boy to have a green class at such a low level? A Fusion Class too, from what he remembered. It didn¡¯t make any sense.

    He¡¯s definitely a keeper.

    He thought. Sure, he couldn¡¯t send him to battle: he had a Red Skill, and he hadn¡¯t even had formal training in the use of swords. Frankly, he wasn¡¯t even surprised he had obtained the [Lucky Soldier] Class, because he could¡¯ve never survived without an enormous amount of luck. And there were laws about sending people with Red Skills in battle. Laws he himself had made to ensure his people didn¡¯t start rebelling out of the blue.

    "Tell me, Liam, where are you from?"

    They¡¯d been talking for a while now in his private tent, and finally he¡¯d decided to ask the most pressing question. So far, the boy had been answering truthfully, telling him in as much detail as he was comfortable what had happened on the battlefield.

    His spells, the only two he had bothered to learn, [Detect Truth] and [Detect Lie], were one of his greatest assets in one on one conversations. You may be wondering, why use both? Why not just use [Detect Lie] and see when someone told a lie? The answer was quite simple, and the fact that you asked meant you¡¯ve never ever truly learned to lie: one could use some misguided answer built out of truths to tell a lie. After all, the best lies are the ones that contain a seed of truth.

    "I¡¯m from London, Your Majesty."

    Simple and to the point. He liked that about this boy.

    Also, it was easier on his small mana pool. He was no [Mage], after all.

    Still, the answer surprised him. He had never heard of this city called ¡®London¡¯. Where was that? Surely it must have been a small village in some far off corner of the world if he¡¯d never heard of it.

    "I never heard of it. It must be a small place?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, with no malicious intent, just pure and simple curiosity.

    The boy became visibly, or at least to him, who was an expert in reading people, more uncomfortable.

    "No, Your Majesty. Where I¡¯m from it¡¯s considered quite big. It¡¯s the capital city of the place."

    Which was a complete Truth with no Lies whatsoever. It was, indeed, quite the big city where Liam was from. But the way he¡¯d told it, oh, that was important. That was what he¡¯d been doing so far: telling truths without any real context. Or rather, within the wrong context. The wrong world. So the [King] kept swimming in his sea of knowledge, completely unaware that the boy he was talking with was on a boat in another far away ocean.

    That was what saved him from revealing the actual truth: that he was from another world.

    "Hmmm¡­ interesting. Well, I¡¯ll look into that. Later. For now, you¡¯ll be a guest in my country. Then, when we find your home, we¡¯ll send you back. That failed [Teleportation] Spell was truly a misfortune."

    Liam chuckled a bit.

    "Indeed. But you could also say that the misfortune was repaid in good luck ten times over afterwards."

    He tentatively smiled, and the [King] laughed out loud. Internally, the boy panicked. Tibur would look around for London, find out that it didn¡¯t exist in this world, unless he was so lucky that someone had for some reason decided to name a city that same way, which he doubted, and, seeing that he hadn¡¯t lied, he would start asking questions. Questions that would lead to him having to tell the actual truth.

    So, in a fit of panic, his mouth talked without him thinking.

    "Your Majesty, I actually find the prospect of going back quite dreadful. I would much rather stay here. This seems like a¡­ more interesting place to stay."

    There. He¡¯d done it. FUCK!

    Well, maybe not so much ¡®Fuck¡¯ as ¡®A temporary solutions¡¯.

    Tibur Vanders practically beamed, his mind already forgetting about this phantomatic London and concentrating on the chance in front of him.

    "Well, that¡¯s simply great! I will be sending you back to the capital then, and give you refugee status. And send you to the local [Mage Crafter]. He will help you with your Class, I¡¯m sure. And then, well, I¡¯m sure you will be making a lot of interesting things for us."

    Never once had the thought of helping the boy with his Red Skill come to his mind. It was better for him if he kept it. Easier to manipulate in the long run, if he decided to leave. He had him now, and wouldn¡¯t be letting go anytime soon.

    <hr>

    When Liam went back to the [Surgeon]¡¯s tent, it was empty except for one person.

    Dame Amarie.

    She was sitting on a stool by the bed he¡¯d been asleep on for the better part of a day.

    She looked fast asleep, but she raised her head immediately as she heard the soft whisper of the fabric being opened and then closed.

    "You¡¯re back. And you¡¯re staying."

    Liam didn¡¯t know how she knew that. He didn¡¯t really care.

    "I am."

    She shook her head.

    "You could have left, you know."

    "Maybe, but there was no real way for me to go back, Dame."

    "Is your home so far away that an entire kingdom couldn¡¯t send you back?" she asked, one of her eyebrows raised questioningly.

    "Indeed. Or, at least, that¡¯s what I think."

    She shook her head.

    "I¡¯ll probably be tasked with accompanying you back to the capital. The [King] always makes me do that as a reward and as insurance that his newest interest gets to stay safe."

    She looked him straight in the eyes, then sighed, nodded, and with the most serious expression she could muster, like an otter trying to look murderous, said: "I hope you like ukuleles, because you¡¯re gonna be hearing that instrument a lot on the way back."

 Chapter 11: Spider School

    Five days after Grandmother¡¯s [Trial], Isse woke up to the usual sound of the invisible orchestra playing an energizing tune. Sometimes she wondered if those arachne were sadomasochists, giving already hyperactive children even more energy the moment they woke up. Maybe it was some kind of vendetta towards the [Carers], an inside feud among the various groups that formed this tribe of arachne.

    It was sort of like after school clubs: you had the [Carers], the [Mages], the [Warriors], the [Hunters], and then the utility Classes, like [Cooks], [Seamstresses], [Musicians], et cetera et cetera. She¡¯d found out that, apparently, [Carers] were not considered some sort of utility Class among arachne, since those poor women had to take care of the literal future of their species and make sure they grew up as good, helpful adults. And possibly without killing each other while playing ¡®Hang the Child¡¯. A surprisingly popular game among most spiderlings, for some reason.

    So the [Carers] were like the big, responsible book club. Most of the time. Makira was the exception, often encouraging the children to give in to their wilder side and do extremely stupid things. Like playing ¡®Hang the Child¡¯. Or transforming any game of ¡®Queen of the Tree¡¯ into full on battles with blood feuds and the likes. Or covering entire areas of the forest used by the [Warriors] to train in webs. Which, in itself, wasn¡¯t so bad. They were arachne after all. What made that last part aggravating were the messages and barely visible pictures and patterns she somehow managed to get the children to make.

    She was chaotic, but in a good way. And no, there¡¯s no ¡®most of the time¡¯ to add at the end with an example of her being chaotic in a bad way that hurt more than someone¡¯s pride. She just liked to have fun, and always got the spiderlings to join in.

    All things considered, the last five days hadn¡¯t been bad at all. The Voice, Siidi, had calmed down after a good night of sleep and a short conversation in her Mind Castle. Sure, Isse dreaded the idea of going back to Grandmother in two days, but she managed to let that thought haunt her only in the last moment before she fell asleep, exhausted and happy, embracing Anda and being embraced in turn. It felt right. Good. It calmed her.

    That day, after she woke, the morning started as usual: get down the tree she slept on, be greeted by Makira and the other [Carers], the music stopping, the ghostly [Musicians], or [Bards] as Siidi liked to call them, disappearing into the nothingness they seemingly lived in. She didn¡¯t understand the reason the Silken Choirs were so secretive. Even the Voice didn¡¯t know why. Maybe they were trying to Level in some mysterious Class, experimenting. It was a possibility.

    Siidi told her that, in her time, during the Era of Hunts, arachne had also been feared for that reason: their numbers were so great that they could allow themselves to experiment, creating new Classes to fight in stranger, more unpredictable, ways. And, while those peculiar Classes developed, the other, more typical Levelers fought armies and nations.

    Much had changed since then, but not their desire to experiment.

    After an unusually calm breakfast, a new arachne appeared in the clearing where they were eating. She looked at all the spiderlings with calculating eyes, nodded, put on a bright smile that promised hell, and clapped her hands.

    "Children! The time has come!"

    Something in the woman¡¯s too-cheerful tone sent a shiver down Isse¡¯s spine and made the soft fur on her spider half stand on end. The Voice¡¯s sudden silence was also an indicator of how serious the situation was.

    "Today is going to be your first day of school! Aren¡¯t you excited?!"

    ¡­What? she thought.

    Yep, was the Voice¡¯s answer.

    How?

    I have no idea.

    Makira, who was on the woman¡¯s left, had a pained smile on her face as she placed two fingers on her forehead, throat, and heart.

    Please tell me it¡¯s a sick joke. I¡¯ve been alive for only a week.

    From the chatterbox¡¯s face, I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s not.

    NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

    A screech erupted from her throat as she tried to give voice to that last thought, but her vocal chords were still incapable of that action.

    Makira looked her way and nodded, her pained expression scrunching up in understanding as the other children looked at the [Teacher] in confusion.

    Apparently the woman who had just ruined her day was called Skaladia, Skala for short, and was one of the highest level arachne in the tribe. Why? Well, imagine trying to get over two dozen hyperactive children to sit still in front of desks made out of tree stumps, keeping their attention as you taught them things, and then actually managing to teach them something. Anything.

    Now, after you¡¯ve done that, take that mental image, shred it into pieces, and try harder, because no matter what you¡¯ve thought, it most certainly doesn¡¯t compare.

    The little arachne were walking and climbing all around the new clearing that looked distinctly more artificial than the ones they¡¯d been in so far, orienting themselves, not really paying much attention to the woman calmly sitting on the ground at the center of the circle of stumps.

    She wasn¡¯t moving or talking, just looking at them as the [Carers] on the outskirts of the clearing got ready to capture any fugitive child. And there would be, after they realized that the activity they were about to be unwilling participants of wasn¡¯t as entertaining as any of the other tests and free-time afternoons.

    Makira knew there always were. Initially just out of boredom. Then desperation, caused by said boredom. There was nothing quite like learning new languages from scratch while you couldn¡¯t even speak that just made you want to disappear into nothingness like the Silken Choirs did every morning.

    The [Carers] were already preparing themselves physically and mentally for the morning hunts for escaped children. And the worst part was, the other adults wouldn¡¯t move a finger to help. Because they found it funny. They would only step in if a child got lost somewhere they shouldn¡¯t be.

    So they looked at the clearing and shook their heads with resigned smiles. Because, even if their workload was about to increase drastically, there was something to smile about: there were children, they were happy, untouched by the hunts of the outside world or the knowledge they were hated just because of their species. They were pure, innocent. That would change. They would change. The [Carers] knew that. And, exactly because of that, they smiled even now. They would always smile for their little charges. It was the least they could do for them, knowing what the future had in store for them.

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    Sure, maybe nothing would happen. Maybe they¡¯d stay in this forest and nobody would find them. Nobody disliked the peace. But they¡¯d been created for war and death and destruction. And they knew for certain that, one day, sooner or later, those things would find them. That¡¯s what this was: a large scale game of hide and seek where every living race in the world was a seeker, a hunter, while they were hiding. Some would call them cowards. They didn¡¯t care. Who were they, those seekers, to judge them? What gave them the right? Their puny, hateful, bored, gods? Arachne didn¡¯t pray to them. At most, they trusted Death to do its job and be there in their last moments to shake their hands and play one last game with them.

    Makira remembered an old story Grandmother had told her. A story that had been passed on to her by the elder before her. A story of the changing of an Era, when the Hunt had ended, giving its rightful place to the Era of Games. A story from the last, greatest, battle between the Hunters and the Arachne. When their species had nearly been wiped away.

    The story went that, when one of the elders, just a young [Warrior] at the time, had been killed with a sword going through her upper heart and one lung, she¡¯d opened her eyes to a great, checkered, board, crowded with the souls of her sisters. She didn¡¯t know the game. Nobody knew, in those times, even among the living. It was chess.

    On one side were all the arachne that had fallen in battle, acting as pieces, from simple pawns, to bishops and knights and rooks and queens. And, floating on top of them, the king, one of them, playing and trying to beat Death itself, who played on the other side with pieces carved of white Void.

    Every single one of her sisters had gotten to play: Hundreds, no, thousands, of games. And Death had been there to shake all of their hands, embrace them, thank them, ask for forgiveness. Some of the girls just laughed it off and disappeared in his cloak. Others accepted the apology. Others still gave her a parting kiss before disappearing in its embrace, while others shouted in anger. Some asked for another game because it was fun. They all went. The board slowly emptied. Pieces started appearing, carved from the dark of the night sky between stars.

    Finally, the elder was the last one left.

    She played.

    And she won.

    So Death made her an offer.

    She accepted.

    The story didn¡¯t tell what the offer was. It just ended with the elder waking up on the battlefield, alone, surrounded by the mutilated bodies of her sisters, somehow alive and well.

    An old story. Not a happy one. But one told to give hope.

    Makira and the other [Carers] looked, and the smiles never left their faces.

    They only became bigger when Skala coughed to get the children¡¯s attention and used her first Skill: [Children, Sit At Your Desks].

    Immediately every child that wasn¡¯t sitting in front of a stump moved to reach one.

    They stared at the woman with wide eyes. What was this sorcery? Why were they here?

    The only one, apart from the [Carers], who knew the answer to that question, was Isse. Who, currently, was at a random stump, forehead on the smooth wood, thinking about how shitty her life was for having to go back to school just a week after she¡¯d died and been reborn.

    "Now, children, let¡¯s begin!" cheerfully began Skala, which reminded Isse of some of her elementary school teachers. Too happy sounding for what they were doing.

    Sure, it meant they liked their jobs. But the chances of their enthusiasm being passed on to the students were usually nil. Unless the lesson entailed watching a film.

    "You can call me Skala. I¡¯m a [Teacher], and I will be in charge of your education! With me you will learn how to read and write in the languages of the continent we¡¯re on, Irevia, and the closest one, Eva. You¡¯ll also be learning Coroman later on, the language of merchants.

    "The lessons will be in the morning after breakfast, will last three hours, and then you¡¯ll have the rest of the day off. I want to ask you to bear with it. I know it may look useless. Stars, I¡¯m pretty sure right now you don¡¯t even understand why you¡¯re here and why I¡¯m talking like this is a bother. I¡¯m told you will understand soon. But learning the languages of this world could very well save your life one day. After all, knowledge is power!"

    She wasn¡¯t even giving them any illusions about this possibly being pleasant. She was outright telling them it would feel like a bother. But she did say it would be useful.

    Then Isse, who had only partially listened to what the woman had said, like any good student with a total attention span of 7 seconds or less, had a realization: she was from Earth! She knew how to write in English, and everyone here talked in English. She could show how superior she was! Sure, she didn¡¯t know this Coro-something that sounded like the name of a character from an anime, but whatever.

    "Very well, let¡¯s begin! [A Pile a Day: Paper Sheets]; [Class: Refill Inkwells]. Now girls, don¡¯t use the ink to draw around. [That¡¯s an Order]."

    A small pile of sheets of paper appeared on the larger tree stump in front of her and she immediately started distributing them to her students as all the inkwells that had been embedded in the wood, which nobody had noticed until now, filled themselves with black ink and a small bird feather. Their pens.

    Immediately, Isse began scribbling the English alphabet of the paper, her hands moving quickly and leaving smudges all over the page. She wasn¡¯t used to having to dip a quill in ink to keep writing, and didn¡¯t know the art behind taking just the right amount. Her hand kept touching the still fresh letters when she went down a line, and many times she just kept scribbling at the page with a drier and drier pen, her letters slowly disappearing into the whiteness of the paper.

    Still, by the end of it, she had written down the entire alphabet and even some sentences and, all in all, it was quite legible.

    She walked towards the [Teacher] and proudly handed the now curious woman her great work! She expected her to open her eyes wide in surprise, maybe start sputtering and saying things like ¡®This is impossible¡¯ or ¡®It doesn¡¯t make sense¡¯ or even ¡®How did you know all this?¡¯

    She already felt the smugness rise in her.

    And it was promptly demolished the moment the woman just frowned and said:

    "Children, I believe I ordered you all not to scribble on the paper. It¡¯s a limited supply, and my Skill takes a day to recharge. Now, little one, I don¡¯t know how you managed to overcome my Order Skill. But please, don¡¯t waste any more paper."

    She looked at the paper, sighed, crumpled it up and threw it on her table.

    "Now go back to your seat, please."

    Isse did as she was told, all the while wondering what the hell had just happened. How come she said that her writings were ¡®scribbles¡¯? That was the English alphabet! She knew how to write!

    That¡¯s when she noticed the cackling in her head.

    What¡¯s so funny, Siidi?

    The cackling only increased. She managed to stop only when she reached her stump, and simply said:

    It¡¯s funny, because you think you¡¯re speaking English, but in truth it¡¯s just your brain translating the language of this world into something you can understand. English doesn¡¯t exist in this world. So far you¡¯ve heard only Irevian. I¡¯m sorry Isse, there¡¯s no easy way out of this.

    In other parts of the world, two other people were discovering, or were going to discover, this same thing on their own. The first was a very surprised Alice, who had decided to try and read an alchemy book from her boss¡¯ library. The second was Liam, who¡¯d been tasked with reading a book from his instructor.

    It was a headache. But, at least, they had people around them willing to help. So there was that at least.

 Chapter 12: Dream Your Dream

    Alice stared at the man wearing the fox mask, then at the space around her, doing this back and forth so fast she half expected her eyes to suddenly start looking both ways at the same time. She didn¡¯t want to think about the implications of something like that happening.

    "Yup, definitely a new one."

    The man chuckled good naturedly and looked around.

    "Let me take a wiiiild guess. You are an insomniac. You got desperate, asked around, found out there is such a thing as Greater Sleep Potions, took one, fell asleep so fast you didn¡¯t even realize you did, then spent the next several minutes or hours counting sheep."

    He looked around at the carnage.

    "Guessing by the atrocious number of carcasses, it was more hours than minutes. Or you count very fast."

    He then pointed at the wolves.

    "Although, the wolves are new I''ll give you that. You must¡¯ve been really desperate, girl. I¡¯m actually surprised you look as old as you do. How many years did you spend battling that sleeping problem?"

    The man was speaking so fast and saying so many right things she was locked in place, her brain in the background whispering ¡°Alice.Exe has stopped working¡±.

    The fox man pointed up, right over her head, and said, with a chuckle:

    "That¡¯s also new. Oh, you¡¯re so going to be an interesting one!"

    She looked up, and saw that, right there, hanging over her head, was a little white rectangle with those words written in big, bold, letters. A red X was in the upper right corner, while another, smaller rectangle with the words ¡°OK¡± was just underneath.

    Oh no, I have Windows 7 in my brain.

    She lifted a finger and went to touch the red X. The moment she touched it, the little Windows box disappeared, only for another one to appear:

    ¡°You can try to close me. Doesn¡¯t change the fact you don¡¯t understand jackshit about what¡¯s happening.¡±

    Her eyebrows shot upwards.

    "Hey, don¡¯t be sassy with me."

    A cursor appeared out of nowhere and highlighted the words. A loud click was heard as if someone had noisily pressed a key on a keyboard, the words disappeared and, some clicking later, were replaced by another message.

    ¡°I¡¯m your brain. I¡¯m going to sass myself as much as I want.¡±

    That¡¯s when the fox man behind Alice couldn¡¯t take it anymore and fell to the ground with a great belly laugh that seemed to expand around the whole clearing.

    The wolves that had been feasting until then on her mind sheep whined and cowered as they heard the sound, their ears going down against their heads. Then they ran away as fast as they could.

    After a good minute of laughing, Fox Man stood up and waved at the windows box, which had now turned into an image of two gears turning.

    "Hooooo, that was a blast."

    "What the hell is happening? What do you mean I¡¯m in the Land of Dreams? How¡¯s that possible? Is this a lucid dream?"

    Fox Man took a deep breath, then snapped his fingers and a small table, two chairs, and a glass tea set appeared out of literally nowhere.

    "Tea?"

    He asked as he sat down, taking the tea pot in his hands, shaking it enticingly to show the amber liquid inside. It looked like one of those teas they showed you in commercials. Almost artificial.

    "You really look like a tea person."

    He shook the teapot towards her again¡­ hopefully? She couldn¡¯t tell with the mask.

    She crossed her arms and stared at Fox Man. Maybe she¡¯d fallen asleep and was actually dreaming, having a lucid dream of all things. And maybe, then, this man was just a figment of her imagination and would disappear.

    He didn¡¯t.

    He just sighed and threw the teapot away. It smashed on the ground but instead of hearing shattering Alice heard a very loud horn HONK!!! The sound effect actually appeared in the air, a big white speech bubble with sharp edges, big, bold, angry red letters shouting at the world what the sound should be like.

    "Hmm, very adaptable, good good."

    He nodded in a self satisfied manner.

    "Wha¡­ why¡­ explain!"

    "I could try, but then the Dream would probably change to something else that will completely subvert the clarification I so verbosely gifted to your mind, causing both our parties to permanently lose precious moments of life that shall never be gifted back by the lord almighty amiably named Time."

    His speech became progressively more and more verbose and convoluted, making her head spin.

    "Was I drugged? Is this some kind of fever dream?"

    "Yes and yes, but also no. You did take a Greater Potion of Sleep. And you did end up in the Land of Dreams because of that. Your insomnia tried to keep you awake so hard that it kept you from sleeping even in the place where people go when they fall asleep. That let you become a [Dreamer]. Congratulations are in order."

    He was now sipping from one of the cups on the table that was now filled with tea. Which was impossible since¡­ actually, who was she kidding? That wasn¡¯t even the strangest thing that had happened to her in the last two minutes.

    "So, I¡¯m asleep."

    "Astute observation."

    He lifted a wine glass towards her and inclined his head in a very distinguished way, then drank deeply, getting most of the wine on his impeccable clothes since fox snouts weren¡¯t good for sipping from small flutes.

    "But I¡¯m also¡­ awake."

    "Yes and no. You are not awake because you are sleeping. One cannot happen with the other unless you get one of them fancy Skills. But your mind is more present. You are conscious of being in a dream. So yes, you could say this is a lucid dream. But then, that would be a big understatement, because this is no mere dream. As I said, and I¡¯m gonna repeat, this is the Land of Dreams. The place where all dreams happen. And I mean all. Yes, even that cat you probably have."

    "I don¡¯t have a cat."

    "Then get one so I can be right."

    "I don¡¯t think I will."

    "Your loss, cats are great. Until they try to conquer the world. The Land still has to heal from the last Dream Cat War. Thankfully the dogs helped, if you call ¡®digging up ancient dreams of monsters of the deep¡¯ helping."

    "What?"

    "Yes, well, apparently krakens dream."

    "WHAT?"

    "That shouldn¡¯t surprise you, newbie. First lesson of the Dream is that there are no days without catastrophes. Hmmm¡­ Cat-A-Strophe. Yes, that actually explains a few things. Anyways, if the night was too calm it means the Land is just waiting for the perfect moment to spring a prank on you."

    "You speak as if this Land of Dreams was alive."

    "It¡¯s literally built on the minds of every living being with enough brain power to dream. Of course it¡¯s alive. And it has a twisted sense of humor and a passion for dad jokes."

    Alice didn¡¯t know how, but she¡¯d been roped into this increasingly nonsensical conversation and was even beginning to answer back. What was the worst that could happen?

    "Seeing how the Land works, you have to always be ready for anything to happen. This place follows only one Rule: if it¡¯s interesting, it¡¯s bound to happen, sooner or later. So we¡¯re all dreading when the Seventh Bingo Night of Doom happens."

    For the second time Alice¡¯s brain ground to a halt.

    "Excuse¡­ wha¡­ the hell is a Bingo Night of Doom?"

    "Well, the Dream becomes this big ball with all of us inside and shakes and moves around creating something commonly called a clusterfuck of nonsense and then begins playing against itself at this strange game called bingo. When it finally loses it gets angry and scrambles everything around and we have to begin exploring this ever-changing Land from scratch. What a pain."

    She looked at the man and, not for the first time in these now five minutes wondered if she¡¯d finally done it and gone crazy. How could she tell if she had? Did a crazy man know he was crazy?

    "I don¡¯t see how that can be bad. Like, how big is the Land of Dreams?"

    "Infinite," he answered, deadpan.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡­

    "Then how the hell can it become a sphere?"

    "A good question. Not a wise one. Unless you fancy tearing your eyes out of their sockets. In which case here, take this spoon."

    He handed her a silver spoon that immediately tarnished as she touched it.

    "Do you realize that none of the things you¡¯ve told me so far make any sense?"

    He opened his arms wide as if trying to encompass the whole clearing.

    "Welcome to the club!"

    Silence fell briefly on the clearing, now free of dead sheep and her house. The only thing around her were the trees, the sky that sometimes became psychedelic because why not? and the table with two chairs and a wine bottle.

    She sighed and sat down. If she was going crazy she might as well enjoy it. She took the open bottle and poured herself a glass. Then she partook of the rite of swirling it around and looking for the meaning of life in the liquid, sniffing and nodding appreciatively, then sipping with all the grace of an alcoholist.

    The wine actually tasted of something, surprisingly. Something good, hearty. It was warm as it slowly made its way down her gullet and into her stomach. It brought to mind an evening of staring at the setting sun with your dog by your side contentedly snoring as you pat her belly, of eating that cake you hadn¡¯t tasted for years because it was only made by this one [Innkeeper] in a faraway place you rarely had reason to visit. It tasted of playing a game of cards with said [Innkeeper] as she laughed at the silly things you¡¯d done. It tasted of meeting a traveller in the dead of winter and offering him to stay at your home, where he played a song unlike any you¡¯d ever heard.

    She immediately felt nostalgia overtake her as her own memories mixed in with the wine, adding to the taste.

    Now came the aftertaste of a night spent at a strange hotel lost in the middle of nowhere, where a caring young woman and an old, grizzled, man told stories of places nobody had ever seen with the certainty of someone who¡¯d been there, as the light outside the windows never seemed to quite fade and the clock ticked louder than it should for being such a small thing.

    It left behind the bitterness of having to leave, of going back down that road again and seeing the place was no longer there, disappeared like in a dream. It made her want to take another sip.

    "Good, am I right? It¡¯s an excellent bouquet. I harvested some of that myself. The aftertaste, that is. Seemed fitting for the bottle. But the stuff in there is much, much, older than me."

    She looked hungrily at the bottle, wanting more, but Fox Man had already taken it back and hidden in¡­ somewhere.

    "You opened something so great just for me?"

    "Of course not. But the bottle won¡¯t run dry anytime soon. Memories have this peculiar ability to rebuild themselves. Just have to feed them the right memories yourself. Something fitting to help them not forget themselves."

    That didn¡¯t sound like it made sense. But then again, nothing so far had, so it checked out.

    "What¡¯s your name? I would like to be able to call you something different from Fox Man" she asked in the end.

    The man looked at her and inclined his head, then answered: "You can call me Albert."

    "Great! Hi, Albert, I¡¯m A¡­"

    A stick bonked her on the head and stopped her mid sentence.

    "Actual First Rule of the Land of Dreams: Never Reveal your Name. Names have power out there, even more so here, where concepts have more presence than physics and reality. Choose another name, a title, anything, but never tell anyone your name. Because, best case scenario, someone bad could hear about it and come looking for you in the real world. Worst case scenario, your mind is enslaved and caged while someone or something else takes your place."

    She shivered at that last part. Albert¡¯s tone had been dead serious, completely unlike the rest of the conversation.

    "Wait, that can actually happen?"

    "Yes. In the early days of the Dream it happened often, or so the House says. Now there are those that hunt down such monsters relentlessly. [Hunters] with the goal to keep this place peaceful up to a certain degree. The Land of Dreams is already dangerous enough without bastard bodysnatchers."

    Alice nodded and sighed in relief that nobody would try to steal her body anytime soon.

    "So, come on, choose yourself a name girl. You can change it anytime you feel like it. Although, don¡¯t do that too often, people will be confused."

    She thought about it for a moment, then a small lightbulb popped on over her head. Literally.

    Albert looked at it curiously, wondering what it was. Like he¡¯d done with that strange white window with words. And every time that girl said the word ¡®hell¡¯. What was this hell? He¡¯d never heard of it. But he shrugged all those questions away: it was strange, sure, but he¡¯d seen stranger in the Dream. And this girl, all things considered, seemed promising.

    "You can call me Garda!"

    At first she¡¯d thought about calling herself with a title like ¡®The Gardener¡¯, but it seemed too cringy, and she wasn¡¯t that good. Sure, she¡¯d been given the Class when she¡¯d first come to this world. It had appeared in her mind for no reason the first time she¡¯d fallen asleep, without her touching any tools or doing anything related to gardening. Still, don¡¯t look a gift horse in the mouth, as they said back home. By the way, that¡¯s where her name here had come from: Lake Garda, back in Italy, where her parents lived. She¡¯d moved to study abroad, in London. And now¡­

    Sadness hit her all of a sudden. Her parents¡­ they were still there, back home, waiting for her. No, probably already worried sick, since she¡¯d been gone for nearly a month and hadn¡¯t called them.

    She didn¡¯t even have her phone.

    No. She¡¯d been brought to this new, incredible, world, with her toothbrush.

    Yes, you heard that right. She¡¯d been brushing her teeth when she¡¯d appeared in this world not too far from the house she now lived in. Can you imagine how strange that is? You¡¯re just there, looking at yourself in the mirror, checking that no food¡¯s left between your teeth, contemplating if the painful process of flossing is necessary, then bam! You bat your eyes and you¡¯re somewhere besides a street, falling face first in the dirt road because you were leaning against a sink that¡¯s no longer there. It¡¯s shocking, that¡¯s what it is.

    "Maybe you should change it again. The moment you said it the Dream distorted around you and lost all color. If that name saddens you, you shouldn¡¯t keep it."

    She shook her head, getting a grip of herself. She¡¯d already had this internal debate in the past month many times. And she¡¯d come to the realization that she could do nothing as she was right now. Maybe, in the future, she¡¯d find something that could help her. But right now, she was just a stranded girl who couldn¡¯t even read the language of the place she lived in.

    "No, it¡¯s alright. Just reminded me of something I lost."

    "Must have been something important."

    "Yes, you could say that."

    Albert didn¡¯t tell her about the image that had flashed for a moment in the gray that had surrounded her: two people, a man and a woman, hugging a little girl with an unfamiliar lake in the background surrounded by high mountains.

    He stoppered the bottle of memories back and put it away: he¡¯d have time to get a taste of that image in a while. Or he¡¯d toss the bottle away. It all depended on how he felt at the moment.

    "Good then, Garda. Welcome to the Land of Dreams. A real welcome. I will help you in the beginning, but in the end you¡¯ll have to build yourself up as a [Dreamer].

    "Now, for the next lesson: there are three predominant groups in the Dream. The first are the Whites, the ¡®seekers of justice¡¯ as they like to label themselves; the second are the Black, ¡®those that bring change¡¯. A fancy way to call themselves revolutionaries. Then there¡¯s those I¡¯m a part of: the Hunters."

    He inclined his head in a small greeting.

    "We are probably the most important group. Or that¡¯s what we like to think. You see, when you think about the Land of Dreams, what¡¯s the first thing that comes to mind?"

    "¡­Dreams."

    "Naturally. But, where there is light, there is also darkness. The black to your white, if you would."

    She looked at him, then the idea struck her.

    "Nightmares!"

    He nodded: "Indeed. Nightmares are also Dreams, after all. Dark, twisted, malevolent, dreams, but dreams nonetheless. Us Hunters, we hunt down nightmares and kill them. If possible inside the person¡¯s dream, where they are confined and chained down by the person¡¯s concept of the nightmare. But, if they manage to escape, also outside.

    "Nightmares are dastardly creatures with a mind keener than one would imagine. But I guess that¡¯s the advantage they get for being nothing more than things made out of bad memories and trauma. The problem with them is they persist outside dreams, and multiply fast, infecting other people¡¯s dreams to gain more and more power. A Hunters¡¯ job is to find them and kill them before they spread too much, if at all."

    Alice nodded and absorbed the information like a sponge. Maybe she wasn¡¯t crazy. And if she wasn¡¯t, then this was useful information. And, most important of all, it was interesting! Never in her wildest dreams and fantasies had she imagined she¡¯d end up in a situation like this!

    "What about the other two factions, blacks and whites? What do they do?"

    "Oh, those idiots? They just fight against each other and try to conquer the Dream¡¯s grounds in an endless war for control. They like to think they can change people¡¯s decisions through their dreams. Stupid, I say: most people forget their dreams and what happened in them when they wake up. And if the idiots end up inside a nightmare they¡¯re usually not prepared to fight off those beasts."

    "Hey now, stop talking bad about us behind our backs," shouted someone behind Albert.

    He turned around, sighed, and put away all the nice things on the table. Even the sweets! Which she hadn¡¯t realized were there in the first place. She also hadn¡¯t realized she had been eating them for the last few minutes. Honey cupcakes were surprisingly good.

    "For once I have to agree with my adversary," another voice said.

    Two men were walking towards them.

    One wearing black, the other white. Both wore masks fashioned after chess pieces. A Knight and a Bishop.

    "Go away, Players. I found this young one first. You know the Rules. First come first serve. You won¡¯t indoctrinate her into your Game."

    Albert¡¯s voice was menacing now as the wine that had fallen on the ground when he¡¯d first tried to drink from a flute started to rise in the air and formed a lance.

    "Don¡¯t be like that Albert. We¡¯re here as representatives, we have no¡­"

    "I don¡¯t care. I arrived first. You will not have this one. Soma knows you¡¯ve taken the last few new [Dreamers] in your ranks. The Hunters need new recruits. We¡¯re beginning to run low, and the Nightmare population has been increasing a lot lately."

    Nobody knew why, but recently there had been a rise in the Nightmare population. They were keeping up, and luckily those beasts couldn¡¯t Level, but it was strange. There didn¡¯t seem to be any reason for it.

    Also, for some strange reason, the nightmares seemed to be developing a sense of style, wearing hats. Always. And getting darker and darker.

    "So, please, leave. My new student and I were discussing what comes next."

    He waved his hand towards them in a shooing motion, and the wine arrow blasted towards them, passing through their chests at the same time even though they were side by side and the arrow-lance hadn¡¯t split.

    The two bodies fell to the ground and disappeared a moment later.

    Alice shouted: "Oh my god you killed them!"

    "Of course I did. Don¡¯t worry, they¡¯re alive."

    "But you just killed them."

    "And this is the Land of Dreams. Death doesn¡¯t reach here. Old deal it made with Soma. He said it didn¡¯t make sense for people to die when they¡¯re just minds in this place, and he agreed."

    She nodded, unconvinced, while also trying to grapple with the fact that Death seemed to be changing sex constantly.

    Finally, she noticed another detail. Something she should¡¯ve felt some time ago.

    Something was on her face.

    A mask. She lifted her hands towards it and suddenly felt the straps that held it against her face. She unlatched them, took it off, and looked at it.

    A fox¡¯s snout stared at her with empty eyes.

    "Yeah, another precaution. Rule Two: Always Wear a Mask. Or Change Your Face. Same reason as Rule One. You didn¡¯t know, and I didn¡¯t want those two idiots to see you, so I gave you that."

    She looked back up at Albert, and his fox mask was smiling, showing the hint of a small canine on his left side.

    "Keep it and wear it. Or make yourself one of your own. Stars know I have way too many pups to worry about."

    He chuckled.

    "Now, let¡¯s get out of here. I¡¯ll show you around, and begin teaching you the basics of the Dream. If you want."

    He lifted one of his hands towards her, asking her to shake it. She could take it, and get herself a teacher on the ways of this strange new world. Or she could turn around, and learn how it all worked alone.

    When her mind put it like that, the choice was quite obvious.

    She shook his hand.

    And a deafening fart resounded all around the clearing.

    "Hehe, whoopy hand-cushion."

    [Dreamer Level 2!]

    [Skill - Lesser Resistance: Mind Obtained!]

 Chapter 13: Siidis [Trial]

    When Isse woke up that morning, it was with her stomach rumbling and, at the same time, twisting into non-euclidean knots.

    Because, today, one week had passed since the first time Grandmother had called Isse in for her¡­ ¡®session¡¯.

    She feared walking inside that white clearing, being looked at by those white, seemingly pupilless eyes, being touched by those thin and perfect fingers with pearly fingernails, and hearing those words: [Trials of the Mind]. It... well, scared probably didn''t even begin to describe it.

    But, at the same time, she wanted to be there. Deep inside her she wanted to see those images of her life, those possibilities that had been taken from her. She wanted to see her parents¡¯ faces again, her friends, the boy she¡¯d fallen in love with, even though she¡¯d never seen his face in her entire life before she was forced on that damned hospital bed. She wanted to see the faces of her children. She wanted to disappear in those illusions. Maybe it wouldn¡¯t even be bad: she would get to live the life she wanted, and Siidi would get the body she so desperately desired.

    Please stop that! You¡¯re making me sick! Are you so weak willed you¡¯d rather live a fake life?

    It seemed a lot like Siidi¡¯s voice, but she was sure the other half of her soul wouldn¡¯t be so supportive of her. She¡¯d probably try to convince her to give in.

    Yet the resemblance was there.

    She skittered down the tree trunk her hammock hung on and went to have some breakfast, Anda walking besides her as always, her smile as bright as sunshine. Yesterday the teacher had complimented her for managing to write down the whole alphabet, and she¡¯d been chittering in joy ever since, showing everyone the little smiling, yellow, star on her piece of paper.

    Skala was clearly a manipulative genius because now every little arachne was striving to obtain that wonderful smiley star!

    Luckily, even Isse was managing pretty well. Sure, Siidi¡¯s constant groaning of boredom wasn¡¯t exactly helpful, but the ex-human had always been good at school, even if she disliked it, like most students did after years of studying. She had the right mindset about it, though, and that helped.

    It also didn¡¯t hurt that Skala had a very powerful Skill: [Class: Improved Learning]. A Gold Skill, it had been given to her when she¡¯d breached her Capstone. It let her students learn things faster and better than most. Basically: the things they crammed inside their heads would stay there longer. Hopefully even take permanent residence.

    Seeing her level, which was over 50 from what Siidi had explained, since Golden Skills didn¡¯t show up before then, she had succeeded on that last front multiple times.

    But today it didn¡¯t matter, because she had to go to Grandmother.

    And, when breakfast ended and the children began leaving, seeing how nobody was coming for her, as she began hoping the Elder had forgotten, Makira appeared. That woman could be a lot stealthier than she lead to believe.

    "I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s time again, little Isse."

    The Smiling Woman placed what she probably thought was a reassuring hand on the girl¡¯s shoulder, but it only managed to make her feel even more anxious.

    Still, she followed her. Because what choice did she have? She couldn¡¯t exactly run away, she barely knew how to live in this body. And she knew more or less nothing about the world she¡¯d been brought into.

    So she walked dejectedly behind Makira as, as always, she tried to lift her mood, chattering away about random nonsense.

    It was only after a full minute of this that she looked down and saw it had been for nothing. So she fell silent. And that attracted Isse¡¯s attention. That, and the fact she¡¯d stopped walking, making her bump into her spider half.

    "Isse¡­ I know it¡¯s hard."

    She said that, and the girl felt like laughing, because that was the mother of understatements. But, when she looked up, she saw that she wasn¡¯t smiling. No, Makira was staring right into her eyes with the expression of someone who knew exactly what she was talking about.

    "I know how it feels. To go through one of mom¡¯s [Trials]. She doesn¡¯t know to wear kids¡¯ gloves. She thinks that making the challenges easier will not help you, even though you were born not long ago."

    She smiled bitterly.

    "She was born in a time when we were dying away, disappearing from this world¡¯s face. In a time when we feared we would be Forgotten. She was the last one. She went through more than any living being should. She cannot accept weakness among her own. She¡¯s seen us die once, she won¡¯t allow that again.

    "I know this won¡¯t help you. I don¡¯t know why Grandmother is doing this to you. But I know that, in the end, you¡¯ll thank her. Maybe not immediately. Maybe, at the end of it, you¡¯ll hate her and want to kill her. Stars know I did."

    She chuckled.

    And Isse pointed right at her, as if to ask ''What did she do to you?''

    Clearly, the woman was good at charades, because she understood what the little girl was asking.

    "Me? It¡¯s not a good story, little one. Just know that scars aren¡¯t always visible to the eye."

    That said she started walking again, looking back now and then to see if Isse was following and if she had other questions.

    Which she did. She stopped at some point, and pointed back at the Smiling Woman, then crouched on the ground and, with her finger, wrote something on the ground in clumsy, big, letters. She still hadn¡¯t quite grasped the alphabet completely, but she still managed to write the beginning of a word that had caught her attention: Forgotten.

    She wrote only the first four letters of the full word in Irevian, which she somehow knew was Gonrem, before she was stopped.

    "What I mean with Forgotten?"

    Isse nodded energetically.

    "Well, it means not remembering something, naturally."

    Isse¡¯s shoulders dropped and she sighed (which sounded like a resigned hiss), giving the woman an angry, and cute, glare, which got a giggle out of her.

    "Well, that¡¯s technically what it means. But you felt there was more to it, heh?"

    She sighed and, after looking around, nodded: "Memories are important, little one. They have power and meaning. A moment in time, forever crystallized in people¡¯s minds? That is true power. At the same time, forgetting means disappearing. Truly, completely."

    She smiled bitterly: "I¡¯m certain that, if we died, if, finally, the whole world managed to exterminate us, it would try its hardest to Forget us. Delete us from the books, not talk about us to the children. Gone, impossible to bring back. I know it doesn¡¯t sound like much, little one, but once you grow older you¡¯ll probably understand. After Grandmother asks you our old Question and you give a satisfying answer."

    That said, she turned around and walked away. She didn¡¯t speak until they reached Grandmother¡¯s clearing, at which point she motioned her inside. Then she sat down. She wouldn¡¯t leave her alone.

    Isse slowly walked towards the Elder, shivering slightly.

    "Welcome back, Issekina and Siidi," she whispered, low enough that only the girl and the Voice could hear.

    Grandmother opened her eyes and looked straight at her.

    She moved her left hand towards them, and they flinched away. That didn¡¯t stop the old arachne from reaching out and touching their head, whispering those nightmarish words: [Trials of the Mind].

    <hr>

    Isse opened her eyes and stared at a battlefield. The sun shone over her head, hot as hell, in a blue, cloudless, sky. The earth she was standing on was perfectly flat, nearly smooth, but just two steps away it became coarse and muddy, footsteps clearly visible everywhere.

    And, right there in the center, stood Siidi, her spidery form clad in light armor that covered her body and her spider half.

    Oh, also, in front of Isse was a big, red, button.

    "Once upon a time, I met a good man. He never admitted it, but he was. He liked to say that it should be possible to solve any and all problems by pressing a single big, red, button."

    Isse turned towards the source of the voice, and saw Grandmother. She was sitting behind her, completely still, as always, but her eyes weren¡¯t looking at her. Not even at Siidi, for the matter. No, they stared further still, somewhere on the horizon. Her eyes were closed, sure, but she¡¯d long since understood that couldn''t stop her.

    She looked up towards the horizon, thinking she would see something, but there was nothing. Only the sky, some distant trees, and a city on her right, surrounded by high stone walls that let her see only the very top of a belltower. The gates were open but there were no people in the streets or on the walls. The place was dead.

    Inevitably, her eyes moved back to the red button in front of her: "What happens if I press the button?"

    She spoke with her voice, and it surprised her. Sure, she knew she was in her mind, but at the same time being on this battlefield took that away. It was nothing like she imagined a place like this would look like. For one, there was no blood, no corpses, no trenches. It was nothing like she''d learned in her history classes.

    That¡¯s the thing about wars: most people remembered the youngest ones, like the First World War, and compared everything else to those smoky battlefields filled with silence interrupted only by gunfire, until one of the two sides charged and all hell broke loose.

    "You will solve your problem. Or begin to. Siidi, she remembers wars, fighting, killing. She craves such things. You will give her what she desires."

    Her voice never wavered or changed as she said this, as if she were talking about the weather and not about forcing someone to fight for their life.

    "What if she dies?"

    "Does it matter?"

    The answer she received was so sudden and to the point it left her speechless.

    "She¡¯s been living inside your head like a parasite since the day you were reborn. She has developed a Red Class that will lead to you disappearing one day, devoured by her soul. Why should it matter to you if she lives or dies?"

    Her head moved away from the horizon, her eyes now staring right at Siidi.

    "She has brought nothing but worry to you, trying to change you, force you to leave control of what was given to you by destiny. She will keep doing that."

    Those were all very good arguments.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    She turned towards the button. If she pressed it, Siidi would die. She would be free. But it was wrong. She couldn¡¯t just cold bloodedly murder the other girl. She was, after all, inside the body that was meant for her. She was the unexpected guest.

    "Do you think she would hesitate to press that button, Issekina?"

    That got a chuckle out of her.

    "That was so clich¨¦ of you to say."

    Grandmother¡¯s only reaction to that was to slightly raise an eyebrow.

    "But it is true."

    She lifted her arm and pointed at the increasingly confused Siidi, who¡¯d found weapons fastened around her waist.

    "She would look at you, then press the button and watch you die."

    "Yes, but I¡¯m not Siidi. I¡¯m better than that."

    "Then you are a fool, Issekina of Clan Silksoul. You are the greatest fool of all. Because your idea of ¡®being better¡¯ will kill you. The world doesn¡¯t care. It doesn¡¯t see you as you see yourself."

    She pointed at Isse, in particular at her human legs.

    "The world will only see this."

    She snapped her fingers.

    And an image appeared in front of her. An arachne, like her. She had her same chestnut hair and spider half, her same eyes. It was a mirror image of her. Then the image hissed, showing her teeth, a man appeared out of nowhere and screamed as she tore his throat out. She watched herself as she killed throngs of screaming humans and other¡­ living things that looked nothing like humans.

    She closed her eyes. She couldn¡¯t look anymore! But the image was there, behind her eyelids, showing the massacre she was causing.

    "Stop!" she shouted.

    And everything stopped.

    "I¡¯m nothing like that," she shouted, turning towards Grandmother.

    "That is not what other living things will see. That is what Siidi will make out of you if you let her stay."

    That gave her pause. Her anger rapidly boiled away, leaving behind only cold fear. She didn¡¯t want that.

    "Then press the button," said Grandmother, as if she¡¯d just read her thoughts.

    She turned towards the big, red, button, and placed her hand on it.

    Then, without allowing herself to remember what she¡¯d just seen, because she sure as all hell didn¡¯t feel keen on seeing herself cut a man in half with a halberd, she pressed it. There was no need to think about it. Grandmother was right. This would help.

    Not for a single moment did it come to her mind that the Skill used by the Elder was called [Trials of the Mind]. Trials. Not Execution.

    Nothing happened for a while.

    There was only silence.

    Then, a shout. Siidi. Something had just appeared in front of her.

    It was a man, dressed in a black cloak with a red trim, a fedora on his head, two short swords in his hands. Under the cloak she saw he was wearing chain armor.

    He didn¡¯t look special, but she immediately saw Siidi freeze for a moment in what she believed was fear.

    She was wrong: that was not fear, it was pure, seethin, hatred.

    Because the man attacked, his hands and arms moving with the same fluidity of water, closing the distance between him and the arachne in an instant. Before he could touch her, though, Siidi moved, her many legs pushing upwards and back, and she dodged.

    The man didn¡¯t stop and kept attacking, not giving her a moment to think or extract her weapons. Or, at least, he tried.

    Siidi shouted something and the air in her mind shook and crackled. A crack opened in the sky, and words poured in her vision.

    [Requested Skill Lost. Cause: Death]

    [Request for Protocol - Remembrance Received]

    [Reason for usage of Protocol: Trial Skill]

    [Reason Accepted]

    [Skills Temporarily Returned]

    [Attention: Skills and Classes will be Reset at End of Trial]

    [Have a Nice Day!]

    The crack in the sky closed and Siidi stepped away from the man, yet her step was a lot longer than it was before, as if she¡¯d taken ten all in one.

    "What was that?"

    "An old trick Button Man told me about. I¡¯ve waited so long to try it."

    When Isse looked back at Grandmother, she saw the woman''s mouth was crinkled around the edges in a small smile. A fond smile. Who was this¡­ Button Man?

    Siidi smiled as she finally managed to get a sword out of a small bag on her waist. She launched herself at the man, weapon raised in the air, maniacally laughing. The man raised his swords and crossed them, ready to block the attack and potentially disarm his enemy, maybe even hurt her. He whispered something, probably a Skill, but it did nothing, because when Siidi¡¯s sword made contact with his own there was no clang of metal on metal. No, her sword just cut cleanly through the steel and cut the man¡¯s head in half.

    Issekina stared.

    And the other half of her soul just shouted: "SEND ME MORE! I HAVEN¡¯T HAD THIS MUCH FUN IN AGES!"

    She was shocked.

    And then her shock turned into anger.

    She pressed the button again.

    This time, two figures appeared out of nowhere and began attacking. One was twice, no, thrice as large as the other. A giant of a man. He was holding a greatsword with a silver lining, his body covered in plate armor that left no visible gaps anywhere on his body. How he could possibly move, she had no idea. Meanwhile the smaller man, who looked like he could reach her waist at best, was holding a two-fucking-headed axe, the blade alone twice his height in width. He also had a long, black, beard that was definitely in tone with his cloak. She noticed it was the same color as the one worn by the last fighter, with the same red trim. Did they work together?

    Nonetheless, Siidi attacked them, mercilessly cleaving at the big guy¡¯s armor, trying to breach through, but she couldn¡¯t. She had used her best Skill for that on the first guy! Still, that didn¡¯t dissuade her. It made things a bit more difficult for her, sure, but that was the fun part! It couldn¡¯t be interesting if they were all easy wins.

    So she fought with everything she had, like she¡¯d always done on those battlefields, trying as hard as possible not to use her Skills, because if she did then they¡¯d go in cooldown and she wouldn¡¯t have them for another situation.

    Soon after the two guys lay dead on the ground. She chuckled, reveling in her little victory, and looked around for more.

    Isse, again, pressed the button.

    And four more soldiers appeared.

    This time one was using a saw to fight, while another was using a great hammer. The third had two swords, just like the first guy. The fourth, instead, disappeared in one of the people¡¯s shadows. Before he did, she saw a glimpse of a knife.

    The fight was more difficult. Of course it was. After all, it was four against one.

    And still, even when two people attacked her at the same time while the man with the dagger appeared seemingly out of nowhere to knife her in the back, she won. Overwhelmingly.

    Another press of the button, eight people.

    They all wore the same clothes, except for those that were equipped with full plate armor.

    Who were these people?

    This time the fight lasted longer. Siidi had to use three Skills just not to get cut down by this seemingly random assortment of people. They were good. She wasn¡¯t sure how she could tell, seeing how they kept getting killed by the arachne, but there was something in her that told her those people were extremely good fighters. It was just that¡­ Siidi was better.

    "Hmm¡­ she is good."

    For the first time in what felt like hours Grandmother talked. And it was to compliment that girl.

    Something in her went up in flames, and she screamed in rage as she pressed the button again, even though Siidi hadn¡¯t yet killed the other fighters. But why should it matter? Why should she care? Why had she paced herself all this time? She could¡¯ve just sent entire hordes of those people against her. After all, she could do nothing against sheer numbers!

    She kept pressing.

    And more people appeared.

    Initially, Siidi didn¡¯t notice. She just kept fighting, not caring about the fact that her enemies didn¡¯t seem to dwindle.

    But soon, she was surrounded, and a man wielding a spear attacked her at the same time a woman with a bladed whip as a woman with a staff in her hands shouted something and a ball of water materialized in the air over Siidi¡¯s face.

    That¡¯s when things began getting complex.

    She evaded the whip and the lance, somehow managing to entangle the former with the latter, and jumped higher than should¡¯ve been possible, over the soldiers¡¯ line. And yet the bubble of water over her head moved and followed her, engulfing her head and immediately trying to enter in her mouth and lungs to drown her. She managed to keep it all out, though, and put a hand in the bag at her hip, taking out a small amulet: it was a circle of stone carved with some strange script. She broke it in her grip and, for a moment, she seemed to glitch in place, her body becoming transparent, and then she wasn¡¯t in the bubble anymore but a few meters away, safe and taking deep breaths.

    Then she shouted and, for the first time, Isse heard what she said:

    [My Sisters Were Always By My Side]

    The air around her distorted as if trying to escape. She heard shouting and whooping for a moment. Then, three arachne appeared by her side.

    "What the hell?" she shouted.

    They all looked the same as Siidi: green hair cut in a bobby cut, heterochromatic eyes, one red, one green, chestnut colored spider halves just like hers. They would look identical if it wasn¡¯t for their completely different wardrobes.

    One of them, the one in the back, was holding a simple wand. Her hair had a single white line going down the middle, as if old age had decided to come sooner and be selective. Another one was holding what looked like a violin, a small golden monocle on her right eye. The third, and final, sister, held a short sword and, all over her body, were strapped what looked like hundreds of knives.

    "Unexpected."

    Another single-word sentence by Grandmother. Which, for some reason, made her even angrier.

    A small part of her was beginning to wonder if there was more to this anger. It was completely unlike her to be like this. There was something unnatural about it.

    Yet she didn¡¯t really care. She only cared about seeing Siidi suffer. She wanted to look her in the eyes when someone finally managed to plant a fucking sword in her throat and swung down, putting and end to this useless show. It was Isse or Siidi. There was no other way about this.

    They fought valiantly. The four of them managed to keep at bay an army of ever-increasing soldiers, killing hundreds.

    The [Mage], because that¡¯s clearly what white-stripe was, sent massive waves of fire and other elements against the enemy lines, killing or crippling hundreds every time. Meanwhile, the girl with the violin played a strange, slow, melody that, she realized, had the same speed of a clock¡¯s seconds hand. Every fifteen seconds she reached the end of the short song, and every time a ripple went through the army and took down dozens of soldiers, their bodies rapidly decaying and turning to dust, their weapons rusting and breaking.

    Meanwhile, Knife Woman was like a whirlwind of blades, moving with the speed of an actual tornado and throwing blades at every enemy she could see. And, when her seemingly endless supply of knives ended, she activated some kind of Skill that let her take the weapons of her adversaries and throw them.

    It was a massacre.

    But it was futile.

    Slowly, they began losing ground.

    And then, Knife Girl made a mistake.

    She turned her back to a short man who¡¯d had his own sword thrown in his chest, thinking him dead, but the man managed, somehow, to lift himself from the ground and throw himself bodily at her. The arachne noticed him but, for once, was too slow, and he tackled her to the ground. Moments later, she died screaming, practically turned into a pincushion. She still managed to take a few other people down with herself, but, again, it didn¡¯t matter.

    Slowly, they all died.

    And Siidi kept fighting.

    She was no longer smiling. She looked angry. And lost. She could hear her sisters, her actual blood sisters, die, but in the throng of bodies she couldn¡¯t see them. She couldn¡¯t be there for them to hear them breath the last time, or even to help prevent their death.

    She remembered.

    It had been like this the last time too. The four of them, resisting to give their sisters enough time to escape. There were hundreds of them: Hunters. All with the sole purpose of killing them. All with that damned Law to empower them. If it wasn¡¯t for the Gods¡¯ meddling, the arachne would¡¯ve never lost.

    She screamed, and fought. There was desperation, anger, sadness, loss, and much more in that scream. She had lost them again...

    How could she have forgotten? She had called them here, only to let them die again. She didn¡¯t have the right to ask them something like that.

    She had forgotten that this was just a Trial. That those hadn¡¯t been her sisters. Not really. But it felt real to her, and that¡¯s what mattered.

    She fought, sword and tooth and nail and silk.

    When they finally managed to get her down for the final blow, she looked up¡­ and saw Isse. Staring right at her, with that small smile of victory on her face. Grandmother sat behind her, her face as unreadable as ever.

    Then a Hunter pierced her heart.

    And all went dark.

    <hr>

    When Issekina woke up, they were back in the white field.

    She smiled and chittered in victory.

    And then froze as she heard the Voice again.

    I hate you so much. I. HATE. YOU. IHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEYOU!

    And then silence.

    That is, until Grandmother spoke.

    "You have both failed. You will come back in seven more days. You are dismissed."

    What? Failed? How?

    Grandmother seemed to read those questions, because she added: "You are still divided."

    Well, good fucking luck fixing that part you old hag! shouted Siidi in anger.

    For once, Isse agreed wholeheartedly.

    "I said you were dismissed. Makira, get them out of my sight."

    And then, they were walking away. Makira said nothing as they left. She didn¡¯t completely understand what was happening. She had suspicions, but that amounted to nothing in her experience.

    She just hoped that Grandmother would find a way to help Issekina.

 Chapter 14: Making Friends

    What do you do when you¡¯re sad?

    What do you do to fight off that creeping black monster that is sadness? Most people hate it. A few, the ones that need a helping hand, just try to bottle the emotion up and not think about it, hiding it in a dusty corner of their minds, hoping it will forget itself. Those unlucky souls always forget that emotions don¡¯t just disappear. So they keep bottling and bottling until, one day, the glass breaks and they¡¯re flooded with all the negativity they¡¯d been trying to forget.

    Most of those, after the first time, change method. Others, idiots that they are, keep going, thinking ''Well, if it happens only every once in a while I can live with it''. And that¡¯s how, ever so slowly, they poison themselves, destroying their bodies and their minds in a futile attempt to escape something that should be natural.

    Then there¡¯s those that live through the passing storm. They¡¯re the brave ones: courageous souls that should find a way to teach others how they can simply live with it.

    Then there¡¯s the junkies. People who thrive on sadness. Or rather, other people¡¯s sadness. They see it as a drug, a medicine to their own emotions, because, if taken in the right dosages, and from the right people, it lets them think that maybe, after all, their lives aren¡¯t so bad. And if that helps someone else in the meantime, well, all the better! They have to be careful though, because the wrong amounts from the wrong people could lead to things getting worse. After all, it''s the dose that makes the poison, am I not right?

    That¡¯s the three categories. Naturally, most people will explain it in a completely different way.

    Isse had always found it funny how, for example, people said that someone was ¡°running from their sadness¡± or any other emotions. Because that meant nothing. You couldn¡¯t escape from yourself.

    She knew that, because she was one of those runners. Once upon a time, she¡¯d been a ¡®bottler¡¯, but after she¡¯d exploded the first time she had immediately changed. Better to cry a few tears every once in a while than feel like tearing your heart out of your chest while you cried what felt like enough tears to fill a small sea.

    That had helped her. Had she remained a ¡®bottler¡¯, she would¡¯ve probably died well before she had on that hospital bed.

    She was alone now. Makira had left to go do something important, asking her to wait in the clearing where they let her and the other spiderlings play. She had said she¡¯d get another [Carer] to come keep her company in a few minutes, but she had yet to arrive.

    So she was alone. Even the Voice wasn¡¯t talking, probably sulking somewhere in her mind.

    The anger she¡¯d felt before had completely drained out of her, sadness rapidly taking its place. Well, it was more complex than simple sadness. It was layered. A bit of self-hatred here, a small amount of anger at Siidi for not leaving her alone there, not understanding what the hell had happened on that fake battlefield. It was the happiness on Siidi¡¯s face when she¡¯d fought and killed those people, her glee at seeing those women, her sisters, helping her. It was her inability to pass that stupid trial.

    Really, she should¡¯ve felt angry.

    Instead, she was sad.

    And, seeing how she¡¯d long since thrown the bottle away and watched it break apart, she decided to do the one thing she had always done when she was sad, the thing that always gave her a chuckle. The thing she¡¯d been unable to do ever since she¡¯d ended up on that hospital bed.

    She ran.

    She¡¯d been alive for over two weeks now. And yet she hadn¡¯t ever tried to do the one thing that had always given her some joy. Just¡­ run. As fast as she could, until her lungs stung and she tasted iron on her tongue and her legs burned and screamed and the world started to swivel as if her head was on a little merry-go-round.

    She ran.

    And after a short while the sadness began to burn away, leave her, giving her some peace and quite. Joy replaced it soon after.

    Because it had been nearly a year since she¡¯d last had the chance to run. Because she had forgotten how beautiful the sensation was. And, best of all, she didn¡¯t tire!

    Her mind may be old, but her body was young. She was full of energy, and to her great satisfaction her spider half didn¡¯t seem to require a lot of it. What it did need was attention and a great deal of self control, because if she did anything wrong her legs would likely entangle and make her fall.

    And oh boy did she fall. Multiple times. Face first right into the ground.

    Yet she always rose and began running again. Because who cared about a few scratches on your face and hands? Compared to ¡®Queen of the Tree¡¯ this was nothing!

    She ran, and the joy didn¡¯t leave her. Instead it just seemed to swell.

    [Would You Kindly] stop this rollercoaster of emotions little thief? Someone here¡¯s trying to mourn her sisters.

    She felt a strange compulsion in her mind to stop running, to stop being happy and go back to being the sad mess she was before.

    She imagined flipping off Siidi in her mind and kept running.

    She passed by a few adults on her way to¡­ wherever the wind in her hair brought her. They looked at her, wondered for a moment why she wasn¡¯t at ¡®school¡¯, then, seeing how nobody was running behind her screaming for her to get back to class, shrugged and thought she was given permission. Which, technically, was true.

    Problem was, Isse hadn¡¯t been given permission to run away from the playing area. Which now contained a very anxious arachne who was about to start hyperventilating and have a panic attack.

    Until she remembered about her tracking Skills from her secondary class, [Hunter], and used them to start looking for the lost girl.

    It would take her some time though, since she was just a measly Level 10 in that Class.

    As she started her little hunt, the System took note of the unconventional use of her Skills, and decided to reward her the next time she fell asleep. That is, if she succeded.

    <hr>

    Issekina was lost.

    Well, not a big surprise. It happens if you run deep in a forest without looking where you¡¯re going because you¡¯re trying to pass out in sheer exhaustion while trying to also outlast your emotions.

    So it was no wonder that she didn¡¯t know where she was.

    Of course, she was in no real danger. After all, sooner or later an adult would find her.

    So she ran.

    And stopped.

    Because, apparently, she¡¯d reached her body¡¯s limit and couldn¡¯t run anymore. And however safe this forest was, she wasn¡¯t stupid enough to pass out outside the designated areas.

    She sat down, her spider legs bending underneath her and acting as some sort of cushion. It was surprisingly comfortable. Even more so with the grass underneath. One could say a lot of bad things about being an arachne, but their ability to feel comfortable anywhere was probably one of the race¡¯s greatest assets.

    No, that would be our near endless stamina, our proficiency with soul magic, the difficulty with killing us, and I could keep going.

    Shush, those are boring.

    Don¡¯t shush me, you silkless midget, and don¡¯t reduce an entire species to ¡®We can sit anywhere¡¯!

    The woods were silent. Well, they really weren¡¯t: birds chirped, crickets played their little songs that drove most people to madness, especially when they somehow entered your house and started ¡®singing¡¯ in the middle of the night.

    Those sounds, though, blended into a background noise that didn¡¯t register in her mind. It was always there, and because of that is also wasn¡¯t. No, as she sat there, breathing slowly to calm her heartbeat, she listened for anything different. It was an instinctive part of the arachne side of her that did so.

    And it was said part, which normally took the form of Siidi, that noticed the shouting first.

    Not shouting. Screaming.

    Isse whipped her head around, trying to understand where the sound was coming from.

    Another detail about arachne: all their senses were sharper. She could smell the meals prepared by the [Cooks] and [Carers] from hundreds of paces, see a hole carved by a caterpillar in a leaf at the top of a tree if she concentrated enough. And could certainly hear someone screaming at the top of their lungs, even if that someone was quite far away and the forest sounds covered it up.

    Leave it be girl. It¡¯s either an animal, which means the [Hunters] are doing their job, or someone from another race being hunted down and killed. In both cases, not something we should be worrying about.

    But Isse didn¡¯t care. Usually, she listened to the Voice and what she had to say, but after the Trial she didn¡¯t want to. Not after hearing what Grandmother had told her about Siidi¡¯s intentions. Not after seeing her fight and massacre those people. That girl was a monster, and she would turn her into one if she let her.

    Since when can animals scream that way? she just asked, before she lifted herself from the ground and began walking.

    I don¡¯t know, but this forest isn¡¯t normal, so the animals probably aren¡¯t too.

    Yeah, well, my body, my choices.

    And she tuned Siidi out. If she had anything else to say, she didn¡¯t care.

    So it was that she slowly walked towards what she believed to be the source of all this racket. It was getting closer, but not only because she was walking towards it. No, it was moving closer.

    She climbed up a tree and began swinging among the branches. If whatever she was trying to find turned out to be something hostile she did not want to be face to face with it. As the [Carers] liked to say, ''Nobody looks up at first''.

    Which had been proven to her multiple times, when they¡¯d decided to spook all the spiderlings by falling on them with nets of spidersilk, trapping them all and cackling all the while.

    They¡¯d since learned to always keep an eye to the branches, ¡®less they be pranked again and again mercilessly.

    She kept going towards the source of the sound. It sounded distinctly feminine. Was it one of her sisters? No, that wasn¡¯t possible: none of her sisters sounded so¡­ grown up? Yes, that was the word. The shrieking voice was feminine, childish even, but not as much as the spiderlings. Who was here?

    She got her answer a few seconds later, when a small girl ran under her.

    She was wearing practical clothes: a tight brown shirt, brown leather pants and brown boots with a green tinge to them. All in all, it looked like a bad attempt at mimetic clothes. Judging by the fact the girl was screaming her lungs out and running away from something, it seemed they hadn¡¯t worked too well.

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Human. That¡¯s bad. We have to kill her.

    Isse froze as she heard Siidi talk again.

    Are you mad? I won¡¯t kill an innocent girl!

    But what if she knows about the arachne in the forest? She¡¯ll talk to the adults, and they¡¯ll send people to try and kill us all! And then we¡¯ll have to leave this forest for good. Don¡¯t be selfish!

    Isse ground her teeth audibly, but before she could answer with some snarky comment, she saw something running behind the girl. A wolf. The fur was greenish, like the ground it was running on. It passed over a set of roots, and she saw the fur change color to match the red of that particular tree.

    A mimetic wolf. A mimicolf! No, wait, that sounded stupid.

    Yes it did.

    Shut up!

    She began running behind the mimolf (nope, still didn¡¯t sound good), trying to find a way to help the girl running away.

    She looked around and spotted a rock on the ground, small enough to fit in her¡­ petite hand (she was not going to admit she was small), but big enough to actually cause some damage if she hit someone. She took it as she passed by it, then kept running, preparing to hit the wolfetic (nope, even worse. Now it sounded like some Wolverine rip off).

    Idiot, don¡¯t just use the rock. Make a sling and use that, or that wolf will bite your hand off.

    Ok mum!

    Don¡¯t you¡­ you¡¯re having fun you little shit, arentchya?

    Who? Me?

    Siidi fell silent. A strange sense of¡­ was it approval? She couldn¡¯t tell. Anyways, this strange sensation pervaded her mind, and she felt a bit calmer.

    She reached back towards her spider half and took some spidersilk. With one hand she wound it around the rock and, after mere moments of work, she had a functional sap.

    Now, Issekina wasn¡¯t exactly a stealthy girl. She was a girl who, thanks to her spider half, reached up to a grown man¡¯s shoulders. She also wasn¡¯t exactly silent, even if her spidery legs made it difficult to break anything in her path simply because they were slender. All that was well and good, but you forget the most¡­ prominent part of her anatomy: the spider abdomen. It was big, bigger than her human body by a small margin. And she wasn¡¯t exactly making sure she didn¡¯t bump into anything.

    Still, the Mimehound (that actually sounded good. Yes, that would be its name from now on!) wasn¡¯t looking for her. He was concentrated on the easy prey in front of him.

    A girl who hadn¡¯t noticed him, had been bitten, was losing delicious blood all over the forest ground, and was clearly marked.

    Now, you may be wondering, why was this Mimehound, whose actual name in this world was Rainbow Imitators (yes, that¡¯s the actual name, do not ask why, nobody knows or dares to answer), alone? Wasn¡¯t it some kind of wolf? The answer is: yes. But, since this is a fantasy story, it doesn¡¯t make sense! Now, while we repair the fourth wall, let us explain.

    Rainbow Imitators, which will, from now on, be called Mimehound because it sounds way better, are a particular species of wolves that live alone. They are deceivers who mimetize with the colorful forest around them. It is because of their very nature that they do not trust each other. So they prefer to live alone and attack each other if they meet. They have a tendency to stay very still in a place, going as far as not moving for two whole days. Because of that they¡¯ve since been dubbed ¡®Forest Mimics¡¯. A very appropriate title. Luckily for every adventurer outside the forest of Tusca, they were very territorial and didn¡¯t like leaving the place they chose to call home.

    If you¡¯re wondering how these animals reproduce if they¡¯re so solitary, well, as with many things in nature, rape and law of the stronger are an easy solution. Let¡¯s not delve deeper now, shall we?

    When they eventually found prey, they tried to bite any part of them as a means of marking them. This way, no other Mimehound would try to catch them. They may be deceivers, but they had honor! Of a sort.

    Another detail, which wouldn¡¯t help their survival outside this forest, was their extreme single-mindedness. When they began doing something, they would concentrate only on that, without giving a thought about the world around them.

    That was what helped Isse right now.

    She ran and, finally, the screaming girl decided to stumble on something. For being so loud and, apparently, stupid, she was extremely agile.

    She fell to the ground, hands extended in front of her to at least not hit her face. Not that that would help her if she was devoured by a wolf!

    Which, by the way, pounced on her.

    She felt the heat of the beast first, then its weight as it landed fully on her back. She tried to move and shove it off, reaching with one of her hands to a knife latched to her waist, but the creature wasn¡¯t stupid. It tried to bite her, and she had to use all of her strength, which was rapidly dwindling away, to keep it from tearing her face off.

    That¡¯s when she felt a strange sound, like skittering. Followed by a wet and soft thud.

    Followed by the Mimehound suddenly stopping and going slack. Suddenly his full weight, unsupported by the legs, was on her arms, and they buckled.

    She shouted and groaned and tried to shove the beast off again. It was still breathing, but it sure as hell wouldn¡¯t be waking up anytime soon.

    Then she heard it again. That skittering sound. And someone, or something, lifted the body slightly and moved it off her.

    The girl stared. And was filled with wonder.

    <hr>

    The girl was named Ama. It was a simple name for a simple girl. A name like many, one that wouldn¡¯t be noticed among hundreds of others. Ama liked that about her name. It made her seem unassuming. Inconsequential.

    She was all those things. The name just helped hammer it in.

    She wasn¡¯t really sociable. She didn¡¯t have many friends. One could say that, outside her own family, she had no one to call a friend. Except for people presented to her by her parents. It was ok. She liked being alone. Sorta. When one had two older brother and a younger sister, the concept of loneliness was nonexistent. Together with the idea of privacy. Not like she had a lot to hide. She was only ten. She wasn¡¯t like her brothers, who¡¯d try to kill her if she snooped around in their rooms.

    Which, by the way, she had done. Like any dutiful sister should always do.

    Then she¡¯d proceeded to use the knowledge of her brothers¡¯ sins against them, blackmailing into serving her every whim for two entire weeks. Just like any good, dutiful, and slightly opportunistic, sister, should do. She knew her little sister would do the same to her one day. She would be ready when the day came. Her brothers sure as the Stars had failed in getting their revenge on her!

    Sometimes she thought about it, and realized that this wasn¡¯t exactly the way a child should be raised. A good parent would¡¯ve probably told her to stop with the blackmailing. Instead, when they¡¯d found out what she was doing, they had laughed and told her to proceed.

    That¡¯s who her parents were: fun people, with an easy laugh who put their nose in their scuffles only if things got violent.

    Which they had never done. So far.

    They¡¯d come to this forest to spend some quality family time. Which meant camping, some walking outside the forest, evening eating animals caught by her mother or father, and night being told old stories. Very old ones. From father¡¯s old book. It was honestly surprising how the thing wasn¡¯t falling apart. Probably the work of Skills.

    On their fifth day of camping, Ama had decided to have a walk in the forest. Even after their parents had told them multiple times they were forbidden from doing it, that they¡¯d probably die horribly in pain, devoured by something, or get lost and die of hunger or thirst.

    And she¡¯d gone right in!

    Notice how in no line so far has anyone said she was smart.

    Yeah, well, she wasn¡¯t. Or rather, she was, a lot, but she had no sense of self-preservation. Like all children did at her age. No, wait, that was only a small part of them.

    Well, anyways, she had been stupid enough to walk into the forest. Naturally, she¡¯d gotten lost while looking at all those wondrous colors. And naturally, she hadn¡¯t seen the Mimehound.

    That¡¯s more or less the reason why she was here now.

    Looking a girl in the eyes, noticing how her body was half spider, and staring with wonder as a single, overpowering, thought crossed her mind: That fur looks soft. I want to touch it!

    As stated before: no sense of self preservation.

    <hr>

    Isse stared at the human girl.

    Ama stared at the arachne.

    The former saw that which she desired, which she so would¡¯ve wanted to become in this new world.

    The latter saw something new, something she had never seen, only heard about in stories. Bad stories, sure, but told with a sort of nostalgia, of understanding. And the very thing those stories of massacre were about was standing in front of her, sap in hand. And she had saved her life.

    "Thank you," she said, because that what good girls do when you save their life.

    The arachne smiled and nodded.

    She then extended her hand, and Ama took it. The arachne lifted her off the ground, then shook her hand, smiling all the while. Ama shook back, her grip firm. She was still looking at the half spider with wonder in her eyes.

    "Who are you?" she asked.

    Dumb question. She should¡¯ve asked her name.

    Isse, on her part, smiled at the girl and motioned at her mouth. Then she tried to speak, only managing to produce a little shriek as the air passed through her throat and moved through her still too rigid vocal chords. It would still take a while before she managed to speak properly. Makira said it would take another week at least. Then they could gossip together. Isse wasn¡¯t sure if she couldn¡¯t wait or if she feared the moment.

    "You can¡¯t speak?"

    A nod.

    "But you can understand me."

    Another nod.

    Then she looked around and found a stick in the ground. She used it as a sort of pen, and wrote in the ground her name in Irevian.

    Ama, on her part, watched in fascination as the arachne in front of her drew something in the ground.

    Slowly, she walked behind her and looked at things from her perspective. She also reached up with her hand and patted the girl¡¯s spider half. It was as soft as she¡¯d expected.

    Isse jolted, then turned towards her, and Ama just smiled sheepishly, not removing her hand.

    The arachne made a sound like chuckling, then shook her head, and went back to writing, her smile only bigger.

    In the end, she finished. And Ama read her name. Or tried to.

    "You write horribly, you know that?"

    She said as she looked up at the girl who, in turn, crossed her arms and scoffed, as if trying to say ''You try writing with a stick''. Which, truth be told, was easy. Isse just sucked at it. Sucked at writing in general. She was new to this language, okay? She had that excuse!

    "I-S-Z-E. Isze?"

    The arachne shook her head, then tried rewrote the second S.

    "Isse?"

    She nodded.

    This is going surprisingly well.

    Yes it was.

    "Are you an arachne?"

    She nodded.

    "Will you try to hurt me?"

    She shook her head vehemently, her hair flying around.

    Ama seemed thoughtful, then nodded.

    "I am Ama. Wanna be friends?"

    And that is how, on Burei the 27th, during the month of Landorf, a human and an arachne, for the first time in millenia, became friends.

    <hr>

    We should kill her.

    We won¡¯t. I don¡¯t want to.

    She¡¯s going to tell her parents, and we¡¯re all gonna have to fight.

    She won¡¯t. Trust me

    Siidi sighed. Then, after a moment, she said.

    We really should. But even I don¡¯t want to. Too much innocence in her.

    So the heartless [Warrior] has a soft spot for kids.

    Shut up!

    <hr>

    "Mum! Dad! I made a new friend!"

    That¡¯s how Ama began the conversation with her parents when she arrived back at camp. Back at camp, where the whole family was preparing for an expedition deep into the woods to try to find her.

    When they saw her, they all had different reactions: her mother began crying in relief, her father fell to the ground, then proceeded to hug his wife, her brothers sighed in relief, then shouted as they ran to hug her, and her little sister just stared without understanding what was happening. She was three years old after all.

    "Where were you?" asked her mother when she finally managed to calm down.

    "I was with my new friend! And with a big bad wolf that changed color. But my friend killed it."

    Isse had, in fact, killed the Mimehound. She¡¯d broken its neck with her improvised weapon.

    Her parents stared at her in disbelief. Who could possibly be in that forest?

    "And where¡¯s your friend?"

    "She¡¯s back in the forest!"

    Now that was strange.

    "And who was this friend of yours?"

    "Oh, she was this big spider! She was so soft! And friendly!"

    Her parents froze for a moment. Then laughed. A spider. Their daughter had made friends with a spider of all things. She really must be starved for company, they thought.

    Luckily for Isse and her whole clan, that¡¯s how Ama had described her. Had she added just another word, like ¡®half-¡¯, and things... wouldn''t have changed actually. Not with Ama''s family. But that''s another story, maybe for another time.

    Instead, now her parents believed that a spider had fallen on top of a Rainbow Imitator, scared it, and then stayed with her for a while.

    "Her name is Isse!"

    She¡¯d even named the spider!

    "Good, Ama, very good. But you should be making more friends among humans, first. Spiders can come later, ok?"

    Ama nodded.

    Two days later, she and her family went back home. She wouldn¡¯t see Isse for a long time afterwards. But they¡¯d both treasure that afternoon of swinging on swings made of spidersilk.

 Chapter 15: Of Waves and Paintings

    Issekina was lost!

    Oh, how funny. Hilarious, even. Except for the spiderling in question. The arachne that had helped the little girl, Ama, find her way outside the forest safely, was now completely, utterly, lost.

    Well, at least she wasn¡¯t hunted by Mimehounds!

    Don¡¯t jinx it!

    Shouted Siidi in her mind.

    To which she could say nothing, because she had already learned just how rotten her luck normally was.

    She scuttled around the forest she called home and tried to find her way to her sisters. Which, truth be told, was quite difficult, since her clan was where it was because it didn¡¯t want to be found.

    So she wandered aimlessly hoping for a miracle, like some sort of smoke signal, or a light in the ever-increasing darkness. Anything, really. But there was nothing. Only the wind traveling through the branches, the occasional bird chirping, and the other sounds of wildlife. Soon even those would disappear, leaving her in complete silence. Then she would call herself fucked.

    Slowly, the light disappeared behind the horizon, darkness walking hand in hand with its counterpart and putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

    She felt alone.

    Again.

    Well, you have me.

    You don¡¯t count.

    You¡¯re breaking my heart. Oh, wait, I don¡¯t have one.

    Isse sighed, but she had to admit that this short exchange had lifted her morale. She smiled, and with renewed vigor began walking again, looking for her sisters. She knew she¡¯d most probably end up sleeping on a tree somewhere to pass the night. The forest, she¡¯d understood, wasn¡¯t safe during the day. It was probable it would be even less so during the night.

    She walked. And saw light over her head. She looked up in hopes of seeing some kind of sign that she was getting closer to her home, but all she saw was the moon.

    It was beautiful: white as a pearl, smooth as a river stone, and so luminous it nearly rivaled the sun. Also, it was melting.

    She stared, transfixed. And tripped on a protruding root. How that was possible, since she had eight legs and only one had been tripped, she didn¡¯t know. It was, most probably, an unfortunate sequence of events where one leg¡¯s loss of equilibrium had caused a domino effect with three others on one side, causing the girl to fall on that side. It certainly wasn¡¯t because an Author wanted to punish her idiocy for not taking some precautions when she decided to up and run in a giant forest!

    It didn¡¯t matter.

    What mattered was that the [Carer] with [Hunter] Skills, who had been looking for Isse the whole afternoon, and was going to look for her the whole night if it was necessary, found her.

    You could say she managed this quite difficult task with her Skills and skills alone, but that would be a half truth. Rather, her job was made quite easier by Isse¡¯s screech of anger caused by her sudden fall.

    The [Carer], whose name was Erniuros, one of the strangest names Grandmother had ever given, sighed in relief and nearly began crying, but she pulled herself together as fast as possible: she couldn¡¯t let the spiderling see her as weak. Not now, when she probably needed someone strong! Also, she was in big trouble. Why in the names of the Olds would she run away?

    She scuttled close to the girl and helped her up. It seemed she¡¯d just given up and decided to stay on the ground for a while, dirt in her hair be damned!

    "Come on, spiderling, get up. We¡¯re going home," she whispered in her ear.

    The girl immediately jumped up in the air. Like, literally, she was one or two centimeters over the ground from how high she jumped.

    Erniuros, who was usually just called Ernia by her friends because she always lamented having back aches, chuckled slightly.

    "I don¡¯t know why you came so far away from home, little one, but you better come back. The colors all look the same during the night. Same goes for those damned wolves."

    She was relieved: she knew she should be angry at the little arachne, but she just couldn¡¯t bring herself to. After all, she¡¯d been a child too. She knew just how strangely their minds worked. If they didn¡¯t do anything stupid, ever, then they were probably not living their best lives. Or learning how to live said lives.

    She looked back, making sure Isse was still following her. She was, naturally. She was also craning her neck to look up at the canopy. When they passed under a hole that showed the beautiful, starry, sky, she made a small sound and pointed up. Ernia followed the finger, and immediately her eyes latched on the moon.

    "What is it little one? What¡¯s that? That¡¯s the moon," she smiled. Sometimes she forgot that the ¡®roofs¡¯ of their home were covered in spidersilk that seldom let the young ones see the sky. It was probably the first time she¡¯d ever seen the moon and the stars.

    Still, the spiderling didn¡¯t seem satisfied with the answer as she pointed up at the moon again, making a keener sound.

    Ernia looked up, not understanding. And then noticing the fact that the moon was melting. Thick globs of white substance were slowly detaching themselves from the surface of the satellite, seemingly falling off, only to stop ¡®mid air¡¯ to begin floating upwards, fusing themselves again to the upper side. The moon also had a distinctly fluid look to it, as if a child had thrown a giant rock on the surface of a lake, causing ripples to spread everywhere. This was the same, but there were a lot of rocks, and the lake was the motherfucking moon.

    "Oh, yeah, you probably never saw it. The moon is waxing. It likes to change every once in a while. It¡¯ll start waning in a few days," she motioned for the girl to start walking again, "Now don¡¯t stop, we¡¯re close by."

    That night, after being checked over by no less than three [Carers], among who was, naturally, Makira, she was sent to bed. Without dinner. She didn¡¯t really care about that: Ama had food in a small pouch at her side. Actually, the pouch contained a lot more food than it should¡¯ve been able to considering its dimensions, but the girl had quickly explained to her it was a Bag of Holding. A small rift to another dimension, the Void, where a part of that endless space had been carved and trapped in this reality, anchored to the stitching. It was a dangerous and slightly unstable process, and if for some reason the stitching didn¡¯t hold, the bag and all of its contents would collapse back into the Void. Possibly taking with them a chunk of the user.

    She went to sleep, and slept a dreamless dream.

    <hr>

    That night, Erniuros went to sleep with a smile on her face and satisfaction filling her heart. Her sisters had congratulated her for managing to find the lost spiderling and, most important of all, Iadara had shared with her one of her best bottles of wine! Or, at least, that¡¯s what she said. Ernia was pretty sure that alcoholist would never just give away one of her best bottles.

    Still, it was a good night!

    And it became even better when she fell asleep.

    [Conditions Met - Carer -> Guardian]

    [Class Consolidation: Hunter]

    [Guardian Level 15!]

    [Skill - Locate Ward Obtained!]

    [Skill - Enhance Sense: Sight Obtained!]

    [Skill - Lesser Night Vision Obtained!]

    <hr>

    Alice had a somewhat similar revelation with the moon not long after she¡¯d appeared in this new world. She¡¯d just received permission to live in that abandoned house by the inhabitants of the city of Gunsee. That night, she had decided to go for a little stroll around her new property. Bad idea, sure, but she didn¡¯t yet know about the possible dangers of going around at night without any sort of weapon.

    Well, truth be told, the only thing she¡¯d probably find around here was an angry Night Pecker, a small, black, woodpecker with a passion for doing what all woodpeckers do¡­ at night. Near any kind of light. Which meant there were villages around the continent of Eva that offered bounties for the little beasts just so that they could sleep!

    Anyways, she was walking around, her mind muddled by two days of being unable to sleep. She was grumpy, and anything that decided to approach her better have a goddamn good reason or it would receive a kick and be told to ¡®go fuck itself in some corner of hell, possibly with lots of flames¡¯.

    She was good at creating colorful insults, like all italians were. Hell, they had an entire section of their swear dictionary dedicated to insulting God and all its saints and his son and his son¡¯s mother.

    On that front, she was greatly disappointed in the english language. They didn¡¯t have lots of swears.

    Anyways, she looked up, saw the moon, noticed it was melting, then kept walking, chalking it up to her eyes seeing things from her lack of sleep. It was only two weeks later, when the moon began waxing again and she¡¯d just managed to get a night of sleep (four hours!), that she realized it was all very real and began to panic.

    She ran to Herman¡¯s house, woke him, his dog and cat, and a few of his neighbors, up with her knocking and screaming about the moon melting, and was told to go home and get over her hangover, because the moon always did that.

    In retrospect, she thought, she shouldn¡¯t have been this surprised. She was in a fantasy world, of course the moon would be strange. She just hadn¡¯t thought it would be this strange.

    <hr>

    Liam and [Knight Commander] Amarie, with their small retinue of [Knights] and [Soldiers], were camping¡­ somewhere, on their way towards the capital city of Pemos.

    They had just finished placing the tents, when Liam looked up and saw the moon melting.

    He remained transfixed for a moment.

    "A-A-Am-Amar-Amarie!" he managed to blabber out after a few tries as he pointed up.

    The [Knight Commander] looked up and followed where his finger was pointing. She saw the moon, and shrugged.

    "Yes? That¡¯s the moon. It¡¯s waxing. Now, please, help me prepare the fire. I don¡¯t want to eat cold rations again."

    She glared towards one of her [Knights], who sheepishly hid behind a tent with the excuse of checking the poles.

    Liam managed, through sheer force of will, to turn away and start working on the fire with Amarie. He also managed not to ask the obvious question of ¡®Is this actually normal here?¡¯ Because he remembered that he was apparently a [Mage Crafter], there was magic in this world, a [Necromancer] had rebuilt his chest from ground zero and after all that, the fact that the moon was melting in the sky over his head really shouldn¡¯t surprise him.

    He didn¡¯t say anything about that for the whole evening.

    <hr>

    One week after this episode, Isse was standing in front of Grandmother again.

    The Elder was staring at her. Or rather, Looking. Her head was inclined at a forty five degrees angle, and she kept bending it ever so slightly more as time passed. Isse and Siidi didn¡¯t know if they wished for that neck to snap clean off or if they¡¯d rather see the old arachne right herself and keep living.

    It wasn¡¯t even that one of them wanted the woman to live and the other to die. No, it was more like fifty percent of both¡­ for both of them.

    "Hmm¡­ something has changed. Good."

    She suddenly said with a hint of satisfaction in her tone. She righted herself, her neck doing a ¡®crick¡¯ sound as she did.

    "Now, let us begin. Maybe, this time, things will be different. [Trials of the Mind]."

    She extended a hand and touched Isse¡¯s forehead. The world went black. Then white.

    Then she was in her Mind Castle.

    In a hallway.

    She recognized the place. Yet she¡¯d never seen it.

    The corridor was white marble, with great columns in corinthian style supporting the ceiling. Plants were placed at regular intervals, their names unknown to her, but they looked good and that was all the reasons her mind needed to put them here. And, apparently, decorate some of them with Christmas decorations. Red and blue and gold and green balls and hollies and ribbons in the forms of hearts and stars and pentagrams because why not? and even a gear there. It was so eclectic. It didn¡¯t make any sense.

    On the walls, almost invisible and so simple compared to the decorations around her, were dozens of paintings featuring Isse as protagonist.

    She walked towards one and looked.

    It showed her as a little girl, probably six years old, during her birthday. She was running away from another kid as they played tag. She didn¡¯t remember the boy¡¯s name, only his face, and even that had become a bit fuzzy with the years, as was shown by his features being a bit blurry in the painting.

    This hall was a gallery. A galley of her memories.

    And Siidi was skittering around, looking at them.

    "You know, this place isn¡¯t so bad. Probably one of the funniest halls. You really shouldn¡¯t walk down the one about the hospital though. Those are way too vivid even for me."

    She shivered, the fur on her spider half standing on end.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    "Well, not everyone gets to go out with a bang."

    "It was actually a slash. She was a good warrior, and a lucky one. A second later, and I would¡¯ve killed her. Guess that¡¯s what happens when you hold off an army alone. At least I got to stay with my sisters for a while longer after we died."

    Isse looked at Siidi with a raised eyebrow.

    "What, you didn¡¯t go to the same place in the afterlife?"

    Siidi chuckled mirthlessly.

    "Arachne don¡¯t get an afterlife. Death just comes and puts us to sleep in his cloak, until one day we get a chance to come back. If we ever walked in the afterlife, we¡¯d be chucked into Nothing without having the time to say ''Hello''."

    "What do you mean¡­"

    "With Nothing? Exactly what I said. When you die you either end up in the Garden or the Furnace. The former is the place for the good people, where they get to rest, grow stronger, and then reincarnate when they please. The latter is for us sinners. The flames and torture of that place are supposed to burn and tear away all of our sins, until the damned are ready to go back in the world as blank slates. And then there¡¯s Nothing. The worst of the worst are put there to disappear and become, well, Nothing."

    Isse shivered. And she¡¯d been forced in the body of a creature that was already doomed to that destiny.

    Then she remembered the first part about how Death didn¡¯t allow that, and sighed in relief. Well, there was some justice in the world at least.

    "Us arachne were really dealt the worst hand of them all," said Isse.

    Siidi chuckled again, this time a bit of humor entering her tone.

    "You could say that! The world¡¯s against us, the gods too, our only ally is our creator, Death, and our greatest advantages are that we¡¯re great at forbidden magic and are really good at having sex."

    They both laughed this time.

    And Isse didn¡¯t notice nor feel the fur that was ever so slowly growing on her legs, covered as they were by her clothes.

    This continued for a while as they walked down the corridor. As Isse told Siidi about bits and pieces of her past, and they laughed about how much of an unruly child she¡¯d been. Like that time she had decided to climb up a tree and jump down to show her friends that she could do it, and had broken her arm. Or that time she¡¯d started a fight in elementary school because Mara, a girl she disliked, had joked about her hair. Well, that girl had lost a good clamp of hers in the end.

    They were starting to wonder if this Trial was about bonding or something like that, when they heard Grandmother¡¯s voice for the first time. And she said the one thing nobody would ever want to hear inside their mind:

    Uh oh¡­

    "What¡¯s that?" asked Isse, panic slowly beginning to rise.

    Your mind¡­ is rebelling to me. To the Trial. It¡¯s trying to shut down.

    "What?" they said in chorus.

    I can¡¯t stop it.

    "But it¡¯s my mind!" they said, again together. In a way too natural manner.

    They heard a strange sound, like ocean waves far away. How had that appeared here?

    "Can¡¯t we stop it?"

    "Yes. But only manually. On the¡­ Tower of Higher Brain Function?" shuffling of paper could be heard, as if someone was checking a book, or a series of maps.

    This was more or less the longest conversation she¡¯d ever had with Grandmother. No, scratch that: this was more or less the longest she¡¯d ever heard the elder speak.

    "Where¡¯s that?"

    "Down the corridor you¡¯re in. You¡¯ll have to climb the tower."

    They ran.

    The waves got closer.

    Isse turned around, and saw water coming their way, fast, hands reaching out from the surface, grasping at the air. One of them latched onto a painting, and drew it into the growing waves. The paint started to melt away, the colors slowly mixing with the water, changing its color in a grand rainbow.

    And then it was gone. A blank canvas.

    And she couldn¡¯t remember what was on it.

    -Is the water eating my memories?- she shouted upwards.

    Grandmother didn¡¯t answer immediately. That¡¯s when Isse felt true fear for the first time. Because, up until now, the Trials had been without any true consequences. Except for the trauma, but apparently her mind was young enough to get over it relatively fast.

    This, though. This could hurt her. This could actually change her. Reshape her very being. Delete what she had been, leaving behind absolutely nothing.

    She began running¡­ towards the paintings.

    -What the hell are you doing?- shouted Siidi.

    -Saving my past!-

    Grandmother still hadn¡¯t answered her question.

    -Don¡¯t be an idiot. This is just a Trial. We finish it, and everything will go back to normal!-

    -Are you sure? Grandmother said this was different!-

    She kept trying to get more paintings, but her arms were so small, and there were so many of them.

    Siidi, meanwhile, hesitated. She¡¯d never seen a Skill like Grandmother¡¯s. She didn¡¯t know what it was capable of. Stars be Damned, she didn¡¯t know how a mind worked! She was a gods damned [Warrior]! They told her who or what to kill and she did that! She¡¯d never been trained for any of this! She wasn¡¯t a [Soul Mage], nor a [Dreamer], or a [Psionic].

    That was the only reason why she hadn¡¯t yet decided to run away.

    Then:

    ¡°It¡¯s rejecting me. Do not let the water touch you!¡±

    And that was the last they heard from Grandmother in that Trial. Or whatever it had become.

    <hr>

    Siidi looked at the other half of her soul. The one she was supposed to hate with all of herself. The one she wanted to take over.

    She saw her desperation.

    She saw her fighting a losing battle against whatever was eating away at her mind. She saw her losing her memories, one by one, and she knew, having explored her Mind Castle for a long while now, that this was just a small part of it. That she was losing even more in many other places. More important memories, even.

    Yet she kept trying to save these ones. Probably because they were the closest ones, she told herself. But she knew there was a reason why Grandmother had placed them here in the first place. She knew these were, probably, the most important ones to Issekina. They were what had made her who she was, even more than middle school, even more than the little time she¡¯d spent in high school. Even more than that hospital. These memories were who she was.

    She could¡¯ve run. Up that tower, towards safety.

    But she knew what it was like to lose her memories.

    Until the last Trial, she had forgotten she¡¯d even had sisters. True, bloodbound, sisters. Birthed from the same mother, of the same clutch.

    And she knew, now, that she¡¯d forgotten even more.

    Was this what she¡¯d been doing to Isse? Was this what would¡¯ve happened in the end: just her, slowly eating away at the girl¡¯s subconscious, at her mind, replacing what she was with bits and pieces of herself, until there was nothing left behind but her?

    Was this what she had become? Just a wave of watery hands slowly devouring Isse¡¯s mind?

    A monster without the ability to feel emotions?

    <hr>

    Isse reached out for another painting.

    A hand of water reached for it too. And another reached out for her.

    She tightened her grip around the frame and pulled it towards her. But the hand was faster. Stronger.

    And the other one had gripped her ankle. It was strong. And it burned like fire.

    She screamed as she let go of the painting and scrambled away, but the grip was stronger, and the pain numbed her mind, her reflexes. She looked down, and saw that the skin of her foot was slowly disappearing, eaten away bit by bit, exposing the sinew and bone underneath. It was mesmerizing.

    Then the pain exploded again through her mind, waking her up from her trance. She screamed, threw the paintings in her hands away from the water in a desperate attempt to save them for a bit longer, to keep her memories, but it wouldn¡¯t matter for much longer, because the waves were approaching and she would soon be submerged.

    She didn¡¯t close her eyes. She wasn¡¯t going to surrender. If she was going to disappear, she might as well do it while showing some courage. She suppressed the screams that kept rising out of her throat, and stared right ahead at the approaching water.

    And then the hand around her ankle went slack and disappeared.

    Isse looked down, confused.

    She saw a thread on the ground.

    A simple thread of spidersilk. It wasn¡¯t as fine as the one used by the [Stringmistress] who had made her beautiful dress, nor did it look as elastic and malleable as the ones used by Makira. But it did look solid. And sharp.

    -Get up, you dumbass. We have a tower to climb!-

    She turned around as she lifted herself from the marble floor.

    And there was Siidi. In one hand she held the other end of the thread that had, apparently, freed her, while in the other she was holding a big sack filled with square things.

    -Move it! Let¡¯s hope the water¡¯s left enough of your foot, ¡®cause I¡¯m not gonna carry you.-

    They ran.

    <hr>

    Santa Siidi carries a white sack filled with paintings stolen from her mind gallery and ran towards the end of the corridor like Lupin, and she was her friend Jigen following her and knowing that firing her gun was useless against the oncoming enemy.

    Yes, that¡¯s what her mind was thinking about right now.

    Yes, it was extremely stupid.

    Yes, it helped her run through the pain in her foot.

    She was keeping up, somehow, and at the same time she was regretting the fact that the body she used in her mind was human. An arachne could¡¯ve run away from that wave way faster, and even if she lost a foot to them, she would still have seven. Not for the first time in her life, she realized just how much humans had lost to the genetic lottery.

    -Faster! We¡¯re nearly there!- shouted Siidi without looking back.

    So they ran. An advantage to being inside her own mind was that her body couldn¡¯t get tired. The disadvantage was that every sensation felt more real and vivid. She¡¯d expected it to be the other way ¡®round, but apparently it wasn¡¯t.

    As they ran, Siidi kept getting as many paintings as she could. Some she didn¡¯t reach in time: those were swiftly eaten by the now psychedelic waves. There was no doubt at this point about the destiny that awaited her if she fell in them.

    The sack on her back kept growing and growing, yet she carried it as if it weighed nothing.

    -How are you doing that?- asked Isse.

    -It¡¯s all in your mind, dummy. Everything can be anything you want. To a degree.-

    All in her mind. All in her mind. That¡¯s right.

    She turned around and concentrated, imagining the columns of the gallery falling in the way of the approaching wave, creating a barrier that could stop them.

    After a moment, cracks appeared at the bases of the beautiful columns. They expanded, fast, and after a few seconds a sound like gravel falling down a mountain resounded behind them as the columns and part of the ceilings they supported fell to the floor in just the right way to create a small barricade between them and the waves.

    Siidi looked back, her eyebrows raising ever so slightly.

    -That was good. I never managed that much damage.-

    Isse beamed. Then listened better to the statement.

    -Waaaait a minute, did you try that in the past?-

    -A few times. Failed spectacularly though. But I got a Level out of it once.- she chuckled.

    Unsurprisingly, Isse didn¡¯t.

    They finally reached the tower.

    Looking up, they tried to see the roof, but all they saw were twisting stairs that kept going up up and away seemingly into a white nothing, their crisscrossing pattern slightly reminiscent of a spiderweb. At the very center, a large column rose up into that white, somehow managing to support all those bridges.

    Siidi said something that was probably a cuss under her breath and looked Isse¡¯s way, who nodded. She nodded back. Then they began climbing, running as fast as they could.

    The steps were even and white as pearl. No, actually, there was a good chance this was actual pearl. For a moment Isse wondered just how many of those beautiful spheres would need to be used to craft such a thing. Then she remembered it was all in her head, and dismissed the thought. There was no use in expending precious brain power into thinking about such things.

    She looked down, dozens of meters below her, and saw the wave reach the base of the tower. Very slowly, it began filling the room. A minute and two hundred and fifteen steps later, it had filled the bottom completely and began rising.

    -At that speed, it¡¯s going to take an eternity reaching us.-

    She nodded towards the girl and¡­ wait¡­ what was that girl¡¯s name? Who was she? And why was she half spider?! She stopped dead in her tracks and screamed, pointing towards the horrible monster in front of her. A monster who turned to look at her, confusions clearly visible on her face. She looked around, as if she didn¡¯t see herself, as if looking for another monster, as if she didn¡¯t know she was the monster.

    She kept screaming. She wanted her parents! Where were her parents? She wanted her mum and dad!

    Then she stopped.

    What were her mum and dad called?

    She fell to the floor.

    What were they called. They were her parents. She remembered their faces. She knew them. She was sure she knew their names.

    She knew¡­

    What was her name?

    <hr>

    Siidi looked around in confusion as Issekina fell to the ground and started screaming. She looked around, half expecting to see some kind of traumatic memory or monster or even some sort of mind guardian. But there was nothing other than the marble walls, the pearly stairs and the rising water.

    She looked back down. Isse had stopped screaming, but now she was curled up on the floor, tears flowing out of her eyes.

    And she was different. Smaller. If she didn¡¯t know better¡­

    Oh Stars, please no! She opened up her bundle and took out a random painting. She compared Isse to the child on it. They looked the same. Isse had gone back to being a child. The water, the waves, they had eaten everything else. Only these paintings remained. And she was living upon the memories they stored. Her mind thought she was just a ten year old child.

    ¡°Well, fuck.¡±

    She looked at the slowly rising water, then put the painting away and reached her hand towards Isse.

    -Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m a friend. I want to help.-

    Of all the things she had said from the moment she was born anew in this world, these words felt like they were the best she¡¯d said. They were right. True.

    The child looked up. She saw the kindness and the sadness and desperation in the spidery monster¡¯s eyes. And felt like she understood.

    -I don¡¯t remember their names.-

    -Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll find them together. But not now. We have to go up there. Come with me.-

    The little girl nodded and took the hand she was being offered.

    Immediately, the spider woman lifted her from the ground and put her on her fuzzy back.

    -Hold on tight. If you fall in the water it¡¯s ¡®game over¡¯.- she said, doing the inverted commas with her fingers.

    -I don¡¯t like games.-

    Siidi chuckled as she began her ascent again.

    -From what you told me, me neither.-

    -I told you? I-I don¡¯t remember.-

    -Don¡¯t worry. We¡¯ll fix that soon. Just make sure not to fall and everything will be alright in a few minutes.-

    She looked up. She still couldn¡¯t see the end of the stairway. She hoped it would take a few minutes, at least.

    Then the tower trembled, the stairs rumbling ominously.

    She looked down.

    And saw something she dearly hoped was a hallucination: the water had formed hands again and wrapped them around the central column. It was shaking the thing with an impressive strength.

    Siidi began running faster. Something was telling her that column wouldn¡¯t stay standing a lot longer.

    She ran, and it was more the time she spent looking up than looking where she was going. More than once she went close to falling off the stairs and down into the waiting, hungry, waters. She was lucky that Siidi had noticed and told her where to go all those times.

    The little girl had really good reflexes.

    A few minutes later, though, her fears were confirmed: a loud rumbling filled the tower, and as she looked to her right she saw the great central column tremble.

    And fall.

    A moment later, the stairs began to tremble as well.

    Bits and pieces fell and were eaten up greedily by the water, grasping hands waiting to catch it all. To catch them.

    Siidi looked at the spectacle in horror, and knew they were fucked.

    Then she looked at the girl who was now trembling as she held on tight to her spider half¡¯s fur. And knew what to do.

    -Isse, I need your help.-

    The girl looked up at her, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

    -Isse? Who is Isse?-

    -That¡¯s your name, little one. And I need you to help. Can you be strong and help little old Siidi?-

    The girl looked dumbfounded, but she rapidly shook her head, wiped away her tears, and nodded.

    -Okay.-

    -Good. Thank you, Isse. Now, this place, this palace, this castle, it¡¯s all yours. You made it with your own hands. You can command it. You¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re a queen. Or a princess, if you prefer. And you can tell this place to do what you want it to do.-

    -But¡­ but I don¡¯t remember doing any of that. I¡­ I don¡¯t¡­-

    -I know Isse, but trust me. You made this place.-

    Mini-Isse nodded, curiosity and a hint of determination in her eyes.

    -How do I command it?-

    -Just¡­ I don¡¯t know, erm, just think really hard about what you want it to do. Like,- she pointed at the wall in front of them, where the stairs were beginning to crumble -Like think about a platform, big and rectangular. Right there, in front of us. Can you do it?-

    Isse nodded. She scrunched up her forehead, looking mightily cute. If she hadn¡¯t seen all those memories from when she was a child showing just how much of a pest she¡¯d been, she would¡¯ve thought the little girl was such a likeable child.

    Not that she wasn¡¯t. No, she was at her best behavior when other children and parents came to visit. But when she was alone she seemed to lack a sense of self-preservation. Just like that girl from last week, Ama. No wonder they had become friends so fast.

    A few moments later, a platform extended from the wall.

    Immediately, Siidi jumped on it, and took a deep breath as she felt how solid it was under her feet.

    -This is perfect. Thank you, Isse. You were very good.-

    The platform began rising.

    And Isse shouted a very unladylike expletive that would¡¯ve probably made a sailor nod in approval and a mother try to slap her. The girl on her back just giggled:

    -You said a bad word!-

    -Yes, I have. Remember to tell it to all the people you can.-

    She smiled. Well, now that the platform was rising, they were out of danger and she wouldn¡¯t have to worry about climbing on the collapsing stairs.

    Somewhere very far away, in the Land of Dreams, Soma, the God of Impossibilities who had created the Dream, felt the sudden impulse to smack himself in the forehead.

    Because, right about when Siidi thought that, a piece of falling stair as big as her fell right on top of the platform, breaking a piece off.

    And making her fall.

    She shouted as she threw Isse on what remained of the rising platform, one hand gripping the border, the other holding the sack of memories and trying not to let it fall.

    She was dangling over her death and Isse¡¯s probably brain death. Who, by the way, screamed her name and held on the arm that was keeping her from falling, trying to lift her.

    -Okay! Okay! Don¡¯t worry, just make another platform under me and lift me up, all right?-

    Isse nodded. Another platform appeared under Siidi, and she sighed inwardly as she felt her feet touch it.

    Only for another rock to fall on it to break it apart again.

    ¡°Are you fucking shitting me?¡±

    Isse tried again and again. And every time an incredibly well-placed piece of stairway fell on the platform and destroyed it. Until they began collapsing all on their own as Isse¡¯s mind was gripped by panic and she lost the ability to keep it all together.

    -I can¡¯t, Siidi, I¡¯m sorry.-

    She shook her head, then lifted the sack of paintings.

    -It¡¯s ok, don¡¯t worry. Just keep these safe, I¡¯ll hand around here. We can still do this.-

    She put the sack on the platform and managed to put part of her body on what little space was left. Apparently, Isse was safe from falling debris. How lucky! Well, it was her mind after all. Her brain wouldn¡¯t hurt itself, right?

    Well, unluckily for Siidi, she was extremely wrong. Because she had forgotten about a thing called ¡®intrusive thoughts¡¯. Intrusive thoughts like ¡°What would happen if a rock fell right here?¡±

    And to that, Isse¡¯s mind answered ¡°Your wish is my order¡± before it sent a huge piece of stairs falling right on that last, safe, platform.

    Destroying it.

    And making them fall towards their doom.

 Chapter 16: The First Time Is Always Special

    Have you ever had that sensation of falling while you¡¯re sleeping? You¡¯re just there, doing whatever in your dream, and then suddenly you feel your stomach drop and wake up knowing full well that you¡¯ve been kidnapped and put on a plane from which you¡¯ve just been pushed off.

    No? Nobody on that last part? Well, that just means you don¡¯t have enough fantasy. Or you¡¯re not paranoid enough. I know they¡¯re out there, looking for me.

    Anyways, arachne got that a lot. Well, mostly the adults. They learned to be so attentive that they could be considered awake even when they slept. Which caused this phenomenon in many of them, very often. Truth be told, there wasn¡¯t a single night when at least one of them, especially the [Carers] who, for obvious reason, were the jumpiest of them all, had that happen. Which wasn¡¯t that bad¡­ until you consider the fact that some arachne sleep upside down, hanging from tree branches. Arachne like Makira. Who, just last night, had fallen face first into a web she¡¯d placed down there because she had learned her lesson a long time ago. She even managed to fall back asleep right away.

    Isse and Siidi were falling to their deaths. Their stomachs were experiencing that same sensation many of their elders and sisters had to live with most nights. But they weren¡¯t waking up.

    No, instead Isse was screaming as Siidi was trying desperately to spin some webbing to hang from the wall. But she kept failing. Not at the spinning part, that is, but at the hanging one. Every time she managed to get even a piece of webbing to stick to a wall, some falling debris broke it. And she didn¡¯t have the Skills to enhance her threads like she had in her past life. With those, her threads would¡¯ve cut those falling pieces of stairs.

    Which, by the way, still had to stop coming down. How many flights of stairs were there?

    And that¡¯s when it happened: one of the many pieces of falling marble and pearl hit the big bag of paintings she was holding. Honestly, she was surprised it hadn¡¯t happened sooner.

    She extended a hand down, trying to save them. But she had only two of those, and the paintings were falling so fast.

    So she did the next best thing: she launched a small piece of spidersilk and snagged a memory out of the air, bringing it close. Isse was going to lose more of herself, but at least she wasn¡¯t going to become an empty shell. Not completely.

    The painting she¡¯d taken showed her as a ten year old trying to climb a tree as her dad stood under her trying to make her change her mind. She¡¯d already broken her arm once that way.

    Hadn¡¯t she ended up in that hospital she would¡¯ve been a much better arachne, she thought to herself not for the first time.

    But alas, the disease had come, and she hadn¡¯t had much of a choice in the regard.

    Siidi looked around and assessed their situation.

    ¡­

    Ok, assessment done, they¡¯re in deep shit. Deep enough to swim in it. And right now, she¡¯d rather swim in some cow¡¯s excrements than take a dip in those rainbowy waters.

    Isse was falling right beside the wall, while she was just a meter too far to just attach herself to it with her spider feet. If only the little girl could do it for her.

    She heard a splash.

    The painting had hit the water. More memories lost. Isse stopped screaming, her expression growing blank. She looked at Siidi, tears in her eyes. And the old warrior knew what she was trying so hard to do now: remember. But how could she when she wasn¡¯t even sure there had been something there? The only reason the girl knew she should remember¡­ something, was that her mind felt too empty. The void was so great she was sure it should be filled by something. But what?

    There was only one thing left. A single memory. Siidi was holding it.

    If she just threw that down, Issekina would be no more. Just a blank canvas for her to fill and make into anything she desired. That is, if she managed to survive the water.

    But she didn¡¯t want to. She couldn¡¯t bring herself to change her. To make her disappear. Give her a death worse than the one she had. At least she¡¯d died in a way she desired: fighting with her sisters to help her family escape, to let her race survive. If she did this to Isse, she wouldn¡¯t just die: she would disappear. And there was no honor in a death like that. She would no longer be able to say she¡¯d ever had some form of honor.

    So they fell, and she looked at the painting. Just a girl climbing a tree, her father watching over her.

    Just like Queen of the Tree, a stray thought whispered in her mind.

    Such a simple thought. And such a coincidence that exactly that painting had survived. Had Siidi believed the gods could be friendly to her species, she would¡¯ve thanked them. Alas, she was sure they¡¯d been the ones who had started this, somehow, so instead she thanked Death for giving her a chance.

    She brought her hand to her mouth and bit on her pointer finger until she could taste blood, or what passed for it in one¡¯s mind. Sure, she could¡¯ve willed some to appear on her hand, because this was all in Isse¡¯s head, but some things required actual sacrifice and desire, even in small amounts.

    The moment she tasted iron on her tongue she touched the painting... and began drawing, promising herself she would fix this the moment the situation wasn¡¯t so dire anymore.

    She drew a little spider in place of Isse¡¯s legs on the painting. Well, it was more like a red circle roughly filled in with eight little lines sprouting out all around it. An outsider could¡¯ve probably mistaken it for a bad attempt at creating a small sun.

    But here, in this mind, with this change willed by an arachne and done using the blood of an arachne, well: it couldn¡¯t be mistaken.

    The blood on the painting warped and flowed and changed. It twisted around, seemingly trying to escape the canvas, knowing full well it didn¡¯t belong there. But the canvas was hungry. It was in its nature, to eat color and change and become more. And it gladly accepted this chance as well. Even if it meant the girl in the memory would change.

    Even if it meant that the last memory left in Isse¡¯s mind would be of her climbing a tree as an arachne while her father looked up at her.

    Before Siidi¡¯s very eyes Isse changed. Her legs, which had been flailing up until now, came close together and fused in one, solid, smooth, piece. They began growing, longer, larger, and changed color, becoming as red as her blood. An earthy red, mixed with a hint of her original chestnut. Eight little legs sprouted from her sides. And began flailing anew.

    "Get on the wall!" she shouted at the other half of her soul.

    Isse looked at her. Her eyes were still filled with that hopelessness, with that knowledge she was missing something. But she was an arachne. She¡¯d always been as far as she could remember. And with that knowledge, came instincts.

    She lunged towards Siidi, her hand stretched in an attempt to save her sister. No arachne left behind!

    Somewhere far away, on the continent of Aknos, in the mountains where the dwarven kingdom had been established so long ago, every single dwarf was hit by a sudden commotion. They shed a single tear, then went back to work.

    Her hand caught Siidi¡¯s wrist, and she heaved her towards her. She weighed a lot more than the little arachne, but desperation and the general absence of gravity, together with a small, involuntary, mental push on Isse¡¯s part, worked together to get her closer to her. Then she latched onto the wall.

    Their fall stopped abruptly. Or rather, long enough for Siidi to smack into the wall and attach herself to it. Right before she heard a crack and a scream. Isse.

    Why? Well, what happens when you hit water at high speed? Answer: it feels like hitting cement. Because your speed is reduced faster than the water can cushion it.

    This was more or less what had just happened to Isse. Her legs had stopped the fall, but she, and Siidi, had been going so fast that her newly formed spider legs couldn¡¯t take it: one of them broke on the spot, bending at an unnatural angle, while two others were detached from the wall. Had she not done so, the number of broken legs would¡¯ve increased to three.

    But they¡¯d done it! They¡¯d stopped falling.

    The water reached out hands towards them, but couldn¡¯t catch them. They were just a few meters short.

    Siidi sighed. They¡¯d been falling for no more than ten seconds, but it¡¯d felt like hours.

    "How are you Isse?" she asked.

    Her only answer was a whimper of pain. Right, stupid question. The girl hadn¡¯t even received pain conditioning.

    "Hang onto me little one. We have to keep climbing."

    She crawled upwards and lowered herself to help Isse put a hand around her shoulders. Then they began climbing again.

    More than once they had to move around to dodge some falling piece of debris, but fewer and fewer kept falling. Until they outright stopped.

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    Both arachne took a sigh of relief and slumped slightly. Which was sort of strange to look at since they were perpendicular to the wall.

    "Try to make a rising platform again. This time we should be safe."

    And they were.

    Isse concentrated and a small platform crawled out of the wall under them. It wasn¡¯t as big as the last one, probably because the girl herself didn¡¯t feel safe creating a bigger one. She was expecting another piece of debris to fall on them at any moment as some sick joke.

    But nothing happened.

    Which still didn¡¯t manage to get them to calm down.

    They looked down at the churning mass of colored water as it slowly kept rising. Now that they weren¡¯t about to die (probably), they had to admit it was kind of beautiful. The type of beauty that only death can have. That so few people can truly appreciate. A collateral beauty.

    The colors swirled and changed, creating new forms and images. If you looked at it hard enough, you could, every now and then, see something: a little girl running with her friends. A mother reprimanding said little girl when she came back home covered in dirt and grass. A teen receiving her first kiss. A crying girl on a chair.

    That and so much more. But at some point Isse had simply stopped looking. She didn¡¯t know anything about what she was looking at. It was filling her with a somewhat distant pain, even a bit of nostalgia, but it didn¡¯t fill the void in her head.

    The same couldn¡¯t be said about Siidi though. She kept looking at those strange pictures of someone¡¯s past, playing and replaying themselves in that sea of paint and water. It felt like she was intruding, but that didn¡¯t make sense, because anything shown there she¡¯d already seen while walking the corridors of Isse¡¯s mind.

    But then why¡­?

    Oh.

    Yes¡­ apparently now she¡¯d developed something like a conscience. She didn¡¯t like that. It made her feel bad for everything she¡¯d tried to do to get control of this body.

    She wanted her money back! Being a bastard was way easier!

    She sighed, and averted her gaze.

    "How are you feeling?" she asked.

    Isse looked down at her broken leg and extended a hand to try and touch it, then thought better and shook her head.

    "It doesn¡¯t hurt if I don¡¯t move it."

    Siidi nodded: "Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯ll be over soon."

    The little arachne nodded and looked up.

    An uncomfortable silence fell on them. They didn¡¯t know what to tell each other. One because she literally could remember nothing other than the last few minutes and a time when her father hadn¡¯t wanted her to climb a tree. Why was that though? Arachne were good at climbing trees. It would be like telling a toddler not to crawl around on the floor. Unnatural.

    Well, that memory felt unnatural, truth be told. As if something wasn¡¯t the way it should, but she couldn¡¯t quite put her finger on it.

    "I¡¯m sorry Isse. For everything. I¡­ I¡¯ll fix everything I can, I promise."

    Isse looked at her other soul-half. And bent her head sideways in confusion in that very arachne-like way that gave shivers to so anyone who saw it.

    "Why are you sorry? You helped me. You saved something of me. I should be the one that¡¯s sorry for putting you through this."

    Siidi shook her head: "You just don¡¯t remember. But don¡¯t worry, when you will, because I¡¯m sure you will, I promise I¡¯ll help."

    She held out her hand.

    Isse looked at it. Then remembered something. A promise she¡¯d made to her father right after that time at the tree. A pinky promise.

    It felt right for the moment.

    "Then let¡¯s swear on our pinkies. You¡¯ll help, and I won¡¯t be angry at you. How about it?" she smiled. She still didn¡¯t know why she should be angry, but maybe this way she wouldn¡¯t.

    Meanwhile Siidi stared at her little finger. Then looked at her own, uncertain. She¡¯d never heard of something like this. Or she¡¯d forgotten. One of the two.

    Still, she nodded, and they latched pinkies.

    "I swear," she said.

    And the world changed.

    <hr>

    Five minutes later, they reached the top of the tower.

    And, right there, overlooking the endless expanse of darkness outside the mind castle, was a big, red, button. The words ¡®The Friendo Button¡¯ were carved on its top.

    Once upon a time I met a man who said that every problem should be solved by pressing a big, red, button.

    Grandmother¡¯s words, overheard during the last Trial, replayed back in Siidi¡¯s mind. She dearly hoped this was one of those buttons.

    "Let¡¯s press it," she said.

    "Yes. Together," agreed Isse.

    And, without further ado, because the water was still rising after them and they really didn¡¯t want to risk something else happening, they reached out and pressed the button.

    <hr>

    The System had observed the whole Trial. And, as always, it had judged. It was sure about what one of the two would get. The other one, though, was still in the in-between.

    It would wait and see. It was sure she would make the right choice. But, for now:

    [Soul Mage Level 4!]

    [Skill - Mana Sight Obtained!]

    [Skill - Mana Manipulation (Basic) Obtained!]

    [Spell - Colored Water Arrow Obtained!]

    [Skill - Protect Memories Obtained!]

    <hr>

    Isse woke up screaming in Grandmother¡¯s clearing.

    She screamed, then screamed some more, then for good measure did it again.

    She felt the phantom pain in one of her legs, together with every single memory of her life coming back all at the same time with the force of a sledgehammer swung by Level 50 [Miner] with every possible empowering Skill possible put on the hit.

    After a short while, she managed to stop and look up.

    Grandmother was staring at her, as emotionless as ever. Or was she? Was there a hint of a smile on her lips?

    "You have succeeded."

    Yet there wasn¡¯t a hint of emotion in her voice.

    "Fuck you you old bitch, that was hell!" she shouted.

    Then she realized she had just shouted that.

    Then she realized she had just spoken.

    Someone in the clearing laughed.

    Isse turned around and saw Makira. She had fallen to the ground and was laughing her spidery ass off.

    "Can¡¯t deny that mother, you did make her go through¡­ whatever hell is. Probably something bad."

    There was nothing to laugh about here!

    "Yes, I have. It helped her."

    Was all she said. Grandmother didn¡¯t seem fazed in the least by the fact she¡¯d been insulted.

    "I hate you!"

    And Isse ran away from her.

    Makira looked at her go, then sighed and got ready to follow her.

    "Don¡¯t. She will reach Aru. Tell her to make the girl something. She deserves it. Maybe something to hide her."

    She fell silent. Then added: "She has become a [Soul Mage]. She is good with her head. Tell her to come meet me tomorrow afternoon. I will teach her."

    "I don¡¯t think she¡¯ll want to see you, mother."

    "Then keep reminding her. When she will feel ready, she will come here. Tell her I will be kinder."

    She turned to look ahead again, ready to rest again.

    "Tell me, was it you? Did you make her lose her memories in that [Trial] like you did with me?"

    Grandmother didn¡¯t answer. Which was all the answer Makira needed.

    "I told you not to do it. Ever again. No one should feel that."

    "It helped you, and your situation was simpler."

    "It¡¯s not a matter of easy or difficult. You promised."

    "It was that or her eventual death."

    Makira sighed, not for the first time wishing her mother had never gotten that damned Skill: [Lock Memories].

    Then she walked away.

    <hr>

    That night, as Isse slept in her hammock snuggled with Anda, Siidi walked in her rebuilt mind.

    The Castle had changed. No longer was it just a grand cathedral-castle filled with corridors of Isse¡¯s memories. Now an old, dusty, library was mixed, fused, to it. The walls were wooden and grand, no less decorated than the marble with which it elegantly changed places here and there.

    Her sisters had always found it strange, how her Mind Castle was a library, when she was a [Warrior]. They had expected something like an arena.

    They hadn¡¯t seen some of the places she¡¯d been to, though. The marvel of those libraries. Much could be said of arachne, but they weren¡¯t bookburners, that is for sure. They valued knowledge. And beauty.

    So she walked among those corridors and stacks. Until she reached a blank wall, with an empty space that was perfect for a painting.

    There, she placed the one thing she¡¯d managed to save during that Trial. The memory she¡¯d changed.

    She reached out and tried to remove the blood. But it was no use. She¡¯d already tried that. It was part of the canvas. Yet she couldn¡¯t leave it like that. How¡­

    Something made a shuffling sound at her feet. She looked down, and saw a paint brush, bristles colored blue. Just like the trousers the little Isse in that painting had worn.

    She looked around. But there was nobody around. Only shadows here and there.

    She took the brush in hand, looked at it, then at the painting. And got to work.

    The System smiled.

    [Condition: Hostile Soul-Half Removed!]

    [Conditions Met: Hostile Soul-Half -> Mind Curator!]

    [Mind Curator Level 5!]

    [Skill - Recall Memory Obtained!]

    [Skill - Would you Kindly -> Share Instincts!]

    [Skill - Make Suggestion Removed!]

    [Skill - A Memory a Day: My Past Obtained!]

 Chapter 17: Meet the Kits

    Albert walked among the endless expanse of plains and trees with the certainty of someone who¡¯d done this hundreds of times, so Alice didn¡¯t even stop to wonder if he actually knew where he was going. He kept changing directions seemingly at random: one moment they¡¯d turn left, then the next he would do a one-eighty and run the other way.

    At some point he picked up a stick, tossed it in the air, watched it go for a few seconds, then stuck his pointer finger in his mouth, tested for a nonexistent wind, and went right.

    It was after they walked for what was probably an hour that she began getting worried.

    Even more so when, after finally managing to walk through a patch of trees, they found themselves in a very familiar looking clearing.

    -Weren¡¯t we here just a half hour ago?-

    -A half hour? Nah, that was just three minutes ago. Time is a construct.-

    -...-

    She didn¡¯t even stop to ask. At this point, this was one of the few things he¡¯d said that made any kind of sense. Yes, that was a very low bar to set. Makes you understand just how strange the situation is.

    -I can literally see the question in your mind.- he pointed at her.

    She looked up, expecting to see a Windows box like that first time. Instead, all she saw was a clock, its hands moving around wildly.

    -Girl, you¡¯re extremely good at adapting to the Land, but you¡¯ve got to learn to keep your mind under better control, or else even a Level 10 [Dreamer] will be able to read you like an open book.-

    He was now holding a book in one hand, open on an image of Alice looking at him holding a book with an image of Alice looking at him holding a book with an image of Alice looking at him holding a book with an image of Ali¡­

    She looked away, her brain scrambling as it tried to understand what in the actual fuck had just happened.

    -That was a paradox, by the way. Probably one of the strongest weapons you can learn to make in the Dream. Also one of the most complex, but if you¡¯ll ever end up in a fight with anything other than a Nightmare you¡¯ll find them.-

    -That felt so violating¡­-

    -As if someone was forcing the images one after the other inside your very brain, burning them in like a [Farmer] burns a cow¡¯s number on its side? Yeah, that¡¯s more or less the desired effect. Paradoxes aren¡¯t meant to be seen by humans. We are too bound to the real world, with its stable laws and dynamics. Not free enough, not inexistent enough. Our brains unmake themselves to try and grasp a fraction of the infinity of most paradoxes. That¡¯s why it¡¯s one of the most powerful weapons around here.-

    -Can it kill me?-

    -Nothing can kill in the Land of Dreams. You¡¯ll just wake up with the worst headache of your life.-

    Alice nodded, then chanced a look towards Albert and, seeing how he was no longer holding the book, turned towards him.

    -¡±One of the strongest¡±, you said. Does that mean there¡¯s something even worse?-

    At that, Albert stopped, then sighed and nodded.

    -You¡¯re too bright, Garda. Was hoping you wouldn¡¯t notice that part. Yes, there¡¯s something stronger, but us humans, or any other species for the matter, cannot harness it. Mirrors.-

    He stopped walking and, while standing at the center of the clearing, turned towards her.

    -Third Rule of the Dream: Never Look Into Mirrors. They¡¯re cruel and spiteful things. They will look into you and show you your worst, the monster that¡¯s really hidden under your skin, under every mask and belief. They will mesmerize you, lock you where you are, and then change you, reshape you as what they see in you, what is shown in that reflection, cutting away what they believe is unnecessary with shards of themselves and leaving behind nothing more than the monster they saw.-

    His tone was at the most serious she¡¯d ever heard him talk with: -Nothing of the Dream is permanent. Any change, any wound, any trauma, anything you can imagine, it will all disappear when you wake up. But not what is changed by mirrors. You will wake up, and the person who walks outside from that will be the monster wearing the old human¡¯s skin. There is no destiny worse than that. That¡¯s why, again, DO NOT Look Into Mirrors.-

    Alice shivered. It really wasn¡¯t all roses and games here. Heh.

    Still, she chanced a question: -But what if someone is genuinely just a good person? Even without the masks they hide behind?-

    At that, Albert chuckled. Then began to outright laugh. And then he suddenly stopped.

    -Then you run, dear. Because they¡¯re the most dangerous. You make me smile, Garda, because you believe that good things cannot be corrupted, turned and twisted into something bad.-

    He walked closer to her, the snout of his mask nearly touching her own: -Try to imagine it. A good man wants to help people. He will do anything in his power to do so, but he will know that there¡¯s a limit, that there are those he cannot help. A good man will stop. But let him look into a Mirror, and the thing will remove the one thing that stops the man from doing all the good he desires. His morals. And now you have someone who will do anything to help. Even if it means killing and hurting others. He will become judge, jury and executioner in a tribunal where only his beliefs of what is good is taken into consideration. That¡¯s what happens when a good man looks into a Mirror.

    -I hope you¡¯ll never have to see something like that. Because stopping them is difficult, not just because there will be those that support him in what he¡¯s doing, but because you will know that, originally, there was good there.-

    He sighed, and the fur on his face appeared to be grayer, his clothes no longer as pristine.

    Then he shook his head, and all was back to normal.

    -Nothing is ever truly perfect Garda. The fact that the Game reaches even the Dream should be proof enough.-

    She couldn¡¯t resist. She had to ask: -What is this Game?-

    Albert looked at her and raised a white and orange eyebrow, then shrugged.

    -Ever heard about politics being called the game of thrones? That¡¯s more or less how it started. Thousands of years ago, some began the game as an attempt to unify the world under the same flag¡­ without shedding a single drop of blood. A game of spies and information, where scandals and causing revolutions were the weapons instead of swords and bows and spells. But then, the first Player died. Some say old age, others say he was killed. What matters is, things went sideways after that. And now the Game is just an enormous group of power hungry imbeciles who take and give power to people in their own twisted version of what was once a dream of peace.-

    Alice gaped, and her mind squealed because this was probably the best conspiracy theory she¡¯d ever heard, even more so because it wasn¡¯t just a theory, it was all real! The fantasy book addict in her drank all this information in and was overjoyed.

    Then she had a doubt.

    -But what power is there in the Land of Dreams? You said it yourself: nothing is permanent here.-

    Albert nodded.

    -Indeed, but a long time ago someone had the bright idea of trying to alter people¡¯s dreams to make them accept an idea instead of another. That someone failed, but only by half. Now there¡¯s hundreds of Players around here trying to perfect the process and, all the while, fighting their own wars around here.-

    -But can someone actually influence your thoughts and ideas through your dreams?-

    -Absolutely not!- he laughed.

    -Or rather, one can in the same way someone can make you do something by badgering you to do it. But that has a limit. Would you cut your own throat if I kept telling you to do it? I hope not! Because if you do then we have a way bigger problem than these disquisitions! Anyways, same applies to dreams. Everyone knows dreams are just dreams, so they won¡¯t really give it much thought.-

    -No thank you, I like my throat as it is. And I understand.-

    -Good.-

    And he put away a knife as long as his hand she hadn¡¯t seen him take out, putting it somewhere in his smock.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    -Now, let me ask you a question: how do you feel about children?-

    <hr>

    The ground under their feet trembled for a moment, then began to descend. Albert stared at Alice, expecting her to stumble around and curse, or react in any kind of way. Instead she just stared at him with a raised eyebrow.

    -I was expecting a better reaction.-

    -And you¡¯re clich¨¦. It was so obvious it was nearly painful.-

    Albert put a hand over his heart dramatically: -You hurt my poor old heart Garda.-

    -Yeah yeah. And what was that about children? Were you hitting on me?-

    Albert laughed: -Oh no, I¡¯m sorry dear, but you¡¯re way too old for my tastes!-

    Alice made an indignant sound: -I¡¯m twenty three!-

    -Still too old!-

    She punched him on the shoulder, hissing like an angry snake, and he let her hit him.

    -Ow! Oh no, kids, she¡¯d hurting me! Protect your papa!-

    What?

    She looked at him in utter confusion. Then looked around for the first. They were in a cave filled with oil lamps illuminating the place like hundreds of little stars. The floors were made of wood, but they looked twisted, gnarled, as if someone had taken the roots of dozens of trees and put them together to make it.

    Beds and tables and games were placed everywhere and in quite hazardous positions. Like that bed hanging from four ropes from the ceiling, or the one that was partially underground.

    And there were a lot of kids. All of them wearing fox masks.

    And it was in that moment that Alice knew, she¡¯d fucked up.

    The children jumped towards them, more agile than should humanly be possible, screaming and laughing and shrieking. The first one to reach her tackled her to the ground, or rather, tried to. She was a little girl from the night gown she was wearing, and didn¡¯t weigh a lot. So, instead of being tackled to the ground, Alice got herself the most violent hug in the world. But that was fixed soon after, when another two kids reached her and made her actually fall to the ground.

    Then the world was kids and whiskers and fur somewhere on her arm.

    Someone took her left shoe off.

    And started tickling.

    Now, one thing about Alice: she was extremely sensitive. She hated being tickled, because she was ticklish basically everywhere on her body. A lot.

    She began laughing and trashing around: -NO! PLEASE! HAHA- STOP! ANY-HAHAHAHA-ANYTHING BUT THAT!!-

    But the little monsters were merciless, and once they found out about her great weakness, they didn¡¯t stop. All the while, they giggled like crazy little minxes, while Albert laughed his ass off in the background.

    After an entire minute of this torture, when she feared she should¡¯ve pissed herself from how much she was laughing, the Fox Man finally told the kids to stop. And, luckily, they did, immediately. She stared up at the ceiling, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down her racing heart. Then Albert¡¯s face appeared in her line of sight, and she got the sudden instinct to spit in his eye. Sadly, she knew about her legendary aim, which could be beat by a blind weasel (because she liked weasels).

    -You bamboozled and betrayed my trust, and I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever manage to forgive you.-

    -I have not the slightest idea what bamboozled means, but I get the general idea. Come on, stand up, I¡¯ll let you meet them properly.-

    She did stand up. Two minutes later.

    But when she did, she was greeted by a total of seven kids looking right at her through their masks. Some of them, the youngest, were still giggling amongst them, while two of them, a boy and a girl who looked no older than ten, had the decency of showing a bit of embarrassment.

    -Kits, attention!-

    Immediately, they stood at attention, the giggling disappearing.

    Then Albert laughed: -Ok, that¡¯s enough discipline for today. But do present yourselves to my newest recruit.-

    The kids immediately relaxed, then began presenting themselves.

    The first one was the girl who had first tried to tackle her, instead managing to give her the most aggressive hug of her life. She looked to be around six years old at most, her dirty blonde hair held together in pigtails. Her night gown was light green and decorated with little birds which name she didn¡¯t know drinking nectar from big bluebells.

    -My name is Green Bird, but you can call me Green.-

    She smiled and even curtsied. An awkward movement to her. Clearly, she wasn¡¯t royalty.

    Then a boy, barely six years old if she had to guess, wearing an orange pajama that looked extremely comfortable presented himself. His hair was a light orange too and, for some reason, Alice was certain that his eyes, too, were of that color. How, she didn¡¯t know for sure: it was like that certainty of dreams.

    -My name is Starlight.-

    Was all he said before he turned towards Green and began talking about something.

    One by one, the kids all presented themselves.

    -I¡¯m called Sailor!- shouted the third. He was wearing a typical pirate¡¯s clothes, but much more comfortable.

    -The name¡¯s Wax.- she was probably eight if she had to guess. She wore a simple white dress that reached just under her knees.

    -You can call me¡­ Dolly.- whispered the fifth. Of them all, she looked the youngest.

    Then came the turn of the oldest children. The boy was first. He was wearing a sort of padded armor made of leather and what looked suspiciously like cushions, a wooden short sword at his side.

    -I¡¯m Knight!-

    ¡°Guess I found out what he wants to be when he frows up.¡± she thought.

    Then came the girl¡¯s turn. She was wearing a strange outfit that reminded Alice a lot of what explorers used to wear during the explorations of Africa. She even had a little compass attached to her belt.

    -Call me Dancer.-

    Aaaand the name didn¡¯t fit her choice of outfit at all. Or maybe it did. Who said that one cannot be a dancing explorer, huh?

    Alice nodded at all the kids, and bowed a little: -My name is A¡­-

    A stick bonked her in the head.

    -First Rule!- said Albert.

    -Jeez, I know, sorry!- she stared daggers at him as she massaged her head -Not like anyone here will try to steal my body.-

    -No, but you¡¯ve got to learn. You make a mistake here, among friends, and nothing will happen, other than you getting bonked, but you do it outside and that¡¯s where we cannot help you.-

    -How would they even know that the name I tell them is my own? They don¡¯t know me.-

    -Yes, but the Dream will. And those that are High Level enough will see that. Now, start anew.-

    Alice sighed, but nodded, and turned back towards the kids: -Again. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, my name is Garda.-

    Immediately, Wax raised her hand as if she was a student in class. She pointed at her: -Yes?-

    -What¡¯s your specialty?,- she asked -You¡¯re an adult. You must have one!-

    She opened her mouth to answer automatically, then realized she didn¡¯t know what the girl was talking about. So she closed her mouth.

    Luckily, Albert was there to save her, if not her dignity.

    -She¡¯s new to the Dream kits. This is her first night as a [Dreamer]. She doesn¡¯t yet have a speciality.-

    This time Green raised her hand, and was motioned by Albert to talk.

    -Does that mean she never slept until now?-

    The answer to that question was uncomfortably close to a yes.

    -More or less,- she answered -I¡¯ve suffered from insomnia for a long time. All the remedies I tried never worked too well. Until I¡­-

    -¡­tried a Greater Potion of Sleep!- finished her sentence Green, Mariner and Dancer in chorus, before they erupted into giggles, high fiving each other.

    Alice looked at Albert, and he nodded: -That¡¯s how most of us end up in the Dream. We suffer from Sleep Disease, which I believe you called Insomnia, and use that potion to fall asleep. Those things work too well. One moment you¡¯re awake, the next you¡¯re asleep but your brain doesn¡¯t realize it should be sleeping. At least, that¡¯s how it worked for me and those kits. Others, like Wax, are naturals.-

    She¡¯d already heard that explanation, but realized Albert was probably showing off to the kids, so she just nodded along. Then asked the question that had been nagging her for the last minute.

    -What¡¯s a specialty?-

    -It¡¯s just one¡¯s favorite way to interact with the Land. You either shape it with your will, or change it with parts of It. Dancer and Knight are very good at the first former, the other kits instead use what the Land gives us. Basically, it¡¯s all about applying what you like doing most in the waking world here. So, tell me, what is it that you like doing a lot out there?-

    And at that, Alice stopped to think. She liked doing a lot of things: watching the television, reading books and comics (especially comics), trying and failing miserably to draw anything other than plants.

    But, truth be told, all those things weren¡¯t really passions as much as ways to pass the time, and now they were all gone. Leaving her with only one thing left to do, her actual passion: gardening. Planting and raising plants, nurturing them, harvesting the parts she could use the most. It gave her many satisfactions.

    Also, there was her slightly strange, as other people usually said, passion for poisons and anything related to them. But she liked it. The idea of being able to create something poisonous, something that could end someone¡¯s life, and at the same time, in the right doses, even help, save a life. The idea of having someone¡¯s life at your mercy, well, it excited her. It made her smile.

    But those were only her fantasies. Ways to pass the time, to make her mood better whenever things started to go sideways. She¡¯d lost count of how many times she desired to poison her advanced chemistry teacher, knowing full well it would be useless because no matter what poison she created, humanity had too much experience in toxicology and there would be an antidote ready in less time it would take for the damn man to die.

    Well, unless she used cyanide. But that would be anticlimactic.

    ¡­

    Now she understood why she and her slightly pyromaniac friend were so close.

    -I like plants. Gardening. It¡¯s my passion.-

    Albert nodded.

    And Dolly spoke for the second time that evening: -You smell of alchemy. Your eyes are white and green from working.-

    -What?- she asked, causing the other kids to laugh.

    Albert nodded.

    -You¡¯ve noticed. Very well Dolly.-

    -How did she do that?-

    -It¡¯s her Class: [Dream Observer]. She can see what other people don¡¯t, notice details that aren¡¯t there but exist in the Dream¡¯s Dream. If she ever manages to get a Skill that lets her bring a piece of the Land in the Waking World, she¡¯ll make a wonderful [Spy] or [Rogue].

    -But let¡¯s talk about you now. You said your interest, your greatest passion, is gardening. Raising and caring for plants, using them to your advantage. It has some interesting applications, that¡¯s for sure.-

    -Such as?-

    -Can¡¯t say! If I do, I¡¯ll influence you, and then it won¡¯t be your dream Class, but mine. You¡¯ll have to discover what you can do yourself. It¡¯ll also help you Level.-

    He looked around, then clapped his hands.

    -Today, kids, we¡¯re having fun. Tomorrow, we¡¯re going out to hunt. Green Bird, Dolly, Starlight, Sailor and Wax, you will come with me to find an adult¡¯s nightmare, while you two, Dancer and Knight, will find and kill a child¡¯s nightmare afterwards. Now, dismissed!-

    And they were off.

    All, except for Wax, who stayed there, staring curiously at Alice.

    Who stared right back, because if someone was rude to you, you had the right to be rude as well.

    -Yes?-

    Wax kept staring, as if trying to repeat Dolly¡¯s trick, then nodded and extended a hand towards Alice.

    -For you. To start.-

    She opened her hand, and inside was a single, small, seed. It was pale, nearly white, and for a single moment, when she held it in her own hand, she felt it pulse. Then the warmth was gone and it was just a normal seed.

    -Wha¡­-

    -Welcome to the Dream, Garda.-

    She turned around and left to play with the other kids.

 Chapter 18: Nightmare

    Albert stood besides Alice. She had clearly seen him walk away with the kids, or rather, kits as he called them, but she¡¯d never seen him get back.

    ¡°She gave you something.¡± he said. It wasn¡¯t a question.

    ¡°Yes. She gave me¡­ a seed? I¡¯ve never seen the like though.¡± and she showed him Wax¡¯s gift.

    Albert inclined his head, not making a move to reach out and take the gift in his hands to examine it, and sighed.

    ¡°Why Wax? Why?¡±

    He looked up at her and nodded: ¡°Well, what¡¯s done is done. Treasure this gift Garda. It is¡­ precious beyond measure.¡±

    Under the mask, Alice¡¯ eyebrows rose and she couldn¡¯t contain herself as she asked:

    ¡°Really? Like, I understand it¡¯s a gift, and all gifts are good, I¡¯m not saying it isn¡¯t, but how can a seed be precious beyond measure?¡±

    Albert didn¡¯t answer immediately. Instead he looked up at the kids as they got ready for the hunt. Then:

    ¡°Wax is¡­ damaged. Broken. You have to understand one thing Garda: I know none of these children personally, in the waking world. I found them in the Dream the same way I found you. But Wax¡­ I found her on the other side. A little girl, abandoned, mistreated by her once parents, beaten and bleeding. The worst part is, she believed what her parents told her, that it was her fault whatever happened. I took her in, but that part of her never changed.

    ¡°I decided to bring her to the Land of Dreams in the hope I could, for lack of a better word, fix her. Make her understand that she wasn¡¯t the cause of everything that had happened to her and her old family. Instead, she found a way to¡­ cure herself. To excise those parts of herself that she deems are the cause of her problem.

    ¡°What she just gave you, that little seed. That¡¯s part of her, of her mind and soul. I don¡¯t want to know what she had to get rid of to give you that. So, for her sake, please, take care of that gift. Don¡¯t let it go to waste.¡±

    At that, Alice closed her hand around the seed protectively, as if she was holding a child. And, in truth, she was. Sure, it was only a part, but it came from a child nonetheless.

    ¡­

    And now for some reason the image of a dismembered child appeared in her head, because thanks brain, you always know how to make me feel bad!

    She put the seed gently in a pocket of her clothes, making sure to close the button on it, before remembering this was a dream and turning the button in a zip. She was not going to lose this like the kid from Polar Express kept doing with his ticket.

    A few minutes later, all the kits (goddamn the nickname¡¯s stuck!) were ready and raring to go.

    ¡°Now remember kids, this hunt is training. I don¡¯t want any of you to be heroes, alright? Because what happens to [Heroes]?¡±

    ¡°They die in atrocious pain!¡± answered all the kids in a chorus.

    ¡°Great! Always help each other and don¡¯t fear asking for help from me, understood? I¡¯ll always be there if things get out of hand!¡±

    ¡°Yes Papa Fox!¡± was the answer he got.

    ¡°Very well! Then, let¡¯s go kick some nightmare ass!¡±

    Albert snapped his fingers and the platform they were on began to rise as the children cheered in a cute warcry.

    Alice couldn¡¯t help but smile at this. It really was a sort of game, eh?

    ¡°Now, while we go there, Garda, I want you to pick a few plants from the Dream.¡±

    Whispered to her Albert.

    ¡°What plants?¡±

    ¡°Any that strike your fancy. You say your passion is gardening. That means you should know a lot about plants and their applications. I want you to learn to weaponize them in the Dream. We¡¯ll concentrate on other applications after you learn that, understood?¡±

    Alice stopped for a moment, thinking about it, then shrugged.

    ¡°Sure. You probably know best.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so sure about that Garda. The Dream is as unpredictable as a child having a tantrum. You think you¡¯ve seen the child do its worst, until you haven¡¯t.¡±

    And then they were back on the surface, the strange sun still setting, because that¡¯s how it worked in the Land apparently.

    ¡°Green Bird, tell me, where can you feel a Nightmare?¡±

    Asked Albert, turning towards the little girl wearing green. Who, in turn, began staring around aimlessly. Alice didn¡¯t know how she could find something, anything, around here. They were in a clearing and, around them, only trees awaited.

    Still the girl looked and, after a moment, Alice heard her whisper something:

    ¡°[Sense Darkness].¡±

    A few seconds later, she turned to her right and pointed.

    ¡°That way!¡±

    Albert looked in that direction and, after a moment, nodded.

    ¡°That is right. Next time though try not to use your Skill, understand?¡±

    ¡°Yes Papa.¡±

    They began walking, Albert swiftly moving in front of them. As he passed by Green Bird¡¯s side he ruffled her hair in approval.

    Alice reached him a moment later and asked the obvious question: ¡°Why [Sense Darkness]?¡±

    To which, Albert turned towards her and began staring as if trying to ask her: Really?

    ¡°One would think you never slept, or dreamed, all your life Garda. Nightmares are creatures of the dark, things made of regrets and hate and fear. And there¡¯s nothing darker than those emotions.

    ¡°The Dream may be large, and it may have a lot of dark places, but nothing compares to the sheer amount of it contained even in the smallest Nightmare.¡±

    She nodded. Then he motioned for her to start looking around, and she did.

    They were in a forest, which meant there were lots of trees and ferns and moss (which didn¡¯t seem to follow the typical tradition of growing only towards the north. probably because there was no such thing as north in the Dream), and many smaller flowers and plants, but in the beginning there was nothing around her that seemed even remotely useful.

    Then they began going deeper, darkness slowly covering everything.

    And she found the first interesting plant in her journey.

    It was Male Fern. Its leaves were a dark green and lance shaped, tapering at the base, growing in thick clumps around the central stem. Many grew in the small clearing covered by the trees, letting in some light, but not too much, because that plant preferred dark environs.

    She smiled as she remembered her granny¡¯s words. She was a herbalist, one that followed old traditions. Which led to her getting the nicknamed ¡®The Verdant Witch¡¯ by all of her neighbors. She knew what felt like hundreds of plants, with all their applications and preferred environments of growth and, most important of all in her opinion, the right times to harvest them, together with the incantations.

    When she¡¯d been little, Alice loved spending time with her grandma. She always had a kind smile on her face, even when she did something wrong. Especially when she did something wrong actually. She would just smile, laugh about how she used to do worse in her youth, then proceed to pinch and tug her ears.

    Never anger the granny.

    Anyways, the old woman would spend more time in her gardens and out in the wild than she did home, and obviously she always brought Alice along.

    Worst case scenario, you stretch your legs and breathe good air. Best case scenario you even learn something,  she would always say.

    Fern was, truth be told, a very common plant, but it did have a lot of applications, even in modern herboristerie. It could help with inflammations, it was an astringent and a febrifugal, together with two or three other properties she couldn¡¯t quite remember. But then came the more¡­ esoteric side of grandma¡¯s knowledge.

    For example, male fern could be used, when cooked in wine, unblock obstructions of the spleen, cure melancholy (because that¡¯s how grandma called depression apparently) and even be used to cause menstruation. And then there was one last application that was really of interest to her: when made into an amulet, male fern could act as a dispeller of nightmares, among other things.

    It felt¡­ oddly convenient, in many ways.

    Now, Alice didn¡¯t know for sure if any of the things grandma said about plants could be considered true. She had studied pharmacy, was nearly ready to graduate actually, yet she¡¯d never once studied any of these things.

    But then again, grandma had always said that the world had been forgetting for too long, and this world seemed¡­ right. Even ripe for such things.

    ¡°That one could be useful.¡±

    Albert looked at the plant she was pointing at and looked confused:

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ just fern.¡±

    ¡°Male fern, there¡¯s a distinction. Traditions say that plant can keep nightmares at bayIt¡¯s especially powerful when harvested under the, well, you could call it blessing, of Saturn, when Sagittarius is¡­¡±

    And then she stopped, remembering that she was in another world and was probably talking utter nonsense.

    She turned around, and saw Albert staring blankly at her together with the kids.

    ¡°What are you talking about,¡± he asked cautiously, ¡°Because never in my definitely not long life heard about these¡­ Zaturn? Sagitta-something?¡±

    Well fuck Alice, time to find a scapegoat.

    ¡°Oh, you know, it¡¯s just how people call planets and constellations where I come from. You probably know them by a different name.¡± she tried to act nonchalant, while inside she was panicking. With all of her force of will she clamped down on her mind and ordered nothing to come out.

    She failed, naturally, as something appeared over her head, but it was clouded, covered, so really all the kits saw was a cloud form over Alice¡¯s head.

    Cloud that disappeared the moment Albert said: ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry dear, but what are planets? And constellations.¡±

    And then the cloud disappeared a bright red sign was now visible over Alice¡¯s head, reading ¡®LIAR!¡¯ in big, capital, letters

    Fuck!

    ¡°Well, you know, planets, those big ol¡¯ rocks in the sky, usually spherical¡­ you know, those. And constellations are just arbitrary figures the stars seem to form if you connect them like dots. That¡­ that stuff.¡±

    She was sweating profusely.

    And Albert only made it worse as he said: ¡°Garda, dear, there¡¯s no such things as rocks in the sky. Astronomers looked up at the sky to try and study stars, and they never saw anything like these¡­ planets, you talk about. And why would they be there anyways? To block the Stars from looking at us? That wouldn¡¯t make any sense.

    ¡°As for constellations, I¡¯d love to see someone try something like that when the Stars sometimes change places.¡±

    Oh god I¡¯m completely fucked.

    So she did the one thing any and all teenagers and young adults do when they¡¯re in a bad situation and don¡¯t want to talk about it: she changed the subject.

    ¡°Anyways! So yeah, real cool plant, amirite? Now just gimme a min¡¯ to harvest some and get us all cute lil amulets to help with the nightmares!¡±

    She spoke so fast she would actually be surprised if anyone understood even a single word about what she¡¯d just said.

    Still, she looked down at the fern and, after a moment, realized she had absolutely nothing on her persona to help her gather the plant, not even a knife.

    ¡°Anyone got something sharp to cut this up?¡± she asked, turning hopefully to Albert and the kits.

    Who, in turn, were still staring at her as if she¡¯d come from outer space. Or hadn¡¯t, because apparently there were no planets out there! Yey! So they probably stared at her as if she came from another world. Which she did!

    ¡°¡­Care to explain?¡± asked Albert.

    She smacked her lips: ¡°Nope!¡±

    ¡°You do know you won¡¯t be able to escape the questions forever, right? Sooner or later you¡¯ll say something really strange to the wrong person and that will cause you lots or problems.¡±

    ¡°Try me! I¡¯m a good runner. And I won¡¯t be making the same mistake again.¡±

    Albert stayed silent for a moment, then shrugged: ¡°I¡¯ll give you the time and space you need, but you really ought to tell someone. Not necessarily me, naturally. Anyone you trust. But there are old stories around the world, around the Game. I heard some of them in my time. And they¡¯re not always pretty.¡±

    Alice shivered. Then shook her head: ¡°Now¡¯s not the time.¡±

    To which Albert nodded. Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned towards the kits and clapped his hands: ¡°Sailor, give her your sword please.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s my sword!¡±

    ¡°Come on Sailor,¡± he coaxed the boy, extending his hand, ¡°You know she¡¯d not going to steal it. And if she does, I can stop her.¡±

    At this point Alice raised her hand: ¡°You do realize I¡¯m still here, right? And I¡¯d probably manage to fail at stealing a kid¡¯s candy, by the way.¡±

    That got a chuckle out of Green, Dancer and Knight, while the other smaller kids just looked at the whole conversation as if the speakers were all madmen. When had she gotten so good at reading their masks?

    In the end, Sailor sighed and handed over his wooden sword. As he did, he whispered: ¡°[Sharper Than It Looks]. Be careful now.¡±

    Alice took the child-sized sword, more of a short sword for her, in her hand, and was pleased by how light it felt in her grip. She crouched on the ground and, ever so gently, began taking cuttings from the fern. Leaves fell under her, creating a small mound on the ground as she worked and talked:

    ¡°Traditionally all cuttings should be taken using a sickle. If you want to be even more of a traditionalist, the blade should be forged out of silver, or at least covered in it, because silver purifies and kills malignant influences upon the plant.¡±

    Except for anything related to planets and the constellation currently ascending. But that¡¯s not a problem here because we have none of those. Of god there are no planets. And the stars move around. And the moon melts. What fucked up world am I in?

    ¡°Naturally, not all plants require this much care during the harvest. Nightshade, or Belladonna if you prefer, leaves can just be plucked from the plant, whereas Hellebore can go as far as requiring an incantation be pronounced during a specific time of night for its effects to appear. I should probably plant some now that I think about it.¡±

    She kept on blabbering on as she gave the wooden sword back to Sailor and began weaving together the fern leaves she¡¯d cut off.

    ¡°Of course, most of these things are, as I said, just traditions. Beliefs people have about how things should be done. They don¡¯t actually influence how well things work. But we¡¯re in the Land of Dreams, and you said that beliefs here hold more power than physics, so I tell myself ¡®A¡­ Garda, if that¡¯s how it works, then you may as well try to do it following the old ways, as granny called them¡¯. So here I am, and I¡¯m probably boring you all.¡±

    She finished the bracelet she¡¯d been working on and handed it to Wax.

    ¡°For you.¡±

    But Albert stopped her and shook his head: ¡°This is the way you alter the Dream, Garda. You shouldn¡¯t try to alter other people¡¯s way of seeing the Dream with your own in the beginning. It could be detrimental to you and others.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I mean that, by giving the bracelet to Wax, she could alter the belief you put in it with her own, subvert the effect or outright cancel it. Either way, it won¡¯t help her. I¡¯m sorry, Wax.¡±

    The girl nodded and looked down, scuffing her foot on the ground.

    Seeing this, Alice mentally flipped off Albert, rose to her feet, and gently put the bracelet in the girl¡¯s hand: ¡°Don¡¯t listen to Fox Face here, Wax. This is a gift. Do with it whatever you want, ok? It doesn¡¯t matter if it doesn¡¯t have a practical effect.¡±

    She turned around, glowering at Albert, who in turn sighed, then shrugged and chuckled softly.

    ¡°Who am I to put myself between a woman and a gift?¡±

    Wax looked up at her with big eyes, then nodded and curled her hand around the little bracelet. Moments later, before Alice could begin to panic because she couldn¡¯t put it on, she looked down and saw the little girl¡¯s hand shrink and pass through the bracelet, before going back to normal. She batted her eyes, then just smiled and didn¡¯t think more of it. After all, it wasn¡¯t the strangest thing she¡¯d heard or seen up until now.

    Five minutes later, she too had a small bracelet of fern around her wrist, and they began walking again.

    ¡°How do I know if it worked?¡± she asked Albert.

    ¡°By testing it out. You did things your way, followed your own traditions and beliefs, and the Dream seemed to accept them, seeing how it didn¡¯t change around you as you braided that little thing. Maybe it¡¯ll work, but there¡¯s no way of knowing for sure until we get in the thick of it.

    ¡°Point is, you found a way to protect yourself. Which would be extremely good in and of itself, even rare actually, but if there¡¯s one thing I learned in my life it¡¯s that no shield is unbreakable. Now you have a shield. All you need is a sword, a weapon. Something to actually hurt a Nightmare.¡±

    Silence fell on them again as Alice thought about any plant that could actually help her. Problem was, she knew a lot of those, and many had a use that could help in preventing nightmares, like chamomile or thyme or even lavender. But they only kept the things at bay: they didn¡¯t fight off the malicious entities. So how could she do it?

    Maybe I¡¯m thinking about this all wrong. I¡¯m a pharmacist at heart, a gardener and herbalist only in my free time. So how would I go about it as a pharmacist?

    I have to make a drug to fend off a disease, the nightmare, but I cannot ¡®bombard¡¯ it directly or¡­ something bad will happen. I have drugs that can keep the disease controlled, but they won¡¯t sooner or later the body will become inured to it. While I can cover it up, though, what¡¯s the best alternative?

    The answer, when she thought about it in these terms, was quite simple:

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    A vaccine. I have to create a friggin¡¯ vaccine! FUCK YOU ANTIVAXXERS, MODERN MEDICINE WINS AGAIN!

    Now, to translate this in dream terms. I cannot make an actual vaccine here, can I? No, Albert probably wouldn¡¯t give me the time to test it when there¡¯s an easier and faster solution. So what should I do?

    Behind her Dancer chuckled and said: ¡°She¡¯s overthinking it. Just look at her.¡±

    ¡°Maybe we should give her a tip.¡± suggested Knight.

    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right.¡± agreed Albert.

    He sidled up to Alice and said: ¡°Garda, you¡¯re in the Land of Dreams. I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re thinking about, but things here don¡¯t necessarily make sense. Imagine it like a two-sided coin where the sides can change places.¡±

    ¡°But never seven!¡± shouted back Starlight.

    ¡°Yeah, what she said.¡± nodded Albert.

    Alice¡¯s mind went into a standstill as she elaborated what she¡¯d just been told.

    Two sides of the same coin.

    What was the coin though? And which were the sides.

    Well, obviously the coin was her phantomatic vaccine. And what did a vaccine do? It helped immunize the person against a disease. Let the body get used to it.

    Wait, Eureka!

    ¡­

    I always wanted to say that! Take that one off the bucket list brain.

    Over her head a bucket covered in writing in the form of a list appeared, a pen scratching away at the sentence ¡®Say Eureka after actually realizing something important.¡¯

    The kits chuckled.

    The coin is the vaccine, one side is the patient, and the other is the disease!

    If I turn things around, then¡­ abso-fucking-lutely obvious! What if I vaccinate the disease directly? With something that would normally help it grow! Overfeed the bastard until it explodes!

    ¡°I need a river! Right now!¡± she shouted.

    Everyone stopped in their tracks.

    Then Albert pointed right in front of them and, sure enough, there was a river. Exactly where moments before there had been nothing.

    She didn¡¯t question it: she ran towards it. Because she had remembered a story her grandma used to tell about a very bad plant.

    Hemlock. In particular, Poison Hemlock. Otherwise known as Cicuta. Or known to her granny as Nightmare Hemlock.

    That one¡¯s bad, little Alice. Touch it, it¡¯ll kill you. Breath it, it¡¯ll kill you. Drink it, it¡¯ll kill you. They should burn them all, but the smoke would probably kill someone.

    It was an extremely poisonous plant, as that memory had reminded her. Sure, it could have some medical applications, but nobody bothered since there were far less dangerous plants that could do hemlock¡¯s same work. But her grandmother also used to say this:

    If you want to have a nightmare, or give someone one, just place a cutting of hemlock under their pillow. Their dreams will be the worst ones they¡¯ve ever had

    She¡¯d looked it up online once, but never found anything about that last part. It was just something her grandma used to say, completely unfounded unlike everything else.

    Yet here she was, following up on that idea.

    She reached the riverbank, and spotted her prize immediately: there, small white flowers blooming in umbels, lay a big cluster of the beautiful plants.

    The desire to touch them was overwhelming, kept under control only by the knowledge that it would seriously hurt her.

    Or would it? It¡¯s the Dream after all. Nothing can really hurt me. I could try it. Taste it. Brew it. See what happens. Wouldn¡¯t that be beautiful? A beautiful ending, made only slightly bitter by the lack of an actual death.

    Alice squashed those intrusive thoughts back in a corner of her mind. They weren¡¯t supposed to be there. The psychologist had helped on that front, but now she wasn¡¯t there, and her life had become so much stranger than the one she used to have in Cambridge.

    ¡°I need scissors. Iron. Rusted if you have them.¡± she spoke to nobody in particular, still staring at the plant, resisting.

    A hand landed right on her shoulder and Albert appeared, his head comically moving forward right besides her own.

    He looked down at the hemlock, then back up at her, then back again at the plant, and back up at her.

    ¡°The list of things you have to tell me is only getting longer dear. But first: why rusted?¡±

    She shook her head, then answered: ¡°This is Hemlock. Poison Hemlock. My grandma called it Nightmare Hemlock, because it gives people nightmares. It¡¯s not a good plant per se, and its effects are all negative, so I presumed that using something rusted, something undesired, would make them worse.¡±

    Albert nodded. Then stopped: ¡°Wait, you want to fight a nightmare by feeding it something that causes nightmares?¡±

    ¡°Well, not really feed so much as overfeed.¡±

    Albert looked speechless. Then he laughed.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s one Airm of a reverse side.¡± he laughed.

    He opened his hand and held out a pair of scissors in pristine condition.

    ¡°Sorry, not rusted, that¡¯s the best I can give you.¡±

    ¡°Why can¡¯t you? You, like, make things appear out of nowhere? I¡¯m pretty sure that river wasn¡¯t there a minute ago.¡±

    ¡°Bah, the river doesn¡¯t matter. It¡¯s just water with plants around it. The scissors you want have significance to you and you alone. You must alter them yourself to what you desire. I gave you the base material, you¡¯ll give it the extra push. One day you¡¯ll learn to alter the Dream as much as I can.¡±

    Alice nodded and took the offered scissors in her left hand.

    Then, before she began cutting, she ripped a strip of her long shirt and used it to cover her mouth and nose. The other hand she made sure to hide deep in her sleeve.

    Then she looked at the scissors. She imagined them covered in brown rust, unused for a long time. She looked. And they didn¡¯t change.

    Because that¡¯s not really what I need, she chastised herself.

    So she tried to change her perspective. Instead of them just being covered in rust, she looked at them the same way she would look at something unused, forgotten, undesired. Something revolting, that one would never use in their right mind, much less hold. She saw them as harbingers of tetanus!

    But she also saw them as something that still remembered its original function. Still sharp, even after years left in a dark, damp, place.

    And as she saw all these things, the scissors changed. No longer was she holding pristine metal, no, now there was only an old pair of scissors covered in rust, the metallic disease having eaten through most of the handle and the blade. If she applied too much strength they would crumble and fall to pieces, leaving behind only brown dust and dirty clothes.

    Perfect.

    Carefully, she began to cut. She didn¡¯t need much, just a small amount of flowers.

    They were at their most dangerous when ingested, but were still toxic to the touch or even when breathed.

    That¡¯s why it¡¯s so beautiful. So elegant.

    People who really knew her always said that she was strange. Normally she was this calm, solar, person who always had a smile on her face, apart from when she didn¡¯t manage to sleep. But if you dug deeper enough, you would find her passion for poisons and anything related to toxicology. If it can kill, it¡¯s interesting, that¡¯s what she thought.

    People said that poison was the coward¡¯s weapon. She thought it was the patient man¡¯s weapon. The intelligent one. Certainly not a coward. You needed dumb bravery and a bit of luck if you wanted to actually use poison well. Go there, talk to people, act like you were meant to be there while you tried to put the poison where you knew it could kill the right person and the right person only.

    Because that was the difference between a cowardly poisoner and a brave one. The former just mass murdered everyone to get to the target, killing innocents, while the latter did everything in his power to only get the one person.

    When had she become like this borderline obsessed with poison? That¡­ was a question she¡¯d rather not remember the answer to. It was still painful. Too fresh even after a decade.

    She finished cutting the flowers off the main hemlock plant. She had enough.

    ¡°I need a mortar and pestle. And some boiling water. I¡¯ll infuse this.¡±

    A moment later a pot, a mortar and a pestle appeared beside her. She immediately began grinding the flowers into powder as Sailor filled the pot with river water and put it on a merrily burning fire nearby.

    She knew that she could very well infuse the unground petals. The process, after all, only required you to put the thing you want to infuse, usually flowers and leaves (anything bigger and you¡¯d actually need to do a decoction), into boiling water for fifteen minutes if you wanted an aromatic infusion, which only gave taste to the water, or thirty if you needed a medicinal infusion, which would transfer the active ingredient of a plant to the water. She would need that one.

    But still, grinding the petals felt right. It felt needed. Her grandma always did that. And so she followed the instinct.

    Which was good. Because the Dream was all about that.

    When she finished, the flowers had turned into a fine white powder with a bit of liquid at the bottom, since the petals had been really fresh. The fact that she was also sitting on the ground near a river inside a forest didn¡¯t help. Any operation of the sort she was doing would require a sterile space with no outside climatic interference.

    But she wasn¡¯t on Earth, where such things were possible, easy even.

    So she worked with what she had. A few minutes after she¡¯d finished grinding the flowers she ever so slowly poured the mortar¡¯s contents into the pot of boiling water. Then she closed it with a lid and waited.

    ¡°It¡¯s going to take thirty minutes I¡¯m afraid. Sorry for making you wait.¡±

    ¡°Thirty minutes you say?¡±

    ¡°At least.¡±

    ¡°Hmm¡­ nah, I think it¡¯s already ready.¡±

    And he snapped his finger, motioning for her to look at the pot.

    ¡°Wha¡­ that doesn¡¯t make any sense! I just put it back on. It cannot be ready.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re forgetting a small detail here Alice: this is the Land of Dreams, and I wasn¡¯t kidding when I said that Time is a construct.¡±

    And he motioned for her to open the pot.

    She hesitated, then moved towards it. But, instead of just opening it up like a complete idiot, she took it by the conveniently wooden handles and moved towards the river, where she put the pot to cool.

    After another minute, when she touched it and found it to be at an acceptable temperature, she reached out towards the lid, turning towards Albert: ¡°Can you, like, make an air current to push away any and all vapors that come out?¡±

    Standard procedure, as you can well imagine. Any steam that would certainly come out of the pot would be slightly infused with hemlock¡¯s active ingredient, making it poisonous in its own right. Normally, in a lab, she would have at her disposal a hood that would suck everything upwards and away from her, securely standing on the other side of a protective glass. Here though, she had nothing like that.

    And, while she knew it wouldn¡¯t actually hurt her, and while a part of her mind still wanted to know what it felt like, she didn¡¯t give into the impulse.

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    A gentle wind began blowing away from her and out towards the other side of the river.

    She took away the lid, and moved away as steam billowed out, getting immediately dragged away by the wind.

    A minute later, she felt safe enough to walk near. The liquid inside the pot hadn¡¯t changed color, naturally. The idea that poison had bright colors like green or purple was simply absurd. Sure, there were cases when it could assume colors like yellow or even light green, but there weren¡¯t many and the poisons in question were mostly animal in origin.

    ¡°Got a vial? Or a bottle? Anything will do.¡±

    Albert did a flourish with his left hand, putting it in the sleeve of his coat, and offered her five little containers.

    ¡°Vials are so¡­ typical. These fit you more, I believe.¡±

    And they did. Alice knew that vials were used because they were easier to hide and carry around, but she wasn¡¯t going to go around assassinating people with this thing. Only a nightmare. Probably. If it worked.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare lose conviction Garda, or I¡¯m going to slap you into tomorrow. And remember that Time means nothing here, so that could take a while.¡± said Albert sternly.

    ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t¡­¡±

    ¡°Because everything in the Land of Dream is about conviction, perspective and force of will. Those are the things that matter. You were convinced that the poison you were cooking up would do what it was meant to be. That was force of will. You created it using a way you know, following traditions and beliefs that are yours and yours alone. That was conviction. Two out of three things. Lose one, and it¡¯ll lose power. Lose both, and the Dream will make into what it desires.

    ¡°So, as much as it pains me to say so, you have to believe. Yes, it sounds stupidly clich¨¦, but that¡¯s how it works. If you can¡¯t believe in something strongly enough, then the Dream will do it for you, and do whatever it wants. Understood?¡±

    Alice nodded. The way he said it, it was easy. Too easy.

    ¡°This should¡¯ve been much more difficult, am I right?¡±

    ¡°Extremely so. I expected you to fail the moment I told you you¡¯d have to change the scissors to fit what you want. But you did it! And after that, well, it was like watching a master at work. If I didn¡¯t know better I¡¯d say you¡¯ve been doing this all your life. Being a [Dreamer] I mean. But since I do, well, I can only say you¡¯re a natural.¡±

    Yes, she thought, A natural. Because I come from a world where everyone dreams (heh, pun intended) of having such experiences. I¡¯m a natural because I always prepared myself for the isekai scenario.

    She couldn¡¯t contain herself. She laughed.

    It was too funny. She had always wanted to be one of those protagonists from webnovels who got taken to another world. And now look at her! A little miss nobody, not special at all, got that chance.

    That¡¯s when she realized it: she was free. She could do anything. The potential was endless.

    I can have all the fun I want.

    As that thought crossed her mind, her smile becoming a bit more sinister, the Dream distorted a bit around her.

    Then it was back to normal. And now she was just smiling. Happy. Truly happy for the first time since¡­ since she¡¯d died.

    I can bring her work back. Here, in this world, it can work. Herman says Skills can make anything happen if you want it enough. All the things she taught me. All of her knowledge. Even that which was impossible. It can all be real here.

    That was the true power given to her.

    <hr>

    They¡¯d been walking for a while now. She didn¡¯t know how long. An hour? A minute? From what she¡¯d seen up until now not even a single second had passed from that conversation over tea with Albert.

    Oh god, that felt like an age ago. They¡¯d been having wine and fun conversations about bingo, and now she was with him out here, hunting a Nightmare down.

    Guess this is my life now. Not bad.

    The forest was dark, as expected. After all, they were in a place in eternal sunset, under a heavy canopy of trees that let little light through.

    So you can very well understand how surprised she was when, suddenly, the light brightened.

    No longer were they in the woods. Now they were in a mansion, by the looks of it:

    Red drapes partially covered grand windows that went from floor to ceiling, overlooking a great city filled with luminous houses, people milling around like many little ants.

    The floor was carpeted, green, and extremely fluffy. Alice could literally feel her feet sink into it in a most comfortable way. Until she realized her feet were actually touching the carpet. Then she looked down and saw that her clothes had changed as well, becoming more¡­ formal. Instead of the trousers and shirt she¡¯d been wearing up until now, she now wore a purple, very Victorian dress with a billowing gown that fluttered around every time she moved. Panic settled in the moment she remembered about Wax¡¯s seed, but when she reached towards her leg to try and feel her pocket, her hand went through the gown and touched only her trousers.

    ¡°Do I feel a corset around my waist?¡±

    She was already, well, thin, for lack of a better word. Her mother always said she should eat more, but one could cook only so much in England, where the best thing you can find in a supermarket is cheesecake.

    She still remembered the first time she¡¯d done a carbonara for her and her flatmate in england. At the end of the lunch her friend had said that the dish was ¡®too tasty¡¯. It feels unnecessary to say that Alice didn¡¯t speak to her for an entire week.

    Anyways, she was thin, so the corset didn¡¯t impede her ability to breathe.

    Same for the other girls in the group. As for Albert, he hadn¡¯t changed at all, still wearing his evening clothes.

    She looked around the room some more, and saw it was empty other than a burning fireplace at the far end, placed between two windows.

    And a child sitting on the floor, looking scared, mouth open in a soundless scream.

    That¡¯s when Albert spoke:

    ¡°This isn¡¯t an adult¡¯s dream. It¡¯s a child.¡±

    His tone was tense.

    ¡°How did you guess. Was it the child?¡± asked Alice.

    ¡°No. Adults can become children in their nightmares. It¡¯s the room. Look closer.¡±

    She did. And she noticed that if she stared at the walls hard enough, they began to unfold, became less walls and more¡­ crayon drawings.

    ¡°A child sees the things he makes as perfect and identical to life. But at the same time he sees them for what they are. That¡¯s how you can distinguish an adult and a child¡¯s dream.

    ¡°The kits are in trouble.¡±

    That¡¯s the last thing he said before everything descended into chaos.

    <hr>

    The window left of the fireplace exploded inward. The glass shards flew around. A few managed to reach the child, cutting the skin of his arms through the clothes as he tried to protect his face. But the bulk of them went for Alice and the kits.

    Before she could think about moving away, an armored body appeared in front of her. It was Knight, and he was holding a shield to protect her and the other kits, who¡¯d decided to hide behind them.

    The shards impacted with the shield.

    And went through it like a hot knife with butter.

    Before they could touch his armor though, Albert clapped his hands. The sound reverberated through the whole room, causing the shards to vibrate, before turning to water.

    ¡°[Amplify Sound].¡± was all he said.

    Then he turned towards Knight, making sure he was alright. And shook his head: ¡°What did I tell you, kit? You don¡¯t fight them with your ideas when you¡¯re on their home turf. You adapt, reshape, and lure out.¡±

    Before he could say anything more, something crawled through the broken window. It looked like a centipede. No, scratch that, it looked like a giant centipede made of crawling centipedes, all moving together, over each other, skittering. Black as night, it was longer than the window was high.

    As it entered it began to coil in on itself, slowly rising higher and higher, forming a tower of crawling horror. It grew and grew, higher and higher, until it nearly touched the ceiling, and all the while it hissed at the boy.

    Finally, when it was all in the room, it changed. Two arms grew from the tower¡¯s sides as, at the base, it split in two, forming legs. Finally, the top began to twist around as if a child had just gotten its grubby hands on a wad of putty and began playing with it. In the end, a head formed, wearing¡­ an actual fedora.

    ¡°Another hatted nightmare. What in airm is the meaning of this?¡± asked Albert.

    The thing extended a hand towards the boy, clearly desiring to capture him.

    The boy, on his part, screamed and tried to run away on all fours, tears streaming down his eyes. Yet no sound reached them.

    And then Albert stepped forward.

    His foot touched the ground.

    And the entire room shook.

    ¡°[They Always Noticed Me].¡± he whispered.

    The nightmare turned its head, featureless face staring right at them now.

    Still its hand kept reaching for the boy. And, when it seemed to reach its maximum extension, centipedes crawled out of its fingers, moving towards the boy who, by the looks of it, screamed even louder.

    The nightmare seemed to grow ever so slightly at that.

    Albert and the thing faced each other. Than the former put a hand in his pocket and took out¡­ a wine bottle?

    Yes, it was a green bottle with a label that read ¡®Nightmare-buster¡¯. He uncorked it and, with purposeful slowness, poured it onto the ground, probably ruining the drawn carpet.

    Then he whispered another Skill: ¡°[Strengthen Concept].¡±

    The wine floated up from the ground and, in a moment, took the form of an arrow. Then it grew, once, twice, thrice the length of the arrow he¡¯d used to kill the two Players.

    And it shot towards the black monster, passing right through where its heart should¡¯ve been.

    Almost predictably, centipedes began pouring out of the wound, ever so slowly closing it.

    ¡°Well, should¡¯ve expected it wouldn¡¯t be enough.¡± sighed Albert.

    The Nightmare turned towards him, Alice and the other kits. It didn¡¯t screech at them. It was completely silent instead, just staring down at them like an elephant would to an ant. With slight contempt.

    Then it turned back towards the child, extending its hand again to grab him.

    That¡¯s when the first bottle struck its skin.

    There was no shattering of glass breaking though. The little bottle just¡­ plopped on the dark skin and, ever so slowly, began sinking in.

    ¡°Please tell me you unstoppered the bottle.¡± said Albert.

    Alice held out a small, black, cork that hadn¡¯t been there a moment ago.

    ¡°Now I have.¡±

    After she¡¯d seen how the bottle hadn¡¯t broken, she¡¯d quickly replicated what she¡¯d done with the scissors to the stopper. She¡¯d imagined a bottle without one, the liquid inside pouring out. She¡¯d fixed her mind on a concept of total emptiness.

    And the Dream had responded.

    The Nightmare turned back towards them¡­

    And inclined its big head in confusion. The first sign of any sort of emotion it¡¯d shown up until now. Because what had just entered its body had been¡­ pleasant. As if it had just drunk in the fear of an entire night¡¯s hunt.

    Whatever it was, it felt filling. Pleasantly so.

    It wanted more.

    And, seeing how the bottle had come from the group of outsiders, it stepped towards them, away from its prey.

    Albert cursed under his breath. It was something about Soma¡¯s asshole being filled with something. Alice was sure she didn¡¯t want to know what exactly.

    ¡°Kits, run.¡± he just said, before he turned around and began shoving them all towards the door that had appeared behind them when they¡¯d entered the child¡¯s dream.

    ¡°Run and don¡¯t stop until you¡¯re back home. Yes, even you Dancer and Knight. This is big.¡±

    Then he turned towards Alice and took her arm in his hand: ¡°I would tell you to run too, but I¡¯m sure you won¡¯t listen, and I think this Nightmare will follow you to the waking world.¡±

    ¡°Wait, can it?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know and I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t want to find out. Now, why isn¡¯t it exploding?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re asking me? It¡¯s my first time doing this!¡±

    She shouted. Meanwhile, the Nightmare kept walking towards them, but the room was becoming longer and longer, as if someone was stretching it like putty. She noticed, then, that Albert was pointing a finger towards the Nightmare and twirling it around, as if trying to mix the air.

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m asking you because that poison was made out of your convictions.¡±

    ¡°I know. But it was made to be more than just poison!¡±

    ¡°Why the fuck would you make a poison that¡¯s not just poison?¡±

    ¡°Because I thought of Nightmares as a disease, and so I made something to fight it!¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s not just fucking poison? It¡¯s medicine?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a vaccine!¡±

    ¡°What in the names of the Old is a vaccine?¡±

    ¡°Not the time?¡±

    The shouting match ended as the Nightmare got bored of walking towards them and, instead, extended an arm and shot a score of crawling centipedes towards them.

    They ran, reaching for the door.

    And then the Nightmare was right in front of it, as if it had always stood right there.

    ¡°Shit!¡±

    ¡°Fuck!¡±

    They both shouted in a chorus, before doing a one-eighty degree turn, running back towards the child.

    ¡°Ok, well, time for plan B.¡± said Albert.

    ¡°What¡¯s plan B?¡±

    ¡°Come up with a plan C, because I don¡¯t have any.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean you don¡¯t have a plan?¡±

    ¡°I had one before that thing took a potion of strength!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, ok?¡±

    They ran. And Alice began thinking. She turned around, then turned back the other way wishing she hadn¡¯t done that. Behind them the Nightmare had gone back to its giant centipede form and was crawling towards them faster than they could run.

    ¡°[Nightmare Rules: Closer and Closer, It Never Reached Me]!¡± shouted Albert.

    The Dream behind them twisted and turned, then settled. Nothing seemed to change: the centipede nightmare kept on crawling towards them, still as fast as before. Yet, at the same time, she noticed, it didn¡¯t seem to be getting closer. Not as much as before.

    ¡°That¡¯s going to slow it down, but not for long. I¡¯m not a [Nightmare Tamer].¡± he spat the name of the last Class out with enough venom that some actual green liquid came out of his mouth.

    They kept running. The room wasn¡¯t supposed to be this long. Well, truth be told, the room wasn¡¯t supposed to be a corridor with prismatic patterns painted on the walls. When had that changed?

    Alice looked at her belt, where four more bottles were left.

    For a moment, she thought about just throwing those too, but it wouldn¡¯t make sense. This wasn¡¯t just poison, after all. This was a vaccine, crafted with poison. And it wasn¡¯t as if you could just give someone multiple shots of the same vaccine to immunize them faster.

    Unless¡­

    ¡°Albert, you told me that everything in the Dream is about conviction, perspective and force of will.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, so?¡±

    ¡°Well, what if, instead of making the vaccine weaker, I lost part of my perspective. The part that actually sees this as a vaccine, and make it become just simple poison.¡±

    ¡°And how do you propose you do that?¡±

    She was stalled. Indeed, how could she? How could she forget that what she¡¯d made was the way it had been made? It wasn¡¯t that simple. It was like trying to purposefully forget about something: the moment you started to wonder what the fuss was all about, it came back with a vengeance.

    So how could she do it?

    She looked down at the bottles of poison/vaccine that clinked with her movements.

    And knew what she had to do.

    She took one in her hand, uncorked it and¡­

    ¡°Bottoms up!¡± she told Albert as she drank down the whole bottle in one go.

    It¡­ didn¡¯t taste like much. It was water with just a tang of something acidic as an aftertaste. Not bad, really. Like drinking lemonade after it had been sitting out in the open, under the sun, for too long.

    She ran as Albert shouted at her, asking if she was stupid. But she wasn¡¯t. Because, after all, this vaccine had been made for a Nightmare. Out of poison. And she wasn¡¯t the individual for which it had been crafted.

    After a minute, or maybe less, her breath became heavier. She tried to breath harder, her mouth opening wider and wider as she tried to gulp down more air. ¡®Air hunger¡¯ was what her father called the feeling.

    Then, all of a sudden, she fell to the ground, her body seizing up. She tried to inhale, but her diaphragm wouldn¡¯t budge, locked in place together with the rest of the muscles in her body.

    Fuck, this isn¡¯t pleasant at all.

    The centipede was crawling close now, the Skill keeping it at bay no longer working apparently since it were actually getting closer. She could see it better now: the pincers around its mouth as long as her body when they weren¡¯t even completely open. Big enough to kill her in a single movement.

    Her instincts flared up, panic settling in. She knew she wasn¡¯t going to die, but it didn¡¯t matter at all that fucking thing was going to eat her!

    She tried to struggle and move away, but couldn¡¯t, because her body was dying and she couldn¡¯t breath and why the hell had she thought drinking that poison would be a good idea?

    Then the centipede was on her. The charm around her wrist, for a moment, worked, keeping the nightmare away from her body. But it was so simple, and it held so little power and conviction, unlike her poison. It burned away.

    And it trampled her, and she felt pain blossom all over her body as she was crushed.

    As the bottles of poison were crushed.

    As it all seeped in the Nightmare¡¯s body.

    Her vision was fuzzy now. She couldn¡¯t see¡­ anything.

    Yet she heard the Nightmare screech. And that was enough.

    [Conditions Met: Dreamer -> Dream Poisoner!]

    [Dream Poisoner Level 10!]

    [Skill - Tools of the Trade Obtained!]

    [Skill - Dream: Quick Poison Obtained!]

    [Skill - Poison: Enhance Taste Obtained!]

    [Skill ¨C Concept: Reduce Complexity Obtained!]

    [Skill - My Sky Followed Me In My Dreams Obtained!]

    <hr>

    Alice woke up in her bed.

    The sun was shining through a small crack in the closed curtains.

    Someone was pounding on her door, shouting her name. Probably Averick, come to check if the Greater Potion of Sleep had had any adverse effects. And, truth be told, it did have an unexpected effect. One she really liked.

    She rose from her bed, well rested and proud of herself, because she knew for certain that she¡¯d done it. She¡¯d killed that thing!

    She opened the door to her home, and smiled. She had a new purpose.

 Chapter 19: [Knight of the Ukulele]

    On the first day of his journey to the capital city of Pemos Liam decided he hated riding horses. For once, it wasn¡¯t because horses hated him. Actually, the animals were extremely tame and likable, and he would kill anyone who dared hurt one. But, for all he liked the animals, that didn¡¯t help at all with the soreness currently killing his legs and making him question if his balls had disappeared back inside his body.

    ¡°I think I¡¯ve lost my ability to reproduce,¡± he said as he groaned, trying to get the damned tingling out of his legs.

    The [Knights] all around him burst out into laughter.

    One of them, a young boy who¡¯s just been knighted from being a [Squire], slapped him on the shoulder: ¡°First time? Heh, don¡¯t worry, you get used to it.¡±

    Liam nearly fell to the ground because the said boy had forgotten to take off his armored glove. So now not only did Liam wish he couldn¡¯t feel his legs, but he also felt like his joint had dislocated.

    God, why had he thought that riding a horse would ever be easy?

    ¡°Calm down, Neville. You¡¯re going to accidentally kill him that way.¡±

    The young [Knight] turned towards the source of the voice, ready to say something funny, but stopped mid-breath when he saw it was [Knight Commander] Amarie, arms crossed, frowning down at him.

    He immediately went as still, his body automatically moving into a military salute, which required one to put their right hand, palm open, on their heart as their left lay closed in a fist by their side.

    ¡°At ease Junior [Knight], Neville. Just be careful with our charge, or [Mage Crafter] Sigmund will have our arms.¡±

    The young [Knight] chuckled as he relaxed just a bit, turning around to apologize for the too-friendly slap. Then he turned back towards his companions and began setting the camp up.

    Amarie reached towards her belt and took out a small vial containing a bright red liquid: ¡°Take this. It¡¯s a low-grade healing potion, regenerative type. It¡¯ll help with the pains.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. You¡¯re a Saint.¡± he said, taking the vial with the same care one would hold a baby and taking a single sip from it. He didn¡¯t drink the whole thing naturally, mainly because he was a bit of a hoarder and rather liked the idea of having one of these at the ready if shit hit the fan, which, from what he¡¯d heard about the continent of Rodar, was very likely to happen. The tingling began to recede, together with the pain in his shoulder.

    Amarie smiled slightly: ¡°I¡¯m many things, boy, but a saint? I rather think I¡¯m already bound for Airm.¡±

    ¡°¡­What¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°Airm? That¡¯s where the souls of the damned end up. Those that in their life do bad things. You know, murderers, thieves, criminals in general. They all get their special little cozy place there.¡±

    ¡°And why would you go there? You saved my life!¡±

    ¡°My job is killing people, boy. All of us are murderers here,¡± her tone was suddenly somber.

    ¡°You¡¯re a [Knight], not a [Murderer]. There¡¯s a difference.¡± He tried to console her, to which she laughed. Loud. The other [Knights] all turned around to stare, not understanding what had caused their normally extremely serious, professional, and sometimes outright emotionless [Knight Commander] to begin laughing so hard.

    After a moment, she calmed down and sighed: ¡°You never fought in your life until that battlefield, did you?¡±

    Liam shook his head.

    ¡°Then you won¡¯t understand. Or you don¡¯t want to. Or you¡¯re just trying to be kind. Either way, the only difference between us and a [Murderer] is that, usually, we kill for something we believe in. I believe in my kingdom and its chance to do some good. I want to help, and the best way I can help it is by fighting these wars. So I¡¯ll fight and kill and damn myself to Airn, but at least I¡¯ll be keeping the wars away from the people who don¡¯t fight.¡±

    And with that, she knelt to the ground and took out a stick from her belt. She said the words ¡°[Candleflame]¡± and the small wooden tip burst into a small flame. Liam half expected for it to begin eating away at the wood, but instead, it just burned right at the tip. Amarie got it close to the dry leaves she¡¯d gathered there, and, after a moment, smoke began rising before a happy little flame burst out.

    ¡°I thought those leaves were dry. Why¡¯d it take so long for the fire to catch?¡±

    ¡°Because the wand is enchanted with a very low level fire spell. [Candleflame] uses its mana to produce light and heat, so the flame is hot, but it doesn¡¯t actually burn. Still hot as an actual fire though, so if you have something dry enough, it¡¯ll eventually catch.¡±

    And at that, Liam had to stop and think. How could a flame just produce heat and light¡­ without burning? That made no sense. And he said so.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, boy, I¡¯m not a [Mage]. None of us are. It works, and that¡¯s enough for us. You¡¯ll have to ask Sigmund when we get to the capital.¡±

    And that¡¯s how it ended. The [Knights] took some military rations out of their Dimensional Bags (apparently, they all got one when they were knighted) and began cooking them by the fire. The food was pretty good all things considered: jerky, roasted potatoes, even some kind of cake that looked and smelled like stale bread, but when it was heated, it became as soft and tasty as¡­ he didn¡¯t have anything to compare it to actually. Never been one for sweet things.

    ¡°You must actually be crazy,¡± said one of the [Knights] when he said that, ¡°There¡¯s people out there who¡¯d kill you for such a delicacy.¡±

    ¡°It was literally stale bread a few minutes ago. Why should it be better now that it¡¯s warm.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t ask me. [Military Chef] in our camp is more secretive than a [Spy] about his recipes. Just trust me, it¡¯s good, even if you don¡¯t have a sweet tooth.¡±

    ¡°Alternatively, you can give it to me,¡± piped up Amarie, who was sitting just a few meters to his left, eating her treat with gusto. Apparently, she had the worst case of sweet tooth known to humanity, but she could rarely indulge in it.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you have a diet to keep, [Knight Commander]?¡± asked one of the senior [Knights].

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you have the middle watch shift, Sir Pollion?¡± she asked, not missing a beat.

    ¡°No¡­ I have first.¡±

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    ¡°Well, now you¡¯ve got third. Neville¡¯s taking your place.¡±

    The [Knight]¡¯s mouth fell open while everyone around the fire burst laughing at the expense of the poor man. Except for Neville, who sighed thankfully and thanked his Stars, because the first and last watch were the best ones, and everybody craved them since with those, you got all your hours of sleep without interruption.

    The evening went on, and it didn¡¯t feel like a group of [Knights] from the military camping. It was more like watching a group of old friends, bantering about anything and everything while also trying to show off. They were loud, sometimes obnoxious, always cheerful, even [Knight Commander] Amarie, the most serious of the bunch.

    ¡°So, I hear you got a Red Skill.¡± someone asked at some point. One of the [Knights] had taken out of her bag of holding a bottle of cheap wine and they¡¯d shared it around. Liam choked on his sip as he heard the statement.

    After a good thirty seconds of coughing and sputtering, he managed to breathe right again and nodded.

    ¡°Yes. [Dreams Painted Red]. I can¡¯t daydream anymore,¡± he said, trying to joke about it, even if just the thought of what the Skill had done to him that time in the tent made him shiver. He didn¡¯t want to go to sleep. He¡¯d rather stay awake all night and the next day.

    But he was tired and, already, he could feel his body crying out for its much desired seven hours of sleep.

    ¡°Don¡¯t joke about it, boy,¡± told him Amarie as she finished her glass of red wine.

    ¡°Yeah, what she said,¡± agreed the [Knight] who had his watch shift changed, ¡°Red Skills are dangerous, especially if they evolve. They change you: give you something good in exchange for reshaping completely the person you are. That¡¯s why there are harsh laws on keeping [Soldiers] who get them away from battlefields.¡±

    ¡°I see nothing good in the shit that Skill does to me,¡± whispered Liam as he tried to sip from his glass again. His hand was shaking though, so he gave up and just placed it down, hoping nobody noticed.

    ¡°Because it¡¯s just a basic Red Skill. Those are all bad. Mostly. They become, well, for lack of better word, useful, if you go musician.¡± the older [Knight] shivered at that.

    And there it was again, that strange thing they said, ¡®going musician¡¯. What did that mean?

    ¡°What do you mean by ¡®going musician¡¯?¡±

    He had to ask. This world was completely new to him. New and wonderful. Sure, he had just come out of a battlefield where he¡¯d nearly died, his chest had been destroyed and rebuilt and now, apparently, he suffered from some strange form of PTSD, but he was still alive and he was in another world! This was the dream come true of any isekai fan!

    So yes, he¡¯d been fucked from the moment he¡¯d arrived here, but there was no reason to not enjoy the good things too.

    ¡°Where have you been living up until now boyo? Under a rock? How do you not know what that means?¡± asked one of the [Knights] curiously.

    ¡°That¡¯s not something you¡¯re paid to care about Yulus.¡± answered Amarie for Liam, her tone warning.

    Then she turned towards him and answered:

    ¡°It¡¯s an old tale, especially popular around Rodar, infamous all around the world.

    ¡°You see, this continent is called by many ¡®The Continent of Misfortune¡¯. Apparently something happened here a very long time ago, so far back that some say humans still didn¡¯t exist. Whatever it was, the gods decided to curse this continent. So, basically, if something can go wrong it will go wrong.¡±

    Oh yeah, thought Liam, Murphy¡¯s Law is the only constant around here. Joy!

    ¡°It¡¯s not too much of a hassle. People learn to live with it. Some even exploit it. Anyways, Rodar is also known as the ¡®Continent of Dungeons¡¯, seeing how many civilisations and kingdoms fell here since its creation. We¡¯re loved by any and all adventurers.

    ¡°The story goes, centuries ago a man, a [Battle Bard], and his team went inside a particularly dangerous dungeon, where they met a monster capable of casting [Insanity] Spells. Apparently, the [Bard] was particularly susceptible to mind fuckery, being a retired soldier, and ended up acquiring a Red Skill: [Insanity]. He killed the monster, then killed his team, seeing them as enemy soldiers from his past, and then spent an entire month in the dungeon, killing monsters and adventurers alike, lost in his past. During that time his Class evolved from [Battle Bard] to [Nulla Veritas Musician].

    ¡°Until one day he somehow managed to come back, his sanity partially regained. He was nearly killed on the spot when he did, but somehow proved that everything he¡¯d done was because of the collateral damage of the spell, and they just, well, banned him from the continent.

    ¡°Still, the red remained in his Class, even after he went back to a modicum of sanity. His most powerful Skill was capable of literally distorting reality, changing and reshaping it into what he desired, so long as he was willing to give up his sanity, with the risk of falling down that rabbit hole again, when he used it.

    ¡°That¡¯s where the phrase ¡®going musician¡¯ comes from.¡±

    She finished the tale.

    There was silence around the campfire.

    Then Yulus sighed and shook his head: ¡°[Knight Commander], I¡¯ve seldom heard anyone tell this story worse than you. Where¡¯s the pathos? Where¡¯s the emotion? Hearing you talk right now was like hearing someone read their shopping list for groceries.¡±

    Amarie hummed and nodded her head: ¡°You¡¯re right. And you¡¯re also on latrine duty.¡±

    Everyone began laughing. Except for Yulus, who made an aggravated face and asked if anyone was willing to take his place.

    After everyone had calmed down, Amarie put a hand in her bag of holding and, after a bit of rummaging around, took out¡­ an ukulele. An actual, honest to god, ukulele.

    ¡°I thought you were kidding when you talked about an ukulele.¡± said Liam, mouth half open in surprise.

    ¡°Nope! Atmosphere was getting a bit too serious, so I¡¯ll be playing for a bit.¡±

    All the [Knights] around the campfire cheered and told her to hurry up and begin playing. From their reaction she must¡¯ve been quite the player.

    ¡°Is she any good?¡± he whisper-asked to Neville beside him.

    ¡°Oh, she¡¯s the best. She¡¯s a Level 15 [String Musician]. Hasn¡¯t leveled in years, but that¡¯s just because she isn¡¯t willing to turn it into something more than a pastime. But I can well imagine her riding into the battlefield, playing her instrument, buffing us with both her [Commander] and [Musician] Skills. That would be a sight to see.¡± he answered.

    Amarie began to play.

    And time came to a standstill.

    <hr>

    How can you describe a song with mere words? How can one write sound without notes? The answer, quite simply, is you can¡¯t. Music, always, was meant to be heard first, described second.

    So how do you do it?

    ¡­

    Well, you write the emotions. You say what the song made you feel, what it made your mind see. The worlds held in each and every note, a book in every sound, a breath of eternity held and let go each and every moment in a futile attempt to capture the fleeting memories of things long lost. Because every song is a story, and each story needs its own song.

    The story Amarie was telling was a happy one. It spoke of a green field of grass that extended as far as the eye could see in every direction, filled with colorful flowers of all forms and smells. A soft wind rustles the verdant sea, fresh, carrying perfumes that were both alien and familiar.

    A girl walked through the fields. No, danced. Her legs had been broken, but still she¡¯d danced, with her voice, her soul, her body, her mind, until one day someone gave back to her what she¡¯d lost. And now she danced and sang, and the world was right anew.

    The song ended.

    And everyone was left silent.

    ¡°That¡­ was¡­ beautiful.¡± managed to croak out Liam.

    The [Knights] nodded.

    It was an old story, probably told a thousand thousand times all over the world, with different words, different characters and different places. Always with the same message.

    But this¡­ this felt more primal. It felt like the concept of the story, without the details and frills and falsehoods and masks. This was the true story. And it was that much more beautiful because of that.

    ¡°How can you be only Level 15?¡± asked Liam.

    Amarie shrugged: ¡°What I just did was no Skill, it was all skill. I am just that good. I¡¯m low Level because there¡¯s no need for me to be higher Level, no need for me to learn more. I had the best of teachers, after all.¡±

    And with that cryptic answer, she began playing again.

    Another song. Another story.

    That night, they all went to sleep happy and relaxed.

    Some, though, didn¡¯t sleep well.

 Chapter 20: Old Deals

    Most people don¡¯t remember dreams. They tend to forget everything the moment they wake up, so they believe their sleep was just a black nothingness where they stared upon the void without the risk of the void staring back.

    What most people don¡¯t realize is that we always dream. Every. Single. Night.

    There are, naturally, ways to make it easier to remember them. The easiest by far is to have a dream diary, where one writes down everything they can remember of their night time experience the moment they wake up. Sure, usually you¡¯ll be writing some very strange stuff because you¡¯ll still be half asleep when you do it, but that doesn¡¯t really matter because it¡¯s all about training your brain.

    Now, try to imagine being able to remember all your dreams. Now imagine that, instead of dreams, you have nightmares every night. And, to that, add the fact that still, as you¡¯re sleeping, like in most dreams, you¡¯re not aware you are sleeping.

    This was what was happening to Liam right now.

    He was on a battlefield he didn¡¯t recognize. That, alone, should¡¯ve been enough to make him understand none of this was real. But it felt real. Even if the ground was so red it was as if someone had painted it with blood, even if the sky was as red as a bloodshot eye. Even if the waning moon itself somewhat looked like an actual eye, staring at him, smiling crookedly.

    Because that wasn¡¯t really what he was concentrating on. No, his undivided attention was on the screaming soldiers around him. They had faces, they had weapons, and they were attacking each other and him. He didn¡¯t really have time to look at the environment. Not when a soldier had planted a sword in his thigh before falling to the ground with three arrows planted in his back and throat.

    The sword, as you can well imagine, hurt like hell. But the hit, luckily, or rather, unluckily, wasn¡¯t fatal. The nightmare knew how to prolong itself. After all, it was a Skill.

    Liam screamed in pain as he yanked the sword out. He didn¡¯t care that it was a bad idea, that anyone with even the most basic medical training would say it was only going to worsen things, to let the blood flow freely. You try to make sane decisions on a battlefield.

    And anyways, the nightmare didn¡¯t care. It saw the boy had just gotten himself a weapon, one he knew how to use, roughly. Actually, it was even better that he wasn¡¯t an expert. It would make things more interesting.

    Two soldiers appeared seemingly out of nowhere and attacked, swords raised in a very offensive stance as they charged at Liam. He tried to do something about it, tried to block, to dodge, anything. But he was no [Warrior], nor a [Soldier]. He had no battle training. So, as he blocked one of the sword, his own was wrenched away from his grip by the sheer strength behind the other soldier¡¯s hit. And the other one¡¯s attack kept coming, the blade aimed at his side.

    He screamed, remembering one of the Skills he¡¯d gotten.

    ¡°[Lucky Dodge]!¡± he shouted. But nothing happened.

    The nightmare laughed and laughed, for Skills and classes meant nothing here, because it had decided so. The day it would allow such things would be the day it made everything worse.

    Then, an interference.

    Two individuals that weren¡¯t of the nightmare had just walked in. They looked around, then one of the two shouted an expletive and quickly left, dragging the other one out as he shouted: ¡°Abort! ABORT!!! Red Skill Nightmare!¡±

    And they were out.

    Such a strange thing.

    Then the red world began crumbling. The nightmare looked at the [Soldiers] attacking the boy, and saw the distraction had made it lose control of the attackers. The boy¡¯s heart had been skewered and now, as it coughed out blood and stared at his enemy, he began dying.

    Now, that wouldn¡¯t do. It wouldn¡¯t do at all. The boy should die only when allowed to, and even then only in the ways chosen by the nightmare.

    So it chose to shorten the boy¡¯s pain.

    Liam looked up at the two [Soldiers] as the one which had impaled him slowly extracted the blade¡­ and attacked his companion.

    The two fought, but he couldn¡¯t quite see what was happening as his eyes were filled with fog.

    It took Liam a few moments to realize the fog wasn¡¯t him fainting from blood loss and dying. No, there was actual mist, red as blood, covering the landscape.

    And then the two fighting soldiers stopped screaming and fell to the ground, their heads cleanly cut off. Liam looked up, not understanding, not seeing clearly, afraid but at the same time not, because one way or another this was the way it ended. He had done everything in his power to survive. He had failed, but there was reason for him to be bitter about it.

    Then he saw it. The headless knight. The figure that had nearly killed him last time. Its blade was covered in blood, brain matter still clinging to the tip of the sword, as it slowly walked towards him.

    It reached him and, with a clanging of armor, the armored thing knelt down and cradled his head gently.

    What is it doing, he wondered.

    Then he felt the hands around his neck. He felt their strength as they squeezed.

    The last thing he felt was his neck snapping.

    <hr>

    He woke up screaming and felt more than saw someone in the tent with him.

    He reached for a sword that wasn¡¯t there, trying to defend himself from that headless knight, from the monster that he was sure had nearly broken his neck. He didn¡¯t know how he could possibly be still alive. Had the monster spared him? Decided to play with him a bit more.

    He didn¡¯t know.

    What he did know was that the figure reached a hand towards him and clasped his shoulder before, with a very neutral voice, saying: ¡°[Soothing Presence].¡±

    Immediately Liam felt himself calm down. His heartbeat slowed from its mad dash towards a heart attack, going back to a healthy tempo, while his arms stopped searching for a sword that had never been there.

    He sighed.

    Then looked up, ready to thank his savior. Only to realize it was [Knight Commander] Amarie. And that he had been sleeping in his underwear.

    Seldom had Amarie seen someone change color as fast as Liam did in that moment and go through so many shades of red. Some of them she didn¡¯t even know existed.

    ¡°Th-Thank you. Now¡­ please¡­ get out?¡±

    It sounded a lot more like a question than he wanted it to.

    Amarie shrugged: ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s nothing I haven¡¯t already seen.¡±

    ¡°That is not the point.¡±

    She chuckled and nodded, turning around to leave.

    A few minutes later, Liam followed her out, now fully clothed. He was immediately greeted by Giulia, the [Knight] on last watch. She was stoking the fire with a long stick, staring into the flames as if they contained the answer to all the questions in her life.

    ¡°Good morning, Dame Giulia.¡± he greeted with a slight smile.

    She turned around and greeted him back with a nod, a small smile appearing on her face. She wasn¡¯t the talkative sort, answering most questions with monosyllables and communicating more with body language and expressions. She did like to smile, and had a delightfully delicate laugh.

    Not long after the other [Knights] began walking out of their tents. Most of them were wearing the leather padding that normally went under the armor so that, in case they were attacked, they wouldn¡¯t be completely defenseless. One thing Liam noticed, after a moment, was they were all wearing their boots, perfectly buckled and fit, as if they were ready for a run.

    Good mornings were exchanged, kettles were placed by the fire and jerky was distributed to all present. Then the conversations began in earnest. And the questions.

    ¡°Nightmare, am I right?¡± was all Neville asked.

    Liam froze up, the food in his mouth suddenly losing all of its taste. He didn¡¯t nod or say anything, but the silence was as all the answer the young [Knight] needed.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to say I know the feeling, but I don¡¯t. Too new to even risk getting a Red Skill.¡±

    ¡°Shut up Neville. No one is ever ¡®too new¡¯ to get one of those. You just haven¡¯t seen the worst of a battlefield.¡±

    Amarie appeared behind the young man seemingly out of nowhere, backhanding the back of his head. He shouted an expletive, causing everyone around to laugh.

    In the end, Neville apologized.

    Meanwhile, the [Knight Commander] sat beside Liam and began eating earnestly.

    And he just sat there, trying to forget the nightmare, trying to forget the screaming soldiers and the headless knight. He tried to eat, but the food tasted like dust.

    ¡°You have to eat boy, or you¡¯ll keel over by midday.¡±

    ¡°I know¡­ I just can¡¯t.¡±

    He looked up at the woman, at the unimpressed look on her face, and sighed. He knew it was only a dream, that it wasn¡¯t real. But it felt so real when he¡¯d been in it. The pain, the fear, all of it. Had it been a one time thing he wouldn¡¯t have cared, but he¡¯d been told it would happen often, maybe as often as every single night, and that¡­ it scared him.

    ¡°Want me to pity fuck the sadness out of you boy?¡±

    Liam had been listening, waiting for Amarie or someone else to try and comfort him. He didn¡¯t have water in his mouth, so he only managed to ¡®spray¡¯ some jerky into the fire. It immediately began burning.

    That is, until about three different people blasted the flames with their own jets of water, coughing out their souls and vividly desiring they had some ear bleach.

    ¡°[Knight Commander] ¨C cough cough -you¡¯ve got to warn us before you say something like that.¡±

    Liam didn¡¯t know who¡¯d said that, but he agreed wholeheartedly.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Then he felt something in the back of his throat. A vibration, as if his diaphragm had decided to hiccup while also trying not to resist. The feeling grew stronger and stronger, until he realized what was happening. He was chuckling, deep in his chest.

    And, when he finally understood and let it go, he began laughing, joining all the other [Knights].

    Amarie smiled at that, then nodded her head.

    She¡¯d managed to distract them.

    They rode for hours later. Never galloping, always at a steady pace. After all, they didn¡¯t want to tire the horses. Or make the newbie suffer even more after yesterday¡¯s ride.

    All the while, the [Knights] talked, gossiping, talking about their families, the stupid things they¡¯d done in their youth or while they were just new [Squires]. From drunk nights to escapades with the gentle sex to pranks to their superiors that inevitable ended badly, Liam thought there was no chance he could ever get bored with this group. They were [Knights], sure, but they didn¡¯t look like the typical stuffy and heroic types depicted in books back on earth. They were¡­ so humane, nearly ordinary. Maybe even more so than most people, actually.

    Because they¡¯ve seen battle. Because they¡¯ve trained for a long time and now they can finally allow themselves to let loose a bit.

    These thoughts went through Liam¡¯s mind as they moved.

    The day had started¡­ not well, but it sure as hell was getting better.

    ¡°Traveler up ahead!¡± shouted Sir Pollion from the front of their little convoy.

    They hastened their pace a bit, Liam managing to catch a glimpse of the traveler. She was a small woman with fiery orange and red hair, so bright he thought they had to be colored. She was wearing a cloak that covered the rest of her body from behind. As they got closer, he could see it was worn, extremely so. Tears had been patched up with great care all over it, transforming the garment in a colorful rainbow. Liam was sure that the woman would have a tale for every single one of them.

    The cloak had once been black as night, probably, but the years had eaten away at the color, making it look more like a warm gray. Also, she had a hat. She wasn¡¯t wearing it right now, instead keeping it tied to her back, a string running from left to right and going around her neck. It was long brimmed, something that would probably fit better in a cowboy film than this continent where, apparently, the weather tended to be quite humid.

    Nonetheless, she was interesting.

    When they finally reached her, Amarie shouted:

    ¡°Good morning traveler. Where are you headed? Would you care to join us?¡±

    The woman turned, a slight smile on her face. Tied to her waist was a small pouch which Liam guessed, correctly, was a bag of holding. In her right hand she was also holding a hefty-looking sack made out of hemp, although the woman was carrying and swinging it around merrily as if it weighed nothing.

    ¡°Good morning, [Knights]. I guess I¡¯m headed towards Pemos, but I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be staying a lot. The winds call. But I would gladly join you. I¡¯ve yet to see a single [Bandit] on these roads, but you never know.¡±

    Amarie smiled: ¡°We take great care to suppress those leeches miss... oh, right, where are my manners. I am [Knight Commander] Amarie. May I know your name?¡±

    She climbed down her horse and offered a hand to the woman with a reassuring smile.

    ¡°A pleasure to meet you, Dame Amarie. My name is Mina. I am a [Wanderer].¡±

    ¡°Welcome to the Kingdom of Nagid, miss Mina. And what an interesting Class. I didn¡¯t know one could get it.¡±

    ¡°Everything can be a Class Dame, especially if you spend a lot of time doing the one thing. I like to travel a lot. As you¡¯ve probably guessed, I¡¯m from Aknos.¡±

    She pointed at her hat as if that could explain that last statement. Which it actually did for all of the [Knights], but Liam was left confused because, up until now, he hadn¡¯t cared to ask about this world¡¯s geography. In his defense, he had always sucked at that subject in school.

    Mina then turned towards the rest of the group, her eyes alighting once she saw Liam.

    ¡°Are you perhaps escorting another traveler good [Knights]?¡±

    ¡°Yes, you could say so. He is to be apprenticed at the capital to a local [Crafter]. Our [King] chose him personally for the job.¡±

    The [Knight Commander] was careful not to reveal too much when she answered the woman. Who, in turn, nodded and stared at him.

    ¡°I would love to follow you, Dame Amarie. And, as luck would have it, I won¡¯t even slow you down.¡± her smile grew slightly.

    Amarie cocked an eyebrow in curiosity: ¡°Do you have a horse stuffed in that bag of holding, miss? Because otherwise I don¡¯t see how that would be possible. You don¡¯t have to worry, we can take our time.¡±

    ¡°Oh, no no no no no. I would never mistreat an animal that way. I have something better: [I Can Keep Up]!¡±

    When she said the last words something¡­ shifted around her. She didn¡¯t change one bit, but at the same time she seemed a lot more energetic.

    ¡°How about we begin to move, before my Skill runs out?¡± she proposed.

    And move they did. They rode down the road, their horses at a light trot, not fast, but certainly faster than a walking human. And yet, Mina kept up with them. Her steps weren¡¯t longer, and she wasn¡¯t walking faster. Actually from his point of view, the woman was moving at a very slow pace. And yet she was keeping up.

    Is this the power of Skills?

    The answer to that was, obviously, yes. With limitations, sure, but Skills could allow you to do anything and everything at a high enough Level.

    The [Wanderer] whistled a little song as she went, a cheerful tune that put a smile on everybody¡¯s face.

    ¡°What¡¯s the song¡¯s name, miss Mina? I feel like it needs some words.¡± asked Amarie.

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s just an old song my gramps used to whistle when he camped with me in the woods by the Arborges Mountains. Good man, couldn¡¯t sing to save his life though, so he only whistled. Never managed to remember the name.¡±

    ¡°Understandable. It is quite a nice song.¡±

    ¡°[Knight Commander], why don¡¯t you join her with you ukulele?¡± asked Neville.

    ¡°And fall to the ground to be stampeded on by your horses? Not a chance.¡± she chuckled, and was soon followed by everyone else.

    For the next two hours they managed to keep that pace, then had to slow down as Mina¡¯s Skill stopped working. She said it would take around twelve hours for it to come out of cooldown, and told them to leave her behind if they were in any hurry. But they weren¡¯t so they slowed down and kept on walking.

    They stopped for lunch, rested for an hour, then were back on the road until the sun began going down at around five o¡¯clock. At least, Neville said it was five o¡¯clock after looking up, unwittingly recreating a scene from Crocodile Dundee.

    They put down their tents, built a campfire, placed down their chairs (stored in the dimensional bags) and were finally ready for dinner.

    They ate the same thing as the day before, because those were the standard traveling rations. At least whoever had developed this had thought about making two different sets of foodstuffs: one for lunch, the other for dinner.

    And that¡¯s when Mina made herself a lot of new friends: ¡°I have some sweets I took from the last place I stopped in, Clio. Do you know it? The city west from here?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I was there when we took over. People didn¡¯t even try to put up resistance, they just shrugged and kept on going on with their life. I hear they make some kind of fried sweet?¡±

    ¡°Yes, they call them Fried Sweet Bread or something like that. Not a very good name, but they¡¯re amazing. I¡¯ve got some, here, try them.¡±

    She opened her bag of holding and, a few moments later, took out a dozen¡­ Liam¡¯s eyes nearly exploded out of his head. Those were some honest to god churros.

    He nearly lunged towards them, then calmed down and took one nearly reverentially. He bit in, and was in paradise.

    ¡°Just like mum used to make them,¡± he sighed.

    ¡°Really now? Interesting. Where are you from, if I may be so bold? You don¡¯t look like a local,¡± asked Mina. Her face still held that smile, but there was curiosity in her eyes. She¡¯d inadvertently inclined her head, like a fox observing something curious, comparison that fit her even better considering the color of her hair.

    That¡¯s when he also noticed that her eyes were heterochromatic, one brown, the other light red. Strange, and unusual, but after all he¡¯d witnessed up until now he wasn¡¯t even surprised.

    ¡°I¡¯m from London. Quite far from here, actually. A lot. But my mother used to make these. She called them churros though, not whatever monstrosity those people called these. Though, they are good.¡±

    Mina nodded at his answer, but for a moment, when he¡¯d said he was from London, one of her eyebrows had shot up in her hairline before she could get it back under control. He noticed, but didn¡¯t care. There was no way anyone would know about that city, much less where he was actually from. She was probably surprised because she¡¯d never heard of the city.

    The evening went on. They laughed and talked, ate and played. Liam won a few silver coins when playing a game of dice, wisely deciding to leave the impromptu table afterwards because he was already sure his beginner¡¯s luck was running out. There was something in him that kept telling him to stop. When he tried to dig into the sensation, he discovered it was coming from one of his Skills: [Luck Bank]. Apparently, he was using up what little luck was stored in there, and he would be in the red if he played even another round. He shivered as he thought about what would happen if he allowed that.

    In the end, Amarie played her ukulele again, enchanting everyone anew, and then they went to sleep.

    Mina had placed her own tent: it was small, but extremely well kept, the canvas walls completely white, with not a speck of dust on it.

    ¡°It¡¯s another Skill: [Tent: Total Cleaning]. Was my second uncommon Skill, and I think of it as one of the best I have.¡±

    Then they went to sleep.

    More or less.

    In Liam¡¯s case, less. He sat on his small cot, still wearing his clothes, with no desire to fall asleep. Why couldn¡¯t he have been an insomniac? It would¡¯ve been so useful right now.

    His tent flap opened and someone walked.

    Liam looked up¡­ and saw Mina.

    ¡°Excuse me miss Mina, what are you doing here?¡±

    He was sure she¡¯d decided to go to sleep. She had no reason to be here. Or had she.

    The woman, so cheerful and carefree the whole day, filled with songs and stories, looked extremely serious right now. It was like she had become a completely different person.

    ¡°Your name is Liam Johnson, am I right?¡±

    He froze at the question. He had never told anyone his surname, not even to King Tibur. How did this woman know?

    ¡°[Please Answer], yes or no?¡±

    He tried to say something, anything, other than yes. He was getting a bad vibe out of this woman now. He was actually starting to feel a bit scared. Yet, the moment he opened his mouth, the only thing that came out was a ¡°Yes.¡±

    He slapped a hand over his mouth, but it was already too late.

    Mina smiled. Then shook her head, then chuckled:

    ¡°Of all the things¡­ it¡¯s almost impossible, but that old bastard was right. He¡¯s done it. After so long, he¡¯s finally done it. I thought he would fail, but here you are.¡±

    She began laughing, hard. Liam hoped someone would hear her and come to check. But nobody came, not even Pollion, who had first guard.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, they won¡¯t disturb us: [The Dealmaker¡¯s Silence].¡±

    ¡°Who are you?¡±

    ¡°I told you, I¡¯m Mina. A [Wanderer]. I never tell lies Liam, remember that. I made an oath, after all. And I have no ill intention towards you. But I have a job to complete. My side of an old Deal to go through.¡±

    She fished around in her bag of holding and, after an entire minute, took out a big envelope that was as thick as the length of his thumb and had the dimensions of a page. All in all, it looked like a big book. Red string bound it up, crisscrossing all over it, held in place by a single wax seal at the very center.

    ¡°This was paid for a very long time ago. It is yours. Do with it whatever you want.¡±

    That said, she walked out of the tent.

    And Liam was left alone with the package.

    He looked around, uncertain about what he should do. Should he open it? Was it dangerous? Mina had said it wasn¡¯t, but could he trust her?

    Something in him told him he could. After all, she never lied.

    He broke the wax seal, the strings holding the package closed slowly falling to the floor as he began untying them. When those were gone, he carefully opened the paper, trying to glimpse what was inside.

    He saw paper. And words.

    Definitely not a book. No cover.

    He ripped open the paper, and saw a pile of pages of something. They were all finely written in an easy-to-understand handwriting, all in English.

    He began reading.

    <table style="border-collapse: collapse; width: 51.5069%; background-color: rgba(189, 147, 9, 1); border-color: rgba(189, 147, 9, 1)" border="1">

    <tbody>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 100%">

    I, ¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­., in full control of my cognitive abilities, by signing this contract, accept what is written as follows:

    Upon the day of my death, be it of natural or unnatural causes, my soul will become the property of Liam Johnson. It will not be harvested by Death and brought to the afterlife to be judged. It will not be trapped on the land of the living in the form of a ghost or banshee and will not be used in the creation of any form of undeath.

    Liam Johnson accepts to take care of my soul, keeping it conditions of acceptable decay, and giving it a purpose before one of the previously stated collateral changes take place. Failure to do so on his side will result in immediate death and destruction of his own soul.

    To avoid this, Liam Johnson will store my soul inside a component part of his body before an acceptable receptacle is created and given.

    This contract is binding for both sides from the moment it is signed. It may not be rescinded in any circumstance. Doing so will result in the instantaneous death of both parties.

    Signature

    ¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­.

    ¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­.

    </td>

    </tr>

    </tbody>

    </table>

    Liam stared at the piece of paper. He read the others, saw they were all the same, and decided he would rather go to sleep than deal with whatever this was.

    The next day they arrived in Pemos. Mina was nowhere to be found next morning.

 Chapter 21: Magic Lessons

    It had been a week since Isse had gotten her first Class: [Soul Mage]. It was, as Siidi had said, basic, just black, but that was normal, seeing how she was only Level 4.

    Deep inside her, Isse was a bit miffed. After all the ordeals she¡¯d been through all she¡¯d gotten was four Levels in a basic Class. Not something rare, nothing overpowered like most people in other Isekais got. Just¡­ basic.

    Sure, apparently she had an green Skill, which was graded uncommon, but that was all.

    She had, at the moment, forgotten about her two other Skills: [Poison Immunity] and [Disease Immunity]. The ones she¡¯d been given when she¡¯d appeared in this world at the beginning of all this.

    She was also forgetting that, among her sisters, she was practically the only one who¡¯s managed to get a Class other than [Student]. She hadn¡¯t gotten that one, probably because she¡¯d spent years in schools and, before becoming bedbound, had been in high school. These lessons were somewhat new, but nothing as complex as studying trigonometry or einstenian physics. Or geometry. God she hated that subject.

    She woke up, as they all did every morning, to a song being played¡­ somewhere around them. She¡¯d yet to meet any of the musicians. Once, after she¡¯d managed to finally learn to speak, she¡¯d asked Makira about them, but for once she¡¯d only smiled secretively and winked, before scuttling on to another task.

    Good morning, came Siidi¡¯s voice.

    Good morning. There was a yawn in her mind as she said those words.

    Then she cuddled back against Anda and desired she could sleep some more. She was not ready to start another day. Sure, today there weren¡¯t any classes, and they¡¯d probably be spending most of their time playing or trying to learn something from the [Carers] about hunting or weaving or the likes. But that was tiring! She wanted to sleep more!!!

    ¡°Wakey wakey little spiderlings!¡± came Makira¡¯s voice from the center of the clearing as she did every morning. And, like every morning, Isse wondered how the woman could possibly sound so energetic at such a time of day.

    Well, truth be told, she thought the woman sounded too energetic at every moment of the day, from morning to night. She was filled with an endless energy.

    Slowly, all the little arachne began rising out of their sleeping locations, be them the ground, a hammock or a hanging branch.

    Isse still remembered the first days of those sisters waking up upside down and not knowing how to come down without falling. They had had some fun watching them struggle to bend themselves one way or another in an attempt to find any sort of handhold. She¡¯d discovered, not long after, that it was some kind of hazing ritual to let them find out the hard way how to get down. After having their fun, the Carers had began putting down webs that acted as some sort of trampoline to help them get down easily.

    She and Anda climbed down and happily followed Makira out of the sleeping area, towards the ¡®Mess Hall¡¯, as they¡¯d come to call it. Yes, because now Anda, too, had began to talk. She still prefered to express herself through lots of bodily contact and hissing, but when needed she would talk. Her voice was small and clear, like little bells working together to form every word carefully.

    Most of the other children were more or less the same, with a few exceptions being Catgirl and The Red Menace (the girl she¡¯d beaten at Queen of the Tree), who were as talkative, if not more, than Isse.

    As they got there, Makira skittered close: ¡°Hello Isse! How did you sleep? Did¡­¡±

    ¡°No Makira,¡± she answered immediately.

    The woman visibly deflated, then chuckled: ¡°No as in you didn¡¯t sleep?¡±

    She wiggled her eyebrows, expecting a smile. Instead she got a frown.

    ¡°No as in ¡®I¡¯m not going to visit Grandmother for lessons¡¯. I¡¯ve had enough of her with those [Trials]. The last one was pure sadism.¡±

    Makira wondered how a newborn arachne could know so many words, even ones like sadism, and, most important of all, know what they meant. She was absolutely certain none of her sisters hadn¡¯t given into their darkest desires for pain anywhere near the spiderlings. Then she shrugged those thoughts off: Isse was a strange girl, and she was one of the Wishers. She was bound to know strange things.

    ¡°Look, I know, she was bad. A b-i-t-c-h,¡± she spelled that word just so the other kids couldn¡¯t learn it. She was completely against foul language being used in their presence.

    ¡°But she did it to help you. Granted, it was scary, nightmarish even, I understand and I¡¯m not asking you to forgive her for that. But I¡¯m asking you to give her another chance. Everyone should get one, even old spiders that have more gray fur that brain power.¡±

    She smiled.

    And Isse snapped: ¡°Scary? Nightmarish?¡± she shouted. All the other children turned towards them.

    Makira shooed them on: ¡°This is a [Private Conversation] kids, go eat,¡± the last part of her sentence was eaten by her Skill, which surrounded them in a bubble of silence. As effective, if not more, than a [Silence] Spell.

    She turned back towards Isse, ready to keep talking, but the spiderling beat her to it: ¡°You can¡¯t even begin to understand what Grandmother made me and Siidi go through in that last Trial. Stars, even the other two Trials. It was the worst kind of torture I could ever think about. And she did it without even blinking, without apologizing. Nothing. Just something that had to be done! And you come here telling me I should listen to her again?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I am. Because I understand what you went through. I went through it. And now look at me,¡± she opened her arms wide, showing herself off.

    Yeah, that explains why she¡¯s more unstable than a [Fireball] being fed too much mana.

    ¡°Siidi says she now understands why you look more unstable than¡­ a [Fireball] with too much mana, whatever that means.¡±

    Makira batted her eyelids a few times in surprise, then laughed: ¡°Oh, it¡¯s been a while since anyone told me that. Good pun Siidi, good pun. But it wasn¡¯t Grandmother who made me¡­ unstable, as you so succintly put it. That¡¯s¡­ collateral damage. The effects of a scar that cannot be covered. Grandmother helped me come back to my senses with her methods. I know how bad they are, I know they can leave you¡­ we don¡¯t need to talk about it.

    ¡°Point is, she helped me. And she helped you. And now she wants to help you more. She promised she would be kind this time, and she always keeps her word. Says she learned that from a Dealmaker of some kind, now that I think of it.¡±

    Isse looked at her for a moment, curiosity and suspicion mixing and mingling on her face and in her mind. She wasn¡¯t completely convinced.

    ¡°Let¡¯s do it this way,¡± added Makira, ¡°If she acts up again like she did before, you get to do something to me. A prank, color my fur and hair, make me wear the silliest thing Aru can think to make. Anything. Deal?¡±

    She offered Isse her hand, wiggling her fingers expectantly.

    She hesitated for a moment, then, thought: Fuck it!, together with Siidi, and shook her hand.

    ¡°Perfect! After lunch I¡¯ll come to get you!¡±

    <hr>

    The morning passed, lunch came and went, and now she was following Makira trying her hardest to look like she¡¯d rather be anywhere but here.

    ¡°Don¡¯t make that face Isse, it doesn¡¯t suit you,¡± she said with a light chuckle. Not for the first time, Isse and Siidi desired to know the secret to her eternal happiness. She never ceased to smile, always had something funny to say and could probably make the dead laugh if she put some effort to it.

    ¡°I still don¡¯t trust that she won¡¯t be as bad as before.¡±

    She huffed and crossed her arms, looking like a little girl ready to throw a tantrum. Truth be told, since she¡¯d come to this world, Issekina had began to actually act a little more like a child. Especially after the third and last Trial, where she and Siidi had managed to ¡®become one¡¯, as Grandmother put it.

    She didn¡¯t know why. Truth be told, she hadn¡¯t even noticed. It came naturally. Siidi, on the other hand, could¡¯ve told her it was a collateral damage from the Trial, a scar, as Makira would put it, that came from the wound that had been her mind bleeding memories away, the only thing keeping it all together being that one memory from her childhood of her climbing a tree.

    And here she was, an adult and a child at the same time, the teen from that hospital and the girl on the tree. And, ever so slowly, the girl was trying to take the teen¡¯s place, to cover up the time lost with something happy. A basic coping mechanism: ignore the problem until you manage to stop caring. But never forget.

    They reached the clearing where Grandmother apparently spent all her time.

    Only, this time, it wasn¡¯t just a place filled with white spidersilk.

    No, instead, right in front of the overgrown arachne, stood a small table, carved out of white wood that reminded her of birch. A little tea set of two cups and a teapot, accompanied by a small plate of what looked like chocolate chip cookies.

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    ¡°Well little one, the time has come for me to leave you in the clutches of the evil Grandmother!¡±

    She turned towards the elder arachne and shouted: ¡°Please Mum, go easy on her or I will regret it!¡±

    Then she turned around and scuttled away.

    Grandmother looked distinctly unimpressed, but since that was her default expression Isse couldn¡¯t tell what was actually passing through her head.

    She slowly walked towards the old arachne and sat down on the ground on the other side of the table, in front of a tea cup. It was made to look like a tulip but, other than that, there were no decorations whatsoever. It was, obviously, as white as snow.

    ¡°You really like white, eh? You¡¯re probably a winter person as well.¡±

    Her tone was half joking, but the moment she mentioned the word ¡®winter¡¯ a smile appeared on Grandmother¡¯s face. Isse was so shocked she just stared at her.

    ¡°Yes. Winter is my favourite season.¡±

    For once, there was emotion in her tone. A kind of fondness she remembered hearing in her own grandma¡¯s voice back on earth when she talked about how she and her granpa met. Like she was remembering a long gone lover. Or a very old friend.

    She reached towards the teacup and asked: ¡°Do you like tea, little one?¡±

    Isse indeed liked tea. Black tea to be precise. With only one spoonful of sugar, but usually she just drank it without even that. She had standards, and her family had a big tradition for all teas. When other kids her age still ate milk and biscuits for breakfast, she knew how to distinguish a common black tea for a green from a chai and knew how to infuse a good blend.

    She¡¯d thought it normal, at the time, and had been very surprised when the other children in her class told her they either didn¡¯t like tea or outright didn¡¯t know about it.

    She also wasn¡¯t against coffee, but while she liked the taste of a cappuccino or an espresso, she¡¯d long ago found out that the caffeine did little to her.

    So she just nodded and let the old arachne pour her a cup of tea.

    ¡°You know, this alone is proof that you are a Wisher. I know for sure no one else in the camp teaches you kids about the fine things in life. Tea is so difficult to find, even in caravans. It is not produced here in Irevia, and not much of it is imported.¡±

    Isse looked inside her teacup and, after a moment, took it carefully in her hands, taking in the smell (No ¡®lifted-pinky-finger¡¯ idiocy, after all this wasn¡¯t the 19th century and there was no risk of using too much spice for a dish).

    It was quite strong, with no hints of delicacy whatsoever. A strong blend then. She sipped, making sure not to burn her tongue, ¡®less she be unable to actually taste what she drank, and let the drink stay in her mouth, swishing it around. Eventually, she gulped, and waited between a few beats. Finally, she smiled.

    Bitterness had greeted her the moment she¡¯d drank, and the aftertaste left behind a feeling of fibers and leaves. This was the good stuff.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know there was tea in this world.¡±

    There was no need for secrecy here: after all, Grandmother knew already.

    ¡°I was expecting there to only be strange and magical plants around, not something as mundane as this,¡± she continued.

    Grandmother nodded, sipping her own tea: ¡°Stories say that a wandering god came to this world when it was still being created and brought with him every single plant from every place he had visited as a gift to settle down here. Maybe one of the worlds was your own.¡±

    A small part of her that wasn¡¯t Siidi wanted to be surprised at the old arachne, at how she seemed unimpressed with the idea of other worlds, entire dimensions, but her more rational mind, with the help of a certain [Curator], reminded her that arachne as a whole had been created by Death himself and had been given knowledge normally reserved to the gods alone by her, so that wasn¡¯t impossible.

    ¡°Does it happen often? Wishers, I mean: do they appear often?¡± she asked.

    ¡°No. They are rare. The last two appeared¡­ over a thousand years ago. They always tend to change things radically when they do.¡±

    A thousand years. That¡­ was a lot. She thought about what had happened on earth in the last thousand years, from the two world wars, to the french revolutions, from the colonization race to the thirty years war to the crusades. So much had happened and changed.

    ¡°Were you there?¡±

    At that, Grandmother chuckled: ¡°I am old Issekina, but not that old. No, no, not that old at all.¡±

    Silence fell on them as they sipped tea. Isse had to agree with Makira, this wasn¡¯t unpleasant. It was actually relaxing, cathrtic even.

    ¡°Why do you call us Wishers?¡± she finally asked.

    ¡°Because you were granted a wish upon coming to this world. Anything you could desire, one thing, it was given to you. Death called it

    . A strange thing inserted by the gods when they made the System. And yes, before you ask, I spoke to Death. A very long time ago. I do not wish to do so again anytimes soon.¡±

    Isse didn¡¯t remember making a wish though. She¡­ didn¡¯t remember a whole lot about the moment she¡¯d died. Only a sensation of warmth and suffocation. And someone crying.

    Wait a moment, let me try something: [Recall Memory], said Siidi.

    The moment she uttered the Skill, she remembered: it wasn¡¯t a wish, or rather, she hadn¡¯t been aware she¡¯d been making it. They were just the last thoughts of a dying girl filled with regrets:

    I want another chance. One without disease, without the medicines. Just me and life.

    The System had heard. And it had granted her those two Skills: [Disease Immunity] and [Poison Immunity].

    Which raised the rather scary question of wether those doctors had been helping her with their cures or had been trying to actively kill her.

    Nah, it¡¯s probably just a positive interpretation of ¡®medicines¡¯. After all, in the right doses, even a medicine can poison you.

    Fair.

    They sat in silence some more.

    And then it was Grandmother¡¯s turn to ask a question: ¡°Tell me, Issekina Silksoul, do you know what Mana is?¡±

    And now the actual lesson begins, sighed Isse internally.

    ¡°It¡¯s the soul of the world, right?¡±

    The elder nodded: ¡°I see Siidi gave you an introduction.¡±

    The other half of her soul chuckled as Isse frowned. She¡¯d been hoping to surprise her.

    ¡°Indeed, Mana is the soul of the world. It is its blood and nerves. It gives life and is made of life. It can be used to save lives or take them. Watch.¡±

    Grandmother extended a hand towards a small sappling that had managed to grow out of the webs covering the ground. The elder splayed her finger wide, and immediately the little plant began to grow. Slowly, yes, but visibly. Green leaves sprouted from the trunk, extending, looking for sunlight to feed on as a few small flowers appeared.

    Then the old woman closed her hand in a tight fist, and immediately the plant began to become gray and wither away into nothingness.

    ¡°That is what Mana is capable of. Where there is much of it you will find life. Where there is none, life will begin to die.

    ¡°What I did with that sappling cannot be done to most living things: animals, humans, beastkin, they are much too complex and produce a lot more Mana than single tree, so this trick won¡¯t work.¡±

    Isse had heard most of that, but she was still staring open mouthed at where the sappling had been just moments ago.

    I like that plant, she thought to herself.

    No you didn¡¯t. Stop acting like a dumbass from the books you read.

    Hey!

    ¡°Mana can be harnessed, changed and reshaped. That is what [Mages] do.

    ¡°But they are limited in their art. They choose to bind themselves to ¡®schools¡¯ of magic, chain themselves down in an attempt to gain more Levels and power by focusing on single parts instead of observing the whole painting.

    ¡°But we are different: [Soul Mages] look at every aspect of magic, understanding it and shaping it to fit our souls. We change the world¡¯s soul to mirror our own. That is our power, what makes us different, what made us powerful and feared. We are elastic, we can change the world around us with the same ease we can change ourselves.¡±

    She smiled slightly, then added: ¡°And, of course, we have a penchant for harvesting and changing other people¡¯s souls, but that is something much too advanced for you little one.¡±

    Isse was, again, left speechless. No prize if you guess about which part.

    How could anyone just go and talk about ripping the soul out of someone¡¯s body so nonchalantly? It was wrong on so many levels!

    ¡°Now, I Looked at you when you arrived, and first, I want to congratulate you, Siidi. The Class you¡¯ve unlocked has great potential even for an old [Warrior] like you. As for you, Issekina, I see you have gained the Skill [Mana Sight]. Typical. It will allow you to see the flow of Mana around you. Try using it.¡±

    Isse could clearly feel Siidi¡¯s pride swelling at Grandmother¡¯s compliment and, in typical sisterly competition, she wanted some too.

    So she whispered the Skill.

    And the world around her was filled with color. Not a rainbow, no, it was all the same light blue, filling the clearing with a soft mist that encompassed everything, becoming a lot thicker around Grandmother. So thick, in fact, that she actually couldn¡¯t see the woman, except for her snow white hair.

    ¡°Do you see, dear? This is Mana. It¡¯s everywhere, but will concetrate around people and highly magical things, be they items or monsters.¡±

    Isse saw, and it was fascinating. Not beautiful, no, that title went to the Rainbowy Water that had tried to consume her memories and the clearing where the Aru the [Seamstress] worked.

    ¡°You have seen. Good. Now, I want you to deactivate the Skill and never again use it.¡±

    Isse did the first part, then stopped dead in her tracks at the second part.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    Grandmother looked down at her over her cup of tea, looking for all the world like a disapproving aunt.

    ¡°Skills are crutches little one. They help you and make your life easier. They reduce the challenges of life, making it more difficult to Level. They are a reward and a chain to keep us down.

    ¡°[Mana Sight] is a useful Skill that most [Mages] get only after they surpass Level 20 or even 30, but what most people don¡¯t remember is that it can be learned and, most important of all, personalized.

    ¡°Spells, as I said, are the way we change and reshape Mana, and [Souls Mages] can do that as easily as they can change themselves. But the first step to changing oneself is understand each and every one of your facet, every quality and, especially, defect. What we understand of ourselves is reflected in the way we see Mana in the world. The Skill, in the way it is given by the System, cannot do such a thing. That is why you will not use it.

    ¡°Now, [Let Me Show You] how it should be.¡±

    Grandmother pointed a finger at her.

    And suddenly the world around her was filled with strings and snowflakes.

    Where before she had seen a uniform azure fog, now she saw a tapestry of impossible complexity filled with snoflakes that were seamlessly sewn into it. No matter where she looked, she saw patterns that hurt her brain a little and made her eyes burn and fill with tears, meanings hidden in plain sight upon every tree, every color of the world, every air current and rustling of leaves, every step of a Mimehound and every breath taken by each arachne in this forest.

    There was meaning to it all, connections, everything was one in its diversity and uniqueness, like snowflakes tied together like a christmas garland.

    Then it was back to normal.

    ¡°This is how I see the world little one. This is how I see Mana. This is not how you should see it, naturally. It is only an example.¡±

    Isse stared up at Grandmother.

    Then, very deliberately, sipped her tea.

    She had a lot to learn, and she wasn¡¯t going to do that with a parched throat.

    <hr>

    They spent the next ninety minutes exercising as Isse tried to understand how to change the way she saw the world, trying to, as Grandmother put it, ¡°impose her will upon the world¡±. She did not succeed, but the elder had told her it wasn¡¯t supposed to be easy. It would take time, and at the moment they had a lot of that.

    ¡°Oh, and by the way, Issekina, when you leave, do tell Makira that I was, as she so kindly put it, a bitch. Aru does so love it when she is asked to create something to make someone look silly. And she smiles so rarely these days.¡±

    Isse stopped for a moment, then chuckled and nodded in agreement. She didn¡¯t even ask how Grandmother had overheard that conversation: after seeing what she could do with such a simple thing as Mana Sight, she wouldn¡¯t be surprised if she told her she could create a portal to bring her back home.

    So it was that, when she left the clearing and met Makira, with her most serious expression and grumpiest tone, she told her these simple words: ¡°Call Aru, you¡¯re getting dressed up.¡±

    The next day, everyone got a good laugh out of her new outfit. Which she refused to take off for an entire week afterwards.

 Chapter 22: Even More Magic

    When I say the word magic, what comes to mind? Well, probably students wearing fancy uniforms in a strange school where you have more chances to die when going to the toilet than you have to be knifed in a place called ¡®Stabsville¡¯. You probably see a man wearing thick rimmed glasses angrily shouting words in strange half-forgotten languages before launching a fireball at an enemy army, destroying it in a single strike.

    You¡¯ll see a student nearly exploding while trying to cast a spell and failing miserably, or meditating to clear their mind before attempting said spell again.

    And you wouldn¡¯t be wrong. At least on that last part.

    Magic, intrinsically, is a process of trial and error where a mistake could actually cost you your life. Or a limb. Or an eye. Magic could be called a science, even if saying something like this to an actual scientist would cause him/her to try to toss you out of their laboratory. Through the window, if possible.

    But the fact remains, magic is the science that studies the deeper aspects of nature and how to manipulate them. Now, the fact that said manipulation allowed people to break more or less any and all laws of physics if you put just a little effort is something we all choose to ignore.

    To put it simply, Isse had some difficulty adapting to the concept of magic, unsurprisingly. She¡¯d spent her entire life living in a world where such things were only phantasies you¡¯d read about in books and see in films, and even now, having witnessed magic, hell, having cast the spell given to her (and very nearly nailing one of the [Carers] to a tree), she found it hard to believe that she, of all people, could use it. Because, deep down, in a place where Siidi had long since stopped going to try and fight the beasts hidden there, she felt like she wasn¡¯t special enough to be given such power.

    Grandmother, naturally, dismissed these thoughts, saying that she had the knack for it, she¡¯d just need time. And Makira had fallen to the ground laughing when she¡¯d talked to her about her fears.

    So here she was, in Grandmother¡¯s clearing, a few meters away from the tea table (Isse still wondered where the elder hid the damn thing when she wasn¡¯t here for lessons. She didn¡¯t seem to have a bag of holding), all her legs crossed under her, meditating.

    Grandmother had explained to her that it was all a matter of perspective and changing it: the Mana she so needed to learn to see was like a veil covering the world. All she had to do was learn to shift the way she looked at the world and, afterwards, impose her will upon what she saw. Isse imagined it was like looking at one of those ink splatters psychologists used and seeing in them something only she could see.

    Or like looking at two faces looking at each other, but at the same time seeing a chalice.

    In theory, it was simple. In practice, she was so bored out of her skull she¡¯d rather listen to a lecture from their [Teacher] about the properties of silver. But this was the only known and reliable way to achieve what she needed, and she¡¯d do this and more if it meant she would get, one day, to throw [Fireballs] around for fun.

    ¡°Do you know, Issekina, why [Mages] like fire magic so in this era?¡± asked Grandmother.

    Isse opened her eyes, slightly annoyed she¡¯d been interrupted but also grateful for the distraction. She¡¯d discovered that the old arachne had some quite interesting stories to tell. In the end, she had to admit, Makira had been right: this wasn¡¯t so bad. This wasn¡¯t the psychological torture she¡¯d expected.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    Grandmother opened her hand, palm up, and a small ball of fire, green in color, like the old fox fires from the stories of her world, knitted itself into existence.

    ¡°Because it was the only magic that could hurt us.

    ¡°Fire Magic is complex to cast, for fire is freer than most and doesn¡¯t like being¡­ stiffled into a form. It is unstable, wild, vindicative and ungrateful. It will bite the hand that feeds it, and then keep eating. Always hungry for more. We arachne, we burn well, they discovered. Our bodies are covered in pale oils, that our webs may not bind us. And the magic of flames is much too complex for us to unravel fast.

    ¡°Oh, there were some of us, the greatest, who could turn a [Devil¡¯s Playground] Spell into many harmless [Sparks], but there weren¡¯t enough, and the enemies had Gods and Laws on their side.

    ¡°So, as a matter of safety, I would advise against you learning fire spells. Not now. Your dreams of [Fireballs] shall wait.¡±

    Isse gaped at Grandmother. How the hell did she know?

    ¡°Stop making that face, young one. Each and every one of the [Mages] I met and trained desired to know the spell. In my opinion, it is not worth it. Everyone expects the giant ball of fire.¡±

    She closed her hand, snuffing the fox fire out, and motioned for her to go back to meditating. The pause had come to an end.

    As stated beforehand, it was boring. She was a child, after all, and to that add the time she¡¯d spent bedbound, plus the fact that she¡¯d always been¡­ quite active, back on earth. She liked to move, play, dance, fight with other kids and now that her body allowed her to do all these things again she found it nearly impossible to just stay still for so long.

    Yet her desire for magic was even greater, so she sat still and tried to concentrate.

    Problem was, she didn¡¯t know for sure how to do that. Sure, she had been told, in words, what needed to be done, but what was the best way to achieve it? The fastest road.

    Here was her mistake though. The mistake any and all [Mages] worth their salt and hat would talk about: magic wasn¡¯t fast. It wasn¡¯t some kind of esothermic chemical reaction that happened fast and spontaneously. Quite the opposite actually. Just because magic existed and allowed someone to change the world, that didn¡¯t mean said world wanted you to change it. The consent here was debatable at best.

    It was all about taking things nice and slow, cutting apart sliver by sliver a hole in the fabric of reality big enough to see what was hidden in plain sight, yet not big enough for you to fall inside. The gods weren¡¯t friendly towards those who did that.

    So here Isse was, sitting and sharpening her scalpel, her own mind, yet doing so clumsily, because she didn¡¯t have enough patience.

    Grandmother, unseen, smiled. Both because it reminded her of how she started, and because she was a sadist who really liked watching people struggle.

    She watched silently, Observing the little one and her progress, knowing full well that her stubborness alone would be enough for her to reach her goal in the end, just later rather than sooner.

    In the end, she called an end to the lesson and told Isse to go play with her sisters.

    They had time.

    <hr>

    This went on for another three more days. Three very long, very frustrating, days.

    Sure, the sessions with Grandmother lasted no more than two hours, or at least that¡¯s what Siidi told her, but time dilated whenever she was there meditating.

    She wanted to see some actual progress, yet all she did was sit and stare at the darkness of her closed eyes, not a ray of light managing to penetrate through due to the webs hanging over her.

    And the worst part was, apparently, she was doing nothing wrong. Grandmother didn¡¯t tell her off, or say she had to change the way she was doing it. She just quirked her lips in the approximation of a smile and told her to come back the next day at the same hour.

    They¡¯d have tea, maybe biscuits, then she¡¯d sit down and stay put, trying to change her perspective and impose her will upon reality.

    It was so¡­ so¡­ ARGH!

    She finally snapped on that third day, after a week and a half of this. It was a Drenei, which Siidi confirmed as being the same as Earth¡¯s Thursday. Well, the day itself didn¡¯t matter so much as what she did: after an hour of sitting with her eyes closed, the slow burning anger that had been there for days finally boiled over.

    She snapped her eyes open and screamed at the sky, spouting insults in english. Not Irevian, which confused Grandmother, who heard only strange angry gibberish.

    As expected,  she thought to herself.

    The way arachne did magic, no, the way magic should be done, was leagues more complex than what [Mages] did nowadays. They brute forced their way to power, which made the whole process faster, sure, but turned the spells themselves less powerful. A good trade-off, one would say, but that was why the arachne had been their bane during the Era of Hunts.

    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    Grandmother watched Isse shout insults at the web covering the sky, and imagined the God of the Skies himself hearing them all and grimacing. Or being just as confused as her, seeing how she doubted that deity knew languages from another world. Now, if it was the Old Man by the Stars, she was certain he would understand something and have a laugh.

    After an entire three minutes of stomping and shouting, Isse finally calmed down.

    ¡°This is not helping. It¡¯s useless!¡±

    ¡°So you say,¡± she nodded neutrally, neither agreeing nor denying.

    ¡°What am I doing wrong?¡±

    ¡°Nothing.¡±

    That was, perhaps, the wrong answer to give, since the girl became red as a tomato from anger again, yet it was the completel truth.

    ¡°Then why am I not progressing?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    And that stumped her.

    ¡°Magic, as I said, is the imposition of one¡¯s will upon the world. How could I possibly know the way you do that? I am not, despite what you believe, inside your head. I cannot command you to see the world in my way. That would destroy your ability to progress.¡±

    Her tone as she explained that was, as always, monotone. Like hearing a bored and tired teacher in the afternoon trying to explain something complex and equally boring to an extremely unresponsive class. No inflection, nothing. Just words.

    That¡­ calmed her down. Just a bit.

    But it still didn¡¯t answer her question: how could she impose her will upon reality? How did she even begin to see reality as it was supposed to?

    Maybe we¡¯re looking at this the wrong way, proposed Siidi.

    Probably, since we haven¡¯t advanced, she grumbled.

    ¡­ Let¡¯s try something different. Try using your Skill again. [Mana Sight]. Maybe we can try to understand the feeling from there.

    Grandmother told us not to.

    Grandmother is also not being very helpful. What¡¯s the worst that could happen?

    And at those words, the world laughed. Because everything and anything could happen. It was all a matter of what would be more satisfying!

    Still, Siidi, always the little devil on her shoulder, was speaking sense.

    So she whispered those words: [Mana Sight].

    And the world was engulfed by fog.

    What now? she asked

    What did it feel like?

    Like nothing. One moment it wasn¡¯t there, the next it was.

    Damn. Too fast.

    Still, she didn¡¯t dismiss the Skill. She instead sat down and stared at the fog. It was a formless and non-uniform mass that just¡­ existed. Still as a rock, unchanging as far as she could see. Completely unlike the beautiful web of snowflakes Grandmother had shown her.

    Yet this was, she supposed the way Mana existed in its base form: the way the world itself imagine its own soul. She could understand that. After all, Grandmother had told her once that the world itself disliked being changed by magic, even if it allowed us to do so. So it made sense that it would see its own soul as something so stable and all-encompassing.

    She stared and stared, trying to make sense of it.

    Try changing it from here, suggested Siidi.

    What?

    Try putting your idea of how Mana should be while watching it like this. Maybe with a basic reference you could get it.

    And here is where Isse was stumped.

    Because, of all the things she¡¯d thought about, she¡¯d never actually thought about what her Mana Sight should look like.

    Of for the Stars¡¯ sake, you¡¯re fucking kidding, right?

    I thought it would come naturally! I¡¯d just have to concentrate real hard and everything would go in place!

    This is not one of your world¡¯s fucking fantasy stories! Shit here won¡¯t just ¡®magically¡¯ happen because you¡¯re you! When you do something at least think about the possible outcomes. For fuck¡¯s sake, we lost an entire week of our life.

    Isse¡¯s face changed color, back to her tomato red.

    ¡°Well, I believe for today we may end our lesson, Issekina.¡±

    ¡°But we¡¯ve been here for only an hour.¡±

    ¡°I feel you will not progress more today. Take some time to rest and think about things.¡±

    She made a shooing motion with her hand.

    When Isse finally skittered out of the clearing, she smiled.

    Took her long enough. They all make the same mistake.

    <hr>

    Isse didn¡¯t think about where she was going. She just walked, like she¡¯d done so many times when leaving Grandmother¡¯s clearing. Usually a [Carer] would appear at some point and get her back to her other sisters, and if it wasn¡¯t one of them it was just another arachne.

    This time, though, she found no eight-legged woman waiting for her behind a trunk. No, the woods seemed deserted. How strange.

    She realized only ten minutes in that she was lost.

    We should really learn the trails around here, commented Siidi.

    Agreed. This is getting old.

    She took a deep breath, ready to shout for help, when she ended up face first in a web. Nothing new there, after all she lived with a group of big ass spiders, you got used to it. No, what surprised her was that the web actually stuck to her instead of sliding over her face and hair, leaving behind only a phantom of discomfort.

    What the fuck? she hissed in her head.

    ¡°Oh, little running one! You found me again! And you didn¡¯t run into my webs!¡±

    A voice came from her left. She turned around, and saw the kind [Seamstress] who¡¯d crafted for her the beautiful dress she was still wearing.

    ¡°And I see you¡¯re still wearing my creation! Although¡­ [Take Measures]. Hmmm¡­ you¡¯ve grown a bit around the waist. Very good, very good! You have to grow big and strong to help your sisters! Here, give me the dress, I¡¯ll adjust it for you.¡±

    Without even receiving an answer, Aru hugged her tight, then proceeded to slide the dress from her upper half, leaving her only in a little white spidersilk shirt that acted as her underwear.

    ¡°Oh, I missed you little one. The small ones don¡¯t come often to me, not when they¡¯re still small, and you grow up so fast.¡±

    ¡°You could come visit us then,¡± proposed Isse.

    Aru stopped in her tracks, turning to look at her, an appraising look on her face.

    ¡°Ah, so you can speak now little one. Excellent! What is your name? My name is Arunielle, but everyone calls me Aru.¡±

    ¡°Issekina, but call me Isse.¡±

    ¡°Delighted!¡±

    Then she went back to work, needle and string in her hands, moving at such a speed that sometimes it felt like she left behind afterimages.

    ¡°You know, I¡¯ve been working recently on making something else for you. Grandmother¡¯s order. A little dress worthy of a Clan Leader of old.¡±

    Isse¡¯s eyebrows shot into her hairline as she heard that.

    ¡°Sure, I had to stop to make Maki that silly rabbit dress. Very fluffy. Hadn¡¯t laughed like that in a lifetime, but it¡¯s coming together!¡±

    ¡°Can I see it?¡±

    ¡°Nope! It¡¯s gonna be a surprise!¡±

    She handed over the dress. It looked exactly the same as before, but when she put it over her head she felt the snugness that had been there at the waist was now gone.

    ¡°It¡¯s perfect, thank you!¡±

    ¡°My pleasure, little one. If you want to stay for a while and look around do so. I think the other kids won¡¯t mind the reigning champion of Queen of the Tree¡¯s absence.¡±

    ¡°I keep winning just because I can keep my word and make alliances.¡±

    Aru laughed, putting down her needle.

    ¡°You¡¯re right, Issekina, you win because you can make alliances. Because you think like an adult does. But Queen of the Tree is just a game. You should treat it as such.¡±

    They stayed in silence for a while after that, with Aru going back to work on some other clothes while Isse looked at the artwork she¡¯d turned her clearing into. It was as beautiful as she rememebered, the colors as bright and clashing and perfect as last time. Now that she looked at it closely, she noticed more details sewn into what were probably hundreds of meters of fabric: little spiders here and there, mosquitoes and other insects all around, a small family of rabbits down by the tree roots. The wolf was gone!

    It was like looking at the worl¡¯d biggest painting, and it was mesmerizing.

    How I wish the whole world could be this beautiful.

    And that¡¯s when she realized what she wanted her Mana Sight to look like. Something beautiful, everchanging and unique. Just like this clearing.

    ¡°Aru, you are a genius.¡±

    The adult turned slightly, a small smile on her face.

    ¡°I know."

    ---------------

    <hr>

    The next day she walked back into Grandmother¡¯s clearing, ready to finally pass this obstacle. The elder was, as always, sitting on one side of their tea table, a cup in front of her, saucer of biscuits right in the middle, flanked by the teapot.

    She smiled slightly when she saw her arrive.

    ¡°I would like to propose we leave the tea for later. Do you agree, Issekina?¡±

    The little arachne looked up with an expression of triumph and certainty.

    ¡°You knew this whole time, didn¡¯t you, you old hag?¡±

    Grandmother nodded: ¡°You were making the mistakes we all made when we began. It was right for you to make them. If you didn¡¯t realize on your own, you would never Level.¡±

    Isse couldn¡¯t help it: she chuckled. Then began laughing, a full belly laugh.

    Old geezer is as calculating as a [General] of old, said Siidi with a smile in her tone.

    ¡°Now, sit, little one, and show me what your soul truly looks like.¡±

    She did.

    She sat down with a certainty she hadn¡¯t felt in a long time, and looked at the clearing around her. She didn¡¯t close her eyes, because it was stupid. If she wanted the world to be the way she desired it to be, she first had to see it as it was. After all, how could a seamstress sew together a dress without looking at it?

    She watched, and willed herself to see the world around her not as a clearing filled with white webs from top to bottom, the only form of decorations the small table and Grandmother. No, she looked at it like she had looked at the grand tapestry made by Aru. She looked and saw not webs, but silk. She observed, and there was no Grandmother, but a far-too-big doll of cotton and silk, elaborate beyond imagination.

    There was no table there, just an image on a grand tapestry, sewn in and ready to be unsewn out of existence at a moment¡¯s notice by simply pulling at the thread.

    The clearing was big but simple, and she reduced it to something even simpler. Perhaps that was why Grandmother had made it so. To simplify the process.

    She looked at it all.

    And, finally, she Saw.

    She Saw a great web of colorful strings connecting everything and everything, every color a different, new, meaning, something she and she alone could understand. Something to discover at its fullest. A string dark as night connected her to Grandmother, fighting a war against the white creeping out from her, while another one, red as love, went into the woods.

    She Saw a string disappear between here eyes, no, two strings, wound together tightly, one a simple brown, the other purplish. Her and Siidi, together in body and soul, bound.

    She Saw.

    And her nose bled.

    ¡°Careful now, little one. This is enough for today.¡±

    She moved, a small tissue of spidersilk in her hands, stopping up her nose in an attempt to stop the flow. She whispered the words [Minor Heal], and suddenly she didn¡¯t feel the wetness in her nose anymore.

    ¡°You¡¯ve done well, Issekina,¡± she composed herself again, ¡°Here, have some tea. This herbal mix is quite mild and sweet, perfect for now. Do not strain yourself, and be careful with your Mana Sight. Do not exagerate.¡±

    That night, when she closed her eyes to sleep, she heard the voice confirm her progress.

    [Soul Mage Level 6!]

    [Conditions Met: Skill - Mana Sight -> Mana Sight: Personalized]

    [Skill ¨C Mana Sight: Personalized Obtained!]

    [Skill ¨C Magic School: Thread Obtained!]

 Interlude: How the End Began

    Night fell upon the world, shrouding Irevia in warm, comfortable, darkness, and Aknos in cold winds that could break rocks and tear skin from bone.

    The other two continents, Eva, hugging Rodar, were instead greeted by warm rays of light that hugged faces from windows and caused many a young soldiers and workers to curse the beginning of a new day. On Rodar approximately seventy seven percent of the population began its day by stabbing their toes against something. Of these, only seven percent had taken precautions for such scenarios, wrapping something soft around most corners in their rooms. Their pain was much reduced.

    And so, while some people shouted and cursed or simply woke, others put their heads on comfortable pillows (at least, those lucky enough to have beds to sleep in and a roof over their heads), from night duty soldiers to arachne who¡¯d had a satisfying, if extremely tiring, day. Taking care of the spiderlings was a full time job with no space for things like ¡®distractions¡¯. A distraction meant you didn¡¯t notice the little ones playing ¡®hang the arachne¡¯, which could be quite disastrous.

    Still, that didn¡¯t mean they didn¡¯t have a life, that they didn¡¯t spend some time on themselves. Oh no, they always managed to cut themselves an hour or two to spend together, to have fun, drink, dance, sing and play. Or just to stay together. To love.

    That evening didn¡¯t seem too different from usual. The [Carers] and day-duty [Warriors] and [Fighters] met in one of the biggest clearings of the forest of Tusca. The stars shone in the sky, watching and judging, while the moon simply floated, waning out of existence. During its last waxing days it had formed something like an eye on one of its sides, so now everyone felt like they were being watched. It was disquieting, and people couldn¡¯t wait for the next waxing that would wash away that scary image.

    The arachne, though, didn¡¯t care.

    They sat or walked or hung from the trees like oversized bats and, generally, had a good time. One of their [Mages] had filled the clearing with [Fox Fire] Spells, which produced heat and light but no smoke, and didn¡¯t actually burn down the whole forest. She was quite sad they weren¡¯t allowed to use actual fires, she would¡¯ve so loved to try some smoke spells. They could be so beautiful!

    A few older arachne, the highest Level in the clearing, were having fun near the center of the clearing, a small table with six dice at the center.

    ¡°Iadara, you¡¯re losing pretty hard tonight. If you keep going like this you¡¯re going to have to part from your beloved bottles!¡±

    That was Makira, who had Luck on her side this evening. She¡¯d been winning hand after hand at ¡®Bone Loom¡¯, a game of dice as old as their race that required people to make specific combinations of numbers to ¡®build their loom¡¯, creating images with the pips on the six sides. It was fun, and you had to have an eye for art if you wanted to win. As you can very well imagine, the game required a lot of dice, but when it had been created there had been no lack of bones to craft the little cubes.

    Normally, Aru was the one who won all the time, but this evening even she was having trouble making something good with her shitty throws.

    ¡°Shut up! I will not give up my treasures to you heathens! You cannot even distinguish a red from a white from a vodka! Hell, you once thought I was drinking water instead of vodka and knocked yourself out!¡±

    ¡°That was one time! And now I don¡¯t trust anything you drink.¡±

    ¡°Hmpf¡­ as I said, heathens!¡±

    They kept playing, and Iadara kept losing.

    In the end, Aru managed to make a landscape with her dice throws, while Makira created a face. Meanwhile, Iadara just threw the absurd number of dice she had into a nearby bag and declared she surrendered, giving the [Chatterbox] a bottle of white wine. Not her finest, naturally, but it was still a great loss for the ex-[Alcoholist].

    ¡°Fancy another game?¡±

    Iadara grumbled under her breath, then nodded, placing a bottle of something that passed for whisky on the table: ¡°If I¡¯m getting a [Gambler] Class because of you I¡¯m going to kill you.¡±

    Makira laughed, then tapped a finely decorated sword that had been standing beside the table since the beginning of the evening. Aru instead placed a piece of paper with the words ¡®One dress design¡¯ written on it.

    ¡°Mind if I join you?¡± asked a fourth voice.

    An arachne with her fur colored like a rainbow and her hair as pink as a pig drawn by a child sat down opposite from Makira in the only free spot of the table.

    ¡°Absolutely! Need some dice Pochi?¡±

    Pochartis Silksoul, better known as Pochi to her sisters, couldn¡¯t be called the black sheep of the clan only because that was not a color on her body. Jokes apart, she was actually well liked by all her sisters. They just really didn¡¯t see a reason for her to color her fur and hair the way she did. There was simply no tactical advantage to it.

    ¡°NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT!¡± shouted Iadara, ¡°I am not playing against her. She always wins, and uses Skills!¡±

    ¡°There are no rules against using Skills in the game. Airm, it¡¯s actually endorsed! Not my fault none of you are [Strategists],¡± she crossed her arms and puffed her cheeks in fake offense, lasting a whole three seconds before she burst out laughing.

    ¡°Come on Iada-¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t call me Iada!¡± she interrupted Makira.

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    ¡°Alright, alright! Anyways, what¡¯s the worst that can happen? You lose a bottle of homemade alcohol, not even your finest. If anything, I should be the one who withdraws. This sword is good quality!¡±

    The [Sommelier of Poisons] grumbled under her breath, then sighed and tapped her bottle again, agreeing to join the game.

    ¡°And as for you, Pochi, don¡¯t go too nuts with your Skills.¡±

    ¡°Alriiiiiiiight,¡± she drawled.

    Pochartis was a [Strategist of Games], probably over Level 30. There were stories going around the clan about how she managed to get to such a high Level in a war Class, stories that ranged from some kind of special training with Grandmother to her somehow managing to disguise herself as a human and becoming one of their [Strategists] for a while. Nobody knew which story was true, but they all knew that, at some point, the girl had disappeared, only to come back as she was today.

    ¡°So, what are you betting, little rainbow?¡± asked Aru with a small smile. Of them all, she liked Pochi the most.

    ¡°Hmmm¡­ I¡¯m betting my favorite set of crystal dice,¡± she placed on the table a small satchel filled with six sided dice, all cut from gems of all the colors of the rainbow. You could say many things about Pochi, but you could not say she wasn¡¯t thematic.

    ¡°The game is on!¡± declared Makira.

    And they began playing.

    This time, Luck decided to abstain from choosing a favorite and instead just observed the game as it progressed, sometimes twitching a finger to make a roll come out as a combination instead of a ¡®skipped slot¡¯. And, after a few minutes, she just left and went to change things up somewhere else. She had changed in the years, she was a lot less powerful, but she was still there, sometimes.

    Meanwhile, the arachne played and joked and cursed and, in general, had a lot of fun.

    Until someone else walked up. She was a much younger arachne than the players, muscled from head to toe, even her spider paws seemed thicker than most. She wore a serious expression on her face, light brown hair framing it all.

    ¡°Makira. Arunielle. Iadara, Pochartis,¡± she greeted the arachne one by one.

    Makira looked up from her ¡®stairway to Larnos¡¯, a combination that went from one to six, not to be confused with the ¡®descent to Airm¡¯, which went from six to one, and, as always, smiled.

    ¡°Why hello Desina! How are you doing? Been a while since you came here. I¡¯m sorry, you can¡¯t join us now, but what about the next game?¡±

    Desina shook her head: ¡°No thank you, I am only here to talk.¡±

    ¡°Then talk away!¡± Makira motioned her to come closer, patting the ground nearby to make her sit down. Desina didn¡¯t move from where she stood.

    ¡°There are lots of humans around the forest recently. Even deep inside. Just two weeks ago a family lost their daughter around here. These last few days we¡¯ve counted four different hunting and adventuring parties looking for Rainbow Imitators.¡±

    ¡°So? Let them be. The forest is large enough for them to play their little games and for us to stay hidden.¡±

    ¡°Not for long. They¡¯re getting bolder, going deeper to hunt bigger prey, and meanwhile the animals are escaping towards our zones. If they keep going they¡¯ll start finding us!¡±

    ¡°Then, when they do, we¡¯ll kill them,¡± that was Iadara. Her voice was cold steel, strong, unyielding, and ready to cut someone apart. Or rather, poison them out of their bodies. Once upon a time she¡¯d developed a special poison capable of opening any old wound taken from someone. Cuts that had long since become just white signs on someone¡¯s body would open up, broken bones would fall apart, and after enough time the people began to literally fall apart, becoming masses of flesh. It was so bad that she¡¯d been forbidden from ever using it. Still, she kept a single vial tucked away, just for emergencies. Or for a very rainy day.

    ¡°But why wait? We could easily overpower them all! Capture them, kill the women, breed with the men, and increase our numbers! There¡¯s enough [Warriors] to capture an entire town in this forest. We cou-¡±

    A sound like a rope snapping resounded all around the clearing. Everybody turned towards the table, curious about where it had come from. All they saw was a shocked Desina with her head turned ninety degrees to the left and Makira now standing near her with a forced smile that did nothing to hide the frown and anger in her eyes.

    Everyone immediately went back to what they were doing before.

    Meanwhile, the older arachne all stared at their younger counterpart.

    ¡°This time alone, I will forget you just proposed that,¡± said Makira, an edge to her voice.

    ¡°For once, I agree with this madspider,¡± added Iadara as she moved her combinations around to see what she could form.

    Aru just sighed, while Pochi shook her head.

    ¡°W-Why? We could¡­¡±

    ¡°Because they would find out,¡± Makira didn¡¯t let her finish her sentence.

    ¡°So what? Let them! We¡¯d slaughter them all!¡±

    ¡°And they would call upon the College of Memoirs, bring their Laws, and slaughter us with iron and fire.¡±

    ¡°We could win!¡±

    ¡°Maybe, but how many would die? A few? A dozen? A hundred? All of us? It¡¯s too risky. Too much. No, better to wait, let them forget about us, and then rise.¡±

    Desina was shivering in anger: ¡°We¡¯re better than them! Their Hunters are gone, died to the last. They¡¯ve forgotten our magic and how to stop it. They have only their fire! We could beat them without losing even a single one of us, even with their Law!¡±

    ¡°No, we couldn¡¯t,¡± was all Makira said, before sitting back down and placing her ¡®stairway¡¯ somewhere in her drawing.

    ¡°How can you say that?!¡±

    ¡°I can say it because I thought exactly like you, and I saw the result of our failure. Now go, Desina, before I decide you have no right to call yourself one of our sisters.¡±

    Silence fell completely on the clearing, as heavy as a rock. Every single arachne turned to the table at the center of the clearing, watching Makira and Desina. Those had been some heavy words, but most of those present here knew the [Chatterbox]¡¯s story, what had happened to her previous clan, what she¡¯d gone through because of her and others¡¯ mistakes.

    Desina knew the story too.

    But, unlike the others, she was young. And, like with all young people, there was one thought forefront to her mind: this time it will be different.

    Poor, little, Desina, who had yet to find a satisfying answer to the oldest question ever asked to the arachne. She was so young. So full of hope and desire to change things. She had yet to learn one of the worst lessons of this world: history is a circle. Sooner or later, it all loops back to the starting point and repeats.

    She ran out of the clearing, determined to show her older sisters that they were wrong.

 Chapter 23: The Illusion of Living

    If you could learn to cast any kind of magic, what would you choose? Fire Magic? Water? Light? Earth? Flesh? Blood? Death?

    The choices are limited, but the applications and the angles from which to look at them are limitless. Once upon a time, for example, there was a musician who used light magic and illusions to create her instruments with the snap of her fingers. In another story, an earth [Mage] created an entire kingdom by remodeling the ground around him.

    There are tales of [Necromancers] who also knew the arts of flesh and blood who could cure any disease, and start the worst wars in the remembered history of the world.

    To put it simply, magic isn¡¯t just the school you choose to learn, it¡¯s what you envision it to be. No, envision is the wrong word: desire. Now that, that is the right way to put it. Magic is Desire and the will to make it all come true.

    So, of all the things Issekina could learn, of all the schools of magic, which one do you think Grandmother was going to teach her?

    ¡°Illusion Magic.¡±

    Isse batted her eyes in surprise.

    ¡°... Ok. But, aren¡¯t illusions, like, tricks of the mind? Useful in a pinch, but if you¡¯re too close someone is bound to notice.¡±

    And you can¡¯t even fight with them, helpfully added Siidi.

    One of the corners of Grandmother¡¯s mouth lifted ever so slightly to form a smile.

    ¡°You used the right words, Issekina. Tricks of the Mind. You could say that illusion is the Magic of the Mind. And, most important of all, how to trick it, to make it believe things that aren¡¯t there. But Illusion Magic is trickier than that, because some minds are stronger than others and will notice immediately if you¡¯re playing tricks. So, one must learn how to enter a mind to discover its secrets, to understand how to best bend it into believing what you want. That¡¯s the main gimmick, one of the great mistakes modern [Mages] make.

    ¡°For example, take the [Appraisal] Spell. It allows you to read the Class, Levels and Skills of a person. A very powerful spell for information gathering, that is for sure, but quite easy to ward against.

    ¡°Most modern [Mages] consider it some sort of Miscellaneous Spell, one of those that doesn¡¯t fit in any specific school of magic, like [Detect Truth] and [Detect Lie] and all the likes. They don¡¯t dig deep enough, see only as far as the school of magic¡¯s name. For example, fire magic isn¡¯t all about creating [Fireballs] and [Fire Walls] and the likes. It¡¯s also about controlling heat and, if applied correctly, can be used to create rudimentary illusions. Same for water and ice magic. The two schools are connected, they are one and the same, yet modern [Mages] divide them in two and never think about learning both, or working in pairs.

    ¡°These are just some basic examples, even stupid, you could say, but that is the truth of things.¡±

    She stopped, staring down at Isse, her eyes asking her if she understood what had been explained. The spiderling nodded over her cup of tea.

    ¡°Good. Now, you have learned how to see Mana, but you¡¯re yet to understand how to bend it to your will. Pull the threads, as your Magic School says.¡±

    Isse nodded, then had a doubt: ¡°You talked about the many schools of magic, but what exactly is Thread Magic?¡±

    This time, Grandmother smiled. It was a truly disquieting sight, her white lips bending upwards, revealing a row of pearly white teeth, all perfectly aligned and perfectly clean, as if she¡¯d never used them to eat anything in all her life while still obsessively brushing them every day.

    ¡°Thread Magic is common to us arachne, because we tend to see mana in the form of threads and connections, weaving them together. That is why we get [Thread Magic] as a school and Skill. It makes something that would otherwise be extremely complex easier.

    ¡°Now, I would like to teach you a spell such as [Appraisal] or [Detect Truth], but I was told that starting with such complex things is not advised for beginners. So, instead, for now I shall teach you a very basic [Minor Illusion] Spell.

    ¡°[Let Me Show You].¡±

    She opened the palm of her hand, just as she¡¯d done the last time when she¡¯d cast that fire spell that looked like a fox fire. But instead, this time, a small, fuzzy, ball appeared in her hand.

    A moment later it began moving, unfurling, and Isse saw it was a mini arachne. The smaller version of her sister looked around, then began crawling up Grandmother¡¯s arm and down towards the ground. The movements were there, even the appearance, but if you looked close enough you could see that the face was completely expressionless. After it touched the ground, skittering away from Grandmother, the face disappeared and, bit by bit, the rest of the body followed. Five meters away there was nothing left of it.

    ¡°You looked at it wrong Issekina. Observe not the result, but the weaving. Let¡¯s try again: [Let Me Show You].¡±

    This time Isse looked at the elder and changed her perspective.

    [Mana Sight - Personalized].

    And the world turned into a mass of interwoven threads of innumerable colors, beautiful beyond comprehension, and very much giving her a headache. It would be impossible for most people to distinguish anything, even in the white clearing that, she knew, had been ¡®built¡¯ the way it was exactly for the purpose of teaching magic to arachne.

    Isse had, on her first try, witnessed a small part of this whole, and that had caused her to begin bleeding from the nose from the sheer amount of connections and information. Since getting her Skill, she¡¯d tried using it again, the operation getting progressively easy on her mind and body, but she still couldn¡¯t quite look at it all without beginning to feel sick.

    She had also noticed another strange detail: there were three threads bound to her other than the ones she had with her arachne friends, Makira, Aru and Grandmother. Three little threads that disappeared into the canopies of the trees. One was a light yellow and seemed to not be quite there, like a dream. The second was bright red, as if it had been steeped in blood. The third¡­ she wasn¡¯t sure. Sometimes it was there, other times¡­ not so much. Uncertain, as if it was trying with all of its strength not to be seen. It was strange to say the least.

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    Those threads were there even now. Even the dark one. No, actually, it was more present than usual here for some reason.

    Still, she didn¡¯t look at them long. Instead, she looked at Grandmother.

    The moment she did, the impossible amount of threads thinned out, giving her more space to look at what the elder was doing. And then they changed: the colors on her threads started bleeding away, bleached white by an invisible hand. And then it was snowing, yet the snowflakes were all hanging in the air, not falling, sewn into that endless white loom of lives and souls, Grandmother at its center looking like a woman in the middle of a snowstorm.

    She was plucking at the threads, her fingers ever so gentle yet decisive, as fast as light yet unmoving, for this wasn¡¯t her, but the puppet she looked like when one Observed her, seeing part of her true self.

    The threads were taken, pulled and cut and sewn together, all at the same time, as if the elder had more than two hands. And maybe she did. Maybe her puppet hid some extra appendages in that waterfall of white hair. Or maybe it was all just a trick of the light.

    It didn¡¯t matter. Or rather, it did, but it wasn¡¯t what interested Isse. That was the little puppet taking form in Grandmother¡¯s hands, looking exactly like the one she¡¯d made before, just without color. That came later.

    When she finished, she said those words: [Minor Illusion]. Yet Isse had this strange feeling, like Grandmother was saying the name of the Skill more as a reminder of what it was than to actually help herself in casting the spell.

    Then it was over. Isse deactivated her [Mana Sight] and saw another little arachne crawling out of Grandmother¡¯s hand, small and beautiful.

    ¡°Many [Mages] believe that, just because a spell is defined as Minor, it is less powerful, has less applications. Here is a secret, Issekina: the name doesn¡¯t matter. Only what you are capable of doing with it. A [Minor Illusion] is a basic spell, that is undeniable. It will become unstable and disappear the moment it stops touching the body of the caster, but it is light on one¡¯s mana pool, and so long as it¡¯s close, it can create things just as complex as a [Greater Illusion].

    ¡°Illusion Magic, as you¡¯ve seen, is intrinsic and simpler for us arachne with Thread Magic, for we can weave them just like we would any other thing. Naturally, you will not be able to cast it with my same proficiency. I highly suggest you do not try to create a¡­ what did Makira call them? Ah, yes, Minichne. Start with something close to your heart. From there, we can learn more complex things.

    ¡°Now, try weaving the spell.¡±

    She did.

    She activated her [Mana Sight], looking at the endless threads, and immediately had to sit down.

    ¡°Do not look at the whole, it will break you. Nature is endless and beautiful, but we were made of Death, not nature. Concentrate only on a small portion of what you see, that will help,¡± came Grandmother¡¯s voice through the fog of her headache.

    She looked up, Observing the world and its endless connections. She looked at the thread that came out of her head, those light brown, maybe chestnut, threads woven together, a reminder of the doubled nature of her soul, and looked only at it and the other threads of that same color.

    Slowly, like someone¡¯s eyes getting used to the darkness, she began seeing less and less threads, the colors becoming more uniform, until she looked back at the clearing, and there was only brown.

    ¡°Not my favorite color, but it is a good start,¡± spoke the Grandmother-puppet.

    This is so fucking surreal, said Siidi.

    I¡¯d say it¡¯s more painful than surreal.

    Yeah, apparently your headaches are mine too, so don¡¯t do too much magic or I¡¯ll want to murder you.

    She couldn¡¯t contain herself. She chuckled.

    And then looked at the threads again. And agreed with Grandmother: brown was a sad color. Too much of it took away from everything else.

    Ok, let¡¯s try doing this right.

    She extended a hand towards the closest thread and grasped at it.

    Well, was half expecting my hand to pass through.

    Magic isn¡¯t that difficult.

    She chuckled again, a small smile appearing on her face.

    She pulled on the thread, and all the others appeared to move closer, as if just waiting for her to pull at them too, to use them to cast her spell.

    She raised her other hand, plucking another, pulling, then snapped her wrist one way, breaking the thread. There was no sound.

    And she began weaving, her arachne nature and her Skill [Magic School: Thread] guiding her movements into fashioning something simple that mattered to her: a mask. But not just any mask: it was her face. Her old face. The one she had in the world before being brought here. It wasn¡¯t special: she hadn¡¯t been a beauty, average at best. Small lips with a slight pout, small half-lidded eyes that made her look like she was sleep deprived most of the time, and a little nose that was slightly squashed after years of being a little beast of satan.

    She hadn¡¯t been special, no, not at all, but she¡¯d been this, and she wasn¡¯t going to forget it.

    Creating the details wasn¡¯t easy, and she was sure she¡¯d gotten things wrong here and there. Too much for the first time, but she didn¡¯t care. Grandmother had told her to make something that mattered. And this mattered a lot.

    She didn¡¯t know how long she stayed there, weaving her mask, but in the end, when she finished weaving, she felt something, like a tug coming from deep within her. She suddenly felt a bit emptier, and at the same time her mask felt more present, more there than it had been before, quasi-solid.

    She knew, deep down, that she¡¯d done it. She¡¯d cast her spell.

    Oh my god she¡¯d just cast a spell!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

    Her smile became as big as the Cheshire Cat¡¯s as she deactivated her [Mana Sight] and looked at her handiwork.

    And saw it was brown, like the mask was made of wood.

    ¡°Not bad. Not bad at all. Don¡¯t worry, the colors will come later,¡± said Grandmother. Her voice was very approving.

    ¡°It took you twenty-three minutes, sure, but that¡¯s acceptable for a first time. In the future, you¡¯ll have to learn how to be faster. You¡¯ll change yourself to cast spells better. But that is something for the weeks, no, months to come.¡±

    She loomed closer, looking at the illusion of a wooden mask Isse was holding in her hands, and smiled slightly.

    ¡°One day, you could wear it again, this old face. There is no shame in wanting to be what one was.¡±

    She snapped her fingers, and suddenly color flooded the wood, making it look like a human face. It was¡­ much more beautiful than she¡¯d been, and the eyes¡¯ color was wrong, and her cheeks had never been so naturally blushing, but it was her, truly her, in a way she never thought she could¡¯ve been ever again.

    ¡°Our lesson today has come to an end. Go play with the others, Issekina and Siidi. Word has reached me that you¡¯ve finally remembered how to be a child,¡± and, again, Grandmother smiled. It was still disquieting, but there was emotion down there. Love. She loved all of her children and grandchildren.

    She was a monster, sure, but a monster who¡¯d learned what it meant to live.

    Isse left.

    And, that night, she Leveled.

    [Soul Mage Level 7!]

    [Spell - Minor Illusion Obtained!]

 Chapter 24: Of Spider-Cats and Swift Justice

    Have you ever had a cat? If the answer is yes, then here¡¯s another question: have you ever woken up, opened your eyes, only to find your cat staring right into your soul, demanding your attention while also impeding your breathing? Or even, woke up with their furry butt on your face? If the answer to either of those questions is no, then I find it hard to believe you ever had a cat.

    That morning, Isse woke up to an unfamiliar weight on her chest. For a moment her sleep-fogged mind thought ¡®Hey, did I finally get boobs?¡¯, only for Siidi to say something on the line of ¡®Idiot, you¡¯re too young for that.¡¯

    She grumbled, then opened her eyes, and saw a face staring right at her.

    She flinched and stifled a cry of surprise, hugging Anda tighter. Which woke her up. The moment she opened her eyes, she also saw the face staring at her. The eyes were brown and big as saucers, filled with childish curiosity, the same way Anda¡¯s and, sometimes, Siidi¡¯s, had been when they¡¯d just been born.

    What¡¯s happening?

    I¡¯m as clueless as you, but I think she¡¯s a newborn. She¡¯s too curious about everything.

    Indeed she was, because now the spiderling had moved from Isse¡¯s chest, finally letting her breath, and scuttled towards her soulmate, looking at the place where their arms met and how some of their spider-halves¡¯ legs crossed together, binding them tightly.

    Was I that creepy when I was born?

    No, you were just boring. But Anda here? Yes. No, actually, she was worse. Probably would¡¯ve been even worse if she hadn¡¯t decided to stick with you.

    Hey, I wasn¡¯t boring!

    You just learned that Queen of the Tree is meant to be a game, not an actual simulation of war. You were boring and nobody can change my mind.

    Meanwhile, the spiderling had now decided to sit on top of Anda to stare right into her eyes. Bad idea. There were zero chances of anyone winning a staring contest against those pits of endless darkness. You¡¯d more probably fall asleep and forget your own name than beat the girl. She knew because she¡¯d tried that a while back, and Siidi had actually needed to use [Recall Memory] to make her remember her name.

    Isse moved a hand to shake the girl out of the stupor she¡¯d probably fallen in, and realized something: the spiderling was small. So much smaller than her. As in, her hand was, right now, probably bigger than her head.

    Was I that small too?

    Yes. We¡¯re really fast growers. Give yourself a month and you¡¯ll get to feel the joys of puberty again!

    ¡­ Please, Siidi, this is a very serious and extremely important question: will I get period cramps again?

    What are those? Oh, oh¡­ oh Stars. Your God must¡¯ve been a sadist.

    Never thought I¡¯d say this, but thank you Death.

    A chuckle escaped her lips, which made the little spiderling stare at her with renewed curiosity. The girl extended a hand towards her¡­ and planted it right into her face. Bop!

    ¡­

    Issekina.exe has stopped working¡­?, said Siidi uncertainly.

    Don¡¯t go Windows on me.

    I have no idea how to react, okay?

    Have you never had a cat?

    Are you comparing arachne, apex predators that nearly destroyed every living creature on this planet, cats?

    Well, in my world cats were considered apex predators once. And were also venerated as gods at some point. So they beat us there.

    ¡­ At least we don¡¯t go around batting things down from high places.

    And that¡¯s more or less when a Hanger, one of the arachne sleeping upside down on a branch, fell screaming to the ground after a spiderling had somehow managed to bat away her spider paws from the trees.

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    You were saying?

    <hr>

    While the older spiderlings met their younger counterparts, somewhere in the forest a trial was taking place. To be more precise, in Grandmother¡¯s clearing.

    The elder was currently staring down a bound and struggling arachne warrior and her dozen or so associates and helpers. Those, though, were a bit more intelligent, and knew that struggling would only cause the ever-calm Grandmother to lose her wintery cool.

    In the end, she spoke: ¡°Desina Silksoul and associates, do you know why you are here?¡±

    Her voice, for once, wasn¡¯t her typical monotone she used with everyone, or the kinder drawl with a smile in its undertone she used during Isse¡¯s lessons. No, it was frosty, like a wintery wind, and cut just as much. The temperature in the clearing had dropped by several degrees, but none of the arachne, except for the trapped ones, felt any discomfort, all thanks to Grandmother¡¯s Skills.

    Desina and her sisters, however, began involuntarily shivering. They tried to resist the, but it was too cold, and Grandmother¡¯s stare was¡­ something was happening with it. Piercing through them, examining their souls without actually Observing or Looking. It was not kind.

    Still, through chattering teeth, Desina managed to answer: ¡°W-we¡¯re h-h-here because w-we wanted ch-cha- huff -change.¡±

    No matter how much she tried, she couldn¡¯t bring herself to speak for long, the cold leeching the air out of her lungs, making her feel as if she was drowning. Short sentences were the best she could do.

    Which was desired: Grandmother knew better than anyone that even a [Truth] Spell could be fooled, but that was extremely more difficult when the target could barely speak more than seven words at a time.

    ¡°Change¡­¡± she mulled over the word for a few seconds, tasting it, reading the meaning given to the word by the woman who¡¯d said it. She dissected it like a surgeon did with a dead body to show a group of equally curious and disgusted students. She was good at that, an advantage of preferring silence over talking.

    In the end, she nodded slightly, then twitched a finger in Makira¡¯s direction.

    The arachne nodded, walking closer. Strings were wrapped around her hands. She picked one out of the many dozen, and tugged. Immediately Desina¡¯s bindings grew tighter. The air was pressed out of her lungs and blood stopped flowing to her arms and most of her spider half. Not enough to kill her, far from it, but enough to make her feel pain. Lots of it.

    ¡°You speak of change,¡± began Grandmother, ¡°Yet you do not look at Consequences. You have endangered the clan with your actions.¡±

    Her words physically hurt more than the strings hugging Desina tight.

    Then Makira spoke: ¡°You¡¯ve attacked a village not four miles away from the forest. In one night you turned a settlement of over a hundred souls into a ghost town, killing indiscriminately and breeding with the men. Then you burned everything to the ground, but you most probably weren¡¯t careful enough. You certainly left some kind of evidence you were there.¡±

    ¡°W-W-We,¡± she inhaled deeply, trying to get enough air to speak, ¡°C-Carefu¡­,¡± she exhaled and tried to take another breath.

    ¡°That¡¯s what you say, but you are no expert. You. Are. Young! You never left the forest to perform such raids. You and your sisters are not experts! I and my own sisters tried doing the same thing you did, and we were much more organized than this stupid crusade of yours! And still, we were caught!¡±

    Makira sagged, feeling defeated, deflating like a pufferfish with its bladder pierced.

    Grandmother stared down at the over a dozen arachne down on the ground. Together, they¡¯d given birth to a total of fifty-seven spiderlings, who¡¯d just hatched. The little ones had been left with the other younglings to keep them occupied while this happened. They¡¯d be named soon enough, after the traitors had been dealt with.

    Arachne justice was swift, and always right.

    ¡°[Your Punishment Has Been Decided]. You, supporters of this plan, will be locked out of your [Warrior] Classes and forced to do other jobs among us. As for you, Desira, who have started this, you shall lose your sword arm as well. If the other species will discover our existence and sent hunters and soldiers our way, you will be forced on the front lines to sacrifice yourself, to stop the enemy advance. Go.¡±

    The moment the words left her mouth, all the bound arachne felt something like a veil fall on them, suffocating, binding, as strong if not stronger than mythril chains. They knew there was no way to escape this punishment. And, when that night they went to sleep, they heard the voice that gave Levels and Classes say this:

    [Class: Warrior - Removed!]

    Grandmother then turned towards Makira: ¡°Execute the punishment, then bring the newborn. They shall be named.¡±

    Makira nodded, then tugged on her strings once more. Desina¡¯s associates were released and immediately ran away, thanking Death and the Stars that they¡¯d not lost anything other than a Class. The main perpetrator, though, wasn¡¯t so lucky. The strings around her right arm tightened and tightened. Screams filled the clearing, the air warming now that Grandmother had gained control over herself and her Skills anew. Not long after, the white clearing had a red stain on the ground where Desina had lain. A few minutes after that, the white had eaten away at the color.

    Half an hour later, the newborn were brought in front of Grandmother, curious and scared, by a smiling Makira.

    She¡¯d fooled everyone into thinking everything was alright. Everyone but Isse and Siidi, who had seen how forced it had been, and wondered what had happened.

    She probably lost too much at a game of dice. You know how she is every time that happens, said Siidi.

    Isse agreed, since they had no actual idea of what had just transpired.

    The world kept turning, the Stars not waiting, looking at the world, seeing everything and therefore nothing. Sadly, though, they weren¡¯t the only beings with eyes. There were others. And they¡¯d seen a village disappear from the maps.

 Chapter 25: Its Wednesday my Boys!

    The day when Desina¡¯s punishment was executed and the little ones were named, Grandmother decided not to give Isse her afternoon lesson. She told her to relax and take some time off instead. Not that the little arachne complained: she was, as any good student, always willing to accept some reprieve from lessons. Even ones where she learned how to bend reality to her every whim.

    She spent the afternoon playing in the playground with her sisters while the younger spiderlings were a general nuisance to everyone. No, like, really, Isse couldn¡¯t believe it hadn¡¯t even been two months since she¡¯d been born, and how much everyone had changed since then. The little arachne were stealthy in the way only children could be, moving around like Level 40 [Rogues] with decades of experience, and therefore managing to jumpscare their older siblings more times than anyone was comfortable or willing to admit.

    Luckily for, well, everyone, Makira returned out of the blue with her usual smile.

    She¡¯d just walked into the clearing, seen the chaos, looked back wistfully, as if already missing the calm from outside, then slapped her hands together and somehow managed to convince every single newborn to join her into making what was probably the biggest game ever of cat¡¯s cradle.

    That woman must have some kind of Skill, thought Isse.

    Probably. She¡¯s also just very good with kids, agreed Siidi.

    That night the clearing where they slept was a lot more filled than usual. The [Carers] had thought about expanding it or making a new one, but in the end they¡¯d all agreed it would be too much work when they already had the space. Plus, the older newborns, as they liked to call them, would understand what it felt like to be the big sisters they would one day be. A win win for everyone!

    So it was that Isse found herself hugging Anda and being hugged by the spiderling who¡¯d woken her up that morning by sitting on her. From what one of the [Carers] had told her, the girl¡¯s name was Silfaria. She¡¯d also said that Makira had already started calling her with the nickname Sila. She could somehow remember the names of every single arachne in the whole forest. And no, it wasn¡¯t a Skill.

    So here she was, falling asleep while sandwiched between two of her sisters, warm and calm and happier than she could remember ever being all her life, even back on earth. There was just something¡­ right, about being like this. About being loved and loving right back without any subterfuge or ulterior motive.

    This was something she truly loved about the race she was now part of: no matter what, they were always together. There was no infighting, no wars among themselves. They weren¡¯t like humans, and in particular they weren¡¯t like humans back on earth. There, nothing and no one could truly be trusted, except for your parents, and you heard stories about how some of them treated their children. You were born in a cruel world that never gave you anything for nothing, while expecting everything in return, sometimes, again, for nothing.

    And people wondered why the numbers of suicides were so high.

    Isse wasn¡¯t sure, in her sleepiness, whose thought that had been, hers or Siidi¡¯s, but it didn¡¯t really matter, for they were one.

    Anyways, it was a bleak way of seeing life, but she¡¯d been here for over a month and, apart from the not-quite-gone-over trauma of Grandmother locking away her memories and making her believe she was going to forget everything, life had been good. No, great! She¡¯d had time to go over her past life now, and come to the conclusion that, really, it wasn¡¯t worth even trying to go back. There was nothing there she couldn¡¯t get here. Well, nothing except for a phone. She¡¯d lost count of how many times she¡¯s wanted to scroll down a Yutub page.

    With that small desire in the back of her mind, she drifted off in the land of dreams, ready to have a chat with Siidi in her mind castle.

    <hr>

    Alice twisted and turned in bed, unwilling to leave the comfortable warmth of the covers and the comfort of the Dream. She¡¯d just woken up from effectively suffocating to death because of a poison she¡¯d made and subsequently drunk in the Land of Dreams in an attempt to convince herself it was, indeed, poison, all to kill a giant centipede Nightmare that sometimes looked like a man wearing a cool hat.

    She wondered what Herman or Averick would tell her if she told them what she¡¯d been through. The former would probably look at her as if she¡¯d drunk down the Greater Potion of Sleep with a good helping of strong alcohol, while the latter would just pat her on the shoulder and say he was happy she¡¯d finally stopped being grumpy.

    In the end, she managed to get her ass up and off the bed. This was a work day, after all, and she didn¡¯t care that Herman had told her not to worry about it. He¡¯d said he was sure the potion would knock her out for the night, possibly the entire day. But she felt too energized to stay in bed. At least, she was now that she¡¯d gotten up.

    She walked towards the kitchen, and that¡¯s when she felt it: there was something in the pocket of the trousers she¡¯d fallen asleep in. Her eyebrows slowly reached for her hairline as she put her hand in and touched something warm and smooth, like a river pebble left forgotten for too long in a pocket. She took it in her hand and, ever so slowly, as if she were handling a bottle of her dangerous acid, took it out.

    And right there, in her hand, was the seed Wax had given her.

    How is this possible? It was all in a dream.

    And yet here she was, holding the seed made out of¡­ something Wax had given up. Warm as sunlight on a mild spring day. A warmth that came from inside, from an invisible source. Like a little piece of starlight held in her hand.

    ¡­ Not the strangest thing that¡¯s happened to me in the last few hours.

    She smiled, then gently placed the seed on her bedtime table. She knew a good place to plant it.

    <hr>

    The day passed without a hitch. She worked with Herman on a few orders, the gruff bearkin telling her the whole time she should leave, ¡®less she mess up one of the potion recipes and end up burning through a cauldron or, worse, an alembic. But nothing like that happened, and in the end the beastkin practically threw her out of the shop saying something on the line of ¡®You¡¯re the only person I know who could stay awake after taking that potion.¡¯

    The whole day she couldn¡¯t stop smiling. And when she finally met Averick, he actually told her he was happy she was no longer grumpy, making her laugh so hard she doubled over, attracting a lot of strange looks on the street. But that was normal: she was, after all, the strange girl of the town. The girl who¡¯d forgotten everything about the world, yet somehow knew how to do alchemy.

    She spent the evening eating and drinking at a tavern with her [Runner] friend, managing to imbibe an impressive amount of alcohol and still walk straight, although her cheeks were red as not-quite-mature tomatoes.

    Before she knew it, she was back home, changing into her nightie, ready to go to bed and use what was probably her new favorite Skill: [Fall Asleep].

    This time, she wasn¡¯t lucky enough to be in bed.

    <hr>

    The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the Dream¡¯s strange sky perpetually locked in sunset, sun and moon looking at each other from opposing sides of the horizon.

    The first thing she felt was the soft grass under her body. So soft in fact that she wondered if she could actually fall asleep in the Dream and if it wouldn¡¯t kill her.

    The second thing she saw was Albert staring right at her, covering the view of the sky.

    The second thing she felt was something probably made of wood hit her in the head hard enough to make her see stars and for tears to form in the corners of her eyes.

    ¡°Next time you decide to suicide poison a child¡¯s Nightmare, tell me in advance, or I swear on Soma I will bind you to a chair and tell the kits to do whatever they want to you.¡±

    She snickered: ¡°No! Please, anything but that!¡± she fake pleaded.

    Albert sighed, then chuckled: ¡°I never saw someone choose to die so easily, even in the Dream. It must¡¯ve been painful.¡±

    Oh, it had been. A lot. Feeling her muscles constrict, being unable to breath because her own diaphragm couldn¡¯t move, slowly yet rapidly suffocating. It had been one of the worst experiences in her life. And she had loved it.

    She still remembered the endless hours spent in the labs, training to become a pharmacist, how, during all those hours, she had worked with dangerous, acidic and/or potentially poisonous substances, how her mind kept telling her to test them on herself or someone else, to watch the spectacle of one¡¯s death unfold.

    She knew it wasn¡¯t something that happened to most people, or at least she thought nobody got such precise and constant intrusive thoughts.

    Oh, how many times she¡¯d thought about taking some of those beautiful foxgloves, or Digitalis Purpurea as was their official name, outside campus, brew a good cup of, as she liked to call it, ¡®foxy tea¡¯, and offer it to her teachers or people she disliked, watch their eyes slowly turn yellow as their hearts gave up and they saw monsters in their hallucinations. And, during the rainiest days, when things looked grim, how many times she¡¯d thought of doing the same thing to herself while looking in the mirror as it happened. She¡¯d done it once, actually. Brewed herself a cup and spent a few hours staring at it as it cooled down, her mind going in circles as she wondered what it would feel like. In the end she¡¯d tossed it out of her window and, probably, poisoned a nearby curious squirrel.

    It all excited her in a way she couldn¡¯t put into words.

    Because of all that, when Albert said those words, she smiled, and her fox mask smiled with her.

    ¡°It was worth it. Every single second of it,¡± she said.

    A shiver went down his spine upon hearing this. One could interpret these words in many ways, but he knew all too well that tone of voice. He had heard it from many others in the Dream, people who weren¡¯t completely right in their heads and knew it. They kept themselves in check in the Waking World, but the moment they stepped in the Dream they let go of every chain and rule they put upon themselves. Sometimes they became monsters. Most of the time, they became extremely high Level. He hoped Alice wouldn¡¯t turn into a Leveling Nightmare.

    ¡°Well, it worked. How much did you Level from that?¡±

    She smiled excitedly and nodded: ¡°Oh, right, I¡¯m now Level-¡±

    Albert bonked her in the head again with a stick. He really liked doing that.

    ¡°Here¡¯s another Rule you should learn, one that applies not only to the Dream, but also the Waking World: never reveal your exact Level and Skills to anyone. It¡¯s information that can be used against you.¡±

    She sighed: ¡°I hate this. Why can nobody be trusted?¡±

    ¡°Because this world is so filled with people rotten to their core that the world itself might as well be a giant zombie left under the sun.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t I trust you?¡± she asked, a bit of hostility worming its way in her voice involuntarily. If Albert heard it, he didn¡¯t care.

    ¡°You can choose to trust me. And I can promise I won¡¯t reveal the information. But it¡¯s always a choice you must make,.¡± his tone had become serious again.

    Alice sighed and reined in her nerves before nodding: ¡°I¡¯ve managed to reach Level 10 and am now a [Dream Poisoner]. Got a funny Skill too: [Poison: Enhance Taste]. Because I thought the hemlock poison didn¡¯t taste like much!¡± she chuckled. Apparently this world¡¯s System had a sense of humor.

    Albert nodded: ¡°Very good. Very much so. Now I won¡¯t ever eat anything you make.¡±

    ¡°Oh, come on! I¡¯m not that much¡­ ok, yeah, I can see where the sentiment comes from. But I won¡¯t be poisoning you or the kits anytime soon! Also, I¡¯m pretty sure you could survive anything I give you.¡±

    ¡°Just because I won¡¯t die from falling down a mountain doesn¡¯t mean I should throw myself down.¡±

    ¡°You kidding? If I could I¡¯d do it just to show off! Maybe learn to surf down the place like it¡¯s a wave on the sea? Yeah, that would get me a boyfriend no problem!¡±

    ¡°Or it would scare anyone with a dick in a mile away from you. And probably also those without.¡±

    ¡°Tsk! Clearly you¡¯re just an old fart in the Waking World because that wouldn¡¯t happen.¡±

    ¡°And clearly you like mountains and don¡¯t have any sense of self preservation, but we¡¯d already ascertained that last one.¡±

    They looked at each other, then burst out laughing. And couldn¡¯t stop.

    Albert summoned his ¡®Bonking Stick¡¯ and used it as a crutch, while Alice fell to the ground after a while. The small clearing around them bloomed to life with flowers of all colors and form, some real, others clearly not so much. The ones around her were mostly poisonous in some form or nature, going from the purples and blacks on Nightshade to the light purples of Wisteria to the reds and oranges of Caladium. Albert, for his part, was surrounded by boring roses and tulips and you all get it.

    They stayed like that for a while, surrounded by flowers and laughing, not a care in the world. But, in the end, even such good things had to end. They calmed down, tried to wipe away tears from their eyes, and remembered they wore masks.

    ¡°Well, after what you did yesterday, I decided to show you a bit more of the ropes. You¡¯ve got talent there, and I have every intention of developing it. So today will be a private lesson for you. I¡¯ll teach you how to move around the Dream, maybe start on some Reshaping, and we¡¯ll develop your weapons.¡±

    ¡°Speaking of which!¡± she said, turning her eyes to the ground and spotting the Nightshade immediately. It was a rather hardy plant, growing in the mountains, on rocky terrain and in the shadows of the trees. It was kind of strange seeing it here in a little clearing away from the snow whitened peaks.

    The leaves were oval, the margin uninterrupted and quite long. But what interested her right now weren¡¯t those. No, instead she began gathering the deep purple, nearly black fruits.

    Atropin and iosciamin my beauties, come to mama.

    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    Those were the two main active ingredients she was after. They were present in the leaves as well but in much smaller doses.

    Now to turn you into paste and get that sweet sweet juice of yours.

    She looked around, then remembered one of her new Skills.

    ¡°[Tools of the Trade]!¡±

    And immediately, right in front of her, appeared a set of instruments: from a simple mortar and pestle up to an honest to god alembic, it all looked like it had come out of a medieval book about alchemists, but it was in pristine condition, all made from fine ceramic and blown glass, completely sterile and probably easy to wash.

    On the side were scalpels and glass pipettes with a rubber bulb at the top that reminded her of a pacifier, alcohol and, strangely enough, a tea set, a roll of cigarette paper and a few rings.

    ¡°What are these for?¡± she asked aloud, taking the latter in her hand. She looked the ornate ring left and right, observed the small ruby (probably fake), poked it, and nearly threw the ring away from her when she felt it move, imagining she had broken some precious jewel even though she¡¯d just thought it was fake.

    But the small ruby didn¡¯t fall to the ground. Instead, it revealed an opening in the ring.

    ¡°Oh, that must be a poisoner¡¯s ring. You put the poison inside, and when it¡¯s needed you just pop it open and pour it somewhere. Understandable, since you did say you got [Dream Poisoner] as a Class. Although, I don¡¯t really get the tea set.¡±

    Alice looked down at the finely decorated porcelain tea set. And remembered something she¡¯d read once.

    ¡°That¡¯s probably an assassin¡¯s teapot. These beauties have two compartments, one for the liquid poison, the other for the tea, and when you pour they mix together and nobody¡¯s any wiser for it!¡±

    And indeed, when she opened the teapot, there was a small wall dividing the ¡®chamber¡¯ in two. She looked at the handle and, sure enough, there was a hole on top. She turned the beautiful object around, and there was a second one right in at the base of the handle.

    ¡°It¡¯s quite simple. You close the hole on the top, liquid comes out from the left compartment, and vice versa. Or you can leave both open and pour a bit of both. It¡¯s quite ingenious!¡±

    Albert was staring at her the same way a parent looked at a child on christmas morning as they opened their presents and explained exactly what they did: which is to say, he understood close to nothing about it, but he was happy she was happy.

    Next Alice checked the rings again. And saw something she really didn¡¯t like.

    ¡°This one¡¯s silver,¡± her voice was mock serious as she looked accusatory at the little ring.

    ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re bad for poison. Silver is pure. Metal of the moon, some call it where I¡¯m from. Tarnishes when it encounters something impure, like poison. Whoever made this Skill either doesn¡¯t know what they¡¯re doing or is trying to figure out if I know what I¡¯m doing.¡±

    She threw the ring away. It disappeared before hitting the grass.

    And, somewhere far away, in the place between reality and Nothing, the System observed the girl with mild curiosity. It had never heard of what the girl had just said. It knew that silver was pure: in its database it was classified among the <Vampire Slaying> and <Demon Repellent> subfolders. This was a new opinion.

    It examined the girl¡¯s statement, running a few simulations, and indeed silver did tarnish when it encountered poisons, but only specific ones. It was nowhere near as efficient a method of detection as the girl implied. Yet, as it looked at the words again, it knew they were true. They were a form of¡­ <Tradition>.

    The System couldn¡¯t feel emotions, for those had been long since sealed away by Lorma, the Goddess of Love and Desire. It had to be impartial, after all, or the Game wouldn¡¯t be as interesting. Still, if it could, the System would be surprised: for this was the first time in two thousand seven hundred and nineteen years it had witnessed someone believing in something that was classified as <Tradition> at such a low level, and all without having been influenced by some other Skill or belief from the place they lived.

    It gave the girl, Alice, some more attention.

    ¡°Never heard of that, but I¡¯m not exactly an expert,¡± said Albert. He didn¡¯t tell Alice, but the air around her had changed. It was more focused, just like her, but, again, it was becoming sort of gray, losing color as sadness wormed its way into her. For a moment there, he thought he could see a figure kneeling in the grass beside the girl. An old woman with a kind smile.

    But it was all gone as fast as it had started.

    Alice didn¡¯t say anything to that. She just put the small berries she¡¯d taken from the Nightshade inside the mortar and began turning them into paste. When she was done, she looked around at the many instruments in front of her and saw five vials. She took one and, after rummaging around for a while, found a sieve and a funnel. She placed the former inside the latter and began pouring.

    ¡°Why five vials?¡± she asked as she waited for the sieve to do its job.

    ¡°Oh, because five is the number of stories,¡± said Albert matter-of-factly.

    ¡°...Run that by me again please.¡±

    Albert¡¯s mask raised an eyebrow questioningly. How could this girl not know? Had she lived under a rock all her life? Had her parents never told her a single goodnight tale? He shrugged. He was curious, but he knew better than to ask.

    ¡°Numbers have meaning in this world. Some of them at least. For example, One is the number of Everything. Two is the number of Love. Three is the number of magic and rites. Five is the number of stories. Seven is luck, Eleven is Silence and Thirteen is Misfortune. If you want something in particular to happen, just do things by these numbers or their multiples and they¡¯re more likely to happen.¡±

    Silence. Then: ¡°So, let me get this straight. If I wanted to, say, buy someone¡¯s silence, I¡¯d have to pay them in eleven coins?¡±

    ¡°Or a multiple, like twenty two. But yes, usually it¡¯s just eleven.¡±

    ¡°But why five?¡±

    ¡°Because dreams are stories. Everything we do is a story, because it¡¯s not real as it is in the Waking World. So most of the things we do is in fives.¡±

    ¡°That¡­ doesn¡¯t make sense. But who am I to judge?¡± she chuckled.

    Albert joined her with a laugh of his own.

    And not ten minutes later Alice was done with all five of the vials.

    ¡°Do you think I¡¯ll be able to use this Skill in the Waking World? It¡¯s so fucking useful!¡±

    ¡°Language Garda,¡± said Albert. Alice turned around and saw him holding a cup of tea and looking extremely unimpressed.

    ¡°You¡¯re only missing a maid outfit and you¡¯d look perfect,¡± there was a smile in her voice.

    ¡°Hmpf, I¡¯ll take that as a compliment. As for your question, you could use it in the Waking World, but I don¡¯t believe you¡¯ll get all these tools. It¡¯s just a low level Skill after all.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± she pouted, then shrugged, ¡°Well, I¡¯ll use it here at least.¡±

    For a moment there she almost added ¡®Not like I¡¯ll need it in the real world¡¯, but she stopped. There was nothing inherently bad about just¡­ crafting poisons in her home. She wasn¡¯t going to poison anyone after all. She wasn¡¯t that much of a psychopath.

    ¡°Well then, let¡¯s start walking. Our lessons begin now.¡±

    And they started wandering, the clearing around them changing into a long and winding mountain road.

    <hr>

    Ribbit!

    Before Isse could open her eyes in her Mind Castle she heard that sound.

    Why am I hearing a frog?, she wondered.

    She finally opened her eyes¡­ and saw a frog sitting right in front of her.

    ¡°Siidi, why is there a frog in my mind?¡± she asked out loud.

    Siidi, ancient [Warrior] of the arachne who had died millenia ago, now turned into a [Mind Curator], stared down at her with her heterochromatic eyes, one green and the other red. Or rather, she stared at the frog.

    ¡°He¡¯s not just a frog. That¡¯s Baron Bloodsworth the First, Destroyer of Flies and Savior of our Sleep. He¡¯s the best!¡±

    Isse¡¯s eyebrows shot right into her hairline, then she began laughing.

    ¡°Did you seriously call a frog ¡®Baron Bloodsworth¡¯?¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s Baron Bloodsworth the First, Destroyer of Flies and Savior of our Sleep.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it a mouthful?¡±

    ¡°Issekina Silksoul is a mouthful,¡± she pouted, picking up the frog.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m sorry but I didn¡¯t choose my name. As for your¡­ pet, I will not call him by his full name.¡±

    She looked at Siidi and noticed one significantly important detail: she was small. As in, for once, their heads were level, instead of Siidi just towering over her.

    ¡°Why are you small?¡±

    ¡°Because of Baron Bloodsworth the First, De-¡±

    ¡°Yes yes, we get it, he has a full name. Why?¡± Isse interrupted the [Curator].

    ¡°Why he has a name? Because he¡¯s the best! And because in his life he killed more annoying flies and mosquitoes than any other frog!¡± she smiled proudly and nuzzled the frog, which in turn croaked and touched her cheek with his long tongue in what Isse believed was affection.

    ¡°No, I mean, why are you small because of the frog?¡±

    ¡°Oh, right. Well, you know how I got this useful Skill, [A Memory a Day: My Past]. Well, this morning I used it, and it reminded me of Baron Bloodsworth the First. Or rather, I remembered playing with him as a child. So I decided to be a child for a while and it feels so good!¡±

    Isse had to admit that eternal youth sounded very attractive.

    ¡°So, wanna play?¡± asked Siidi with a teasing smirk.

    Never in her entire previous life had Isse believed playing with frogs could be entertaining.

    <hr>

    ¡°Ok, this should be a mild dream. Probably an adult¡¯s Nightmare,¡± said Albert while nodding. In one hand he held his bonking stick turned to a walking stick, while he cupped his chin in the other, looking at what seemed to be just a patch of air. But Alice knew better. Or rather, felt better. There was something strange about that patch of air, a shimmer not unlike that of a patch of road under intense sunlight.

    ¡°How can you be sure?¡±

    ¡°Because it¡¯s not forming a door, just a small tear in this space. The more powerful the Nightmare, the greater the distortion it causes in the Dream,¡± he motioned her to follow him as he put his hand inside the strange distortion, pulling at it and revealing an actual opening. Red emanated from it, but Albert didn¡¯t seem to care.

    ¡°When it¡¯s this small, it¡¯s either an adult¡¯s nightmare or, well, another thing, but I¡¯m sure it¡¯s-¡±

    They walked into the Nightmare and stopped. The world around them looked like a battlefield filled with soldiers fighting and killing each other with glee, shouting and screaming. And everything was red, as if someone had taken all the blood of the fallen and painted everything in it, from the ground to the sky to the clouds.

    Alice stared at this nightmare and wondered, for a moment, if Albert had a tendency to be reductive.

    Before she could turn and ask him though he shouted: ¡°ABORT! ABORT! Red Skill Nightmare!!!¡±

    He took her by the collar of her nightie and got them out of the Nightmare faster than she could say ¡®What the fuck?¡¯

    The last thing she saw before getting out was, in the distance, a boy wearing suspiciously colorful clothes being cut by two soldiers with their swords as a¡­ headless thing wearing armor slowly began walking towards him.

    <hr>

    ¡°Go Baron Bloodsworth!! they shouted in unison.

    Baron Bloodsworth, a frog with many talents, was currently playing inside an obstacle course set inside a pool. He was making good progress, and every time he did some interesting trick they gave him flies as a reward.

    Isse cataloged what was happening right now among the top ten most fun experiences in her life.

    ¡°Anyways, what did you want to do here before we decided to play with Baron Bloodsworth?¡± asked Siidi, not taking her eyes off her frog.

    ¡°Oh, I wanted to try and train my magic in my Mind Castle, but who cares.¡±

    ¡°Agreed.¡±

    Then Baron Bloodsworth did a somersault in the air, passing over a flaming pole, and they clapped in glee, giving him a fly.

    <hr>

    ¡°You know, Garda, if I didn¡¯t know better I¡¯d say you¡¯re the unluckiest person on this planet. Are you from Rhodar?¡±

    ¡°The Continent of Misfortune? No thank you, I¡¯m from Eva.¡±

    ¡°The Halved Continent. Huh, figures.¡±

    ¡°What? Halved?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you know, ¡®cause of the mountains dividing it in half? North for the humans, south for the beastkin with their jungles.¡±

    ¡°Never heard that.¡±

    ¡°...Girl, seriously, where are you from?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d like to know that!¡±

    Albert stopped walking at his brisk pace, turned towards her, brandished his bonking stick, then saw the smile on her mask.

    ¡°Hmmm, you¡¯re learning,¡± he smiled back.

    ¡°I have a good teacher.¡±

    And that¡¯s more or less when the battle began.

    <hr>

    ¡°Oh my god that¡¯s the cutest thing ever!¡± shouted Isse with enough glee to raise someone¡¯s blood sugar.

    She and Siidi were currently dressing Baron Bloodsworth in cute sweaters and hats and the likes, all hand-sewn by them using spider silk. No, they didn¡¯t just summon those from thin air, that would mean taking half the fun away.

    Baron Bloodsworth the First was wearing a white long sleeved sweater with a spider-y theme sewn in the back. He was looking very nonplussed and seemed to rather dislike the activity, but the two arachne were giving him many flies so he didn¡¯t resist.

    ¡°If making these small decorations wasn¡¯t so difficult it would be even more fun,¡± fake grumbled Siidi with a smile on her face as she petted her frog¡¯s head.

    ¡°Oh, stop being grumpy because I beat you.¡±

    ¡°I am not grumpy!¡±

    ¡°SORE LOSER! SORE LOSER!¡±

    They looked each other in the eyes, and then fell to the ground laughing.

    <hr>

    ¡°I take it back Garfa, you¡¯re cursed!¡± shouted Albert as they ran as fast as they could, trying to leave the current battle between Whites and Blacks for this particular area of the Dream.

    ¡°I¡¯m starting to believe you!¡± she shouted back, throwing her third bottle of poison towards a Pawn following them with a bladed whip. The glass shattered right into his mask, cutting it apart and then cutting his skin, letting the poison flow inside his bloodstream. A few minutes later, he was on the ground convulsing while the two of them kept running.

    ¡°The fuck are these imbeciles doing anyways? Didn¡¯t you say the Dream changes?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not about the land as much as the territory. It¡¯s basically a dick measuring contest with actual benefits.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the most disturbing thing I¡¯ve heard you say so far!¡±

    Just as she said that, Alice saw something on the ground: a button. It wasn¡¯t special in any way, just a button that had probably fallen from a shirt but, for some reason, it called to her.

    Faster than she could think about it, she reached out with one hand towards Albert, grasping at his sleeve, while with her other hand she touched the button.

    They disappeared from the battlefield.

    <hr>

    Isse and Siidi were laughing on the ground when, suddenly, the latter stopped and jumped to her feet, her face serious, her body that of the old [Warrior]. Isse saw this, and stopped as well. So sudden. Too sudden.

    ¡°Is something wrong?¡±

    Siidi said one word. A word that caused a shiver to run down her spine: ¡°Intruders.¡±

    <hr>

    In a white clearing hidden in a colorful forest, Grandmother opened her eyes.

    One of the strings of her grand web, one of the invisible ones that touched not the physical world but the minds of her children and grandchildren, wrapping their dreams in loving embraces to protect them, was vibrating. Something was wrong.

    Someone had surpassed her wards and defenses, managing to enter the mind of¡­ Issekina.

    Have they already begun to hunt us? she wondered. No, she couldn¡¯t allow that.

    She closed her eyes again, allowing her mind to expand and contract in ways that only a [Dreamer] of old times could understand and began climbing the string that touched Issekina.

    A white spider, small as a whisper and grand as a mountain, terrifying and beautiful, skittered towards her prey.

    And stopped when she saw a button hanging on the string for dear life.

    It was so unexpected that Grandmother¡¯s physical body opened its mouth in surprise.

    A¡­ button?

    Then she made the connection.

    Button man? Is this your doing?

    She didn¡¯t hear an answer. But she backed up. It was definitely him. He had done something, changed things. She would let them play out. Because she trusted him with her own life.

    <hr>

    ¡°Yep Albert, I¡¯m cursed,¡± said Alice very matter of factly as she looked in the face of a very angry and probably very knife-happy arachne.

 Chapter 26: Befriending Spiders

    Once upon a time, there were gods on Earth.

    Gods that knew and understood human suffering, gods that fought alongside their believers, gods that helped those in need, gods that listened to the prayers of their faithful and answered, helped.

    Once upon a time there were gods of war and wrath, tricksters both kind and cruel, students and teachers and creators and crafters and much much more.

    Usually, they were very horny.

    Once upon a time, there was more kindness.

    Then, once upon a time, they were killed. Killed by both outsiders of their religions, people who believe their one and only God was the most righteous, and by their own people, who forgot them because they were forced to or because they simply chose to.

    But, even now, thousands of years later, some of their stories are still remembered. They may not have the power they once had, but they are not completely gone. Just¡­ resting. Sleeping and playing among themselves, remembering what once was, all in places that mere humans could never see: islands beyond the veil of reality, places built out of stories even older than the gods themselves, reminisced with the help of a Traveler who forsook his powers over Dreams to help these righteous beings. For they deserved more, better.

    Once upon a time, there was a god in Africa, and his name was Anansi. The Spider God. Trickster, rainbringer and storyteller, all stories were his for he had won the right to them. His stories made people smile and brought sunshine even at night, yet he knew the darkness that came when the moon didn¡¯t shine and the stars winked away behind the clouds. He knew evil and monsters, predators and prey. He had been both, after all.

    And, because of that, when his brothers and sisters and mother and father and children slowly began to go to sleep, he remained, left behind, for he lived in every story that ever was and ever will be. Sometimes he was just a small webweaver in a corner of a room where the protagonists spoke, other times he was an old man telling the traveler the way before disappearing in the fog. Still other times, he was the protagonist. Always, in those cases, the story had a happy ending.

    So it was that Anansi walked the world and wondered: ¡°How can I save my brethren? How can I help them not be forgotten?¡±

    The answer, naturally, was as simple as answers come: he had to remember them all, and he had to tell all of their stories.

    He did just that. He was hunted, of course, by the followers of that one and only God, whose name sometimes was God, other times Allah, or even Yahweh. A vindictive being who, in his stories, killed the whole world because he couldn¡¯t live with his mistakes and couldn¡¯t, like every other god before him, come down from his ivory tower to solve the issue himself. An idiot because, as his first act upon the creation of humanity, he chose to test them in his paradise for no real reason. A god who had given free will to all of humanity, and didn¡¯t try to guide them towards a better future, uncaring of the pain men wrought upon themselves.

    Anansi disliked this God. Too stuck up, too high and mighty and, truly, too distanced from his creations. In the millennia he had walked on earth, from the time when the world still had an edge, to the modern age where humans could fly among the clouds like birds, he had seen his priests rise in power and forget the meaning of what they did, craving money more than they craved to help their people.

    He had watched and, all the while, told the stories of his old friends.

    He had learned to disguise them among the works of that God¡¯s monks.

    He had created new stories, changing his friends¡¯ appearances while keeping them as they were.

    And, when the eras changed, when the churches of that God had begun to become just fixtures, with people no longer truly believing the words spouted by those priests, he had found people who needed guidance, and helped in making them new gods. He still remembered fondly the time when he had convinced a random crocodile around St Louis in the americas to become one of the gods for those Louisiana Voodoo worshippers.

    He still remembered drinking and smoking cigars with Papa Gleba (or was it Liba? They were oh so indecisive with the names they gave).

    He still remembered their Mumbas and their rites. There was true belief there. True love and community, like there had been once upon a time.

    But they had disappeared too.

    And then, seeing how little the world cared about gods now, how they were considered, at most, stories, he had decided to leave. He walked one last time the Roads Less Traveled and stepped into the Void Between.

    There he had built one last web. A grand web to unite worlds and stories, that he may be the last one standing to remember them all.

    There he had met the Traveler, a god who had once ruled everything that Wasn¡¯t, who had seen worlds die because of his idiocy and who, in the end, had given up so much in an attempt to not repeat the same mistake again.

    But this isn¡¯t the story of the Traveler. This is Anansi¡¯s story.

    And Anansi still remembered meeting a fox. She was an old mother who had had many children. A mother who grieved, for she had outlived many of them. A mother who attempted to trick him into helping her fulfill her greatest wish.

    A mother, who had succeeded.

    <hr>

    ¡°Yep Albert, I¡¯m cursed,¡± said Alice very matter of factly as she looked in the face of a very angry and probably very knife-happy arachne.

    Silence fell over the group, tense as a guitar string. The jorogumo (because that was actually how Alice had recognized the arachne) was staring murder into their eyes. How she could do that to both of them while only having two was a mystery. One she didn¡¯t want to find the answer to. Not right now.

    ¡°Ok, ok, there¡¯s clearly been a misunderstanding here,¡± began Albert raising his hands in the air. She couldn¡¯t see his face, naturally, but she knew for sure he was scared by the way his mask¡¯s eyes had dilated.

    On the other hand Alice felt¡­ calm. What was there to be scared of? This was still a Dream after all: nothing could really hurt her. She was instead very curious about what she was looking at.

    ¡°Look. Look. Erm¡­ ah, yes! Fifth Amendment of the Silken Dream Deal: [Dreamers] who stumble upon a dream or Mind Palace of the arachne by accident are immune to any and all punishments that may be inflicted upon their minds and souls. They are to immediately be released.

    ¡°We had no intention of entering this dream. This novice here chanced upon it while we were escaping a battlefield.¡±

    The arachne in front of them raised her eyebrows questioningly: ¡°The Airm are you talking about?¡±

    Albert began sweating.

    ¡°Oh gods, oh Soma. You¡¯re a newborn. Fuck. That complicates things. You don¡¯t know what I¡¯m talking about, right?¡±

    That¡¯s more or less when the other arachne appeared. She was a small thing with chestnut hair and a chestnut colored spider half. Her eyes, too, were a light brown, even though sometimes, when she batted her eyelids, it almost looked like one of them was red or green.

    Albert saw her too because, suddenly, he stopped talking to himself and trying to find a way out of what was, apparently, a problem.

    ¡°...I am confused,¡± he simply said, ¡°Why is there two of you here?¡±

    ¡°Because she is me,¡± answered the new arrival matter-of-factly.

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°We are two souls in the same body. Not that you simple humans could understand,¡± added the murderous-looking arachne.

    ¡°Wait, does that mean there were others like us Siidi?¡±

    ¡°Is¡­ Sister! Don¡¯t say our names. They¡¯re [Dreamers], they can use those against us,¡± she shouted in answer.

    ¡°Erm¡­ no, we can¡¯t. Silken Dream Deal, Second Amendment. We [Dreamers] are forbidden from interfering in any way with arachne in the Land of Dreams. Same goes for your species. Look, I don¡¯t know how this happened, it¡¯s been literal Ages since the Deal was signed, you lot simply disappeared from the Dream and I¡¯m pretty sure we are the first to find an arachne¡¯s dream in the last few thousands of years.

    ¡°So how about we forget this ever happened and the two of us just leave?¡±

    Silence fell on the small group.

    Then the chestnut arachne spoke: ¡°Why are you bound to me?¡± she asked, pointing at Alice.

    <hr>

    The Mother Fox spoke to Anansi: ¡°O¡¯ great storyteller, immortal Anansi, heed the request of an old mother, would you?¡±

    Anansi, who had always been a family man at heart, especially in his own stories, agreed solemnly to do so.

    ¡°All my life I strived to help and defend my pups. I taught them how to hunt, how to attack prey and when to run and hide. I did all in my power, and still many died. So please, fulfill this dying mother¡¯s wish, and help protect her pups and their children to come.¡±

    Anansi thought. One doesn¡¯t become a trickster without being craftier than most. And he was the craftiest and most intelligent of them all. Once upon a time, he had managed to steal Tiger¡¯s balls, leaving the damnable animal his small Spider balls, and then escaped with the prize by having the Monkeys sing a song about stealing Tiger¡¯s balls.

    With his craftiness and genius he had won the right to Stories from Tiger.

    He was intelligent. Truly.

    But we should not forget how, once upon a time, during a dark night, he saw a stranger taunting him in a tar statue built by his son to capture a thief of peas, trapping himself in an attempt to punch it.

    He was neither a genius nor perfect and all knowing.

    ¡°I agree, old woman. I shall protect your kits and their children. Show them to me.¡±

    The old fox mother sighed in gratitude, then slumped to the ground, her old heart finally beginning to give out. But, before exhaling her last breath, she said: ¡°I am old, o¡¯ great and crafty Anansi. My mind is fogged by age, my memories hidden under the mud of decades. I fear I do not remember the faces of my children, only their smell. I fear, great Anansi, that you¡¯ll have to check them all to be sure.¡±

    Having outsmarted Anansi, she closed her eyes and died.

    Anansi laughed.

    And began looking for the old fox¡¯s kits. He had given his word after all.

    <hr>

    Who were these people? What did Siidi mean when she talked about [Dreamers]?

    Actually, how had they entered here?This was her mind!

    Was it a spell? Maybe? Who could tell. She was so new to this magic stuff. Ugh! Grandmother said the possibilities for spells were endless.

    So she did the only logical thing: she activated her [Mana Sight].

    The world around¡­ wasn¡¯t filled with strings. She wasn¡¯t overwhelmed by endless amounts of information, nor was she blinded by hundreds of thousands of connections between her and the world and everything.

    There was only a chestnut colored strings binding her and Siidi together, a stark white string disappearing out into the sky of her mind and, finally, a yellow string that faded in and out of existence, as if uncertain. That string was connected to the girl wearing the fox mask.

    ¡°Why are you bound to me?¡± she asked.

    Everyone stopped right in their tracks, staring right at her as if she¡¯d just shouted the most horrible expletive known to a sailor.

    She shrugged the attention off and pointed at the girl.

    ¡°Who are you? Do we know each other?¡±

    The girl inclined her head at her, then shook it.

    ¡°If I¡¯d ever seen someone like you I would remember it. So nope, not seen you. I¡¯m Garda by the way, nice to meet you!¡± she walked fearlessly towards her and extended a hand in greeting.

    Isse blinked in surprise, then shrugged and shook the hand back.

    ¡°Nice name. I¡¯m Issekina, but you can just call me Isse. The one that wants to kill you is the other half of my soul, Siidi.¡±

    ¡°Isse shut the fuck up, didn¡¯t I tell you not to tell a [Dreamer] your name? They can use it against you!¡±

    ¡°No we can¡¯t, actually,¡± interjected Albert, ¡°We are bound to silence by the Silken Deal. Its signing was witnessed by the First Dealmaker herself, and we are bound by her Skills to the terms.¡±

    That seemed to calm Siidi immediately: ¡°The First Dealmaker herself? You do realize there are consequences to calling upon her for a deal untouched by her, right?¡±

    ¡°Do you see an old man around here?¡±

    Isse and Garda stared at the two as if they were speaking another language. Which, actually, they were. Isse and Siidi spoke in Irevian, while Garda and Albert spoke in Evarion, Eva¡¯s official tongue. But this was the Dream: such barriers didn¡¯t exist. And, if that wasn¡¯t enough, the System had gifted these <Outsiders> with the ability to speak and understand all modern languages of the world.

    ¡°Alright, I trust you, [Dreamer], but you must leave immediately,¡± said Siidi.

    ¡°Ow, do we? I like her,¡± Garda pouted and pointed at Isse, ¡°She¡¯s fluffy. She¡¯s also, like, the second type of non-human living being I see. Are you some kind of spider beastkin?¡±

    Siidi, pale little Siidi, changed color so fast, turning a very angry red, that for a moment both Alice and Isse feared she would pass out or something like that.

    ¡°WE ARE ARACHNE! DON¡¯T YOU DARE COMPARE US TO THOSE ANIMALS FROM EVA!¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re also part animal. Like, spider,¡±¡± she motioned with both her hands towards the angry arachne¡¯s spider half.

    ¡°We¡¯re not the same thing!¡±

    ¡°Well, actually, she doesn¡¯t sound very wrong,¡± interjected Isse.

    ¡°Oh please. Those tribals are nothing like us!¡±

    ¡°I work for one of ¡®those tribals¡¯. He¡¯s an excellent alchemist, I¡¯ll have you know!¡± Garda crossed her arms in fake-anger, then began laughing.

    ¡°I actually agree with the big scary arachne here. They are not beastkin, and we should really leave,¡± spoke up Albert.

    ¡°But they¡¯re so interesting! Will I see more of your kind around?¡± she asked Isse.

    That seemed to dampen the relatively light mood of the place. Well, if you can call ¡®Cloudy with a chance of murder¡¯ light mood. Siidi shook her head sadly, while Isse shuffled in place.

    ¡°Let¡¯s hope not, Garda,¡± answered Albert.

    ¡°What? Why?¡±

    ¡°Because the Dream is the only place where humanity and the arachne ever managed to make peace. Outside, in the Waking World, we are still at war. An ancient war.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t hurt her!¡± said Isse, pouting at the ground.

    ¡°Then you¡¯re a fool, Issekina, for there are few out there who wouldn¡¯t kill you on sight. Or call someone to do that for them. I am sorry,¡± Albert¡¯s voice sounded dejected.

    Then he stepped towards the little arachne and offered her his hand: ¡°Still, it was nice seeing one of your kind again. It¡¯s been decades since I last had the honor.¡±

    Hesitantly, she gripped his hand back.

    ¡°[Gift From the Other Side],¡± he whispered.

    When their hands separated, Isse found herself holding a small figurine resembling a fox.

    ¡°We leave, Garda. May our paths never cross anew,¡± he turned around, waving his hand goodbye. Alice hurried behind him, fog appearing out of nowhere, turning them first into shadows and then nothing at all.

    Then they were out.

    <hr>

    ¡°You have not seen anything tonight Garda, alright?¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because, if ever you speak to anyone about this, people will hunt you down and try to find a way to locate those arachne. For that reason you will never speak to anyone about what we just saw, alright?¡±

    ¡°...Alright.¡±

    ¡°Good. I feel like, for tonight, we¡¯ve trained enough.¡±

    Alice nodded. But, secretly, she smiled, putting a hand in the pocket of her nightgown. Holding a small button hidden inside.

    A small button with an invisible thread tied to it.

    <hr>

    When she woke up, Isse found herself sandwiched between Anda and Sila, as comfortable as she could ever wish to be.

    But she felt something strange in her hands.

    With sleep filled eyes, she looked down at the hand not currently under Anda and saw something bright orange: a carved, wooden, fox.

    [Gift From the Other Side]. What an interesting Skill. He must be a really caring man, said Siidi.

    Isse couldn¡¯t agree more.

 Interlude: Three Old Men and a Dealmaker

    From the time when men learned to sail, [Sailors] have been known to be a superstitious folk, suspicious of anyone who¡¯s never traveled on the waves and, generally, fond of all sorts of alcohol, the more gut-destroying the better.

    You think this is an exaggeration? Well, let me tell you about an old drink that was once served by the dwarves in the port of Mountainhome, in Aknos: it was a mix of, in earth terms, vodka, rum, shark blood for that extra-strong tang, algae harvested from a depth where the light of the sun doesn¡¯t reach, hallucinogenic mushrooms cultivated near the Obsidian Valleys at the foot of the then active Burntear Volcano, better known as Old Smoker, pollen dust from Firebrand Flowers and, if you asked, a small amount of dwarven Black Dust. The end result would knock you out, bring you back, and then probably kill you if you didn¡¯t have both [Poison Resistance] and [Fire Resistance].

    As you can very well imagine, every [Sailor] and their sparrow loved it. It was considered a rite of passage to drink the damn beverage.

    Of course, nowadays, it¡¯s been classified as illegal.

    Which, of course, means nothing to anyone who¡¯s anyone at sea. What, you seriously expected sailors to respect the law? Ha! The line between sailors and pirates is so thin it might as well not be there.

    Naturally, nobody will ever agree to such a statement. These are just the musings of an Old Man.

    An Old Man who, by the way, has just entered a bar in the port city of Salvezza. Nobody could tell you where the name came from, mainly because the language it came from is unknown, or has been forgotten. Those not in the know like to joke saying that someone just came up with a random word that sounded good. Even the Old Man doesn¡¯t know its origin, but that matters little to him. What matters is the name¡¯s story.

    He sits at the bar and orders a beer. Dark were the days before the Dwarves invented this incredible beverage. In those days it was either ¡®alcohol strong enough to tear your liver to pieces¡¯ or water. Which gets old after two weeks of hard work at sea, where the slightest mistake could lead to a quite horrifying death.

    ¡°Yes, we¡¯re setting off tomorrow for Rodar. Got a hold full of dwarven weapons to sell to that rising King, Tibur Vanders. It¡¯s the best money I¡¯ve earned this year,¡± bragged a [Captain] to the Old Man¡¯s right.

    He turned and looked at the man. He was in his forties, at best late thirties. Black hair only slightly stained white from salt, a short black beard that was in need of a slight shave, he had an angular face with an aquiline nose that made him look like a [Strategist] ready to guide an army on a battlefield.

    ¡°You lucky bastard! I hear he takes a liking to suppliers who do their job well, so make sure you don¡¯t fuck this up. There¡¯s money to be made with him.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right. Until the next big asshole rises to power.¡±

    They burst out laughing.

    ¡°Anyways, what¡¯s with that name: Tibur Vanders. It sounds so strange.¡±

    ¡°Bah, for all I care he can call himself Arlena Ghirighi so long as he pays. I tell you, their language is as cursed as their land. Every time someone speaks it it¡¯s like they¡¯re throwing insults at you.¡±

    ¡°Knowing you, they probably are.¡±

    ¡°Ha-fucking-ha. Shut the fuck up, you¡¯re just jealous.¡±

    ¡°Caught red handed, have me walk the plank.¡±

    They began laughing again.

    And the Old Man decided he liked them.

    He took a swig of beer, smacked his lips in appreciation, then coughed in warm up.

    ¡°Good evening young [Captain], may I know your name?¡± he began.

    The two friends, who¡¯d now calmed down and gone back to nursing their drinks in companionable silence, turned towards him. They eyed the old man, looking at his white hair and salt scarred skin, his bright blue eyes and jovial smile. They immediately recognized him as one of their own, relaxing.

    [Among my kin I was always welcome].

    An old Skill of his. Not that he had ever really needed it, at least among the surface folk. [Sailors] always recognized their own.

    ¡°Aye, name¡¯s Amir, old fellow, and this here is Omar. We¡¯re brothers in all but blood and games of cards. What about you?¡±

    ¡°The name¡¯s Coro Assali.¡±

    He had had many names in his long life, but this was the newest one. For a given meaning of ¡®new¡¯. He was still quite old.

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t help but overhear that tomorrow morning you are departing for Rodar with an important cargo, am I right?¡±

    ¡°Aye Coro - may I call you Coro? - we are indeed.¡±

    ¡°Oh, call me however you like, young fellow. Would you be interested in hearing a little suggestion?¡±

    ¡°Always am, especially from an old man.¡±

    As was once said before, the words ¡®respect your elders¡¯ took on a whole new meaning in this world, because an old man had had more time to Level Up and gain interesting Skills. When a grizzled man who could hardly lift his bony ass from a chair told you to listen, you did.

    Among [Sailors] even more so. For they knew some of the oldest tales in this world, and they knew that, sometimes, an old man could be more than he seemed.

    ¡°Don¡¯t leave tomorrow. Wait one more day. Flato, that big asshole in the sky, is in a foul mood. Go if you must, but be prepared for storms and high waves.¡±

    The two men looked at the one in front of them, then nodded.

    ¡°Thank you old fellow. Let me buy you something for your help.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re too kind Amir. [You Have my Blessing].¡±

    There, done. The boy would have an easier time reaching his destination. Not too easy, but at least his ship wouldn¡¯t capsize if he met a storm on the way. Something people forgot about Rodar was that, indeed, the curse of misfortune touched only the people there, but there were times when someone¡¯s misfortune could bring even greater misfortune to someone else.

    He sighed with a small, half-bitter, smile. Things used to be easier.

    Next morning, the sun shone on the port of Salvezza, warm and kind, accompanied only by a gentle wind. Perfect weather to sail, anyone would say.

    But in the course of the hours that led to lunchtime the wind picked up, storm clouds formed on the horizon and, not long after, a storm hit the port, causing waves so high they reached the doors of the establishments and warehouses closest to the shore.

    As that happened, the Old Man began walking.

    He had many names. He remembered them all, unlike the rest of the world. Because of that, they called him by many titles:

    The Old Man by the Sea.

    The First Sailor.

    The Oldest Storyteller.

    And many others, some whispered only in the darkest times in places where no light shone.

    The Old Man walked away from Salvezza towards Old Smoker. They had all agreed to meet there this time.

    <hr>

    On Earth, humanity probably started its life in the form of monkeys who took a liking to caves and, not long after, learned about fire and how hot and scary it could be.

    In this world there was no slow evolution from screaming quadrupedal animals to bipedal imbeciles who shot at each other for no good reason. Here humanity, and with it all the other less human species of the world, were made to be the way they were and never changed since then.

    Point is, even in this world humanity had found out about the plentiful bounties of the earth, hidden away just under the soft exterior of grass and stone.

    And yes, stone is quite soft compared to some of the things found down there.

    Humanity began mining not even a century after its creation, bringing forth ever used coal and iron, beautiful gold, shining silver, helpful lead, magical gems and rarer minerals still like adamantium and mithril.

    They had also discovered how unforgiving the earth was, how selfish it could be, and the consequences they came in case they weren¡¯t careful enough.

    Currently, an old woman sat outside a mine at the base of the Tiurna Mountain Range in Eva. They were the ones that divided the continent in half: the north had been given to the humans by the gods upon their creation, while the south was a great jungle where the beastfolk prospered. Sometimes they fought wars, but it was a surprisingly rare occurrence.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Anyways, the Old Woman sat by the mine¡¯s entrance while smoking a battered pipe that may as well be made from fossilized wood. She breathed in, tasting the smoke on her tongue and in her lungs, feeling the heat and the occasional bits of tobacco hitting her tongue. Then she breathed out a cloud of black smoke.

    [I Smoke the Blackness of their Lungs].

    She didn¡¯t like how black and big the cloud was. Too many miners had been touched by the coal dust underground, and not enough precautions had been taken by the [Foremen] to prevent that. The [Miners] would¡¯ve begun to die soon if she hadn¡¯t arrived. And, in her experience, when the hard working men turned out dead underground, not long after worse forms of death came after their fellows. Sometimes in the form of a fire that engulfed whole shafts, other times as things from the depths.

    The Tiurna Mountains were young compared to many other mountains in the rest of the world. They had never been created to be excavated.

    Still, she could admire the courage of these people. What she didn¡¯t admire was their idiocy.

    A man began walking towards her. He was a tall fellow with quite a bit of muscle in his arms and upper body. His legs, too, weren¡¯t those of a chicken, although they clearly had seen less use than the rest of him. His face was serious and showed not a small amount of anger, his sharp brown eyes fixing themselves on her old pipe.

    ¡°What are you still doing up here? The shift¡¯s already started. Do you want me to dock your pay?¡±

    The old woman looked at him with a very nonplussed face, taking one more drag from her pipe, huffing out the smoke towards him, before smacking it against a nearby stone to get the tobacco out from the bowl. She hid it in a small bag at her side before placing a hand on an old pickaxe sitting on a rock by her side.

    ¡°You the [Foreman] here?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Who are you? I don¡¯t recognize your face.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just an Old Woman passing by. I don¡¯t work for your company. And even if I did, I wouldn¡¯t put a foot inside that kill zone you call a mine.¡±

    The man¡¯s face became slightly redder: ¡°Who do you think you are to say such an idiocy? Our mines are completely safe!¡±

    ¡°Oh yes? Then tell me, what do you do to prevent your [Miners] from getting Coal¡¯s Breath? How many [Warriors] or [Soldiers] do you have stationed down there with them in case of a Warden attack? How many [Doctors] are waiting out here, ready to go down that shaft at a moment¡¯s notice to save a man¡¯s life? What about the wood used to make the support beams? How long has it been since it was last checked for rot? And for the matter, what wood did you use? Once upon a time we used Ironbark, what about now? Eh?¡±

    As she spoke she became more and more incensed, stepping closer and closer to the [Foreman] until the two of them were face to face. And yet the man felt like he was being stared down by someone much, much, much bigger than him.

    He was shaking slightly.

    ¡°Woe to the [Miner] who forgets the darkness,¡± she hissed.

    Then she began walking away.

    ¡°These mines are not safe. [There Will be Consequences]!¡±

    Not two days later, a fire erupted in the lowest shafts, engulfing half the mine in flames and killing half the [Miners]. The survivors rioted and, not long after, the company that had started this venture failed and disappeared like many others before.

    Meanwhile, the Old Woman walked towards Old Smoker, otherwise known as the Burntear Volcano.

    She was an old woman, even if her Class spelled it as [The Old Man by the Mountains]. The System seemed to be too lazy to change it.

    She, like [The Old Man by the Sea], had many names. She, unlike his fellow Old Man, had never told them to anyone. She, like him, had many titles.

    But, truly, there was only one that people always remembered: Old Man Consequences.

    She walked, and wherever there was a mine people prayed: ¡°May Consequences never reach us.¡±

    <hr>

    An Old Man walked on the clouds.

    They were fluffy and soft and he would readily fall asleep on top of them. But there was no time for that. He had to meet his brother and sister by Old Smoker.

    A ship flew beside him, its giant balloon filled with hot air. Still an old model of one of the churches. These days they only trusted the skies. Fools, the lot of them.

    He didn¡¯t really care though. It wasn¡¯t his job to control the skies. That was all in Flato¡¯s hands.

    So it was that the [Old Man by the Stars] waved hello to a stupefied [Deckhand] before going back to his little journey.

    Betimes, people forgot he even existed. But that was ok, he didn¡¯t play an important role in this world. He just looked around and gossiped with people. Sure, sometimes said gossip had caused kingdoms to fall, but he really wasn¡¯t to blame: it wasn¡¯t his fault if some [King] became too lascivious with the wrong [Princess].

    The Oldest Observer, for that was his other title, reached Old Smoker, and waved hello at his brother and sister, plus the very expected guest.

    <hr>

    Her name was Mina, and she was a [Wanderer]. Oh, sure, she was a lot more than that too, but most of the time she was just that. Just a woman wearing a cloak and a tombstone hat, carrying a bag of holding and a hemp sack around, wandering across the world and witnessing its changes, sometimes slow, sometimes fast.

    If she had to guess, it would soon become quite fast.

    She still couldn¡¯t believe that the old bastard had been right about that boy. He had signed that contract hundreds of years before his arrival, and yet he¡¯d been as right as people could be. Either he had been history¡¯s greatest [Soothsayer], or the gods had done something. She didn¡¯t know. For the matter, she didn¡¯t even know his name.

    It doesn¡¯t matter, said her eternal companion, we completed our side of the deal. Took us long enough.

    She couldn¡¯t agree more.

    Now, where was she?

    She looked around¡­ and stopped in her tracks. Since when did Rodar have a desert?

    She looked up, observing the stars, and used one of her many Skills: [Determine Location: Stars]. A low Level Skill, sure, but a useful one for a [Wanderer] like her.

    She waited a second. Then cursed. She¡¯d somehow managed to end up on another continent: she was on Aknos, by that blasted desert that hid in it the Tower Academy. At least she hadn¡¯t appeared on the Salt Plains: that place was too cursed for her liking.

    They call us, he told her.

    I don¡¯t give a fuck. We are not one of them. They have no right to call upon us.

    They request a Deal. We are to listen.

    ¡­Fuck!

    She didn¡¯t like them. She didn¡¯t like them at all. They acted like they knew better just because they were older than her. And the worst part was: they actually did know better. Every time she¡¯d listened to their tips, however cryptic they had been, she¡¯d always gained something from it.

    But she still disliked them.

    They call from Old Smoker.

    Alright, alright, shut up! We¡¯ll go there!

    She wanted nothing to do with them, but she didn¡¯t have a choice.

    She used another Skill: [Giant¡¯s Step]. And then each and every one of her steps covered ten times the ground she normally would.

    That was how she reached Old Smoker. She didn¡¯t even slow when she began ascending to the peak, where she saw two of them waiting.

    [The Old Man by the Sea] and the [Old Man by the Mountains].

    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± she said instead of saying hi, ¡°Where¡¯s the last one?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s coming,¡± answered the old sailor.

    ¡°Well tell him to come faster, I don¡¯t have an entire day to lose.¡±

    ¡°Calm down, he is here,¡± that was the old woman.

    She waved up, where the third and last Old Man had finally arrived. He didn¡¯t look old, but that was misleading: stars didn¡¯t age, after all. And he was very close to them.

    ¡°Hello everyone!¡± he waved jovially.

    ¡°Welcome back, brother,¡± nodded the sailor.

    The woman just harrumphed in greeting.

    ¡°Finally,¡± said Mina, ¡°Why am I here?¡± she then asked immediately.

    ¡°Hmpf, right to the point. Don¡¯t you wanna stay and chat for a while?¡±

    ¡°You can chat as long as you want, but I don¡¯t want to be here longer than necessary. I feel you want to offer a deal, I am listening.¡±

    ¡°As I said, right to the point. Well, you wouldn¡¯t be the First Dealmaker if you weren¡¯t,¡± [The Old Man by the Stars] smiled in self-satisfaction, as if he¡¯d revealed a great truth of the world.

    Mina huffed. As was said before, she was indeed a [Wanderer]. A High Level one too. But her main class, the one she was known for, was another: [Devilbound Dealmaker of Necessities]. Level 72. And still, she wasn¡¯t even close to reaching the Old Men in terms of Levels. But, in her defense, she had been alive for less time.

    ¡°Alright. The terms of the Deal would be quite simple: we will reveal you a Truth. In exchange, you will join our ranks ad-interim,¡± said the young looking Old Man.

    ¡°What?¡± she asked, surprised. Even her eternal companion was surprised and interested.

    ¡°In case we are killed and stripped of our titles, you will become one of us. Something like [The Old Woman by Airm¡¯s Door], or the likes.¡±

    Silence fell on them.

    But it didn¡¯t last long: ¡°In the past you made similar offerings, but without the interim part. What has changed?¡±

    ¡°The Eras, little one. The Eras are about to change, the world will not be the same. I fear for its stability, and I fear for us. If we were to disappear, the world would lose and Anchor, and that would be catastrophic. We have chosen to change things up.¡±

    Mina stared at the Old Man. And realized he was telling the truth. Even she could feel it, down below, in the bindings of her soul that anchored her eternal companion to her and her flesh. She had felt the world vibrate and reshape itself when she had met that boy, Liam, and she¡¯d felt it even more when she¡¯d given him those Contracts.

    Something was afoot.

    Something big. Something that scared even the Old Men. For the first time in a long while, she felt fear grip her.

    And it was with that fear that she made her choice.

    ¡°[I Accept the Terms].¡±

    She extended her hand. And all three Old Men shook her hand.

    Then the [Old Man by the Stars] bowed down towards her and whispered the Truth. She listened. Then cursed.

    ¡°You old bastard, that¡¯s what you were up to. Damn it all, I shouldn¡¯t have made that deal so long ago.¡±

    But it was done now. No takes-backsies, as she liked to say. Things were already in motion after all.

    ¡°Very well. I will watch and see for myself his work. Damn it all, the bastard was crafty.¡±

    She left.

    And the world kept on changing.

 Chapter 27: The Mountain Sings

    Alice woke up on her bedroom¡¯s floor with a bump on the back of her head as big as a tomato. Probably also just as angry red, but the hair covered everything up.

    ¡°Ok, remember, the Skill¡¯s effect is instant. You call it, you sleep. No warning.¡±

    She went to touch the new guest on her head and immediately regret it: ¡°FUCK THAT HURTS!¡±

    Averick found her twenty minutes later sitting at her kitchen table. Or rather, slumped on it. With a big steak on the back of her head, groaning in desperation and suppressing the shivers of cold going down her spine from her scalp.

    She heard someone knocking and groaned something that could¡¯ve been a ¡®go away¡¯ or ¡® enter¡¯ or ¡®end my suffering¡¯.

    When he entered the first thing he did wasn¡¯t ask how she felt or if he could help. No, instead he asked: ¡°Ok, what did you do this time?¡±

    With another groan she removed the cold meat from the back of her head. The house apparently came with the closest thing to a fridge this world had: a wooden box enchanted with a [Cold] Spell. Or was it a rune? For the matter, was that the actual name of the spell? She couldn¡¯t remember. Point was, she could store food and be relatively sure it wouldn¡¯t go bad for a while. Except for meat. She had to buy that constantly.

    Still, the slab of what she wanted to believe was beef and not some kind of other more exotic or magical animal original of this world was cold enough.

    ¡°Used a Skill, [Fall Asleep]. Wasn¡¯t in bed. Effect was instant. Fell to the ground. It hurts. Help.¡±

    Then she face planted on her table again, putting the meat back where it belonged.

    Averick looked at her with a mix of pity, exasperation and amusement, shaking his head and barely managing to contain the chuckle that was trying to rise from the back of his throat. Alice didn¡¯t deserve that, she was clearly in pain.

    He walked closer to her, his hand moving towards the belt around his waist, taking a vial out from a small sac there and gently moving the girl¡¯s hand away to remove the slab of meat.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to use a health potion on that bump. It¡¯s low grade, but it¡¯s not like you lost a limb.¡±

    He popped the stopper out and let a few drops of the off-red liquid fall over the quite visible bump on Alice¡¯s head.

    The moment they touched her scalp the drops were absorbed by the skin with the speed of a rabbit escaping from a predator. And nearly as fast the bump in Alice¡¯s head began shrinking, until eventually nothing but smooth skin and elongated hair was in its place.

    ¡°And done,¡± he said as he stopped up the vial back, putting it safely where it belonged. Health Potions weren¡¯t difficult to come by, but they were still a drain on his earnings. The things lasted a few weeks before they began losing their regenerative abilities, becoming less potent over time, until in the end you basically had a bottle of colored water that tasted like it had come from a swamp. And while his job wasn¡¯t that dangerous, one heard tales.

    Many things could be said of Averick, but that he wasn¡¯t prepared? Never.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you use one of your Health Potions?¡± he asked, sitting down and putting the slab of meat on a nearby plate.

    Alice looked up, gingerly touching the place where her head had exploded in size, accompanied by an explosive headache, and smiled in relief.

    ¡°Thank you Averick.¡±

    ¡°No problem. That would be five coppers.¡±

    ¡°Fuck you!¡±

    They began laughing.

    In the end Alice did hand over the money he had asked for, but he kindly told her to fuck off and take the joke.

    ¡°But seriously, why didn¡¯t you use one of your potions? Are you one of those copper-pinching people who don¡¯t like to waste their money?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m anything but that Av, I just didn¡¯t know I could use them for something like that?¡±

    ¡°What? Seriously? Where did you live up until now Alice, for real?¡±

    ¡°In a place where we don¡¯t have healing potions. There, if you hurt yourself, you suffer through the pain and take medicines.¡±

    ¡°Medicines¡­¡± he pronounced the word slowly, as if tasting each and every syllable. More likely, even if it seemed impossible to her, he¡¯d never heard it.

    ¡°Is that, like, one of those things [Doctors] make? You know what [Doctors] are, right? People who cure people that cannot be cured with potions.¡±

    ¡°I know what a [Doctor] is, you utter idiot. They¡¯re everywhere where I come from, they¡¯re some of the most important people among our own. They keep us alive.¡±

    ¡°...Where¡¯s that? I¡¯ll admit I don¡¯t travel much, but I¡¯ve never heard of such a place.¡±

    Alice shrugged, while internally wondering if telling him she was from another world was worth it. In the end, she chose not to. He would either think her crazy, or tell someone that would then tell someone that would tell someone in an eternal cycle that would in the end lead to her being captured and experimented on like some kind of alien from a sci-fi film.

    Or he would believe you, said the little voice in her head. She nodded in agreement with the tiny voice. It was a chance, but was she willing to risk it? No, she wasn¡¯t.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter anymore Av. I can¡¯t go back there anyway.¡±

    She didn¡¯t say she couldn¡¯t go back because she didn¡¯t know how, because she feared he would try to help her, and then she¡¯d have to explain. And she feared losing one of her only friends in this strange new world.

    ¡°Oh,¡± he said, sadness dripping in his voice. He could be such a cutie sometimes, wearing his emotions on his sleeve. So easy to read.

    ¡°Anyways!¡± she clapped her hands, trying to change the subject, ¡°Why are you here Averick? Got a message for me?¡±

    The [Runner] was shaken out of his thoughts and he nodded, his usual half-flirtatious smile coming back: ¡°Yeah, Herman sent me. He forgot to tell you something yesterday.

    ¡°Today officially begins the Silken Week. He didn¡¯t know if, where you came from, they celebrated it or if they did it at another time of the year. Anyways, for the next week you¡¯re basically on paid vacation.

    ¡°He also asked me to tell you, word for word,¡± he faked taking out a piece of paper and putting on glasses, ¡°Dear Alice, if during this week I see you anywhere other than a bar, pub or less reputable establishment I will force you to work double shifts for an entire week.¡±

    Questions flooded Alice¡¯s mind: what was the Silken Week? How could she do double shifts at an Alchemist¡¯s shop where she worked eight-to-five? Were there ¡®less reputable establishments¡¯ in Gunsee?

    She decided the first question to be the most appropriate right now.

    ¡°What¡¯s the Silken Week?¡±

    ¡°Ah, so you must come from one of those sad places that don¡¯t celebrate it. Well, basically, people spend the week getting piss drunk in memory of the time when the arachne were finally defeated!¡±

    That gave Alice pause. These people were celebrating nearly killing an entire species?

    Then she remembered Albert¡¯s words from last night: The Dream is the only place where humanity and the arachne ever managed to make peace. Outside, in the Waking World, we are still at war. An ancient war.

    She remembered how¡­ Siidi, right? - What a strange name - attacked them the moment they stepped in that dream. And understood what Albert had truly meant.

    ¡°So, for one week I don¡¯t have to work.¡±

    ¡°Exactly! Now, I heard that ¡®The Drunk Pig¡¯ is offering a discount on anything alcoholic for this week. Wanna join me?¡±

    Alice thought about it for a moment. Getting drunk didn¡¯t sound so bad, especially in a world where potions to get rid of the morning-after effects existed. But it didn¡¯t attract her. Not right now.

    Instead, there was something else calling her. Something that had been calling her from the moment she¡¯d arrived in this world. Something that stood out in the distance, not even that far away: the Tiurna Mountain Range.

    Since she¡¯d been able to walk, she and her grandma had spent every possible moment in the mountains surrounding lake Garda, near which she lived. They loved camping together, and her granny always told her beautiful stories of battles and faeries. And all the while, she taught her the secrets of nature and the rules of the old mountains.

    Since she¡¯d arrived here, she¡¯d been attracted by those distant peaks. And now, finally, she had the time and the money to visit them.

    ¡°Tell me, Av, what are your opinions on hiking?¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°I hate this.¡±

    Two days later, Alice had lost count of just how many times Averick had said those three words.

    At first she¡¯d been apologetic. Then annoyed. Now, she was amused.

    ¡°If I had a copper coin for every time you said that I wouldn¡¯t need to work for the rest of my life.¡±

    ¡°Oh I¡¯m sorry little miss goat. I¡¯m sorry that apparently I¡¯m more used to the plains than the mountains.¡±

    ¡°I never forced you to run. You decided to rush me up there.¡±

    When they¡¯d arrived at the foot of the mountain that morning, placed at the beginning of a trail by a kindly [Wagon Driver], a small backpack and Averick¡¯s bag of holding filled with all the necessities for their climb, he had decided to turn the climb into a competition, confidently stating he could run to the end of the trail.

    She¡¯d told him that was a bad idea.

    He¡¯d laughed in her face and said she was just afraid.

    She¡¯d examined his legs, then his physique, bet on him lasting thirty minutes, then told him to go.

    Twenty-five minutes later (by her generous estimate, since she didn¡¯t have a clock) she found him raggedly breathing on the side of the trail.

    ¡°Come on Averick! You wouldn¡¯t want to lose to a woman!¡±

    And then she¡¯d unceremoniously surpassed him, not even stopping to check on him.

    ¡°Chi si ferma ¨¨ perduto!¡± she¡¯d then shouted back at him. Which could be translated as ¡®You snooze you lose¡¯ from italian or, if you wanted to be more literal, ¡®Those who stop are lost¡¯. She¡¯d always found it much more dramatic-sounding in her native language.

    A few minutes later Averick managed to reach her.

    ¡°First rule of going to the mountains: you don¡¯t run. You choose a pace, and you keep it ¡®till the end. Never go faster and, if necessary, slow down. In which case you tell the person with you,¡± she told him without turning around.

    Averick nodded, then realized she couldn¡¯t see him so he said ¡®Aye¡¯.

    They walked in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the greenery around them: the trail they were on was well beaten, with the occasional place where some good soul had put gravel to help drain the possible rainwater. It was horrendous to walk on, but it beat tracking in mud.

    Not that the trail was muddy, not at all: they were in the middle of summer after all.

    Spruces grew all around them, their leaves the greenest green she¡¯d seen in the last five years. It had been so long since she¡¯d left home.

    Since she¡¯d last visited the woods that she¡¯d grown alongside with.

    Since she¡¯d last visited her grave.

    For a moment, sadness overtook her and she nearly missed a step. Because she realized something: she would never get to visit that grave again. She had no way of going back. And that, that was enough to make her stop in her tracks, one foot poised to step forward, as if someone had cast a [Paralysis] Spell on her. She stared in front of her for a moment, looking but seeing nothing.

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    Then Averick touched her shoulder.

    And she was back, emotions locked tightly in a little bottle in a corner of her mind, ready to be observed and drunk somewhen in the near future.

    ¡°You alright? You didn¡¯t hurt yourself, did you?¡±

    She shook her head and, shakily, put a smile back on her face: ¡°No, no. Don¡¯t worry. Just¡­ you know, memories.¡±

    Av, good, kind, Av, sometimes he felt no older than sixteen, other times, usually with women, he demonstrated a seriousness that made him look ten years older than his twentytwo. Averick understood that she didn¡¯t want to talk about this. So he just nodded and went back to walking.

    They went back to it, only now he was the one in front, setting the pace. His was much slower. So much so that Alice was a bit unnerved after a while. She didn¡¯t say anything though: when she¡¯d been a child, her grandma had done the same with her, enduring her slowness. She could do the same. She had to.

    ¡°Alice, I¡¯ve been meaning to ask this for a while,¡± started Averick, pointing a finger at her right foot, ¡°But what happened to your foot there? Why is it crooked? Did you hurt yourself when you were a kid?¡±

    Alice looked down. Indeed, her right foot wasn¡¯t parallel to the other, instead staying at a comfortable forty degree angle from the rest of her body. She stopped, wiggled it around, then chuckled.

    ¡°Nah, it¡¯s nothing like that. Grandma used to call it ¡®mountaineer¡¯s foot¡¯, because when we go down we put our feet in a particular way not to fall. She liked to say that mountains were itchy, and so they used us humans to scratch those places where the winds don¡¯t really reach. They liked it so much that they decided to keep us there, and to do that they gave us feet that would render it impossible to walk anywhere other than on their steep skins.¡±

    Averick stared at her with an expression that was a mix between wonder and disgust.

    ¡°Did anyone tell you your grandmother told horrible stories?¡±

    ¡°Yes. They usually ended up rolling down mountains. Wanna try?¡±

    Immediately the boy raised his hands in surrender.

    ¡°I thought so,¡± she chuckled.

    <hr>

    It took Averick some time to notice, but Alice was nervous.

    They¡¯d been walking for half the day now, having stopped for a couple hours to rest and have lunch. Nothing fancy, naturally, just some rations bought from a shop back in Gunsee, but they were quite filling.

    After that they¡¯d reached a fork in the road. And there they¡¯d stopped as Alice took out a copper coin, flipping it before walking down the rightmost path.

    ¡°Why did you do that?¡±

    ¡°Because I didn¡¯t know where to go, so I let destiny choose,¡± what she didn¡¯t tell him was that she¡¯d chosen the copper coin because that was a metal usually used to symbolize womanhood in many traditions. She even wore a little copper ring on her left pinky finger. A gift from her grandma.

    There was no real tradition to what she¡¯d done, truth be told. She really did not know where to go, and she really just wanted to let destiny choose for her. It had just felt right to use the copper coin.

    ¡°So wait, you chose to visit the Tiurna Mountains, and you didn¡¯t even choose an itinerary? Where the hell have we been going up until now?¡±

    ¡°Wherever the wind guides us!¡± she shouted merrily to the wind as she did a little pirouette in sheer joy. Then she began laughing. It was childish and stupid and it was simply the best.

    ¡°You¡¯re mad! Do you know what¡¯s in these mountains? There are monsters!¡± he hissed at her.

    ¡°So? Monsters, wild animals, landslides and piece-of-shit-goats, mountains have always been dangerous. Fear not, I¡¯m prepared for pretty much anything.¡±

    Well, actually her plan in case she saw a bear was to either try to scare it by making a racket or run up a tree in case it didn¡¯t work. This world didn¡¯t have bear-sprays. Or rifles. Her grandma had one, an old Beretta MAB 18, more a piece of junk that made noise than an actual gun, but she kept it in her home in a place of honor over the fireplace, besides a photo of her deceased husband.

    Alice had never met her grandpa: he had died during World War Two as a partisan, executed by a firing squad when he and his group had been found out.

    ¡°You¡¯re fucking crazy.¡±

    ¡°Took you long enough. But worry not, I¡¯m sure we won¡¯t be seeing anything bad.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t jinx it.¡±

    Luckily for them nothing appeared out of the trees to attack them. Or the ground. Or the sky. Actually, in the Tiurna Mountains, there were many things that could¡¯ve attacked them and caused a fast death, especially since [Miners] had¡­ dug up the wrong things.

    But that was a problem for another time.

    They climbed.

    And reached a dense patch of pines. Initially nothing changed about Alice: she was just as happy and boisterous as she¡¯d been up until then, filled with a sort of childish joy. She seemed to be in her element, even more than she was in Herman¡¯s laboratory and in her garden, tending to her plants (most of which were poisonous in some way apparently).

    They talked and walked as she asked him to tell her stories about the arachne and the wars they¡¯d fought, of the gods and the world. She was endlessly curious, and Averick wasn¡¯t against showing off his knowledge to a cute girl.

    ¡°God, I so would¡¯ve loved to study your history. The things we studied in school were much more boring.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, there¡¯s nothing special about what I told you. It¡¯s just the past, nothing special about it. Did you study different things?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, as I said, much more boring ones. Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s nothing.¡±

    As they talked, time passed, the sun slowly setting, night fast approaching.

    And Alice began nervously looking around, craning her neck to look further ahead, as if searching for something in particular.

    ¡°Everything alright?¡± he finally decided to ask.

    She shook her head: ¡°Nothing. Don¡¯t worry. There¡¯s still time.¡±

    That, as everyone can very well imagine, did not calm him down. If anything, it made him even more nervous than she was.

    ¡°Is something following us?¡±

    ¡°What? No,¡± Alice seemed quite offended, ¡°Nothing¡¯s after us, but in a few hours it¡¯ll be night.¡±

    ¡°So? Let¡¯s stop then.¡±

    ¡°Not here.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± he was genuinely beginning to feel afraid.

    ¡°Because we¡¯re amidst pines. And pines are notoriously selfish trees. They don¡¯t like outsiders among themselves.¡±

    ¡°What in Airm does that mean?¡±

    ¡°Look around Av,¡± she motioned around them, encompassing the whole forest, ¡°Look at the ground. Do you see anything growing around here? Any flowers? Bushes? Even grass is sparse.¡±

    Now that she made him notice, Averick did see that not much was growing around here. Other than the pines, that is.

    ¡°We don¡¯t want to camp here if at all possible. Let¡¯s keep walking.¡±

    They did.

    There was nothing around them, naturally. No wolves, no bears, no monsters of any kind, no tulpas. Nothing was with them. The pines were empty of life.

    So empty.

    So¡­ silent.

    It was as if the two of them were the only living things in this giant pine grove.

    They were exceptions to a rule that had just imposed itself upon this place. Not a Rule, and certainly not a Law, but that mattered not. They weren¡¯t of this place. They weren¡¯t allowed in. They were going against the will of something that was both greater and lesser than them.

    And it was becoming angry.

    <hr>

    ¡°Alice, dear, tell me, what do you hear?¡±

    Alice¡¯s grandmother was a slim woman. Her long, gray, straight, hair were tied in a bun behind her head so that they wouldn¡¯t bother her while she walked in the woods. Long hair tends to get snagged everywhere.

    She wore a simple white long-sleeved shirt, accompanied by beige trousers and climbing boots, laces perfectly tied and hidden inside. Alice could still remember the torturous hours of learning to tie her laces just so that they wouldn¡¯t come undone and flop around, risking to make her fall. But her grandma was an extremely patient woman, and in the end she¡¯d learned.

    On her back she was carrying a rather heavy backpack laded with things to eat and utensils for anything they might need. And, to top it all off, she was carrying her husband¡¯s old war rifle. Compared to her, the things Alice was carrying weighed nothing. Which, to a child, was still a lot, but she knew her grandma wouldn¡¯t make her do anything she wasn¡¯t sure she could do.

    Alice looked up from the ground and listened carefully to the forest around them.

    And heard nothing. No birds chirping, no crickets singing, nothing.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing grandma,¡± she answered in the end.

    ¡°Exactly dear. Remember, the woods are never silent. Never. When they do, it¡¯s because something is forbidding the animals to do so. Or scares them. In any case, we must remind the woods that what they¡¯re doing isn¡¯t good, you understand?¡±

    Her voice was level and calm. Actually, she sounded rather a lot like her Italian teacher at school when she made them repeat verbs.

    ¡°Yes grandma. And how do we do that?¡±

    ¡°Why, naturally, we do the one thing us humans were always good at: we sing!¡±

    Sometimes Alice¡¯s grandma spoke as if there were things other than humans and animals in the world. But that didn¡¯t make sense. What else could there possibly be? Fae? Bad witches? Dryads? She¡¯d read about these creatures in her books, but they were, sadly, only books. Stories. Her mama had told her so.

    ¡°Tell me, Alice, what song would you like to sing?¡±

    <hr>

    Alice began singing ¡°Italiano Vero¡±. She sang without making sure to be intoned, just singing for the sake of it, to fill the bottomless silence that had surrounded them.

    Her voice, though, was filled with intention and desire. It sang the young words of an italian singer who had lived not too long before her. A song that spoke of what she and her people had been like, how they¡¯d felt. A true song.

    She stopped for a moment, letting the silence surround them, a pack of invisible wolves smelling prey: ¡°Sing with me,¡± she told Averick.

    ¡°What? I don¡¯t even understand what you¡¯re saying.¡±

    But she¡¯d already started singing anew.

    Averick didn¡¯t understand what was happening. He didn¡¯t know the old rules and stories of the mountains. Traditions, some of them, as old as humanity. Witch magic, they used to call it. In the end, though, always, these were Traditions. With a capital T. And it didn¡¯t matter what world they were coming from, for the mountains and the woods answered to them, bowing in respect in front of someone who knew to respect them.

    Averick, too, felt it. He was scared shitless, because he¡¯d felt the oppressing silence. He¡¯d felt it stick to his skin like his shirt did after a day spent running in the summer heat. It was unnatural, and yet he knew, deep down, in some primal part of his mind, that it was as natural as the air he was breathing.

    And he knew that, if he wanted to keep breathing, he had to listen.

    So, without understanding what the girl in front of him was saying, he sang.

    There were no words, naturally. Just noises. But they were in tune with what she was singing, and that was more than enough.

    Together, they sang.

    And, finally, they heard it: a little bird joining them.

    Soon after, the sounds of the forest came back, a gentle wind ruffling their hair.

    Then, and only then, did they finally stop.

    ¡°Good job accompanying.¡±

    That was the first thing Alice said after a while. She turned around to look at Averick, a genuine smile plastered on her face.

    This girl is truly completely fucking crazy, thought Averick. They¡¯d just¡­ been through something. He didn¡¯t know what it was, but from the way she¡¯d acted, and how he¡¯d felt, it had been dangerous. He knew, deep down, that they could¡¯ve died.

    Yet here she was, smiling with even more happiness than she¡¯s demonstrated up until now.

    Fuck, why does she still look cute?

    He was asking the right questions.

    <hr>

    Not long after that they reached a short rocky outcropping that divided the mountain in two distinct areas, the pines on one side, spruce on the other.

    They stopped in a clearing nearby to make camp, surrounded by spruces.

    ¡°This is perfect. We¡¯ll be safe. Spruces are the trees of eternal life after all.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± at this point Averick was willing to believe her even if she said that zombies could go back to being humans.

    ¡°Yeah, they are. They¡¯re also the trees of the moon, protectors of women. So at least I¡¯ll be safe,¡± she teased him, then laughed, putting down her backpack.

    ¡°Alice, that¡¯s not funny!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry Av, we¡¯ll be safe. You go gather some wood near here, I¡¯ll set the camp up.¡±

    Half an hour later two tents had been set, a fire pit dug out, surrounded by rocks, and a fire was merrily burning.

    ¡°We should have enough wood for the night,¡± stated Alice, certainty in every word.

    A small pile of dry wood sat near the flames, ready to be tossed into the ever hungry fire.

    She sat there, a pot full of water and beans slowly cooking.

    They sat in silence, but this was the good kind. Companionable silence. They listened to the woods around them speak in their place, and appreciated it all the more after that short time surrounded by its silence. You didn¡¯t know how much you liked something until it was taken from you.

    ¡°What was that song Alice?¡± asked Averick in the end, ¡°What language was that?¡±

    Alice didn¡¯t answer right away. She instead stirred their dinner some more while she decided how to answer.

    ¡°That was Italiano Vero, a y????o??????u??????????n?????????g???????? song from home. C???a???m???e??? ???o???u???t??? ???p???r???e???t???t???y??? ???r???e???c???e???n???t???l???y???.¡±

    Then she stopped. No, something about what she¡¯d said was wrong. The song she was talking about had come out in the eighties, long before she was even born. H?e?l?l?,? ?i?t? ?w?a?s? ?2?0?1?8? ?w?h?e?n? ?s?h?e?¡¯?d? ?a?p?p?e?a?r?e?d? ?h?e?r?e?.? ?T?h?e? ?s?o?n?g? ?w?a?s?n?''?t? ?r?e?c?e?n?t? ?a?t? ?a?l?l?.? ?B?u?t? ?t?h?e?n? ?w?h?y? ?d?i?d? ?i?t? ?f?e?e?l? ?l?i?k?e? ?i?t? ?w?a?s??? ?W?h?y? ?w?a?s? ?i?t? ?t?h?a?t? ?s?h?e? ?c?o?u?l?d?n?''?t? ?i?m?a?g?i?n?e? ?i?t? ?b?e?i?n?g? ?a?n?y? ?o?l?d?e?r??? ?A?s? ?i?f? ?h?e?r? ?m?i?n?d? ?w?a?s? ?b?e?i?n?g? ?l?e?- -

    [????? ??????]

    (A.N: For those that can¡¯t read well what was happening: Hell, it was 2018 when she¡¯d appeared here. The song wasn¡¯t recent at all. But then why did it feel like it was? Why was it that she couldn¡¯t imagine it being any older? As if her mind was being led - )

    The world lurched and tore apart. Then:

    ¡°That was Italiano Vero, a beautiful song from home.¡±

    ¡°And in what language is that?¡±

    ¡°Oh, italian.¡±

    ¡°... ok, the word for the language you used sounded an awful lot like part of the title of the song. Are they the same?¡±

    ¡°Yep!¡±

    ¡°...Do I want to know?¡±

    ¡°Probably yes. But I don¡¯t want to talk about it. Not much. I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s¡­ not pleasant.¡±

    Because why should she try to talk about a place she would probably never get to see again?

    ¡°Ok, I¡¯ll accept that answer. Now give me the spoon and let me cook for a while.¡±

    In the end, the food was good.

 Chapter 28: My Skin is too Small

    ¡°The End,¡± Alice¡¯s grandma finished telling her the goodnight story.

    What story, you may be wondering? It was the story of a family meeting a skinwalker in the woods near their home and fighting it off.

    Yeah, a very typical goodnight story that definitely wouldn¡¯t give nightmares to a child. Well, it certainly wouldn¡¯t give little Alice any bad dreams: she¡¯d grown up with these stories, and her beloved granny knew exactly how to tell them in a way that wouldn¡¯t scare too much. And, unlike most stories these days, these contained kernels of truth and lots of lessons to be learnt.

    ¡°Goodnight dear,¡± she said, caressing Alice¡¯s hair and kissing her on the forehead.

    ¡°Goodnight nonna,¡± she mumbled in answer, kissing her back and snuggling in her sleeping bag.

    As always, though, her grandma didn¡¯t lie down beside her and fall asleep. She stood from her position at her side and walked out of the tent, the old fabric parting for her and falling back in place with a gentle whisper.

    This always saddened her a little: she liked to fall asleep while her grandma embraced her. But grandma never went to sleep when they were camping in the mountains. She always stayed up late, and she¡¯d never managed to stay awake long enough to see when she actually went to sleep. She¡¯d long since given up.

    That night wasn¡¯t any different.

    Except when things changed.

    At some point during the night she woke up. Initially, she didn¡¯t know what was up with her: she was a heavy sleeper.

    She opened her eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them. For some reason she felt refreshed even though she hadn¡¯t slept that much, seeing how grandma still hadn¡¯t joined her: the sleeping bag was still unopened.

    Then she heard something from outside: voices. One was distinctly her grandma talking. The other, though, was deeper. A man. Who was he?

    She rose from her sleeping bag and walked towards the tent flap, her desire to peek out overwhelming her. Grandma had always told her to stay in the tent unless told otherwise, no matter what happened. But she was a child and, as all children, she was extremely curious.

    Only, this time, her curiosity wouldn¡¯t be sated, because when she went to move the tent flap out of the way, she found the buttons had been latched, not letting her open it up.

    The voices both stopped when the tent flap moved.

    Then: ¡°Alice, dear, go back to sleep. There is nothing to worry about.¡±

    But then she heard the other voice whisper darkly: ¡°Why not let her join us, healer? She will be your successor, after all.¡±

    ¡°She will be nothing she doesn¡¯t want to be. I will not force on her this world,¡± hissed her grandma in actual anger. That, more than anything, convinced her to turn back and hide inside her sleeping bag, drowning out the rest of the conversation.

    <hr>

    Alice returned to the camp after leaving some of the food they¡¯d prepared outside, among the trees. Also, to take care of some ¡®business¡¯.

    Remember Alice, nature is the world¡¯s biggest toilet. It even has toilet paper if you¡¯re willing to risk it, said her grandma in her mind. She¡¯d once actually risked it, and had felt itchy for the rest of their stay in the woods. She¡¯d also been quite angry when she¡¯d found out that grandma had taken some toilet paper from home and refused to give it to her, saying it would be a learning experience. The woman could be a demon when she wanted to.

    ¡°Done?¡± asked Averick.

    She nodded: ¡°You can go to sleep. I¡¯ll stay up for a while longer, keep the fire burning, look at the stars, you know.¡±

    ¡°You sure?¡±

    ¡°Av, I¡¯m trying to very nicely tell you that I¡¯m a godsdamned insomniac and won¡¯t be falling asleep anytime soon,¡± she glared at him, and managed to hold the expression for all of five seconds before she burst out laughing.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you have that Skill, [Fall Asleep]?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I did. Used it last night to be fresh and ready for today. The Skill apparently has a twenty four hour cooldown, so I¡¯ll have to wait a while longer.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± he turned around towards his tent, an orange monstrosity that was a literal punch in the eye in this beautiful forest. Alice¡¯s own tent was dark green, which she considered to be better.

    As he opened the flap, he hesitated.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you want me to keep you company?¡±

    Alice looked back at him, confused: ¡°Haven¡¯t you had enough of my ribbing for the day? Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll have the whole of tomorrow to spend with me. Go to sleep, you¡¯ll need the energy,¡± she smiled reassuringly, and Averick sighed and nodded.

    Why was it so difficult with her?

    <hr>

    ¡°Grandma, who were you speaking with yesterday night?¡±

    They were going back to Limoni, the city where her grandma lived. As the name said, it was filled with lemon trees.

    ¡°Oh, that? Just¡­ an old acquaintance of mine.¡±

    ¡°Was he one of your friends?¡±

    Grandma laughed when she asked that: ¡°Gods no. He¡¯s a nuisance and has been a pain in my ass for decades. But, you could say he¡¯s something close to a friend after so long.¡±

    Alice nodded: ¡°Were you talking about me?¡±

    At that, grandma fell into a thoughtful silence. She didn¡¯t answer for a long minute and Alice was already thinking this was one of those ¡®not-answering-that-¡¯till-you¡¯re-older¡¯ questions.

    Then: ¡°Alice, tell me, do you like spending time with me? Doing things with me? With plants and old traditions and stories?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± Alice answered immediately, without even thinking, ¡°I love your stories nonna, I love the faeries, the monsters, the gnomes and dwarves and everything! I love the plants you show me, even the ones that are bad. I love you!¡±

    She wasn¡¯t lying.

    ¡°And would you like to do these things all your life Alice?¡±

    The tone of her voice was serious, which meant Alice was supposed to think before she answered, even if the answer seemed obvious to her.

    So she faked thinking. She was a good girl, but sometimes she found the things grandma told her to do strange and stupid.

    ¡°Yes, I would like that.¡±

    Grandma nodded: ¡°In that case, one day, you¡¯ll meet my ¡®friend¡¯,¡± she did little air quotes with her fingers, ¡°again yourself. When you¡¯re older.¡±

    <hr>

    Alice, as usual, couldn¡¯t sleep. The fact she¡¯d gotten a Skill that allowed her to arbitrarily fall asleep seemed to have exacerbated her insomnia, but she was used to sleepless nights, and she¡¯d only have to wait, like, two more hours before her Skill went off cooldown.

    Really, this world was like a big video-game. Some kind of ungodly Larp.

    Whatever it was, she didn¡¯t give a flying fuck, because this world was made for her!

    She just looked up and enjoyed the stars, reassured by the health potion nearby that her neck wouldn¡¯t get sore.

    And that way she remained until she heard someone shouting: ¡°Help! Anybody here?¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°Thank you again Madame. I was completely lost. You saved me a helicopter ride and thousands of liras in expenses,¡± said the hiker as, for the umpteenth time, he shook grandma¡¯s hand, thanking her.

    ¡°It was no problem, young lad. Next time though, make sure to follow the trails. The Alps may be kinder than most mountains, but mountains they remain,¡± she smiled kindly, reassuring the young boy that everything was alright.

    The boy, whose name Alice had already forgotten, turned and left.

    When he was well away, grandma sighed and smiled bitterly.

    Alice, being the attentive kid she was, stepped closer and hugged her: ¡°Why are you said nonna?¡±

    Her grandma chuckled: ¡°Oh dear, I¡¯m not sad, just nostalgic.¡±

    ¡°...What is nostalgic?¡±

    Her grandma laughed this time, hugging her back: ¡°It¡¯s a thing old people get.¡±

    ¡°Like a disease?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but worse, because there¡¯s no cure. It¡¯s when you remember something from your past and feel both happy and sad about it. Don¡¯t worry about it,¡±

    ¡°Ok.¡±

    They began walking back towards Limoni. Alice was absolutely ready for a warm bath, or so her grandma said. She didn¡¯t feel that dirty. Sure, she wasn¡¯t a rose, but so what? Also, roses didn¡¯t smell that good.

    ¡°Grandma, what did you remember?¡± she asked in the end, because the silence was stretching for too long.

    Her grandma gave her the side eye, then chuckled and shook her head: ¡°Oh, I just remembered how things were a lot more different once upon a time. Used to be you¡¯d have to sneak up on people calling for help, look if they were enemy soldiers, or stranger things still. Nowadays the mountains are much safer than they used to be.¡±

    She sighed, this time much deeper: ¡°People are forgetting the old ways, little Alice. I may very well be the last one. Or one day you¡¯ll be the last. It will all be your choice.¡±

    Alice nodded: ¡°And what will happen if you forget?¡±

    Grandma smiled: ¡°That will not happen Alice. But, in the impossible case that I did, well, I guess nothing will happen ever again. The mountains will be just that, mountains.¡±

    That didn¡¯t make a lot of sense to Alice, but grandma said many things that didn¡¯t make a lot of sense, so it was normal. She liked it.

    ¡°But, in any case, listen here Alice: if ever you hear someone asking for help in the woods or in the mountains, especially near trees like pines or elder or elm, be very careful. And do as I say.¡±

    Alice listened.

    <hr>

    ¡°Help! Anybody, help!¡±

    The voice came from the treeline to her right. Not where the pines were, luckily.

    Still, she froze as old lessons taught to her from her childhood came back to her in a moment. Her body¡¯s muscles tensed and asked her to stand up and call back, to shout she was here, to go help. An animalistic instinct of solidarity.

    She suppressed it with a vengeance, relaxing her legs and sitting a bit more upright. She fished around in the side of her backpack and took out a dagger she¡¯d found in her home. It was made of steel and was definitely older than her. No silver, sadly, but she¡¯d have to do for now. Age still counted for something.

    Averick poked his head out of his tent: ¡°Did I hear that right?¡±

    ¡°HELP!¡±

    Immediately the boy walked out of the tent: ¡°Where is it coming from?¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. Go back in the tent Av,¡± was Alice¡¯s answer.

    Averick froze at Alice¡¯s frosty tone (pun not intended). She looked more serious than he¡¯d ever seen her since¡­ since they¡¯d met.

    Sure, there was that time when he¡¯d found her wasted in her home after she¡¯d tried to fall asleep in drunken oblivion, but even then there had been desperation mixed in with that anger.

    Now he could see nothing but determination and attentiveness.

    He knew he should¡¯ve asked her why she was acting like this. He knew he should¡¯ve run towards where the voice was coming from, but there was something in her eyes that was telling him to stay put and go back in his tent.

    He did only half of that.

    He sat down on a rock near Alice and looked at the trees around them.

    ¡°HELP!!!¡±

    The voice sounded closer. And desperate.

    Then, finally, someone burst out of the treeline, shouting and running towards them.

    ¡°Please! Help me! It¡¯s following me!¡±

    If the situation had been different in any way Alice would¡¯ve laughed from how clich¨¦ this sounded. But she knew better. She¡¯d been proven that earlier that day, in the pines. The traditions of her home could protect her. And maybe, just maybe, some of the stories she knew were true.

    When the young boy, who was probably no older than fifteen by the looks of it, came near the camp and the protections she¡¯d set up, she shouted: ¡°Stop right where you stand stranger! What is your name?¡±

    ¡°The boy, who¡¯d been running towards them, screeched (quite literally, Alice was sure she heard the earth under his feet actually make a sound) to a stop. He stared at her with wide eyes filled with panic.

    ¡°Please Miss, help me! That thing, it¡¯s following me!¡± he pointed towards the treeline, but she could see nothing.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± she repeated, her voice a knife¡¯s edge, cutting right through the young boy¡¯s fear.

    He turned towards her: ¡°My name is Collins, miss. Please, can I stay in your camp?¡±

    He tried to step closer, but stopped short when he saw Alice¡¯s eyes staring right at him.

    ¡°Collins then. Good. Would you kindly cut your hand for me?¡± she stood and offered him the dagger she¡¯d just unsheathed.

    ¡°Ali-¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t say my name. Nor yours. Not for now. Shut the fuck up,¡± she told him without even turning around, her voice even colder.

    Averick closed his mouth. Who was this woman he was looking at? This wasn¡¯t the Alice he knew.

    ¡°Please Mi-¡±

    ¡°Show me how you bleed boy, then we¡¯ll speak. Don¡¯t worry, there¡¯s a healing potion with your name on it right here,¡± she tapped the glass vial on her side.

    Collins hesitated, then, clearly desperate, took the dagger she was offering him, right at the middle point between her camp and the woods outside.

    He didn¡¯t even hesitate a moment, bringing the blade to his hand and cutting. Deep.

    Alice looked, making sure the light from the fire¡¯s flames bathed the boy¡¯s hand. She looked at the blood.

    And saw it was dark red. Absolutely normal.

    ¡°Come join us Collins. Nothing will hurt you tonight. Lucky boy,¡± she smiled as she pulled the boy nearer, taking the knife from his shaking hand and handing over the vial of healing potion.

    ¡°Are you hungry? We still have some food. You can sleep with my friend here tonight in his tent, but I¡¯m afraid we can only give you some blankets to sleep with.¡±

    The boy, Collins, looked shell shocked. Averick too, by the looks of it.

    Which was understandable, seeing how Alice¡¯s mood had changed from ¡®queen of winter getting a snow enema¡¯ to ¡®summer sprite who¡¯d just granted your wish without any monkey-paw-bullshittery¡¯.

    ¡°Th-thank you, miss!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ never mind the names for now. Come, sit down, eat,¡± she patted a rock near the fire, ¡°and tell me what¡¯s after you.¡±

    The boy sat down, trembling with adrenaline, heartbeat so fast and loud Alice could¡¯ve sword she heard it from where she sat. He took the bowl she was offering him as he breathed in and out, warming his weary bones by the fire, reveling in the presence of other humans.

    It took Alice a few minutes and a few bites of food to get the boy to speak.

    ¡°I - I don¡¯t know what was after me, but it whispered, and I could smell it from a distance. Like a dead body.¡±

    ¡°A zombie?¡± asked Averick.

    The boy shook his head: ¡°Undead don¡¯t last in these mountains. The other monsters and animals get rid of them. And they cannot speak.¡±

    ¡°Then what-¡± started Averick, only for Alice to chop the air in front of him with her open hand, silently telling him to stop.

    She turned back to Collins, smiling: ¡°Collins, tell me: how did you meet this thing?¡±

    The boy was raising a spoonful of food to his mouth, but he stopped when she asked him the question, putting it down because his hands had started shaking too much.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to answer if you don¡¯t want to, don¡¯t worry. You¡¯re safe here with us,¡± she reassured him, a warm hand grasping his shoulder and giving it a light squeeze.

    Collins nodded, then went back to eating.

    She tried asking him again and again if he wanted to explain what had happened, but every time he just stopped. He was, she found out, twelve. Bit on the tall side, but only twelve. That, more than anything, convinced her of how much he was traumatized by whatever had happened.

    ¡°Are there people nearby? A town? Anything?¡± she asked.

    Collins nodded: ¡°There¡¯s the village I come from. It¡¯s called Oldson. They¡¯re higher up though, and I couldn¡¯t find the trail after I started running.¡±

    Alice sighed: ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have gone out this close to nighttime. It¡¯s dangerous.¡±

    Collins gave her a look that shouted ¡®no shit Sherlock¡¯, and she chuckled: ¡°Sorry sorry, it¡¯s obvious, and you probably had your own reasons, however good they may have been.¡±

    Collins looked back at his empty plate: ¡°I was gathering herbs for the elders. They¡¯d said they were at their most¡­ powerful? Something like that, at night, when there¡¯s the new moon. I wanted to be useful.¡±

    ¡°And didn¡¯t they tell you it would be dangerous?¡±

    Collins¡¯ answer was only a nod.

    Alice sighed: ¡°You, boy, are one of the luckiest people on this planet, you know that right?¡±

    Collins nodded: ¡°I - I¡¯ll find a way to repay you, I swear.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll do just that tomorrow by leading us to your village. I do think runner here needs a bath. He smells,¡± she stopped her nose up and shook her hand in front of it, as if a sudden cloud of smelly smoke had moved towards her.

    ¡°Hey, fuck you!¡±

    They stared at each other a moment, then snorted, and laughed.

    The atmosphere in the clearing immediately lightened. Collins even managed to smile.

    <hr>

    Half an hour later Collins had been tucked away safely in Averick¡¯s sleeping bag. He was already snoring lightly.

    ¡°You sure? I can stay up with you.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. This is my field of expertise. Go to sleep, keep Collins company.

    ¡°And, no matter what, don¡¯t come out of that tent, alright?¡±

    He sighed, but in the end nodded: ¡°Don¡¯t do anything stupid.¡±

    ¡°Who? Me?¡±

    Averick looked at her with raised eyebrows: ¡°Should I start listing your idiocies, starting from the time you burned down the hut in the back of your house?¡±

    Alice clicked her tongue: ¡°Nope! Message received, don¡¯t be an idiot!¡±

    Averick nodded, walking back in his tent.

    When she was sure he was back in his covers, she turned towards the dark woods.

    ¡°You may come out, observer from the shadows.¡±

    Nothing happened for a moment. The woods didn¡¯t shut up, there was no sound of breaking branches or thumping of giant feet.

    But she knew it was there. She had felt it, deep in her bones, in the instincts grandma had drilled in her since her childhood. Something was there, staring right at her, unmoving, breathing as little as possible, with no heart whatsoever beating in its chest.

    Something moved.

    A dark figure, wearing an old, ruined, cloak. In one hand it held a big stick it was using for leverage, in the other it held a ruined rucksack.

    From this distance it looked like any other traveler she could¡¯ve met on the mountains. An unassuming old man she wouldn¡¯t have given a second look. That is, under the light of the sun. But here, now, when the moon didn¡¯t shine its light of truth upon the world, she could feel that something wasn¡¯t right.

    The figure approached. It raised the hand with the walking stick in greeting.

    She raised her own.

    ¡°Splendid night to you, young lady,¡± it said. Its voice was mellifluous, like honey being drizzled over warm meat, sizzling and inviting.

    But, underneath, she could smell the rot. Literally. The moment the thing spoke she smelled rotting flesh.

    ¡°Good night to you, traveler. How may I be of service to you in this dark night?¡±

    The man-thing stopped right at the boundary between her camp and the woods outside, not daring to take a single step more.

    ¡°Ah, well, I wouldn¡¯t mind joining you by that warm fire, miss. I am, sadly, without food, but I carry good coin that should repay anything given.¡±

    ¡°Hmmm, that sounds like a good deal, old sir,¡± she started.

    In her mind, her grandma¡¯s voice whispered: Always show respect. They may be monsters, or worse, but they are much older than you. That, alone, makes them worthy of some respect.

    ¡°But, before I let you in, may I ask: what is your name?¡±

    The old-man-thing inclined its head: ¡°That is an important question you ask, miss, on a night like this. Would you kindly answer it first?¡±

    ¡°You may call me Garda,¡± she answered without missing a beat, doing a little curtsy.

    The thing nodded: ¡°Then you may call me Rayspin.¡±

    Alice blinked: ¡°Isn¡¯t that the name of this month?¡±

    ¡°It is my name as much as yours is Garda, miss.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough,¡± she smiled, taking her dagger in her hand.

    ¡°Then, would you mind showing me how you bleed, sir Rayspin?¡±

    At that, the thing stiffened a little: ¡°Why should I do that, miss? Surely that goes against the rules of hospitality.¡±

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing really sir. You see, I really dislike royalty. Blue blooded bastards do nothing to help us normal people. We¡¯re nothing but numbers to them. And I wouldn¡¯t like to have a noble spend the night with me and my own. I hope it¡¯s not a problem, sir,¡± she took the knife by the blade and let the handle pass through the boundary between the camp and outside.

    A boundary set by four jars, positioned at cardinal points of the camp, forming a perfect square around them. The jars contained, each, three nails taken from the walls of her home. The home she had claimed for herself, the home that had been given to her freely by both its creator and the mayor, the person with most power in the city of Gunsee. The home where she had lived for these past few months, spending more or less sleepless nights, cooking, living it and in it. Something hers and only hers.

    And, in each jar, the nails were soaked in a bit of her blood, given freely and with purpose, to show that they were hers and hers alone. Just like this little slice of mountain, which she had also bought by giving the forest some of her food in a show of camaraderie and respect.

    The thing couldn¡¯t have crossed to hurt her and the people with her even if it wanted to.

    Which, apparently, it didn¡¯t.

    The old-man-thing took the dagger and cut his hand. The skin slid off where it cut, as if it wasn¡¯t well attached.

    Black blood spilled to the ground.

    Alice nodded, then sighed and sat down on the cold ground.

    The thing, too, sighed.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid, skinwalker, that I won¡¯t invite you to join me at this merry little fire.¡±

    The thing sat down, staring right at her from underneath the hood.

    ¡°I did not know that a [Witch] would be coming here, miss Garda,¡± it said in the end.

    She shook her head: ¡°I am no [Witch], Skinwalker Rayspin. Just a woman knowledgeable of the traditions and the old ways.¡±

    She reached for Averick¡¯s bag of holding, which sat on the ground behind her. She rummaged around inside, before taking out a bottle of wine.

    ¡°I may not invite you to join me, old chap, but what say you we share a glass of wine. It¡¯s not the finest money can buy, but it¡¯s good enough. What say you?¡±

    Rayspin, the Skinwalker, or Skinstealer, or Skintwister, whatever you wanted to call their race, looked at the bottle with a hunger.

    ¡°I am calling upon Palaver, mister Rayspin. Will you accept?¡±

    The Skinwalker stared at her, then sighed, a sound like rusty nails down a broken blackboard.

    Then, with a voice that sounded like a four-door wardrobe if it could talk, it answered: ¡°Well, I¡¯d be a fool to refuse. Pass the bottle girl.¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°I just wanted the boy¡¯s skin. The one I¡¯m using is too old. Been rotting for a while now.¡±

    ¡°I can only begin to imagine how bad that is,¡± she raised her glass towards him in a silent cheer, which he answered back with the bottle.

    ¡°I was expecting other reactions from you, young witchling. Aren¡¯t you angered by this? The other [Witches] on the mountains would. They¡¯ve been trying to end me and my people from time immemorial.¡±

    ¡°Nah, I don¡¯t blame you. It¡¯s your nature, can¡¯t go against your own nature. Would be like asking a mouse not to eat cheese when offered.¡±

    She sipped her wine, then added: ¡°Not that I approve. I just don¡¯t blame you for wanting to live as the thing you are. Gods know I tried to be what others wanted me to be and how much I hated it.¡±

    Rayspin nodded: ¡°Well, if you¡¯re so supportive of my cause, then you could give me your skin. I promise it won¡¯t even hurt,¡± it was, quite obviously, a joke, because actually threatening someone in Palaver would mean the end of the moment of peace. They were also drinking the bottle down very slowly, because Palaver lasted only as long as the bottle (or candle in some traditions) it was invoked with.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid, old chap, that my skin would be too small for one like you,¡± she joked back.

    ¡°Ah, but I can hold my breath for quite some time.¡±

    They laughed.

    Then silence reigned upon Palaver. The bottle was reaching its end, no matter what they did. The time for casual conversation was coming to an end, while the time for the dealmaking was inexorably ticking closer.

    They looked at each other, trying to read what the other desired, trying to see what they could offer and ask back.

    Then: ¡°Tell me, Rayspin, are you and your people bound to these mountains somehow? For I never heard tales about your kind outside.¡±

    The Skinwalker shuffled in place: ¡°The [Witches] of the mountains have locked our tales to these accursed lands, yes. ¡®Less someone tell our tales outside, we are bound to this big piece of rock.¡±

    Alice nodded.

    Now it was Rayspin¡¯s turn: ¡°Tell me, then, Garda: how do you know of our kind if you never heard our tales?¡±

    Alice smiled: ¡°That answer, old chap, you must earn.¡±

    The Skinwalker laughed: ¡°A secret for a secret then. Is that all?¡±

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so. Tell me, Rayspin, what would you give in exchange for, say, a good storyteller, to tell the stories of your kind outside these mountains?¡±

    To that, the Skinwalker froze.

    ¡°Well?¡± she asked.

    ¡°...Anything.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s add that too. A secret for a secret, a favor for a favor. Seems like something enough to me. What say you?¡±

    Immediately the Skinwalker raised the bottle and poured her one last glass, leaving only enough in the bottle for himself.

    ¡°Let us end this Palaver with these terms,¡± he said, raising the bottle.

    ¡°May those willing to listen be witnesses to this deal,¡± she continued, raising her glass, ready to clink it.

    ¡°May the terms be respected.¡±

    ¡°May both sides face the harshest consequences if¡¯n they respect the deal,¡± she finished, clinking her glass with Rayspin¡¯s bottle. Then they drank.

    And the deal was sealed.

    <hr>

    ¡°So, tell me, Garda, how do you know of us?¡±

    Alice nodded: ¡°When I was a girl, I had a grandmother. I loved her, and she loved me like the daughter she¡¯d had but hadn¡¯t really raised as she wanted.

    ¡°She taught me nearly everything she knew, from plants and how to use them to heal, or to kill. From rites to traditions to ways to keep myself safe among things that weren¡¯t human. She told me stories of those that had dared to pass the line between humanity and what lay beyond, and how and why they¡¯d failed.

    ¡°And she told me stories of the monsters that lurk in the dark, in the pines and under the earth. Stories of old gods of fire and brimstone, stories of witches both kind and evil.

    ¡°She taught me of the mountains in their laws and rules unwritten. She taught me respect and she taught me the old ways.

    ¡°That is how I know your kind, Skinwalker.¡±

    Rayspin was probably gaping at her.

    ¡°Now,¡± she continued, ¡°Your time to shine: tell me a secret. Something that might help me and others.¡±

    The Skinwalker remained silent for a while, thinking. She hadn¡¯t asked him anything specific, but the terms of the deal stated that the exchange should be equal. She had revealed to him a big secret of her past, something that wasn¡¯t known by anyone in this world. He would have to do the same.

    ¡°Do you know the truth of the Tiurna Mountains, little one?¡±

    She shook her head.

    ¡°Of course you don¡¯t. Not even the [Witches] know. It is old knowledge, from the time when the Traveler had only just arrived in this world, bringing the lot of us with him. In those times, the world was already done and made, humans and other species already existed, and Airm and Larnos had been crafted to hold the souls of the dead.

    ¡°In those times, the gods made the Tiurna Mountains. They raised the earth the same way you¡¯d raise a tissue from the ground, leaving a big space underneath the world. There, they trapped the things they disliked, the mistakes, the outcasts. They even put Wardens to make sure they wouldn¡¯t escape. They used to care at the time.

    ¡°But then humanity with its greed came. Now they¡¯ve opened up a hole into the prison. And what lay beneath the earth is now free.¡±

    Something grandma had once told Alice came back to her as she heard those words: If you want to imprison something, truly imprison it, then take away the sunlight from over its head. You can build as many walls as you want around something, make them of the strongest steel known to godkind, set someone to repair any small crack that will ever form, but if they¡¯re still able to see the light of the sun over their head, no matter what, sooner or later they will escape.

    A chill went down her spine.

    ¡°What will you ask, Garda, in exchange for telling our stories to the world outside the mountains?¡±

    She really didn¡¯t have to think about that one, after hearing the revelation.

    She liked this world. She also like the idea of fixing the mistake she''d made in the past, but she knew full well what Skinwalkers were, what they could do. She would free them, help them live, but still keep them bound in a subtler way.

    ¡°You know, Rayspin: I like this world. A lot. But, you see, in this world, there are people who bleed red, not unlike any other hard working man and woman, but they seem to live only to cause harm and misery to others, laughing all the while at the misfortune they bring. For that reason, in exchange of your freedom, I ask that you take only the skins of those monsters,¡± she smiled, and her smile contained the rightful cruelty and anger of someone who knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that misfortune.

    "Also, I''ve been told they''re the ones who scream more when they''re hunted down."

    He agreed.

    Then, as he lifted himself from the ground and she did the same, he asked: ¡°Why are you helping us? We are monsters, by my and your admission.¡±

    She had to smile at that: ¡°Because I forgot your kind once, after my grandma died. I tried to forget everything she¡¯d taught me, to keep the grief at bay. I already killed you once, I won¡¯t do it again.¡±

    She turned around, back towards her tent, adding: ¡°Also, because I¡¯m a chaotic little shit who does whatever the fuck she wants.¡±

    As she sat in her tent and used her Skill, [Fall Asleep], she could hear the Skinwalker¡¯s laughter.

 Chapter 29: Whats in a Soul?

    What are souls? No matter what world you¡¯re from, that is a question you¡¯ve heard at least once in your life. A question to which no one has ever managed to find an answer.

    Scientists will say that souls don¡¯t exist because we cannot prove in any way that they do. The Church will say that they¡¯re a gift from God and that they represent who we are. Poets and writers alike will say that souls are reflected in people¡¯s eyes, for one can always understand others just by looking attentively enough at them.

    But, in the end, there are no conclusive answers.

    Or so Isse thought.

    ¡°Today I will begin to teach you the basics of actual Soul Magic, the ¡®forbidden¡¯,¡± Grandmother did little air quotes with one hand, ¡°art that allows one to observe and reshape people, not just the world around you.¡±

    She motions at the white clearing around her.

    ¡°First, though, answer this, Issekina: what is a soul?¡±

    The little arachne and the much older one in her head both stopped to analyze the question, trying to understand if Grandmother was for real or if she was joking. In the end, they decided on the former.

    Then they drew a blank. Because none of them knew the answer: Isse was raised by a typical christian family, and while apparently gods existed in this world, the ideas they spread were much more different from the ones in her home. As for Siidi, she¡¯d been raised a warrior. She understood magic as much as she understood mathematics. Which is to say, she only knew the basics.

    Grandmother stared at them both (yes, even Siidi, somehow, felt observed) for an entire minute, waiting.

    When she was certain none of them knew the answer, she spoke: ¡°In my first lesson, I told you that mana permeates the world. It is everywhere. That also means that it exists inside people¡¯s bodies.¡±

    She stared pointedly at Isse, expecting a question or some probably wrong theory.

    As always, she was right.

    ¡°Does it mean that souls are mana inside people?¡±

    Grandmother shook her head, the shadow of a smile on her face: ¡°No, Issekina. If that were the case, [Mages] like us would die if they exhausted their mana.

    ¡°No. The soul is nothing more than a paltry attempt of our bodies to copy the world around us. A poor replica of the things one can see with Mana Sight.

    ¡°Souls are bound to their bodies and take that form, at the same time creating pathways, veins you could say, that let the mana circulate inside.¡±

    Isse raised her hand. Grandmother stopped and nodded her way.

    ¡°Does that mean the world has veins?¡± she asked. It was a disquieting concept and she really didn¡¯t want to think about it, but that childish and curious part of her that had made a comeback after she and Siidi had ¡®made peace¡¯ and ¡®become one¡¯, as Grandmother so eloquently put it, demanded that she ask.

    ¡°Yes. They are called Ley Lines. They form around places where large amounts of mana are used, so usually near great cities. Or battlefields. Or magical academies.¡±

    Wait, asked Siidi, wouldn¡¯t that mean that our enemies could find us just by looking at the Ley Line over our forest?

    Isse¡¯s blood froze in her veins. She¡¯d lived long enough as an arachne to accept that, if someone ever saw her, she¡¯d be killed on sight and with great prejudice. She¡¯d lost too many nights on that thought not to.

    ¡°Siidi would like to ask if we¡¯re safe. There¡¯s lots of arachne in this forest, right? Couldn¡¯t the other species find us by using the ley line?¡±

    Grandmother looked at them for a moment, then shook her head: ¡°We are safe, little ones. The forest itself was created with magic and consumes it regularly, creating a natural ley line. And, if that wasn¡¯t enough, I have a Skill that hides our possible signature: [Hide Mana Dispersion].¡±

    What she didn¡¯t say, however, which was also the main reason why they were safe, was this: And there¡¯s not that many of us. Only a few hundred arachne. Not enough to cause the creation of a ley line.

    Some of the adults knew this. They knew they were the last arachne in the world, the last clan left alive. If they died, their race would go with them.

    Yet they smiled. Because there was no reason to tell this to the children, to scare them even more. Their lives wouldn¡¯t be easy anyway, so let them have a fun and memorable youth.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    ¡°Now, and this is very important Issekina: Soul Magic does not truly alter the actual souls of mortals. Our magic touches the mana contained inside the soul and, using it, changes and reshapes it to our own will.

    ¡°The gods and their churches, they do not understand our craft. They don¡¯t even truly know how to do normal magic,¡± as she said that last part, Grandmother¡¯s voice became icy cold.

    ¡°They could see the effects of our magic, but they couldn¡¯t understand it. So they branded it as something monstrous, to be forbidden.¡±

    She chuckled darkly: ¡°Well, not that we ever showed them what our magic could do to help.

    ¡°This is the reason why we spent the last week training your [Mana Sight], Issekina. To practice Soul Magic in all of its glory, one must learn to truly see the inside of one¡¯s soul.¡±

    And that, indeed, is what they¡¯d done for the past week: Grandmother had been training Isse, teaching her to focus her [Mana Sight] on the finer details of that grand, colorful, web that she could see.

    She wasn¡¯t a master yet, but inside Grandmother¡¯s clearing she could activate her Skill without being overloaded with information, falling to the ground and possibly begin drooling as if she¡¯d just had a seizure. Outside¡­ well, she still had lots of work to do.

    ¡°Now, child, activate the Skill.¡±

    She did.

    The world around her was filled with strings, from the trees¡¯ rainbows to the colorful improbabilities of her sisters and, somewhere, mother.

    That, too, had confused her when she¡¯d first thought about it. Arachne didn¡¯t do mothers. They raised the spiderlings communally. For them it was all about being sisters, part of one great family, where the elders held the most power. When Siidi had first told her this, Isse had thought it weird. Now though, she thought it made only sense for a species as¡­ fertile and promiscuous as arachne. Apparently they tended to become very horny as they grew up, or so Siidi remembered.

    Gods, Isse was not ready for puberty 2.0.

    Anyways: mostly, around her, she could see white threads binding everything touched by Grandmother regularly. It was as if the color slowly infected and drained all other colors around it, asserting dominance on everything, even the strings of the world¡¯s soul.

    That was, incidentally, the main reason why she had managed to train so fast her [Mana Sight].

    ¡°Good. Now, do as I taught you: isolate the strings you don¡¯t need and Look. Choose a single string, and concentrate on it.¡±

    She did. First, she removed the trees¡¯ strings, bleaching her sight into the white of Grandmother¡¯s aura.

    Then she began the laborious process of picking them out one by one, slowly trying to concentrate on a single filament.

    But, before she could do that, Grandmother spoke: ¡°Concentrate on a thread bound to me, Issekina. Whichever it is doesn¡¯t matter, but you will need to find a connection to be able to access one¡¯s soul.¡±

    Isse stopped right where she was, losing her concentration and staring at Grandmother.

    She deactivated her [Mana Sight].

    ¡°You want me to do¡­ stuff to your soul?¡±

    ¡°Obviously. How else would you learn?¡±

    Both Isse and Siidi¡¯s jaws nearly disarticulated and hit the ground.

    ¡°What the fuck?¡±

    Grandmother raised an eyebrow, very unimpressed: ¡°Where did you learn that word?¡±

    Isse froze in place. She began babbling excuses under the elder¡¯s wrathful gaze, trying and utterly failing to explain that she¡¯d learned her cuss words back on Earth and that it wasn¡¯t really her fault nor Makira¡¯s and please don¡¯t be angry.

    ¡°Calm down spiderling, I know. I was just pulling your legs.

    ¡°Anyways, that is what my mentor did with me. She let me learn soul magic on her soul, make mistakes on it and make wonderful creations out of it. I can restore my soul, worry not child.

    ¡°And anyways, this first lesson will be to teach you about visualizing the soul. Not altering it.¡±

    She set to work.

    <hr>

    When Isse woke up, she could only remember one thing clearly, embedded in the forefront of her mind like a nail in a piece of wood, like a symbol imprinted with fire on a cow¡¯s flank.

    It was so vivid she might as well be seeing it right now.

    An impression that left nothing to the imagination.

    She remembered snow.

    No, that was wrong.

    She didn¡¯t remember it.

    She knew snow.

    She knew the cold. She knew its sweetness. She knew the bitterness of the death it could bring. She knew the joy it brought to children and adults alike. She knew what it represented, what it had lost and sacrificed and what it had been given, freely and not so much.

    She knew what was lost and remembered only on those cold winter nights.

    And also she didn¡¯t. Because how could a mind as simple as hers even hope to comprehend that beauty, that complexity, all that knowledge.

    Grandmother¡¯s face appeared over her.

    ¡°You have done well, Issekina. I told Makira you can get yourself the frog you wanted.¡±

    <hr>

    That night, when she fell asleep, holding to her chest her new, bright orange, frog friend (EEEEEEEEEE!!!!!), whose name, after an entire hour of debate with Siidi, was Marquis Du Fly the First, no titles because he had to earn them, the System spoke to her:

    [Soul Mage Level 9!]

    [Skill - Comprehend Soul: Minor Obtained!]

    [Skill - Summon Snowball Obtained!]

    [Pet Owner Level 1!]

    [Skill - Perceive Hunger: Pet Obtained!]

 Chapter 30: The First Deal

    Morning sunlight shone on Liam¡¯s face the day after he¡¯d spoken with Mina. The [Wanderer] who, apparently, had been looking for him for a very long time just to give him these¡­ contracts?

    He looked down at the sheaf of paper: a total of thirty pages, yellowed by age but still in pristine condition, all with that same message written on them. A proposal, a last glimmer of hope to give to anyone of his choice: a chance for the contractee to have their soul kept safe and sound, knowing full well that, were the contractor to fail, he would die with them.

    Hope for a second chance, sort of.

    Or a living hell. Well, it all depended on your point of view. Eternal life could be achieved, if one played their cards right, but would that be a blessing or a curse? Bah, that¡¯s a question for the gods to answer. Or the Old Men. And they were known for avoiding the question like the crimson plague.

    Liam walked out of his tent and found the [Knights] and Amarie looking around, searching for Mina.

    ¡°Well,¡± started the [Knight Commander], ¡°It would seem that our guest has kindly decided to fuck off.¡±

    ¡°Least she didn¡¯t steal anything,¡± agreed Neville.

    ¡°That¡¯s [Wanderers] for you. When they feel the call, nothing can stop them,¡± joked Sir Pollion.

    ¡°You make it sound like she had to go take a long piss,¡± said Dame Giulia, making everyone laugh and causing the other [Knight] to blush, before he, too, chuckled.

    ¡°Oh my gods, Giulia just spoke? Everyone, take out the alcohol, we¡¯re celebrating!¡± shouted Sir Pollion as he threw an arm around the Dame.

    They bantered as they prepared breakfast, before they saddled up and began riding towards their destination.

    That¡¯s when Liam decided to tell Amarie about what had happened with Mina.

    He rode closer to her, the woman turning to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

    Liam opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn¡¯t come out. For some reason his brain was screaming at him that this was a bad idea, that he should keep the knowledge for himself and bring it to the tomb with him.

    It was, of course, a very stupid idea, and he knew that, but still he hesitated.

    Amaries, bless her heart, noticed this and, after ordering her poss¨¦ of [Knights] to move back a few meters, turned towards him and twisted a ring on her left hand. It was made out of pyrite, although Liam couldn¡¯t know that and it just looked like gold to him, with a quartz gem at the top.

    As she twisted it, the world around them went silent and a thin layer of fog appeared in front of Amarie¡¯s face, obscuring her lips.

    ¡°We can talk now. They won¡¯t hear us, and Giulia won¡¯t be able to read our lips.¡±

    ¡°What is this?¡± he asked as he passed a hand through the fog in front of his face and felt the humidity cling to his skin.

    ¡°[Greater Silence] Spell, carved into this ring. Very useful if you want to have a private conversation, especially if you don¡¯t want a [Mage] to overhear you. They¡¯re so gossipy, those people.

    ¡°Also, Giulia can read lips, and while she won¡¯t say anything to anyone, I think you want the conversation to be private.¡±

    Liam nodded, sighing in relief.

    ¡°I take it,¡± she continued, ¡°that this is about Mina, the [Wanderer] from yesterday.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°So, spill the beans.¡±

    Liam rummaged inside the bag of holding king Tibur had kindly gifted to him and, after a moment, took out the sheaf of contract papers.

    ¡°Last night, when you all went to sleep, she entered my tent and gave me these. Said someone, an ¡®old bastard¡¯, had paid for these a long time ago and she was supposed to give them to me.¡±

    What really scared him was that he had just arrived in this world not even a week ago: how, for the love of God, could someone know he would end up here and make preparations just it? It made no sense.

    Then again, he was in a fantasy world. Things like [Soothsayers] were probably a thing. Could it be that someone had predicted his arrival? Yes, that must be it. Surely, it was that. Or maybe Mina had joked. That seemed like something plausible too. She seemed like the kind of person who¡¯d make that kind of joke.

    ¡°What are those?¡± asked Amarie.

    ¡°These, I think, are¡­ contracts to sell your soul to me. And I mean, like, to me only.¡±

    He showed one to her, moving his horse closer to hers.

    She read the page, blinked twice, then turned to look back at the road.

    Then, twisting her ring back to normal, she shouted: ¡°Guys, I believe we didn¡¯t just meet any [Wanderer]. I think yesterday we met Mina the fucking First Dealmaker.¡±

    Immediately the friendly chatter from the [Knights] behind them stopped as an unnatural silence dropped on the group like a boulder down a mountain ravine.

    Someone swore.

    The spell broke.

    And everyone began talking over everyone else, trying to ask more information, to state their opinion. In general, it was pure chaos.

    Until Amarie lifted her hand, the ungloved one, and snapped her fingers.

    ¡°[Sounds of Calm].¡±

    The snap seemed to reverberate in the air around them. Little by little, the [Knights] began calming, their voices dying down to whispers of uncertainty and fear.

    ¡°Has anyone, in any way, while speaking to our guest, made a promise, signed a deal, even as a joke, or agreed to something binding in any kind of way?¡± asked the [Knight Commander].

    Murmurs were her only answers at first, followed soon after by shaking or scratched heads, noes and maybes. There was uncertainty, because none of them knew for sure what counted as a deal. They¡¯d all bantered and joked and spoken with the kindly [Wanderer], after all.

    ¡°If you have, even if you¡¯re uncertain, I suggest you keep your word. Anything said in the name or in the presence of the First Dealmaker is binding.¡±

    Everyone nodded their heads.

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    In the next week, many of them would be washing dishes and preparing food for their partners or for an entire regiment of hungry [Squires] in training to become knights.

    Giulia smiled as she thought about burning trees.

    While Neville sweated, remembering the promise he had made to the [Wanderer]: that he would travel the world and see all there was to see.

    As this happened, Liam asked the obvious question: ¡°Who the hell was that woman?¡±

    So it was that [Knight Commander] Amarie began telling one of the oldest tales in history.

    <hr>

    Once upon a time, in the continent of Aknos, long before the gods brought eternal misfortune on the lands, in the early days of humanity, when the System was still young (by godly standards), there was a village.

    The village¡¯s name is unimportant, for not even dust is left of it and its inhabitants. Only memory.

    In the village, there lived a little girl, whose name may or may not have been Mina. Names, in those times, were pliable things that could be changed at one¡¯s whim without consequences for the body and soul. They could be given freely and traded for anything one desired like money, and new ones could be forged from metals of thoughts and dreams.

    A [King]¡¯s name was worth more than a peasant, just as an Old Man¡¯s name was worth more than anything of the earth.

    In that forsaken village which name was deleted from any and all books, the girl known as Mina was poor and forgotten. Her mother had died upon giving birth to her, and her father had left town, leaving her behind.

    For a while, she had been raised by the townsfolk, until she reached the age of ten and was left to fend for herself.

    Luckily, though, she was saved two years later by a [Scrybe], who took her as an apprentice. There, she learned of the trade in names and of the books that were used to remember them. She learned, and became one of the greatest traders of the town.

    But, as any [Historian] worth their salt will tell you, history is a vicious circle that repeats itself indefinitely for all of eternity, and sadly the world wasn¡¯t young enough yet not to have formed said circle.

    War came, and with it famine and disease.

    Mina¡¯s town was raided and destroyed, the people¡¯s riches and names taken against their wills. Only she remained with her own name, hidden in plain sight, trapped in a wooden ring at her finger.

    In poverty, the townsfolk tried to survive the harsh seasons to come.

    And Mina decided to help them in her own way. She was, at the time, a [Bookkeeper of Names], a long forgotten Class now unobtainable. She chose to break the rules, and whenever a [Merchant] came at their town¡¯s doors offering food and weapons, she was at the doors ready to buy his whole stock with names that were no longer hers. But they didn¡¯t know. They didn¡¯t have to. And, even then, the names had been theirs to begin with, taken against their will. She saw nothing wrong with using them.

    She saved them.

    When the war was over, her town was one of the few that survived and she was acclaimed a hero.

    Until the new [King], who had won the war and conquered all that land, overheard what had happened and, after digging into the matter, discovered the girl¡¯s ploy.

    He came to the town and had her arrested. She would die in three days¡¯ time, he decided.

    And none of the townsfolk came to help her. A poor girl who had just reached the age of fourteen, she was left alone again just as they¡¯d done when she was ten.

    An [Outcast].

    She escaped, though, and, in the woods outside the city, she used one of the Skills given to her by the System. It was simple and low level and its name was [Request Help].

    But, as was stated, at the time, the System was young. Inexpert, even with all the knowledge it had been imbued with.

    The girl used the Skill in the woods, in the cave she was hiding, but could think of nobody who could help her, for everyone had abandoned her. She thought and thought, and the System waited for her to say who she would request help from.

    Until Mina remembered the stories their church used to tell about Larnos and Airm, about the servants and punishers of the Gods.

    She looked to the sky. And thought that, if the Gods hadn¡¯t come to help her and her city when they needed them most, they surely wouldn¡¯t send someone to help her now.

    She didn¡¯t know that the Skill would¡¯ve forced one of the angels to come help her, if she so asked. Rather, the System itself wasn¡¯t certain, but thought it possible.

    So instead she looked down, towards where Airm was supposed to be. Where the souls of the damned who had wrong the world lived eternities of pain, controlled by demons and devils.

    She [Requested Help] from one of them.

    And the System provided.

    <hr>

    ¡°Wait, you mean that the girl just summoned,¡± he made a puff gesture with his hands, ¡°A demon with a Skill? Just like that?¡±

    ¡°Indeed. An [Outcast]¡¯s Skill, from a time when the System didn¡¯t know balancing. Now shut up and let me finish the story.¡±

    <hr>

    The System summoned one of the devils of Airm at random.

    It was, truly, all a matter of Luck, and during those times Luck still existed as a goddess.

    The air in the cave became sulfurous and hot, the walls bending and twisting as reality tried to trap the summoned devil back into Airm. It broke apart into great chasms that could¡¯ve swallowed the girl in a moment, but that would go against the Skill granted by the System. So the girl was safe, albeit scared.

    The being that came out of the ground was none other than Rlobarocker, the First Devil ever made by the gods. And the most powerful.

    ¡°Why was I called upon, little girl?¡± it spoke.

    Mina¡­ wasn¡¯t scared. Because what was there to be scared about? If she went back to her town, she would die. If she walked upon Aknos, she would probably be found and killed by that [King]¡¯s soldiers. So what worse could this thing do? Kill her? Well, take a ticket and go back in line.

    ¡°I need help. I am hunted, and I will be killed when they do.¡±

    The devil smiled: ¡°You wish for my help?¡±

    ¡°No. I [Request] your [Help]. You don¡¯t have a choice.¡±

    The devil chuckled: ¡°Alright little one, I will help you. For a price, naturally. Because you didn¡¯t request charity, but help. And I am the greatest of all devils. So tell me what you offer, and ask what you need. I will see if it is acceptable.¡±

    The girl thought: she had spent the last few years trying to survive and help her people: she knew how to get the best out of any situation.

    She thought, and then named what she desired: ¡°I offer my name in exchange for your power, all of it.¡±

    The devil scoffed: ¡°Your name? I have no use for a used and traded thing that isn¡¯t even yours to begin with. Do you have any idea how difficult things get down in Airm? The paperwork requires a living being¡¯s original name to be valid: without we cannot damn anyone to eternal suffering. And would you know it? Nobody seems to remember their original name,¡± he sneered.

    And Mina smiled: ¡°But this is my original name I am offering. I never traded it to anyone. It was the one given to me by my mother and father.¡±

    The devil was surprised. He looked at her. And saw she was telling the truth.

    ¡°Acceptable. Your name, your whole being contained in a word, and with it your eternal servitude, in exchange for all of my power. It is acceptable.¡±

    They shook hands.

    The First Deal was struck.

    The devil, Rlobarocker, became one with the girl, nearly killing her in the process, binding himself with her body and soul.

    Mina¡¯s very Class changed, from [Bookkeeper of Names, Trader of Necessities] to [Devilbound Dealmaker].

    She went back to her town and burned it to the ground, taking with herself only the [King]¡¯s black traveling cloak, a hunter¡¯s old tombstone hat, a bag of holding from her old home and a hemp sack.

    She left, having destroyed a kingdom in her wake, and laughed.

    Then laughed even more when the time came for her to pay the devil who¡¯s bound himself to her soul. He requested her name, and she told him that she did have it¡­ in the wooden ring around her finger. Not bound to her body.

    So it was that the devil remained bound to Mina, and she walked upon the world as the ages changed, striking deals just like the devil inside her would¡¯ve done. For the rest of time.

    <hr>

    Amarie finished, smiling: ¡°And they say I¡¯m no good at telling tales.¡±

    There was silence in the group. And there it remained for the hours to come.

    By evening, they reached the capital city of Pemos. There, Liam met the man who¡¯d be his teacher in the matters of magical crafts.

 Chapter 31: Meet the Father

    Pemos was a big city.

    Which was not surprising, seeing how it was the capital of the kingdom.

    Walls that Liam thought must¡¯ve been around one hundred meters tall surrounded in safe, solid, stone, capable of repelling any and all enemies and keep the citizens inside safe and sound.

    A place to keep the war away. Liam already liked it, and he hadn¡¯t even entered.

    ¡°This place looks grand.¡±

    ¡°Bah, it¡¯s all the walls. Inside it looks homey, nothing like the big ass castle cities people sometimes build on Eva where you rarely see sunlight. Just a lot of houses and inns and shops,¡± said Neville with a small smile on his face. Clearly, he was fond of the place.

    Amarie nodded in agreement and dismounted, pulling her horse towards the main entrance gate by the reins. The [Guards] noticed her a few moments laters. They were two men in their thirties, their hair blonde and chestnut. Liam decided that, under all that armor, they were probably muscly.

    They motioned the [Knight Commander] and her poss¨¦ of [Knights] through without even controlling their documents, but the moment Liam reached the gate one of them blocked his way with a spear: ¡°Who do you think you are? Go back in line right now, boy.¡±

    Before Liam could say anything though, Amarie shouted back: ¡°The boy¡¯s with me, Cartus. Let him through.¡±

    Immediately the man bowed and lowered his spear: ¡°I¡¯m extremely sorry, [Knight Commander]. Go on through.¡±

    And they were in.

    ¡°Welcome to Pemos, Liam. You¡¯ll like it here.¡±

    <hr>

    Liam and Amarie were currently standing in front of a two story house made out of stone, a simple wooden door in front of them. There were no windows on the ground floor, while the first floor seemed to be more window than wall. It probably didn¡¯t leave a lot of privacy for whoever lived there. Or chances to sleep during the day.

    ¡°Are you sure this is the place?¡± asked Liam.

    ¡°Sure is. Sigmund the [Mage Crafter], lives and works right here. Come on in,¡± she opened the door.

    Since they¡¯d arrived at the capital, the [Commander] hadn¡¯t stopped smiling. Actually, her smile had only grown larger as they¡¯d neared this place.

    Liam walked in right behind Amarie¡­ and stopped.

    He was in trinket heaven.

    They¡¯d walked right into a room filled floor to ceiling with shelves, which were in turn filled with anything you could imagine: from simple wands to pieces of armor to clocks to¡­ he couldn¡¯t even begin to imagine how many things were hidden around among those shelves, both in the dark and illuminated corners.

    It reminded him of the mysterious stores protagonists always found in fantasy stories, those where you could find what you needed if you just looked hard enough.

    ¡°Well, place hasn¡¯t changed at all,¡± said Amarie, shaking her head in fake exasperation.

    ¡°And it sure as Airm won¡¯t be changing anytime soon!¡± said a jovial voice from the back of the room, where a wooden counter was.

    Liam stared as a lizardman walked towards them. His scales were light orange, which seemed a lot darker in the badly illuminated front room of the shop. His yellow eyes gleamed when light met them, black vertical pupils staring right into his soul. His ¡®lips¡¯ were retracted into what Liam believed was a smile, which showed off most if not all of his teeth. He was wearing a simple red shirt and trousers of the color of rusted blood.

    ¡°Dad, please, stop being creepy,¡± said Amarie.

    And at that Liam¡¯s brain did a complete one-eighty and tried to grapple with what the woman had just said.

    The [Knight Commander] sighed and smiled slightly: this probably wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d seen someone react that way.

    ¡°Liam, this is my dad, Sigmund Slickscale. Dad, this is Liam Roy. He¡¯s the boy I told you about.¡±

    ¡°Ah, he¡¯s the one you took a fancy for?¡± asked the lizardkin, beaming like a star.

    Amarie, to Liam utter surprise, actually blushed and began babbling: ¡°What? Dad! I never said anything like that!¡±

    ¡°Calm down, Amarie, dear, I was just kidding. Although, now you¡¯ve probably hurt the boy¡¯s feelings.¡±

    Yep, he was definitely her dad seeing how calm and exuberant he was acting. He was even joking.

    Although, that wasn¡¯t the main thing in the forefront of Liam¡¯s mind. All that brainpower was occupied with trying to understand how Amarie could possibly be human when her dad clearly wasn¡¯t.

    And, seeing how much of a dumbass he could be sometimes, Liam did the one thing that probably anyone with more than two brain cells would keep to himself: ¡°How¡­ What?¡±

    The lizardman looked back at him and laughed at his disbelieving face.

    ¡°How can she be my daughter? Gosh, I thought they taught this thing to humans, but it seems that I¡¯ll have to do it myself: you see, when papa lizardman and mama human love each other very much, they -¡±

    ¡°Dad, what in the Olds¡¯ names are you doing!¡± interrupted Amarie, her voice raising in pitch.

    ¡°Why, obviously, I¡¯m explaining to him the birds and the bees. You know,¡± he made wide gestures with his hands, as if that could explain everything.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry sir, but I already know how that works,¡± said Liam, his voice low with embarrassment.

    ¡°What thing? Sex?¡±

    Both Liam and Amarie became red as tomatoes.

    ¡°I¡¯m just pulling your leg, no worries. Just don¡¯t do the same with me: you¡¯ll pull mine off,¡± he moved to stand on his left foot and, after a bit of struggling, removed his right leg. The moment he did the leg, which had looked very much alive and scaled, took on the form of a wood-and-metal prosthesis.

    ¡°Anyways,¡± he continued unperturbed, ¡°I guess you¡¯ve never seen my daughter with her armor off, or you would¡¯ve seen that her arms have some scales here and there. Mostly, they¡¯re on her chest though. Got the best from both races.¡±

    ¡°DAD!¡± screamed Amarie, who was clearly flustered.

    ¡°What? I see nothing to be ashamed of! Also, don¡¯t you DAD me, I changed your diapers when you were a child.¡±

    Amarie opened her mouth to answer, then closed it, a look of pure defeat on her face. She was a [Knight Commander] who won wars for her kingdom: she could see when a battle was lost.

    ¡°Your dad is so clich¨¦,¡± whispered Liam in her ear.

    ¡°You can¡¯t even begin to imagine how much he leans into it,¡± sighed Amarie.

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    Then she shrugged, smiled at him, and began talking: ¡°Anyways, dad, Liam is going to be your apprentice from here on. And before you begin, it¡¯s the [King]¡¯s orders. You will train him.¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t give me shit about orders and whatnot. I pay my taxes and respect the law, that¡¯s how far the king can order me. I was here before he rose to power. And anyways, I was in need of a new apprentice,¡± he crossed his arms defiantly while also winking at Liam.

    ¡°Dare I ask what happened to the last one?¡±

    ¡°He exploded. Happens all the time,¡± deadpanned Sigmund.

    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him, he just left, probably. Like all the ones before him,¡± reassured him Amarie.

    ¡°What do you mean probably?¡± asked Liam, panic slowly beginning to mount.

    ¡°Well,¡± answered Sigmund in place of his daughter, ¡°One actually exploded. Very unfortunate. Well, like all things around here.¡±

    At Liam¡¯s expression of pure horror, he slapped his back in the friendliest way possible: ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I started taking a lot more precautions since then. Now, tell me, what Level are you? You¡¯re a [Mage Crafter], right?¡±

    Liam nodded: ¡°I am, well, Level 1.¡±

    Sigmund smiled, then took a second look, asking: ¡°I¡¯m sorry, boy, probably something happened during the last experiment. I thought I heard you say you were Level 1.¡±

    ¡°No, you heard that right.¡±

    Sigmund looked at him, then turned a little ring on his hand made out of what was probably iron with a little crystal of something on top: ¡°Care to repeat that again?¡±

    ¡°Well, I am a Level 1 [Mage Crafter]. Is something wrong?¡±

    Sigmund looked at his ring, where the gem was flashing green.

    ¡°You¡¯re not pulling my leg.¡±

    He shook his head, and suddenly his face had abandoned the carefree expression, pensiveness and bright eyed curiosity taking its place.

    ¡°You, boy, are impossible.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    ¡°Your Class, [Mage Crafter], is an evolved Class, obtained by fusing together any kind of [Mage] Class together with a <Crafter> type Class.¡±

    For some reason, as Sigmund said those words, Liam was sure he could hear the brackets and angle brackets.

    ¡°So, usually,¡± continued Sigmund, ¡°People who get that Class are Level 30. At the very least Level 20. And you¡¯re Level 1. You, my boy, are a statistical improbability.¡±

    Liam chuckled: ¡°Maybe it¡¯s because of my other Class. I got it after surviving randomly appearing on a battlefield. It¡¯s [Lucky Soldier], Level 3.¡±

    And at that, Sigmund became focused again.

    ¡°Say that again?¡±

    ¡°Dad, stop it! You heard that well!¡±

    ¡°No, this time I seriously did not. Or rather, I think I heard it wrong. You said [Lucky Soldier]?¡±

    ¡°Erm¡­ yes.¡±

    Again, Sigmund looked at Liam, his eyes seemingly trying to pierce his soul from side to side. What was he doing?

    ¡°Answer me this, Amarie, dear: how many times were you and your group attacked on the road here? By monsters or bandits, I don¡¯t care.¡±

    Amarie opened her mouth to answer, then stopped as she realized something.

    ¡°Not once, dad. It was a¡­ calm journey,¡± she stopped, then adding, ¡°Well, we did meet the First Dealmaker, apparently, but she just traveled a bit with us and gave something to Liam here.¡±

    Sigmund¡¯s eyes sharpened: ¡±Ok, well, Dealmaker apart, do you see something off here? You traveled for days on the continent, carrying someone of interest to the king, and weren¡¯t attacked once by anything? That sounds rather¡­ lucky, am I right?¡±

    Amarie nodded, while Liam looked at the two of them without understanding anything.

    Sigmund turned towards him: ¡°Boy, here¡¯s the thing: your Class, [Lucky Soldier], hasn¡¯t appeared anywhere in the world for thousands of years. Since the Goddess of Luck died, actually.

    ¡°Basically, boy, you are a walking statistical improbability that somehow manages to balance the statistically improbable misfortune of this continent.¡±

    Silence fell on the room.

    ¡°Yes, that was a mouthful to say,¡± nodded Sigmund.

    ¡°Dad¡­ are you sure?¡±

    ¡°No, I am never sure about anything, dear. It¡¯s a theory, but at the moment it¡¯s the best thing that comes to mind. Nobody is lucky on this continent.¡±

    Then he turned back towards Liam: ¡°As for you, you¡¯re now officially my apprentice.¡±

    He smiled toothily. ¡°Welcome to Airm!¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°So, could you tell me why your shop is so dark?¡± asked Liam.

    It was around nine in the evening if he had to guess. Sigmund had offered him the guest room in the house over his shop and prepared dinner. All the while, he hadn¡¯t seen the shadow of his supposed human wife. Oh, sure, there were photos, or, as Sigmund called them, ¡®mage pictures¡¯, but other than that? Nothing.

    ¡°It¡¯s my Class Liam. I am a [Secretive Merchant]. My Skills basically follow the concept of ¡®If you found it, then it¡¯s made for you¡¯. There are secret and darkened spots all around the shop where my items sometimes end up because of a Skill of mine: [Inventory Reshuffle]. Used to be annoying as fuck until I just got the Skill [Real-Time Inventory Update].¡±

    Liam smiled: ¡°That sounds so cool.¡±

    ¡°Because it is. People who often come to my shop do so to see what interesting things they will find. Curiosity always helps to increase sales.¡±

    Liam nodded: ¡°Do you make everything you sell in this shop?¡±

    Sigmund nodded: ¡°Yes, I do. Becomes troublesome when I run out of stock of complex things, like the clocks, but everything in the shop is built by me, myself and I.¡±

    ¡°Are you specialized? There must be something you¡¯re better at making.¡±

    Sigmund smiled: ¡°Already trying to steal my secrets boy?¡±

    Immediately Liam took a (figurative) step back: ¡°Nope! I¡¯m just curious, is all.¡±

    The lizardman laughed: ¡°Nah, was just joking. I specialize in enchanting rings. Did you know, every single ring my daughter wears in battle was crafted by me.¡±

    ¡°Really? Even the [Greater Silence] one?¡±

    ¡°Especially that one.¡±

    He looked around, as if to make sure that nobody was spying them, then conspiratorially leaned closer: ¡°Actually, it¡¯s not a [Greater Silence] spell in there. I¡¯m not high Level enough for that. It¡¯s actually a [Silence] Spell together with a localized [Mist Cloud] Spell.¡±

    He narrowed his eyes, then said: ¡°Actually, while we¡¯re at it, let¡¯s see how much you know. Tell me, what was that ring made of, since I assume you saw it.¡±

    Liam thought back to the moment when Amarie had used the ring, and remembered the golden yellow look of the metal it was made of. He was also quite sure it wasn¡¯t shining in any way in the morning sunlight, so it definitely couldn¡¯t be gold.

    ¡°Pirite, I¡¯d wager.¡±

    Sigmund nodded, a satisfied smile on his face: ¡°You¡¯re right. Also known as Fool¡¯s Gold, it¡¯s the perfect material for imbuing a spell that has, as its main function, the idea of fooling people and making sure they don¡¯t realize what¡¯s really happening. As for the gem up there, I¡¯ll answer for you: it was quartz. Very malleable, capable of becoming mostly anything. Only flaw it has is that it cannot hold powerful spells or it¡¯ll break.¡±

    Liam nodded along with the explanation. In the end, he said: ¡°That sounds really¡­ esoteric.¡±

    ¡°Ha! Sure as Airm it does. Let me tell you a secret, boy: there is little difference between a [Witch] and a [Mage Crafter]. Both Classes follow strange occult principles old as the world, using synergies to create beautiful or horrifying things. No one with our Classes will ever admit that, naturally. I just tend to lean more into it.¡±

    He smiled, looking out of the window.

    ¡°I believe it¡¯s time for you to go to bed, boy.¡±

    Liam¡¯s eyebrows shot towards his hairline: ¡°What? Why? I¡¯m not some child.¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯re not, but tomorrow your training will begin, and you¡¯ll thank me for all the extra hours of sleep you¡¯ll be getting, trust me. I am not a kind instructor. Or so my previous apprentices say, ha!¡±

    Liam shivered. He did not want to go to sleep. Not when he knew what awaited him.

    Sigmund seemed to notice, because he lifted himself from his comfortable chair and walked towards the closest piece of furniture, where he fished around for a while until he came back with a ring.

    ¡°This is what we call a [Ring of Confusion]. It inhibits the brain¡¯s¡­ something, not sure what. Doesn¡¯t matter. It will make you feel like you¡¯ve just drunk a few bottles of alcohol.and will block your ability to dream. Hopefully it will help with you Blood Skill and keep the nightmares at bay.¡±

    He handed Liam the ring.

    ¡°Now go to sleep. And put the ring on only when you¡¯re already in bed. Can¡¯t have you breaking your skull against something now, can we?¡±

    And with that, Liam went to bed.

    That night, he didn¡¯t dream.

 Interlude: Houses and Memories

    Memory becomes Tradition becomes Law.

    These words were carved into the stone above the entrance to the College of Memoirs, one of the most powerful organizations in the world, if not the most powerful. And oldest.

    Kingdoms rose and fell with the passing of the years at the speed it took for a kraken to digest a big prey (a few years at most), people great and small were born and lived their lives, cities had been built and fallen into dust, and yet the College still stood. It had been there before the arachne came, and it is still there to this day, a lighthouse in the dark to remind people of the gods¡¯ will.

    A true pillar of tenacity.

    Nero, a member of the College of Memoirs, walked up the entrance stairs of the House of Memories, the place where the College¡¯s true magic happened.

    He was an old man in his seventies, his gray hair cut short, his sea blue eyes sharp as a blade yet kind as a smile. They say that wine becomes better with age. The same had happened with Nero, or so he liked to think.

    The only difference between him and a bottle of good wine was that, sadly, he was tired. Oh, so tired. In a world where people usually died at the age of sixty (if they managed to survive the wars and monster attacks), he could be considered positively ancient.

    Well, he sure as Airm felt ancient. His spine and joints shouted as much whenever he moved too much. Or slept in the wrong way. Or¡­ well, you get it.

    Nero walked inside the House of Memories. The single entrance door creaked on its hinges, while the wooden floorboards groaned under his weight. A grand entrance room greeted him. The walls were filled from top to bottom with paintings, the themes varying in many ways: from a simple [Farmer] giving food to those in need, to a [Knight] charging, alone, an entire army, up to a [King] ordering an army of [Soldiers] into a fight, their bodies ravaged by wounds unimaginable, yet their faces smiling.

    Memories, each and every single one of them.

    Nero scoffed and motioned a passing [Acolyte] closer.

    ¡°Boy, go tell the [Memory Shapers] to fix this place up. Haven¡¯t you noticed that it has reverted to its original state?¡±

    The [Acolyte] looked at him with big eyes, visibly surprised and awed.

    Nero looked into them. Too big. Too awed. Clearly, the House was trying to make him focus on anything other than his request.

    He raised his hand and gave the boy a few gentle yet firm slaps on the cheek. The [Acolyte]¡¯s eyes immediately focused.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Sir, what was that about?¡±

    ¡°The [Memory Shapers]. Call them. The entrance has reverted to its original form, not the one imposed by the College. Tell them to fix it.¡±

    The boy looked around, as if just noticing the way the place looked. His eyes opened wide in surprise.

    ¡°I - It had felt right as it was. I hadn¡¯t noticed. I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯ll immediately call the [Shapers].¡±

    With that he bowed and ran to call upon someone that could fix the place up.

    Nero sighed. The new generations weren¡¯t nearly as attentive as his used to be. If it wasn¡¯t for him right now who knew what the House could¡¯ve done. The walls of its original form were too small to contain the amount of memories stashed in its insides. The paintings could¡¯ve fallen to the ground, even been damaged, the memories inside freed. That could¡¯ve been truly catastrophic.

    He sighed, shaking his head as he walked towards the stairs and began climbing them, his knees very much disagreeing with the decision.

    When he reached the top he sighed in relief.

    Only to be greeted by a glare.

    ¡°Good morning, Sir Nero.¡±

    The voice came from an old man with short white hair just like his own. His face was wrinkled, especially around the eyes and mouth, as if he had spent too much time smiling. Nero, though, had never seen the man smile once in his entire life, and he¡¯d been raised in the College of Memoirs.

    The old man was wearing a simple blue long-sleeved shirt and pants of the same color. At his feet sat a brown leather doctor¡¯s bag, the color faded from age. Nero looked inside but, instead of seeing any form of medical equipment, he found himself looking into a veritable builder¡¯s toolbox.

    As expected, really: the House wasn¡¯t a living being like Nero was. It was, indeed, just a house. And, as any other building, it required maintenance.

    ¡°Hello to you too, Elemental. How¡¯s the House doing?¡±

    Indeed, the man in front of Nero was not, as his appearance would make one assume, human. He was an Elemental. An Elemental of Memories, to be precise. Nero had never understood how that could possibly work: memories weren¡¯t, after all, an element of nature.

    Or rather, they were, seeing how this nameless elemental existed, but it seemed¡­ wrong. Still, people more intelligent than him had tried to understand what the being in front of him was and how it could possibly exist, and had failed. Also, he was too old to care. The elemental existed, it helped the House and it didn¡¯t interfere with what they did. That was all that mattered to him.

    ¡°Badly. She is suffering. At night I can hear her cry. The walls are caving in on themselves, the foundations creaking. The things in the attic keep trying to escape because you do not try to change yourselves, and the monsters locked in the basement are steadily increasing in number,¡± answered the elemental.

    ¡°...So, the usual,¡± said Nero, unperturbed. The elemental had been saying these things for thousands of years apparently. Initially it had caused quite the stir but, seeing how nothing had ever happened, they¡¯d come to the conclusion that the guardian of the House was simply trying to find a way to make them all leave.

    The elemental looked at him as if he¡¯d just killed a kitten in cold blood, then sighed, going back to repairing a crack on the wall with pristine wood boards and nails. Nobody knew where he got the things he used to repair the House, but it was deemed inconsequential by the higher ups.

    ¡°Yes, the usual,¡± he sighed, the regular toc toc toc of his hammer starting anew. These days one could always find the elemental repairing something around the House.

    Personally, Nero thought it was a sign that maybe something was indeed going wrong, but what could they do? Remove themselves from the House? Throw in the gutter thousands of years of work? No, they couldn¡¯t. He was sure someone would find a way to solve the problem soon enough. If there was a problem to begin with.

    ¡°They¡¯ve been looking for you in the Hunter¡¯s Garrett,¡± finished the elemental, resuming his work.

    Nero nodded a thank you and walked up another set of stairs nearby, these ones carved from marble instead of wood, like the ones in the entrance. As they should be.

    Two minutes of walking down grand hallways filled with paintings later, he reached a simple set of double doors carved out of wood with decorations representing arachne being slain and burned to crisps.

    Nero looked at them for only a moment before he pushed them open.

    The inside of the room looked like a [General]¡¯s war room, filled with charts of the world and every continent, some of them so old that they were actually from the Era of Hunts, when the arachne had first emerged into the world.

    On the table a chart of the continent of Irevia was unfolded, with the most recent political borders drawn in various colors.

    In the room with him were two other people: a smartly-dressed man wearing spectacles and sitting in a most relaxed manner in one of the seats, sipping from a cup of tea. The other was an actually ancient man, bald as a baby, his face wrinkled to the point one could barely see the actual features. If stories were to be believed, the Grand Master of the College was over one hundred and fifty years old, all thanks to a few blessings from the gods and a good set of Skills, plus a few Memories keeping his mind sharp. He was also a [Memoir Holder], just like Nero.

    ¡°Good evening, Grand Master, Assistant. How may I help you?¡± he bowed.

    ¡°Sit,¡± whispered the Grand Master, ¡°We have terrible news.¡±

    On the chart, the forest of Tusca was circles in red.

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    <hr>

    [Investigator] Claron sighed as he looked at the shattered and burned ruins of the village of¡­ he didn¡¯t remember. And, at this point, there was no use in remembering at all: there was quite literally nothing left of the place but ashes.

    ¡°Ok, well, let¡¯s do our job. Look for any sort of clues, maybe we¡¯ll manage to understand what kind of raiders did this. And be fast about it: we¡¯re on the College¡¯s payroll, they like things not to take too much time.¡±

    The group of people with him nodded silently and began to work earnestly. Not many words were exchanged between the various [Investigators]: they¡¯d been working their jobs for a long time and seen their good share of people thrown into the wolf¡¯s jaws. Sometimes literally.

    ¡°[Detect Steps],¡± he whispered the Skill under his breath.

    Immediately the ground in front of him lit up in greens and reds and blues. This was one of his most powerful Skills, a capstone he¡¯d gotten for reaching Level 30. It had helped him immensely in all his investigation ever since then: one could discover a lot of things just by looking at how an enemy had moved.

    This time, though, he wasn¡¯t so lucky: the ground was filled with steps from people running around in what he imagined was fear and desperation. Even then though, that wasn¡¯t the problem for him, because the Skill made the footsteps of the people he considered enemies glow bright red. Which, at the moment, was completely absent. No matter where he looked, there was nothing but greens and blues, for women and men respectively.

    But no red. As if the villagers had decided to up and kill each other and burn everything down.

    Which made no sense.

    Claron sighed. This was going to be a long job. At least he hoped he would Level from it.

    <hr>

    ¡°What¡¯s the meaning of this?¡± asked Nero as he stared down at the map.

    It was a rhetorical question. He already knew, or had a good hunch, about what the problem was. Because they had called him in this room out of all the possible ones in the House.

    ¡°Why, isn¡¯t it obvious?¡± asked the Assistant.

    Nero hated the man. He would be Grand Master¡¯s successor once this one croaked (which wouldn¡¯t be anytime soon if nothing went wrong) and, as such, acted high and mighty all the time. He felt like he was better than each and every person in this building. The problem? He was right. He was better. One couldn¡¯t become Assistant without exceptional to say the least.

    That didn¡¯t mean Nero had to like him.

    ¡°Another arachne nest was found?¡± he phrased it like a question, hoping against all hope that the Assistant would laugh in his face, tell him he was stupid, and then throw around some bullshit about a band of brigands who¡¯d been getting up to too much trouble.

    That would¡¯ve been easier on his body and mind. He was way too old to participate in this eternal genocide.

    Especially after the last one decades ago. He could still hear those damned spiders¡¯ screams as they were burned alive, just as he could never forget the screams of utter horror and pain as the soldiers who¡¯d come with him were massacred.

    The Assistant made a finger gun his way: ¡°Hole in one!¡±

    Nero sighed as he slumped in his chair, suddenly very tired.

    ¡°No,¡± he said, his voice firm.

    Silence fell on the room as the Assistant¡¯s smile froze on his face.

    ¡°What?¡± he asked, his voice tense.

    ¡°You want me to go there and help hunt them down. I won¡¯t do it. Not again.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re one of the last [Memoir Holders], and the youngest at that. You¡¯re clearly the most logical choice,¡± rebuked the young man, as if he¡¯d expected the conversation to go this way and prepared the speech.

    ¡°I do not care about my or my peers¡¯ ages. They haven¡¯t fought arachne before. Send any of them,¡± he didn¡¯t even miss a beat.

    The Assistant nodded, seemingly agreeing, before he lifted his damned backside from that chair, placing his cup of tea near the circle on the map. He then walked right into Nero¡¯s face: ¡°You know better than anyone that they wouldn¡¯t last more than a minute battling those monsters. You, on the other hand¡­ you know how to lead a battle, Nero the Battlesmith. Am I right?¡±

    Nero, again, froze as he heard his old title coming from the Assistant¡¯s mouth.

    He hadn¡¯t always been a member of the College of Memoirs. Once upon a time, he had been a great [General] in a rising kingdom¡¯s army. He had been feared a loved, one of the greatest minds of his time, an asset beyond compare. A week wouldn¡¯t pass without someone sending [Assassins] in an attempt to kill him.

    Then he¡¯d found out that tactics worked only so much when over a dozen kingdoms allied to end you.

    He¡¯d kept them at bay, naturally, to help his kingdom survive, prepare for what was to come.

    He had failed.

    Then, as he¡¯d laid bleeding on the battlefield, they¡¯d found him: the College. They¡¯d proposed to save his life in exchange for him joining their ranks.

    At the age of forty he¡¯d become a [Memoir Holder], the highest rank in the College short of being the Grand Master or the Assistant.

    Then they¡¯d sent him to fight a nest of arachne. It had broken him in ways he couldn¡¯t put into words even now. And this man, this little shit still wet behind the ears, was trying to order him around, even going so far as to dredge up his past?

    The cold feeling in his stomach turned into cold rage as he looked at the Assistant with murder in his eyes¡­ and punched him.

    [Power Punch].

    The man either wasn¡¯t expecting this or let it happen. Nero didn¡¯t care. His Skill empowered punch made contact with the man¡¯s stomach with a lot more strength than his fist should¡¯ve been able to muster, sending him flying back into his chair, which then flipped over.

    ¡°You have no right to tell me what to do, Assistant. And never again call me that way: that man died on that battlefield. Learn some respect,¡± he didn¡¯t raise his voice, or himself for the matter, to tell him this, instead letting the hatred drip into his tone.

    He got no answer in return.

    Then, finally, the Grand Master spoke: ¡°You will fight, Nero, for that has been the will of the gods from well before you were born. You will go in that forest and exterminate that plague. Then, when you come back, you will be allowed to retire.¡±

    The Grand Master¡¯s voice was small and soft, papery even. Yet he was able to make himself heard clearly. Probably a Skill of his.

    ¡°I understand Grand Master, but -¡±

    ¡°No buts, Nero. I know it is hard, but you are the only one who can do it. We will provide you with the best Memories.¡±

    ¡°Such as?¡± he asked, resigned. The Grand Master had spoken. And the prospect to finally retire was appealing, considering that [Memoir Holders] were not supposed to ever retire.

    ¡°Obviously, we will provide the Hunters¡¯ Memory, the gods¡¯ gift to fight the arachne. And the protections against silence and sound, mixed with enhancers.¡±

    Nero nodded: ¡°May I request to use [Memory: My Armies Fought On, Unkillable].¡±

    Immediately the Grand Master shook his head as the Assistant finally untangled himself from his armchair.

    ¡°Absolutely not,¡± he shouted, ¡°We¡¯ve only had trouble from anyone using it. We will not allow its use.¡±

    Nero sighed. That would¡¯ve made everything much simpler but, apparently, the Skill had a strange effect on anyone who used it, forcing them to fight to create an empire. The College presumed it had been corrupted, but they wouldn¡¯t allow anyone, not even the most expert [Memory Shapers], close to the Memory, so if there was a way to fix it they would never find it.

    ¡°Go. You will be given the required Memories. And you may ask for a few more. Leave.¡±

    <hr>

    Three days of searching, and they¡¯d found nothing. Absolutely nothing! Just a few charred corpses here and there missing body parts, his Skills telling him that they¡¯d all been cut using blades.

    He had come to the conclusion, at this point, that some kind of high Level [Bandit] had appeared in the region and done this. A problem to be sure, but not a really big one. Or rather, not a big problem for him.

    ¡°Well boys, a few more hours and then we¡¯re leaving. I¡¯ve had enough of this dust and ash. Who¡¯s ready for a bath, good food, and a bed?¡±

    Cheers erupted all around him.

    And were cut short by someone shouting: ¡°Boss, I found something. You won¡¯t like it.¡±

    Claron sighed, rubbing his forehead. Then shook his head. Whatever! It didn¡¯t matter. His job was only to find out what or who had caused this complete massacre so out of the blue. He wouldn¡¯t be the one who had to deal with it.

    He walked towards where the voice had come from, behind a burned down house. There was a small door to a basement there, which had apparently been buried under the rubble of the whole house above. One of his men had managed to find it, probably with a Skill, and free the way to get inside.

    He walked in, his worker pointing down, and what he saw made his blood freeze, his heart skipping a beat.

    For down there, amid the rubble from the caved in floor, was a body in relatively good conditions. Which, to him, meant it hadn¡¯t been touched by the flames. Most of it was too damaged to make it even possible to recognize who had been the corpse, but that mattered not, because he had a Skill just for that.

    ¡°[Restore Body].¡±

    The body under the rubble, for the first time since he¡¯d tried to use the Skill on anyone in the village, began to reassemble itself, skin growing back to cover bone and muscle, face going back to its original shape, arms all reattaching to their sockets.

    In the end, the body was exactly as it had been the moment the man had died.

    And then he saw what had scared his worker, what he hadn¡¯t noticed until then: the man¡¯s neck had been bitten, veins taking on a distinctly purple color and spreading towards the rest of the body.

    Also, he was naked from the waist down.

    ¡°Well, fuck me gently with a sword, then fuck me sideways with a pike.

    ¡°Apparently, it¡¯s arachne breeding season.¡±

    <hr>

    Nero walked towards the exit of the House, new Memories stored inside his mind.

    The entrance hall was already back to the form the College deemed necessary: a grand marble hall with large walls that let the paintings holding these lesser, older, memories stand apart from each other, lots of space between each of them. One never knew how a Memory could react with another.

    As he opened the door, he saw the Elemental walk down a corridor, holding his doctor¡¯s bag.

    For a moment he thought he could hear him whisper: ¡°Just a while longer, my dear. You won¡¯t be suffering like this for much longer.¡±

    Nero cocked an eyebrow in confusion, then shrugged.

    As he left the House, he could distinctly feel it sigh in relief.

 Chapter 32: The First Change

    Makira had expected many things when she¡¯d woken up that day: she¡¯d expected her sisters to start an impromptu fight club, for Grandmother to suddenly rediscover the ability to feel emotions like most other living beings, for a human army to attack, for the gods to decide to off themselves, for Death himself to appear and offer her immortality or, more simply, for the spiderlings to learn new and interesting ways to accidentally kill each other.

    What she hadn¡¯t expected was to be the epicenter of a snowball fight.

    In the middle of summer.

    ¡°Where in Airm did they get all this snow?¡± screeched one of the [Carers] before being pelted right into her mouth by one of the children.

    ¡°How should I know?¡± asked Makira back, dodging another snowball with the elegance of a dancer.

    ¡°Makira, I swear, if this is your fault somehow I will rip your legs off one by one and have Aru reattach them after stitching them pink!¡± shouted a third [Carer].

    ¡°Again, not my fault! Mum¡¯s the one who work with winter and snow, not me. If it was me they¡¯d be throwing rocks, not snowballs,¡± shouted back Makira with a smile on her face as she stuck her tongue out at one of the spiderlings who¡¯d just missed her.

    ¡°The fuck did you just say?¡± came back from the first.

    And at that Makira snatched a snowball coming at her from the air and threw it back into her mouth: ¡°Don¡¯t use such foul language near the children. Wash your mouth with that!¡±

    And that was that.

    In the end, the spiderlings finished their ammunition (¡°Or they are keeping it hidden for a final assault for when we swoop in,¡± said Pochi with a small smile) and the [Carers] managed to come into the clearing to administer the rightful scoldings.

    In the end though they didn¡¯t manage to find out how the snow had been brought in the first place.

    Or rather, one of them did. That one being Makira, who already had a pretty good idea about who was the perpetrator: ¡°Now, Isse, I am not angry. That was actually quite fun.¡±

    Isse looked up at the older arachne with raised eyebrows: ¡°Then what¡¯s the matter?¡±

    Makira leaned in, actually whispering: ¡°I guess it¡¯s a Skill of yours that allowed this. Which is fine. Next time, though, invite me to be on your side. It¡¯ll be much more fun. I¡¯ll also call Pochi, our [Strategist].¡±

    She smiled evilly, joined a moment later by the spiderling, while Siidi cackled madly in her mind.

    Then they began their day.

    <hr>

    ¡°Issekina, tell me, where did you get that little¡­ effigy?¡± asked Grandmother.

    Isse had just arrived to the elder¡¯s clearing, only to freeze in place and deeply desire to start running away, possibly to the other side of the forest, as if she¡¯d just committed some atrocious crime.

    Instead she made herself small and, meekly, answered: ¡°I - I received it in a dream. From a kind man and girl wearing fox masks.¡±

    The morning when she¡¯d woken up with the strange man¡¯s present in her hand, she had attached it to her spider half with some silk, away from prying eyes and always with her. If there was something she dearly missed of her life on earth, it was furniture. Even a simple trunk with her name on it would¡¯ve been better than what she had right now. Or rather, what she didn¡¯t have.

    Grandmother nodded: ¡°Good to know. It is a cute fox. Now come here. Today I believe you will manage to change my soul.¡±

    Isse, though, didn¡¯t move. Because she was still scared, and because Siidi had suggested something quite scary: Did she know?

    The little spiderling decided to ask just that: ¡°Did you know he -¡±

    She didn¡¯t even manage to finish the question: ¡°I felt him intrude upon your dreams. But he was bound by the Silken Dream Deal, so I chose not to interfere.¡±

    Grandmother decided not to tell the little girl that she¡¯d actually forgotten that deal existed and had been about to go on a rampage to kill the [Dreamer]. And make it stick. Thank Death the Button Man had, somehow, intervened.

    ¡°He was kinder than most [Dreamers] I was ever told about.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Grandmother sighed, then nodded and, with a gesture of her hand, the usual white tea table appeared in front of her. She motioned Isse to come close and sit down, then began telling her tale.

    ¡°Once upon a time, during the Era of Hunts, when we had just been created, we waged war upon all that lived on this world. During the Greatest Hunt, for that was how the humans and other species called it, we chanced upon an enemy that could keep up with us: [Dreamers].

    ¡°The greatest of their ilk could enter our minds while we slept without triggering our wards, they could find our locations and reveal our plans. And, if they were so inclined, they could trap our minds in endless prisons built upon the Dream itself, make us scatter in endlessly changing labyrinths from which we could never escape, or even outright kill us.

    ¡°In the beginning, [Dreamers] were our true enemies. Until we learned their arts. Then we fought back, and the Greatest Hunt drenched in blood even the Land of Dreams. That was the only place where we found enemies that could actually keep up with us. You must know, dear, that at the time the Greatest Game didn¡¯t exist. There were no sides and factions among the [Dreamers], just one great unified front of people who wished to escape reality and would die to allow others this grace.

    ¡°They sent Nightmares both dark and bloody against us, crafted unimaginable weapons out of the endless possibilities of the dreams, sent us to the Dream of Roses to never escape again. And we did the same.

    ¡°In the end, their ranks were depleted to the point where nearly none were left. But so were we. So it was that one of them proposed the Silken Dream Deal. And we accepted. A way to protect both sides from each other.¡±

    She finished her tale, sighing.

    ¡°Those were grand times, little one. But times I wish will never return.¡±

    Isse remained silent for a while, thinking, trying to imagine what she¡¯d just been told.

    I was there, you know? When the [Dreamers] attacked. I saw my sisters fall asleep and never wake up again. That was the first time we felt fear, said Siiidi.

    They shivered.

    ¡°Now, Issekina, it is time for you to reshape my soul.¡±

    And at that, storytime was over.

    Even if she didn¡¯t want it to be: ¡°But what¡¯s the Greatest Game? And the Dream of Roses? Please!!!¡±

    Grandmother stared down at her: ¡°Another time. We must not lose time.¡±

    Isse deflated and Siidi shouted a most interesting expletive about cow twats and horse dung being united. They both sighed.

    And started.

    <hr>

    This time, when Isse traced her chosen white thread back to Grandmother, she didn¡¯t pass out. Instead she did as Siidi suggested and used one of the Skills she¡¯d gotten the day before: [Comprehend Soul: Minor].

    She looked at Grandmother¡¯s soul.

    And saw snow.

    <hr>

    Isse and Siidi opened their eyes and saw a sky filled with gray clouds.

    That was the first hint that they weren¡¯t in the clearing anymore, together with another fact: the webs covered the sky from sight. Which meant nothing, because someone could¡¯ve just moved them to another one, but then again, Siidi was on the ground beside her.

    Also, they were spider-feet-deep in snow, and they were pretty sure it was still their world¡¯s equivalent of summer when they¡¯d started working on Grandmother¡¯s soul, so either they¡¯d gone in a coma for a very long time, or they weren¡¯t in the real world anymore.

    ¡°I rather believe you¡¯re right on the last part,¡± said Siidi.

    She was back in her adult form, no longer the little child playing with the memory of a frog, which saddened her more than she thought it would. She had really liked that side of her, and the memory of that night spent playing and then meeting the [Dreamer] still brought a smile to her face.

    She blinked, one of those heavy blinks you notice, where the world actually goes dark for an instant, and now Siidi was back to being a child.

    ¡°Yeah, this form isn¡¯t so bad, I agree with you,¡± she smiled slightly.

    And was caught completely by surprise when Isse hugged her as hard as she could.

    ¡°You look so much cuter!¡± she squealed in joy.

    Siidi laughed: ¡°How could I ever have desired to kill you, little one,¡± she hugged her back, petting the hair on her head affectionately.

    They stayed like that for a while, uncaring of the fact that they were probably inside Grandmother¡¯s soul, the monster who¡¯d caused them so much pain and, at the same time, fixed them, made them understand how wrong they had been.

    One of the worst monsters the world could ever think about, the dark thing parents told their misbehaving children would come to take them.

    And the savior of her race, the teacher who wanted her students to know everything she knew, that one day they may surpass her.

    There were too many sides to that seemingly emotionless and uncaring person.

    The moment was broken when a gust of cold wind struck them with the force of a whip, making them realize they were severely underdressed for the weather.

    ¡°Fuck it¡¯s freezing,¡± shouted Isse as she hugged herself. She was wearing only the dress Aru had made for her, which covered lots of skin but definitely wasn¡¯t that thick.

    As for Siidi, she snapped her fingers¡­ and nothing happened. She began rattling off a series of expletives sotto voce (or at least Isse thought they were that, she couldn¡¯t hear them well) as she began spinning herself some spidersilk gloves. She decided to copy her.

    When they¡¯d managed to mostly cover themselves, the cold kept at bay for now, they looked around.

    ¡°So, got any idea about what we¡¯re supposed to do?¡±

    ¡°I have not a single clue!¡±

    They chuckled. So part of the lesson was to understand what they were meant to be doing. Yes, they. Not just Isse. Because Siidi, too, was now an integral part of her. And two was always better than one. Well, except for taxes.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    But arachne didn¡¯t pay taxes, so even that didn¡¯t really matter.

    ¡°So, where should we go?¡± asked Isse, looking around the great snow covered plain they were in. There was nothing in sight.

    Siidi put a finger in her mouth and lifted it in the air. After a moment, she pointed: ¡°That way!¡±

    Only for the wind to blow another way altogether.

    ¡°Did you just point it out at random?¡±

    Siidi scoffed: ¡°You¡¯ll never know!¡±

    They chuckled, beginning the slow hike through the snow.

    <hr>

    They didn¡¯t know for sure when it had happened, but at some point they found themselves in a forest.

    For a while, they had wandered around the plains, trying to walk straight and failing miserably, more than once moving in circles. It wasn¡¯t that the wind was strong or the visibility low, no, it was¡­ they didn¡¯t know. But something didn¡¯t want them to be here and was seemingly trying¡­ not really hard, to not make them reach whatever it was they were looking for.

    One could only begin to imagine how frustrating it is to look for something when you don¡¯t even know what it looks like.

    Still, they walked and, at some point, both their minds wandered off, losing themselves in thoughts that possibly weren¡¯t their own. Or maybe they were just old thoughts that had been their own in a past life, coming back to them in this place that was between reality and dream, life and death. A beautiful paradox. And they couldn¡¯t even appreciate it all. How¡­ bittersweet.

    Too young, their minds too pliable, incapable of taking in the whole of a soul even when it was open to them, its defenses lowered to basically nothing, supported by a Skill that existed for this sole purpose.

    They were observing Grandmother¡¯s most intimate possession, she herself laid bare to be seen and judged. And all they could do was not comprehend.

    The elder knew this and it saddened her. Still, she thought, there was time. Maybe years, or maybe tomorrow they would all be killed. She didn¡¯t know: her web reached only as far as the farthest tree in the forest.

    That, too, saddened her. She could still remember the web built by the elder of her time, centuries ago, when she was still a spiderling who hadn¡¯t yet even been asked to answer the Question that all arachne were called to hear at some point in their life. She remembered how it spanned the entire continent of Irevia, threads so thin they weren¡¯t actually there, capable of capturing anything and anyone wherever they were, killing, strangling or abducting. Her Elder could destroy entire cities with a single whisper down a string and bring the continent into chaos with but a few tugs.

    And still, she had been killed, both by her caution, for she wanted to accrue more power to destroy the world in one fell swoop, and the axe that hunter used to carve her entire body in two.

    She had seen her Elder die. And she¡¯d run.

    That night, she¡¯d answered the Question, and found herself lacking.

    But that didn¡¯t matter. Not now. What mattered were the spiderling and her much, much, much, older sister, who apparently was keen on reliving her youth.

    That did bring a smile to her face.

    Meanwhile, Isse and Siidi walked through the forest. The trees were all great oaks that reached quite high into the sky, but not, as they had expected, so high that they couldn¡¯t see the fronds. They were¡­ normal, as far as they could tell.

    ¡°Well, bummer,¡± said Siidi, handing her other soul-half a small spidersilk coat, ¡°You won the bet.¡±

    Isse hummed in approval as she felt the warmth envelop her. Of the two, she was the one who was better at weaving fine details, while Siidi could make pretty much anything at speed.

    We complement each other, she thought with a smile as she began to embroider little snowflakes into her new coat. Maybe she¡¯d even manage to keep it in her mind once they left.

    ¡°So, what are we gonna bet on next?¡± asked Siidi. They had decided to pass the time by betting on anything that came to mind and seeing who would be right. The bet Isse had just won had been the first of, probably, many.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Hmm¡­ how about this: I bet that soon we will see wolves,¡± she proposed, not looking up from her embroidery.

    Siidi scoffed: ¡°That¡¯s too basic. Now that we¡¯re sure this is a normal forest, there surely will be some kind of wildlife. It would be an easy win.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but one I¡¯d rather not win. Ok, how about this: I bet we will find a cabin in the woods with something strange in it. How does that sound?¡±

    Siidi thought about it for a moment, then nodded and offered her her hand: ¡°I¡¯m in. And I¡¯m betting it¡¯ll be something like a castle made out of ice and snow.¡±

    Isse smiled and shook the hand.

    They scuttled on.

    <hr>

    ¡°See, I told you, easy bet!¡± shouted Siidi as they ran from the pack of wolves.

    ¡°Fuck you and I didn¡¯t want to be right. Keep running!¡±

    The wolves had found them not even twenty minutes after they¡¯d made the bet. Siidi had actually seen them first, stopping in her tracks and telling Isse they should start running. Fast.

    And they did. But the wolves were faster and, probably, could maul them to death with ease.

    Or rather, they could if they weren¡¯t playing with their food, corralling them towards some hidden location in Grandmother¡¯s soul.

    ¡°She takes the Snow Queen theme too far!¡± shouted Siidi.

    ¡°No, she doesn¡¯t. I¡¯ve yet to see ice sprites trying to tear the flesh from our bones. Or even a simple winter sprite!¡± she shouted back.

    ¡°What in Airm do you mea - oh. Cute story.¡±

    Isse was thinking about the story written by the Danish writer about the Snow Queen. Or rather, she was thinking about the cartoon she¡¯d watched as a child. Her parents had had all sorts of cassettes hidden around in the attic. She still remembered fondly the evenings spent watching them all one after the other while her mother tried and failed to make her go to sleep.

    They ran, the wolves sometimes coming to nip at their abdomens but never really hurting them.

    That was how they found it: the little cabin in the woods, built out of logs perfectly cut and fit together, polished of their bark, the spaces between them chinked with a love to attention that bordered on maniacal.

    They looked at each other and ran like the devils were chasing them, slamming into the entrance door (which, luckily, was open, or they would¡¯ve probably just face planted on it to no effect) and falling right inside on a soft, furry, rug.

    The door slammed shut behind them and they heard it click closed.

    When, finally, they managed to untangle themselves from the mess they¡¯d made of themselves on the floor, they looked up, looking at Grandmother¡¯s white form looming over them. She was smiling.

    ¡°So, does a creepy smiling arachne count as the ¡®strange¡¯ part of my bet?¡± asked Isse.

    Siidi nodded, chuckling: ¡°Yep, it does. We¡¯ll settle the bet later.¡±

    Grandmother¡¯s smile turned amused as she heard this and, to their absolute shock, she chuckled.

    ¡°Isse, pinch me, I think I¡¯m having a stroke.¡±

    Isse punched Siidi in the side, causing her to hiss in pain and raise her hand to punch her back.

    ¡°Now now, spiderlings, do calm down. You have succeeded. With a little guidance, and with my defenses completely shut down, but you¡¯ve done it: you¡¯ve reached the core of my soul, the place where all the important things are held.¡±

    She gestured around herself at the interior of the cabin and, for the first time, the two arachne looked at where they were. And their mouths fell open.

    The inside of the cabin was a cozy paradise filled with beautiful mementos from Grandmother¡¯s life. The one (and only) room they were in had a cozy fireplace built into the far wall. In front of it, in pride of place, sat a white table with a little white ceramic tea set. They both immediately recognized them as the ones Grandmother always used when she wanted to spend some time without teaching anything, just telling stories.

    To the side was a big sofa, or maybe triclinium was the better word, that was more padding than sustaining structure. The rest of the room was filled with shelves upon shelves of trinkets and paintings and statues.

    Many of these statues were made out of ice, representing various arachne laughing and playing and having fun. A few, looking much older and worn, were made out of clay and terracotta or, even, carved wood. Most of them looked happy and playful, taunting the onlooker to try and imitate some of their more acrobatic poses, while others were calmly sitting down and doing something to relax, from sculpting to weaving.

    On one of the walls, hanging from the rafters, was a giant tapestry made from colored spidersilk showing an old looking arachne, probably an Elder, weaving a grand web all over what Isse guessed (and Siidi confirmed) was a continent, while also teaching smaller arachne. Among them, one, the smallest of them all, had a white streak in her fur.

    Finally, exactly opposite of the tapestry, tucked in cozily between the shelves, were an ice statue and a pedestal. The statue was of a man wearing simple traveling clothes, a little pouch roped tight to his side, boots somehow visibly worn out and caked in mud even though it all just ice. He was holding a violin in his left hand, chin resting on the chinrest, bow held lightly in his right hand placed on the icy strings.

    On the pedestal by his side, meanwhile, was placed¡­ a little button.

    ¡°Welcome to my soul¡¯s heart, little ones. You, Issekina, may touch and change anything you desire to learn. On the other hand you, Siidi, I kindly ask not to touch anything. This is the spiderling¡¯s lesson to learn.¡±

    That said, she crawled towards the sofa and, slowly, sat down, sighing in relief.

    Leaving Isse and Siidi to wonder, again, what they were supposed to do. Or rather, leaving Isse wondering, seeing how Isse had just been told not to touch anything.

    ¡°What should I do Grandmother?¡±

    ¡°Experiment. Try anything that comes to mind. You cannot do any lasting damage. At most I will feel grumpy and vent on Makira.¡±

    The last part sounded like an attempt to make a joke. It hadn¡¯t been funny.

    So it was that she found herself staring around at the things in the room and wondering.

    She quickly came to a conclusion: the things here, they looked like memories, and were shaped as such, but they couldn¡¯t be. Memories made people, that was true, but Grandmother had clearly said that this was the place where she was defined as an arachne, the part of her soul that held her principles. Changing any of these things would, probably, change the way she thought about things, how she acted in the real world.

    She began to understand why soul magic was so feared and hated all over the world. Imagine what one could do if they were to use this kind of power on, say, a [King]. They could make them do anything, and they¡¯d believe it was them making the choices all along.

    She scuttled close to the one thing in this room that she recognized, somewhat, from Siidi¡¯s trials: the button. It was a plain button, probably fallen from a shirt by the looks of it, but the moment she touched it she felt it:

    ¡°You know, little arachne, I believe that, no matter what, it is my firm belief that any problem can be solved with something as simple as pressing a button.¡±

    ¡°Then do it. Save my race. Press a button and save us all.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve already done it, dear. With nothing more than a few words. Now it¡¯s up to you. Will you work hard on creating your little button? Will you allow these cold winds to swallow you whole, or will you grow old and become some spiderling¡¯s grandmother?¡±

    ¡°But¡­ it¡¯s so hard.¡±

    ¡°Never said it would be easy, little one. But it¡¯s possible, and what more do you need to feel hope?¡±

    Isse let go of the button and scrambled back. She¡¯d felt an endless sadness when she¡¯d touched that button, together with enough hope to let an army fight and win a losing battle, all condensed in those few words.

    ¡°This. This is your hope, your drive,¡± she spoke, only to realize she was whispering. Yet Grandmother still heard her.

    ¡°It is. Now, what will you do dear?¡±

    Isse felt tears trickling down her eyes. Oh, but that sadness. It had such a weight to it, as if she had held her entire race on her shoulders. And maybe she had, from what she¡¯d gathered from the clues here and the things Makira had told her.

    How could someone live with something like this attached to them?

    She didn¡¯t know and she hoped dearly that she¡¯d never find out at her own expenses.

    She looked back at the button.

    And made a choice.

    ¡°Siidi, come here a second,¡± she said, not turning to look at her, staring at the button as if it was a monster waiting for a moment of disattention to swallow her whole.

    Her other soul-half skittered close.

    ¡°Give me your hand.¡±

    She did.

    And Isse bit into her index finger, her sharp fangs drawing blood. Siidi hissed in surprise, but before she could retract her soul-half placed her finger over the button and let a single drop of blood fall over it, staining it dark red. Then, without missing a beat, she did the same with her own finger, letting another drop fall.

    Grandmother nodded at the action: ¡°Tell me, child, what have you done? What was your intention?¡±

    Isse looked up at the elder with a renewed respect, before she answered: ¡°I gave you a taste of our happiness. If it wasn¡¯t for you, none of this could be possible,¡± she gestured around at the cabin, then at herself and Siidi, who was sucking on her finger, trying to stop the bleeding, ¡°I tried to show you that it wasn¡¯t for nothing.¡±

    Grandmother smiled: ¡°Very well, Issekina. You have learned the first lesson: always use truths to bring change. You may leave. Take the rest of the day off.¡±

    She waved her hand and the two spiderlings disappeared.

    But, before the world was engulfed in white again, Isse thought she heard something more.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    <hr>

    That night, when she went to sleep, Isse felt the System¡¯s voice again, as emotionless as ever.

    [Conditions Met: Soul Mage -> Soul Shaper!]

    [Soul Shaper Level 10!]

    [Skill - Perceive Emotion Obtained!]

    [Skill - Touch: Transfer Emotion Obtained!]

    [Skill - Influence Emotions Obtained!]

 Chapter 33: Once Upon a Warrior

    Siidi rolled on the snowy ground, a pretty simple operation for an arachne, and managed to get some distance between her and her enemy.

    All the while, she heard laughter and taunting: ¡°Is this all you can do? Are you really Siidi, one of the four Midnight Murderers? You must be joking!¡±

    Before Siidi could answer she was forced to dodge a sword flying directly towards her head. Well, not literally flying, the [Warrior] in front of her wasn¡¯t stupid. No, she was just that fast.

    ¡°Are you perhaps holding out on me? Am I that incapable that you just wouldn¡¯t even grace me with a proper fight?¡±

    Siidi couldn¡¯t contain herself and sighed: ¡°Stop using those idiotic taunting tactics.¡±

    From the very beginning of the fight the enemy in front of her had not stopped talking and it was really starting to get on her nerves.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t count as taunting when it¡¯s the truth!¡± she shouted, preparing for the next attack.

    Siidi wondered, not for the first time in the last fifteen minutes, how she had managed to end up in this situation.

    <hr>

    ¡°Issekina, Siidi, Yesterday both of you managed to walk my soul. You have taken the first step into becoming true [Soul Mages]. But, as you may have well understood, that was an introductory lesson. You did not find any obstacles or defenses, and were guided towards your final destination.

    ¡°That is not how things normally are. Souls have many ways to defend themselves. Truly, most people you will ever meet that have some modicum of power have, subconsciously, found ways to defend their being.

    ¡°For that reason, today, you will begin to learn the ways to navigate and defend yourselves inside a soul.

    ¡°Issekina, if you will.¡±

    She motioned at the little arachne to begin.

    A few minutes later (she was getting faster!) they were in.

    Or rather, she was.

    Isse found herself at the foot of the steps that led inside Grandmother¡¯s little cabin. But Siidi wasn¡¯t by her side.

    Immediately, she began to panic. With the speed of a bullet fired from a machine gun she skittered towards the door and slammed it open: ¡°Where¡¯s Siidi?¡± she shouted immediately.

    Grandmother was sitting on the triclinium by the fire, looking at the stand where the little button she¡¯d changed yesterday sat, a faint smile still on her face.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Issekina. She is training. Now join me. It is time for you to learn too.¡±

    She motioned her closer.

    And her personal Airm began.

    <hr>

    ¡°Isse?! ISSE?! Where are you?¡±

    When Siidi had opened her eyes in Grandmother¡¯s soul she hadn¡¯t found the other half of her soul with her, which was surprisingly distressing. She knew that nothing bad had happened to her, because she knew for sure that Grandmother would never deliberately and seriously hurt any of them. Well, ok, maybe she would hurt them psychologically, but they¡¯d already gone through that phase.

    She sighed in barely contained anger and agitation: ¡°The moment I find that old hag I¡¯ll give her a piece of my mind.¡±

    ¡°I absolutely support the idea, except for the ¡®old hag¡¯ part. She¡¯s not that old. She¡¯s, like, what, only six hundred years old,¡± said someone to her left.

    Instinct took over and Siidi jumped away from the source of the voice, hand going for a weapon that hadn¡¯t been there for millenia.

    The voice chuckled.

    And Siidi saw who had spoken. She was a rather young arachne with a pale complexion, her eyes a warm brown, while the fur of her spider half was a stark yellow. With that small nose and pouty lips she could¡¯ve been very attractive, but then there was, again, the yellow fur. It hurt her eyes just looking at it.

    ¡°Who in all of Airm¡¯s torture devices are you?¡±

    ¡°Hah, you¡¯d like to know, am I right?¡± she smiled and only then did Siidi notice that she was wearing armor and had a sword strapped to her flank. She also noticed that her spidery feet, which should¡¯ve been as yellow as her spider half, became white the closer they got to the snow, as if the soft beautiful white was trying to eat away at the color.

    She also remembered she was unarmed and unarmored.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got me at a disadvantage: I don¡¯t know you and am weaponless. Care to even things out?¡±

    ¡°Life ain¡¯t fair spiderling. Only Death is.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t say you¡¯re wrong, but give me some slack. Also, I¡¯m not a spiderling. I¡¯m probably older than you.¡±

    The Yellow arachne chuckled: ¡°It doesn¡¯t count if you spent most of that time dead dear. Me, on the other hand? Been around for a few centuries now, together with Grandmother. Cute name she chose, by the by. She really did like that Button Man guy.¡±

    She walked closer, and Isse walked away, skittering backwards to make sure she was always in sight. The Yellow Arachne had a strange aura about her. It took Siidi a while to recognize it. Once upon a time she¡¯d also unleashed it in the presence of her enemies: bloodlust.

    The woman in front of her smelled of blood and desire for battle.

    Immediately, she felt a sense of kinship towards her. And became all the more guarded, because she knew how people like her could change at the drop of a coin.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s going to happen now?¡±

    The Yellow Arachne cocked her head sideways, an expression of fake disbelief appearing on her features: ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious? We¡¯re going to fight until one or the other cannot stand anymore. Probably because of blood loss.¡±

    Siidi raised a hand, like a good student: ¡°Can we actually, like, die of blood loss? We¡¯re not in the real world.¡±

    The woman in front of her laughed: ¡°Ha! Clearly you¡¯re not the [Mage] of the two! Which is fine, I didn¡¯t understand shit about this stuff until Grandmother explained it to me. Still really don¡¯t. Gist of it is: souls are real, we are inside a soul, so the wounds are real.

    ¡°Can¡¯t really die, Grandmother won¡¯t allow it, but we can hurt each other all we want!¡±

    Siidi absorbed that. And realized something: ¡°Wait, you mean we could actually die?¡±

    ¡°Oh, absolutely. That¡¯s why soul magic is so dangerous. Kill someone in their mind? It just gives them a headache. Kill someone in their soul? That¡¯s death as much as arrows all over your body are.¡±

    She stopped for a moment, as if remembering something. Then her body started to bleed all over, painting the snow red as big, fat droplets of blood crawled out of her body from holes that hadn¡¯t been there an instant ago.

    Then she was back to normal.

    Blood still covered the snow around her, and she looked a little paler, a little more like the snow around her. But she was there, alive somewhat.

    ¡°Sorry about that. Sometimes I remember I should be dead and this happens.¡±

    Siidi¡¯s mouth hung open: ¡°What in the actual fuck did I just witness?¡±

    ¡°My death, obviously,¡± she unsheathed her sword calmly, ¡°I was killed by¡­ probably hundreds of arrows hitting me. Arachne are only ¡®hard¡¯ to kill.¡±

    ¡°Then how are you here?¡±

    She didn¡¯t get an answer. The Yellow Arachne launched herself at her. Siidi had expected the snow and ground under the woman¡¯s spider feet to burst away behind her, but not even a puff of white was raised from the earth.

    She was graceful, like a dancer on the stage: her movements were precise like a clockwork machine, leaving no openings and using as little energy as possible. Truly, a machine. It was so perfect it was mesmerizing.

    Luckily, Siidi wasn¡¯t a newbie. The sword, a two handed longsword that looked too big for the arachne¡¯s frame, went for her torso. The younger arachne hastily retreated, managing to dodge by a few centimeters. As she did, she felt the movement of air as the sword passed by her. From that alone she could understand the strength of the blow and she knew, without a doubt, that had it hit her she would¡¯ve ended up on the ground with half her ribs and, probably, her sternum broken.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you remember? Weren¡¯t you an arachne too?¡± asked Yellow Arachne as she retrieved her sword. She could¡¯ve probably attacked again, but the blow wouldn¡¯t have been as strong. Instead she¡¯d stepped back, putting some distance between them. Any [Warrior] worth their Class would know that was a bad idea but, after seeing that first blow, Siidi knew the distance was only going to give her an advantage. Especially considering the reach of her longsword.

    ¡°I forgot many things,¡± answered Siidi, positioning herself in a way that could allow her to more easily dodge any oncoming attack. She was weaponless and Skilless, true, but she was still a skilled warrior. Maybe, with a bit of luck, she¡¯d even manage to disarm her opponent, and at that point she would have the upper hand. Sure, it wasn¡¯t the weapon she remembered using, but what did it matter?

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t have forgotten this. It¡¯s impossible|¡± she launched herself at Siidi again.

    This time, she was ready. She dodged the attack sideways, letting the sword whistle over her head, her hands moving as fast as she could make them go without Skills, going for the unarmored wrists, bending and twisting them in painful ways. Yellow Arachne grunted slightly, her grip on the longsword¡¯s hilt lessening slightly. Which was more than enough for Siidi.

    A few moments later she bounded away from the arachne with the longsword in her hands.

    ¡°So, care to talk now?¡± she asked, her tone mocking.

    Yellow Arachne raised an eyebrow, nonplussed, and snapped her fingers.

    The sword in Siidi¡¯s hands disappeared, reforming out of the snow in her hands.

    ¡°First lesson: you don¡¯t fight fair inside souls. You¡¯ll have to learn to make your own weapons,¡± she said, a small victorious smile appearing. Mocking her.

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°But you disarmed me well, so let me answer your question: I am a piece taken from the soul of one of Grandmother¡¯s sisters. We were close¡­ more than friends. And we chose to exchange small pieces of our souls with each other. It was one of our species¡¯ traditions.

    ¡°Now, even in death, I can stay with Grandmother. Keep her company, keep her partially anchored to this world. If it wasn¡¯t for me and the others, she¡¯d have long since become one with Winter.¡±

    And Siidi remembered. She remembered how she and her sisters had done the same thing. How they¡¯d asked their Eldest to cut away pieces of their souls and stick them into each other. A way to always be connected. More intimate than blood, more intimate than a simple Rite of Binding. It was a sign of greatest trust and respect and love. And they¡¯d done it.

    Then they¡¯d died and, in death (and her eventual resurrection), the pieces they¡¯d exchanged had been taken and put back in their place.

    Death, while fair, could sometimes be cruel.

    A single tear rolled down her eye as she remembered this too. Another thing she¡¯d lost and could never get back. Remembering hurt. It hurt so, so, so much. Why?

    ¡°Well then, let¡¯s begin again!¡±

    And then they¡¯d started fighting, Yellow Arachne beginning to taunt her after five minutes of constant dodging.

    She attempted to take the longsword from her two other times, hoping that the Rule of Three would allow her to keep the damned weapon, but nothing! Every time she managed to get the sword, Yellow Arachne would just snap her fingers and it would appear in her hands. Then she¡¯d say something cryptic along the lines of ¡®You must make your own¡¯ and keep trying to cut her in half.

    Honestly, it was quite unnerving.

    And now here she was, wondering how in Airm she¡¯d ended up in this situation, and dearly hoping to find a way out of it. She really wanted to see Isse and make sure she was ok.

    ¡°Look, dipshit, we¡¯re at an impasse. I can¡¯t take your weapon and don¡¯t even have my Skills to let me win this fight, you aren¡¯t skilled enough to actually nail me down, and we¡¯re not going to be finishing this anytime soon because I don¡¯t feel tired so I guess we can¡¯t really feel tired in here. So how about you just fuck off and let me have some illumination on how to do this your way tonight when I go to sleep?¡±

    At that, Yellow Arachne stopped, her sword touching the ground.

    Her expression became suddenly serious, as if Siidi had just insulted her whole race.

    In a way, she had.

    ¡°You speak of Skills as if they were necessary, as if we were bound to the gods¡¯ so called ¡®gift¡¯ to all that is living. As if we had ever used  the System and its Skills.

    ¡°Have you really forgotten, warrior child? We never used their gifts. We abused them, created abominations they¡¯d never imagined could be made when they created their little plaything. That was why we scared them so much. Because we took something made by their hands and twisted it against them.

    ¡°You call upon Skills, but we razed cities to the ground before we were ever given Levels.

    ¡°And now, here, in this place where Skills matter little, where the chains of reality are unshackled, you choose to chain yourself down with petty excuses instead of facing your own failure, that you can¡¯t even beat a [Warrior] who isn¡¯t trying to actually fight.¡±

    Siidi opened her mouth to say some witty come back, and a fist greeted her.

    She hadn¡¯t seen the Yellow Arachne move. Nor heard. Only felt. And gods dammit did she feel it.

    She fell to the ground, her jaw creaking as it tried and failed to leave its sockets backward towards her brain stem. A few teeth loosened and, for a moment, she could¡¯ve sworn she had just swallowed one.

    She spit out blood, nose bleeding, eyes frantically moving up and legs scrambling in an attempt to push her up and away from the enemy.

    She managed it, only for another punch to hit her, this time in the ribcage, sending her tumbling back to the ground, spider legs curling up around her thorax from the pain. Again, she hadn¡¯t seen the blow coming.

    ¡°Grandmother had been right. Being gentle with you wasn¡¯t going to work. Well, she always was the most perceptive of our group.¡±

    She heard knuckles cracking: ¡°I don¡¯t know how they did things in your time, but when I was in training they beat us black and red until we learned how to properly fight. You either understood or you were beaten into the ground. Harsh, but it worked.

    ¡°On your feet, once warrior. Time to train.¡±

    Defiantly, Siidi rose through the pain and stared down her adversary. She was sure something had just gone wrong before: if she tried hard enough, she¡¯d be able to dodge the coming blows. She had been the best in her time, after all.

    One moment, she was looking at Yellow Arachne.

    The next, she was on the ground, staring at her own chest as she clutched at her stomach in agony.

    ¡°Again. Rise and fight.¡±

    And she did. Because she was the greatest [Warrior] in the history of the arachne.

    And again, she ended up on the ground, writhing in pain.

    ¡°Again!¡±

    She rose.

    She fell.

    ¡°Again!¡±

    She rose.

    She fell.

    She screamed in pain and fury.

    ¡°Again!¡±

    She had been the greatest [Warrior] of the arachne.

    So she rose.

    And she fell face down to the ground.

    ¡°Again!¡±

    She found it hard to look from her left eye. Still she rose. Because she was once one of their greatest warriors.

    She fell, because that wasn¡¯t enough.

    ¡°Again!¡±

    She rose, legs trembling slightly. She stopped them before they could do it more. She wouldn¡¯t give her adversary this satisfaction.

    She fell, because this wasn¡¯t a matter of pride and satisfaction. This was a lesson, and she wasn¡¯t learning fast enough.

    ¡°One more time!¡±

    She rose. Her stomach lurched and tried to empty itself on the ground, but there was nothing to throw up. She hadn¡¯t eaten since she¡¯d died. But, even if there had been anything more than some bile to eject, she would have kept it down. Because she¡¯d been the best.

    Again, she didn¡¯t see the punch coming. So fast. Her eyes couldn¡¯t track it, and she¡¯d been among the ones who had snared and killed the [Time Runner] during their Era.

    This time she didn¡¯t hear Yellow Arachne¡¯s voice when it told her to rise. She did it anyways.

    And fell.

    Rose. And fell. Rose. Fell. Rose. Fell.

    She threw up, yellow greenish bile staining the white snow. But not for long. Her blood covered it soon. And not long after, the white had eaten it away, leaving behind only smooth snow again.

    Rose. Fell. Rose. Fell.

    Her whole body ached. Her legs trembled.

    ¡°Again!¡±

    She had been so good at the time. What had happened? What had changed?

    She didn¡¯t get an answer when she fell next.

    She just wanted the pain to end. The Hunters at least had had the grace of killing her outright.

    ¡°Again!¡±

    She rose, because that was what she was good at.

    She didn¡¯t notice her legs give up. She just noticed the ground coming close without the pain of another hit.

    Silence.

    Then: ¡°Is that all? Not so great now, are we?¡±

    The voice was mocking. And growing closer.

    ¡°Well, guess there¡¯s nothing more to teach today. We¡¯ll do this again tomorrow. Let me end this.¡±

    Siidi looked up and saw Yellow Arachne skittering closer, sword grasped in her hand raised for a finishing blow.

    More pain to come. She knew it would last: it would take time for her soul to unravel and go to rest back in Isse¡¯s Mind Castle. She¡¯d feel it all. She didn¡¯t want to feel pain anymore. Hadn¡¯t she felt enough of that in her past life?

    No more. No more! NO MORE!

    Then she felt it. The connection, the thin thread that held her and Isse together, bound to the same body. So thin, so small, so fragile. It would take nothing for both of them to just¡­ be separated. From their body, that is.

    Life was such a complex, beautiful, fragile thing.

    But right then, right now, it didn¡¯t matter. She wouldn¡¯t die. But she¡¯d be in pain.

    And, for the first time since she¡¯d been brought back from the dead, she grasped at that thread of life between herself and Isse and asked for help. Help to keep the pain at bay, to not have to feel more of it. She wanted this to end with all of herself, and knew she couldn¡¯t do it alone.

    She had never been alone, after all. Her sisters had always gone to the battlefields with her, supporting her and helping in more ways than just killing the enemies she couldn¡¯t see or kill herself.

    She grasped at the thread, asking for help.

    And it answered.

    The sword came down.

    But it pierced not Siidi¡¯s spine and the heart underneath. Instead, it remained stuck in¡­ a jacket. A simple worn, leather jacket, light blue and puffy around the sleeves.

    Yellow Arachne didn¡¯t know what she was looking at, but Siidi felt the knowledge as much as she felt the warmth of the garment hugging her, cradling her wounds kindly. This jacket, it had been a present Isse¡¯s parents had given her when she was six, for her birthday. She¡¯d immediately fallen in love with it and always wore it wherever she went for three straight weeks.

    In the years, she had outgrown it, but still kept it around, because it brought back good memories. When she¡¯d ended up in that hospital bed, she had taken it with her and left it somewhere where she could look at it and remember.

    This jacket was good memories, warmth, protection. An armor greater than any chainmail a smith could ever hope to forge.

    ¡°Ha! So you¡¯re not all talk,¡± said Yellow Arachne.

    Only for a pen to sprout from her throat.

    The pen is mightier than the sword, thought both Siidi and Isse as they watched the blood blossoming from the arachne¡¯s opened throat.

    Yellow Arachne just chuckled. Or rather, gurgled.

    ¡°Firrrst lessron learnred.¡±

    She began dissolving into the snow. The pen fell out of the open wound, which was already closing.

    Before she could disappear, Yellow Arachne said one last thing: ¡°Don¡¯t forget who you were, Siidi.¡±

    Then there was silence.

    <hr>

    That night, while Isse slept away the fatigue from Grandmother¡¯s training, Siidi walked around their shared mindspace. Sometimes, if they chose to, they could just¡­ flick their minds off and just sleep, even dream.

    Siidi didn¡¯t, even if her body and soul demanded she do.

    There was something else she had to do first.

    She walked and walked. The farther she walked into the darkness outside the Mind Castle, the less Time had meaning. She could¡¯ve been walking for months, years, or barely a handful of seconds. It mattered not, because what she was looking for wasn¡¯t in their minds, but deeper still.

    Isse could¡¯ve reached it easily, the place where their souls resided. She could see the threads, after all. Siidi couldn¡¯t.

    But she could call upon the connection between them now and, thanks to that, see a ghost of what her other soul half could.

    She followed the thread that two chestnut colored threads woven together, back towards the depths where they reached their origin.

    And, in the end, reached it.

    A chasm opened in front of her, and she suddenly found herself on the wrong side of it. On her side. Far away from her soul half, who Was on the other side. The only thing uniting them was that doubled thread.

    It wasn¡¯t enough.

    Siidi understood that now. If they wanted to be stronger, better, they¡¯d have to be more. Not one, she wouldn¡¯t make that mistake, she wouldn¡¯t allow herself and Isse to become the same person, an individual made up by mixing both of themselves. But she could thread the line quite easily: the chasm was large, and she couldn¡¯t see how far to her left and right it went.

    She wove a little thread out of the sphincter in her abdomen, looking at it, then at the doubled thread.

    And began weaving.

    [Conditions Met: Mind Curator -> Soul Curator!]

    [Soul Curator Level 8!]

    [Skill - Soul: Armor of Kindness Obtained!]

    [Skill - Soul: Improvised Weaponry Obtained!]

    [Skill - A Minute, United Obtained!]

    [Warrior Level 3!]

    [Skill - Lengthy Step Obtained!]

    [Skill - Pain Resistance (Minor) Obtained!]

 Chapter 34: A Very Special Dress

    When Isse woke up next morning sandwiched between her two favorite sisters, she felt different.

    She couldn¡¯t quite put her finger on it, but it felt as if she was more¡­ whole? Like she¡¯d had a wound inside that she couldn¡¯t feel up until then, and now she was healed. More herself than she¡¯d been since she¡¯d arrived in this world.

    It made no sense though. She¡¯d done nothing special yesterday other than training with Grandmother in her soul, and if anything that grueling training should¡¯ve ripped her apart. As for Siidi, she didn¡¯t know what had transpired with her. She only knew that her soul half had been extremely tired when they¡¯d finished up and had gone to ¡®sleep¡¯ immediately after they were out.

    Still¡­

    Siidi, did you do something?

    The voice in her mind didn¡¯t answer immediately. First she heard a giant and very unladylike yawn, followed by the sound of a mouth smacking, before she said: Good morning. As for the answer, I did.

    She didn¡¯t say anything else and Isse saw, in her mind¡¯s eye, that she was stretching. She knew it was all for show: she was a construct in her mind with no physical body, after all. It was all just a memory of routine.

    Care to elaborate?

    Well, I may or may not have bound our souls together better.

    Isse blinked in her sleep-addled state, and it wasn¡¯t to get the sand out of her eyes, although she managed to do that too.

    That not only doesn¡¯t elaborate on anything, it also scares the shit out of me.

    Ok, first, rude! Second, I just sort of bridged the gap between our souls. You are a bit more like me and I am a bit more like you. Also, now I can feel my everything hurting, so I¡¯m regretting it already.

    The hell does that mean?

    You mean Airm. And yesterday I met one of Grandmother¡¯s old friends who, apparently, was ordered to teach me a lesson on soul fighting by beating the shit out of me.

    ¡­Did you learn the lesson?, asked Isse. For a moment there she had been about to ask if it had hurt, but obviously it had.

    Ha, cute. You not wanting to ask stupid questions. Yes, it hurt. A lot. Still hurts right now, seeing how I¡¯m more like you. The pleasures of having a physical body! Please don¡¯t tell me I¡¯ll have to eat and shit, I¡¯ve yet to find a single toilet in our Mind Palace.

    Anyways, she finished her little tangent, I did it. Learned the first lesson at least. And all I got was a jacket for the trouble.

    ..What?

    Look.

    Isse did. She looked, with her mind¡¯s eye, at Siidi. And gaped in the waking world as she saw her soul half wearing her old, beloved, jacket. It looked worn, like it had the day when she¡¯d died. Loved all her life, even after she had outgrown it. Her parents had never understood why she was so bound to that little garment. To them, it was just a jacket, one she couldn¡¯t even wear. To her, though, it was days of playing around in the cold of winter or among the autumn leaves. It was hundreds of smiles and chuckles and laughter by the bucketful. It was climbing a tree and making her dad worry about it (although, again, there was something strange about that memory. She had always been so good at climbing. It was like her legs were stuck to the wood).

    It was, all in all, her most beloved possession. And seeing Siidi wear it made her want to cry in both joy and nostalgia.

    Now don¡¯t get all emotional about this. If you cry I¡¯ll also feel like crying, and I¡¯m supposed to be the big strong warrior.

    Isse sniffed back the snot in her nose and nodded: Sorry.

    Nothing to be sorry about. You weren¡¯t expecting it, is all.

    And that was when Makira appeared over her, her smile slightly concerned.

    ¡°Is everything okay dearie? You¡¯ve yet to rise up. And your sisters aren¡¯t going to leave you alone.¡±

    Isse hadn¡¯t noticed because of the storm of emotions inside, but all her other sisters had woken up and skittered down from their perches in the trees. All, except for her, Anda and Sila, who were, in order, being hugged and hugging. Sila could¡¯ve left, naturally, but she¡¯d decided against leaving her favorite sisters.

    In that moment, Isse had a very evil thought: what if she decided to test out one of her new Skills? She hadn¡¯t had the chance to do so since she¡¯d last Leveled two days prior and was extremely curious.

    Well, you know what they say, curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back, she thought to herself as she disentangled one hand from the snuggling Anda and reached out towards Makira. The arachne, foolishly!, reached out as if to shake the spiderling¡¯s hand, maybe lift her from the very comfortable hammock she slept in. Instead, when the two touched, Isse activated her Skill: [Touch: Transfer Emotion].

    And she felt empty. Up until she¡¯d used the Skill she had felt nostalgic with a hint of bitterness and sadness. Three emotions, which didn¡¯t seem like much, but together they created one of the most complex cocktails of emotions one could ever imagine.

    And now there was nothing. Just¡­ a void. For a moment, Isse felt like she imagined dead people felt. She stared into the darkness and the darkness didn¡¯t stare back, for she knew for certain that there was nothing in there that could.

    Of course, she was wrong.

    The emptiness came, it stayed for but a few seconds, and then panic took its place as Isse and Siidi shat their hearts out their spinnerets because they thought they¡¯d somehow broken themselves.

    Then came the relief as they realized everything was just fine.

    All in all, in the space of two seconds they¡¯d gone through four emotional states and they decided in unison not to test out that rollercoaster again. Ever.

    Meanwhile Makira¡¯s smile had become waxy as, suddenly, emotions that distinctly weren¡¯t hers flooded her mind, making her feel things she knew she wasn¡¯t supposed to feel in this situation. She, obviously, didn¡¯t like this. At all. Especially the nostalgia and sadness. She¡¯d experienced enough of that in the past, after she¡¯d been the last survivor of her clan.

    It was wrong in many ways and, for once, after the foreign emotions had disappeared into nothingness, she decided to let her anger out. Just a tiny bit.

    She reached down towards a quite panic stricken Isse and, faster than the eye could see, she snatched the spiderling¡¯s ear and pulled.

    ¡°Now there, Issekina Silksoul, here¡¯s your first and last warning. You may be a prodigy when it comes to Soul Magic, but no amount of ¡®being good¡¯ excuses one testing out a Skill on another person without asking. Do you understand, Issekina?¡±

    Isse, for her part, shrieked in pain and fright while Siidi cursed in her mind as she, too, felt her soul half¡¯s pain.

    Still, the spiderling managed to answer in the affirmative.

    ¡°Good. Because if I ever hear from anyone, be it one of your sisters or another arachne, that you tested a Skill on them before asking, kindly, to do so, I will come looking, I will find you, and I will spank your little abdomen so much you won¡¯t be able to keep the spidersilk inside yourself, understood?¡±

    Isse nodded again, which was a bit of a mistake since Makira was still pulling at her ear, but at the moment she couldn¡¯t see herself talking.

    ¡°Good. Now, down, the lot of you.¡±

    She crossed her arms and watched as Isse and her sisters rapidly skittered down and away from her.

    When they were out of sight and hearing range, she sighed.

    She had not liked doing what she¡¯d done, but it was important that the little spiderling there learn the lesson. Some things were just unacceptable. And while she could¡¯ve just explained things calmly to her, she knew that, now, she wasn¡¯t going to be doing that anytime soon, if ever. After all, ¡®fear the anger of the calm woman¡¯, as they say. And Makira was, if not calm, always cheerful and, seemingly, without a care in the world.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    She climbed down the tree. Another day, another job well done.

    <hr>

    Isse was not what you would call a ¡®positive person¡¯.Oh, sure, she liked to smile and have fun and not worry about things like everyone else, but that didn¡¯t mean anything. When things were said and done, she tended to have a grim view of life and how things worked.

    That¡¯s why, after what had happened this morning, she expected things to begin going downhill.

    What she hadn¡¯t expected was for Grandmother to dismiss her when she arrived for her morning lesson and, instead, tell her to go visit Arunielle, the [Seamstress] who¡¯d crafted the dress she was wearing.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°She has completed a commission. It is for you. You are to see it and appreciate it,¡± and then she went back to staring into absolute nothingness, like she always did whenever she wasn¡¯t talking to her or Makira. She wondered for a moment if there was anyone else who could get the elder¡¯s attention, but dismissed the question as unimportant.

    A few minutes later she reached Aru¡¯s clearing and, as always, remained transfixed for a while.

    The place had changed since she last was here: no longer was there a wolf carcass near a tree: now, in its place, a silken ribcage stood, with a silken skull that looked nothing like a wolf¡¯s abandoned nearby. The birds in the trees had built a nest out of little straws and twigs, decorating it with small bones taken from the wolf¡¯s paws. Little eggs were being incubated by a colorful bird that reminded her of a parrot with a too big beak.

    The family of rabbits had expanded, now that the predator hunting them had been killed, many small cutesy bunnies playing with each other wearing straw hats and pirate hats. That made her chuckle a little.

    The trees had also changed, the leaves just as colorful as ever, only¡­ brighter? And slash or duller? As if the leaves couldn¡¯t quite decide what to do with themselves.

    Autumn is getting closer, and it seems our dear Aru wants it to show, said Siidi with a smile in her voice.

    Speaking of the devil: Aru was, as always, working at her table at the edge of the clearing, many little spiders made of spidersilk and just as colorful as the forest around her climbing all over the piece of furniture¡¯s legs and making small webs.

    ¡°Hello!¡± said Isse, her voice low. It seemed nearly sacrilegious to speak in this place of art and beauty.

    Aru stopped what she was doing, turning around to see who had disturbed her¡­ and smiling when she saw it was one of the little ones.

    ¡°Hello Isse! How nice to see you again! Come here, come here, I¡¯ve got something just for you!¡± she beckoned her over, tussling Isse¡¯s hair when she arrived.

    On the table, as expected, was a dress. It was a beautiful yet simple design: the bodice was a bright green to make her eyes and hair stand out, with short puffy sleeves that reached just over her elbow, a root and branch motif embroidered all over. The back was conservative, showing only a small amount of skin.

    What surprised her slightly was the presence of a skirt instead of the flap that she¡¯d learned was typical in their culture. Which made sense, seeing how difficult it would be for, well, anyone, to make a skirt that could cover an arachne¡¯s abdomen. Also, it would be extremely uncomfortable and get in the way of her movements.

    So you can well imagine her surprise when she saw just that.

    ¡°Um¡­ Aru, I simply love this dress but¡­ I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll manage to wear it. The skirt is too small.¡±

    Aru, for her part, just smiled one of the biggest smiles Isse had ever seen her smile, and tutted: ¡°Isse, remember this: always trust your seamstress. Do you think I¡¯d spend a month crafting something you couldn¡¯t wear?¡±

    Well, that was true, but still, she couldn¡¯t see herself wearing that incredible dress. If only she were still human¡­

    ¡°Come on, spiderling, try it. You will be surprised,¡± that smile was only growing.

    Well, nothing to lose. Apart from the seams, that is, agreed Siidi.

    Isse sighed, but agreed with her and, after a moment, took the beautiful dress in her hands and began putting it on, wiggling her head of relatively ruly hair inside and out of the hole at the top. She began pulling the dress down and felt¡­ nothing. No constriction around her spider abdomen, no seams straining and breaking. She danced a gig with her spider legs and felt them move around freely under the skirt, touching only slightly the fabric as if there was an impossible amount of space underneath.

    She looked down.

    And shrieked, falling to the ground. She had legs! Two normal, human, legs! She was human aga -

    Oh, wait, no. She counted, and came up with six too many legs. Right. Still an arachne. No magical dress that turns you into a human. But the point was, she looked human. The dress fell around her waist and reached down to the ground, covering her feet and her spider abdomen completely, but it didn¡¯t deform to show it. It was just¡­ flat. As if underneath there was only a set of human legs.

    ¡°H - How is this possible?¡± she asked, staring transfixed at the place where her very monstrous parts should¡¯ve been. Siidi was silent as well, surprised beyond belief.

    ¡°I¡¯m a [Seamstress] dear, if it¡¯s clothes I can do anything!¡± her smile had turned proud and satisfied.

    And she wasn¡¯t surprised when the little spiderling hugged her with all the strength in her growing muscles. She was already trying to predict how much the girl in front of her still had to grow, a simple job for someone with her set of Skills. Isse was a growing girl, sure, but in probably two weeks she¡¯d hit what passed for pubert with arachne, have her final growth spurt, and then settle down comfortably into her body.

    She was curious, in the same way that a man watching an imbecile handle a grenade was, to see how she¡¯d fare during that final period of changes.

    Already the girl was at a heigth of one meter and fifty. If all went well, she¡¯d come close to a meter and ninety. And afterwards, who knew. Arachne never really stopped growing. The more they lived, the more they grew. Slowly, sure, but the numbers went up. That was how Grandmother had reached her¡­ imponent heigth.

    ¡°THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!!!¡± shouted Isse into the hug while Siidi laughed in joy in her head.

    Aru was considered by many one of the oldest arachne in their clan. Older than Makira, older than their local [Alcoholist]. Her Skills and the way she worked her craft made her feel even older to the others. Yet, at the same time, she was sort of like a ghost. A presence in the background that didn¡¯t matter much in the grand scheme of things.

    People went to her all the time to get their clothes fixed or to commission new ones, and they were always grateful. But never on this level. They didn¡¯t see the work that went behind even the simplest dress, the passion she put in each and every one of them. They just saw the finished product and its beauty.

    This little one though: she¡¯d come to her when she¡¯d been desperate. She¡¯d watched her work filled with childlike curiosity, learning from her even, if the little designs on the clothes she wore that weren¡¯t the dress she¡¯d gifted to her previously were anything to go by. She saw in her someone to look up to, someone that was important.

    And it warmed Aru¡¯s heart in a way she hadn¡¯t felt since Makira had joined their clan, arriving bloodied and broken, her mind halfway towards that Red, creeping, insanity that would¡¯ve destroyed her together with those she deemed to be her enemies.

    She hugged Isse back and tried not to cry.

    In the end, they were separated by someone coughing behind them.

    They both turned and saw¡­ a rainbow arachne.

    Wow, didn¡¯t know we could come in such a palette, Siidi whistled in appreciation.

    The arachne who¡¯d just entered the clearing was a spectacle for the eyes: the fur on her spider half had been painted all the colors of the rainbow and then some, leaving not a single hair of her original color visible. Meanwhile the hair on her head had been painted a solid, eyesearing, pink. Her eyes, on the contrary, were a deep brown that clashed horribly with her sunshine yellow dress.

    ¡°Hello Pochi,¡± said Aru with a guilty smile on her face.

    ¡°Hello Aru!¡± she waved hello, smiling herself. Isse was also sure she was blushing a little, probably embarassed for having interrupted the moment.

    ¡°I see you gave the little one her dress. Looks like she liked it,¡± she added, trying to divert the situation to any other argument.

    ¡°YES!¡± shouted Isse, ¡°We love it!¡±

    Ok ok, calm the fuck down, I never said I loved it - oh who am I kidding, I love it.

    Isse chuckled like a girl hearing a joke from the boy she liked, putting her hand in front of her mouth.

    ¡°Good good. Wanna bring it for a test run?¡± asked Pochi, a devious little smile on her face.

    Isse¡¯s eyes nearly popped out of her head when she heard that.

    ¡°Really?¡±

    Instead of answering, Pochi moved her hand towards a pouch at her side, managing to fit her entire arm in what, she realized, was a bag of holding. A few seconds later she took out a long dress that looked just like the one Isse was wearing, only in yellow.

    She unceremoniously shrugged out of the one she was wearing, exposing her breastband, before putting it on.

    Wow, girl is stacked.

    Siidi seemed to appreciate the spectacle.

    I didn¡¯t take you for a lesbian Siidi.

    Ha, foolish girl. But you¡¯ll understand soon. Here¡¯s how I always saw it: boys are for eating, girls are for loving.

    ¡­What?

    As I said, you¡¯ll understand soon.

    That wasn¡¯t ominous at all.

    Isse looked away from her inner conversation back to Pochi. And found herself looking at a quite stunning woman in the prime of her life. Her hair was still as pink as ever, but her dress had shifted color, from the clashing yellow to a technicolor nightmare that would probably give a stroke to any clothes designer worth their Class. And yet it fit her perfectly.

    She tugged at one of Aru¡¯s sleeves: ¡°Why can¡¯t I change color too?¡±

    ¡°Because we don¡¯t know if you¡¯ll like walking among the humans. I¡¯m not going to put in the extra effort for a Shifting Fabric like hers only for you to say you¡¯d rather stay in the forest with the others all the time.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s not to like about humans?¡± she felt a little offended on behalf of the race she was once a part of.

    ¡°Well, they are violent, lack manners, are perverts -¡±

    ¡°Not like we can¡¯t be all of those things, especially the last one,¡± added Pochi as she finished setting the dress in place.

    ¡°- they¡¯re touchy for all the wrong places and, most important of all, they¡¯d kill you on sight if they understood what you really are.

    ¡°Still, Grandmother said that everyone must be given the choice. So far Pochi was the only one who agreed to this. Spent a few years away learning to be a [Strategist], somehow managing not be discovered, and then came back as her much more colorful self.¡±

    ¡°Hey! I had a realization during my journey!¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that you really missed home,¡± she chuckled, shooing both of them away.

    ¡°Now go and have some fun, or whatever you do among humans.¡±

 Chapter 35: Country Spider Visits the City

    Isse still remembered the story of the country and city rat. One day the city rat went to visit the country rat, and found his life to be sad because that rat¡¯s food was poor and not very tasty. The next day the country rat visited the city one, and found that his food was simply amazing, but he also had the pleasure of meeting a cat, which tried to kill him.

    All in all, the moral of the story is probably something on the line of ¡®Like what you already have¡¯ or ¡®Don¡¯t judge other people¡¯s lives, they have their own problems¡¯.

    Personally, Isse had always found the story to be stupid. A rat living in the country would always have plenty of food because he lived with farmers. Maybe it wouldn¡¯t be five star meal, but he¡¯d never starve. Also, farmers had the tendency of having many animals, among which were cats and dogs, who hunted rats.

    The story made no sense to her. It was just taking into consideration a single situation, without looking at the whole. And while she understood that a fable¡¯s function was to explain something by using paradoxical and impossible situations, she didn¡¯t care. It was her opinion and it wouldn¡¯t change!

    Wow, you¡¯re really cross about the story, said Siidi.

    You can¡¯t even begin to imagine. As a child I would start shouting I hated the story whenever I heard someone tell it. Then I¡¯d spend a few minutes telling them why, and if they tried to explain it I¡¯d start screaming.

    What did that poor story do to you to deserve such hate?

    Oh, the story did nothing. It was the rats.

    ¡­What?

    When I was a cute little girl of two years old I went into our house¡¯s basement and was bitten by a rat I wanted to be friends with. Since then I hate rats with a passion.

    Siidi nodded in her mind¡¯s eye: Understandable.

    Isse wasn¡¯t sure about how long she and Pochi had been walking. They¡¯d started not long after sunup, and Siidi said it was close to midday now from the position of the sun. And yet she didn¡¯t feel the slightest bit tired, nor was she sweating under her beautiful dress. She felt as fresh as a watered rose.

    It¡¯s strange, you know? How this body never seems to get tired, I mean.

    One of the many advantages of our species. We were made for war, after all. And you¡¯re not even at your best: you still have to undergo the arachne equivalent of puberty. Then you¡¯ll see just how much better we are compared to other species. Used to be we¡¯d walk for days on end without sleeping, eating on the move. Distances that other armies would take weeks to traverse, we could walk in a few days. Mobility was one of the many great advantages we had.

    Isse thought about this for a moment. Every time she heard the other arachne talk about the past of their species, they told her grand stories about how they were the literal scourge of anything that breathed or had a beating heart, of how they destroyed entire civilizations and created beautiful cities for their kind, places where knowledge and art were the most important thing.

    She remembered how Siidi had told her, after they¡¯d become one, that, in the past, she had never burned a single library or book, how she had cherished them like children, and how much she loved spending the time away from the war in libraries, losing herself amongst the endless stacks.

    And still, with all their power and knowledge, the arachne had lost, their cities burned to the ground, the bodies destroyed so thoroughly there wasn¡¯t even a chance they¡¯d come back as zombies, the knowledge of their arts and magics buried so deep it might as well have never existed.

    It¡¯s sad, she thought.

    It is. But don¡¯t worry. We¡¯re arachne. We¡¯ll keep rebuilding, always. It¡¯s our nature.

    The answer was reassuring, and they went back to just skittering without a care in the world. Well, other than when they¡¯d reach the town.

    ¡°How much longer?¡± she asked Pochi, who¡¯d been whistling tunelessly for a while now.

    ¡°Not much. Why, you tired?¡±

    ¡°No. And you said ¡®Not much¡¯, like, two hours ago,¡± she answered with a raised eyebrow.

    ¡°Ain¡¯t much little one. Would¡¯ve taken a lot less if the closest village hadn¡¯t been burned to the ground.¡±

    Isse¡¯s eyebrows furrowed: ¡°What happened? Who did that?¡±

    ¡°A misunderstanding, that¡¯s what happened. Don¡¯t worry girl, it¡¯s nothing you have to worry about. The problem was already solved.¡±

    Isse noticed that Pochi hadn¡¯t answered all of her questions, but decided it would be better not to dig too deep. She was still, for the moment, a child, and as such she was to let the adults worry about things while she could. Otherwise, what reason was there for her to live in this second chance?

    ¡°Ok.¡±

    They walked on.

    <hr>

    They arrived at the village more or less thirty minutes later.

    It was a small place, a smattering of small houses placed in no particular order, all built differently, because this was no orderly city with buildings designed by a careful [City Architect]. It was surrounded by a wall that reached six meters in height and, outside, various fields were being tilled and harvested by [Farmers].

    Not too far from what looked like a lumber mill stood still, no workers inside.

    Beside it stood what was probably an airship.

    Truth be told, the airship was actually what had attracted Isse¡¯s attention more. Pochi¡¯s too.

    ¡°That¡¯s new,¡± she said, ¡°That wasn¡¯t here when I last visited. Who would come here with an airship?¡±

    ¡°Airships are a thing here?¡± asked Isse meanwhile, mouth hanging open in marvel and surprise.

    We didn¡¯t have those in my time. What sort of Airmish monstrosity is that?, was Siidi¡¯s reaction.

    That¡¯s an airship, a thing you use to fly.

    Fly? Like harpies and birdkin? That¡¯s¡­ unnatural.

    Said the kettle to the pot.

    Hey, fuck you!

    While Isse was curious and amused, Pochi had suddenly become more attentive and nervous. She didn¡¯t let it show, but this could be a big problem for them. Because there was only one group in the world that used airships: Alanna, the City of Churches. The beacon of the gods in the world. And the place where the College of Memoirs was stationed.

    If they were here, it spelled trouble for everyone. It could also mean they¡¯d been found out.

    They walked towards the city¡¯s main gate. Two [Guards] were stationed at the sides, staring at the plains in front of them with extremely bored faces. They looked at Isse and Siidi for a moment, then went back to their jobs. A woman and a girl coming to their town meant nothing to them.

    Still, Pochi stopped by the entrance, greeting the [Guards]: ¡°Good morning, sirs. It is a nice day, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    One of the [Guards], the one closest to the woman, turned to look at her, frowning: ¡°Madame, please, we are not to be disturbed from our watch.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I am so sorry sir. I would like to ask a question though, if it¡¯s no problem,¡± she was just a few inches higher than the man and, as she said this, she bent down a little, giving the man an eyeful of covered cleavage hugged tightly by her dress. The man visibly changed color as his eyes looked down, then rapidly up.

    ¡°Um, no problem Miss, ask away.¡±

    Pochi nodded and smiled bedazzlingly: ¡°Whose airship is that?¡± she asked, pointing towards the big air balloon holding a boat that was anchored near the lumber mill.

    ¡°That? You could hardly call it an airship. Some madwoman came here riding that thing. Really, I¡¯m surprised it hasn¡¯t yet fallen to the ground.¡±

    Pochi frowned: ¡°So it¡¯s not the church?¡±

    ¡°Unless the churches have started to build airships out of bones and hiring people who would be better off staying in the care of a [Mind Healer] then no, it¡¯s not one of them.¡±

    He smiled, probably hoping to show off in some kind of way to this very appealing woman. Sure, he didn¡¯t like the pink hair, but that was something he could overlook, especially in bed. If only he could see who he was talking to, he¡¯d run screaming.

    ¡°Thank you kindly, sir. Have a nice day!¡±

    And they walked in, leaving behind the lecherous [Guards] and the apparently bony airship.

    ¡°Did you have to act that way?¡± she asked.

    Pochi chuckled as she raised an eyebrow: ¡°I didn¡¯t take you for a prude, girl. Trust me, if you¡¯ve got charms, use them as much as you can, short of breeding with one of the men. Death gave me this body, I am not going to hide myself.¡±

    Sacred words, those. Isse still remembered things back on Earth. How many women were forced to hide themselves behind clothes and veils or, even worse, convinced it was the right thing to do. It was revolting to her. And all because a stupid book said it was the right thing to do! Religion was the worst thing in the world.

    So no, she wasn¡¯t a prude, she hadn¡¯t been even in her past life. As long as she could, she had enjoyed her life to its fullest. She mentally slapped herself for insinuating otherwise.

    Fucking ow!

    What?

    Why did you slap me?

    I didn¡¯t.

    ¡­Isse, I am you. If you ¡®mentally slap yourself¡¯, as you so succinctly put it, you¡¯re slapping me as well. Don¡¯t do that, alright?

    Ok. Sorry!

    Her mind and body made no sense.

    <hr>

    ¡°So, what would you like to do in town?¡± asked Pochi. She was humming again, looking at the townsfolk who, in turn, stared at her very colorful self. She stood out as a sore thumb among the much duller clothing choices of the people here. Well, for the matter, Isse stood out too. Their clothes looked like they¡¯d been made by a half-mad genius seamstress who wanted to make sure even colorblind people could admire the sheer¡­ colorfulness. There were too many ¡®colors¡¯ in that sentence, yes.

    Isse thought about it for a moment¡­ and realized she didn¡¯t know. What could they do in this town? Was there a market? A library or a bookstore? Maybe a restaurant.

    ALCOHOOOOOOOL!, shouted Siidi in her mind. Isse winced in surprise, which didn¡¯t go unnoticed by her chaperon.

    ¡°Everything alright? Is it too much? It can be overwhelming the first time.¡±

    She leaned in closer, whispering in her ear: ¡°You¡¯re not getting¡­ urges, right?¡±

    Isse batted her eyes, not understanding. Then Siidi told her. And she became as red as a tomato: ¡°What, no!¡± she nearly shrieked.

    Pochi furrowed her eyebrows: ¡°You sure? No desire to kill anyone, right?¡±

    And at that she froze in place.

    Siidi, you¡¯re a damn horndog.

    Hey!

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t want to murder anyone here.¡±

    ¡°Good. Because if you did, well, I¡¯m sure no one would miss a person or two. Maybe even a family.¡±

    What in the actual fuck?

    Did Pochi just suggest they murder someone¡­ just like that? For her entertainment? That was¡­ she didn¡¯t have the words.

    You should really stop forgetting that we¡¯re arachne, Isse. Killing for us is as natural as breathing. If it doesn¡¯t have eight legs, it¡¯s going to die sooner or later, said Siidi, a sigh in her voice.

    It was wrong. Isse knew that everything about the last thirty seconds had been wrong on enough levels to make a twenty story apartment building feel inadequate. But¡­ she couldn¡¯t bring herself to care. Why should she go against her nature? A new nature, sure, but hers nonetheless. It wouldn¡¯t bring her happiness. Maybe, if she gave in one time (not now), when the desire arose, she¡¯d even feel happy about it. She had always wondered, deep down, how it would feel to kill someone with her hands.

    It would probably traumatize her. Or, more probably, Grandmother had traumatized her enough that she was desensitized.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see a market!¡± she proposed, putting the thoughts out of her mind.

    <hr>

    Isse and Pochi skittered away from the market square in the small town with their arms filled with food, spices of all sorts (Isse knew lots of those and wanted to see what the cooks would do with them) and a few books in Irevian.

    ¡°So, you promise me, after you finish reading those, you¡¯ll let me read them. Agreed?¡± Pochi asked for confirmation one last time, to which she nodded.

    Books, as it turns out, were extremely expensive to buy. The three she¡¯d gotten had cost them a total of one gold coin and five silver. For those wondering, twenty copper coins made one silver, twenty silvers made a gold coin, and twenty gold coins were worth a Crown, which was basically a sort of upgraded gold coin. Those were exceptionally rare, mainly because, usually, kingdoms didn¡¯t last long enough to start making those.

    Not even Pochi had ever seen a Crown when she¡¯d been out of the forest, training to become a [Strategist].

    Anyways, about the books, Isse had bought some apparently very popular fantasy stories (yes, fantasy existed in this world) about one Diamond Hearted Avenger, whose name in the story was, apparently, Avenger. She half expected him to be wearing some living iron armor or to be carrying around a hammer that shot lightning.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    The third one was a collection of stories gathered all around the sea and promised that, somewhere, hidden in plain sight, was the recipe for the legendary Rotgut.

    Of course, the book was lying, because the drink¡¯s name wasn¡¯t Rotgut. That would¡¯ve been too obvious. Instead the Dwarves, who had created it first, had given it a name reminiscent of the one being they respected more than their Elders: [The Old Man By the Mountains]. Otherwise known as Old Man Consequences. So it was that the drink was named ¡®Consequences in a Bottle¡¯, or, more simply, ¡®Consequences¡¯. Because you¡¯d be facing some pretty strong consequences after drinking it.

    ¡°Now, no visit to a town can be finished without a visit to an inn to get a nice drink.¡±

    For a moment Isse thought about the drinking age back home and opened her mouth to remind Pochi she was too small. Then she remembered she had already reached and surpassed that age back home. And that she was in another world, so who cared?

    ¡°Can I actually drink?¡±

    ¡°Technically, Makira will cut my head off and use the tongue to clean some animal in the woods. Practically, as long as you don¡¯t get drunk, I¡¯ll allow you one glass of something not strong.¡±

    ¡°... And I thought Makira wasn¡¯t the responsible adult.¡±

    ¡°Oh girl, Makira is one of the best of us. I, on the other hand, am the corrupting abomination who once managed to get Grandmother drunk.¡±

    Isse stopped in her tracks for a moment, letting Pochi reach and surpass her. Then she asked: ¡°I know I¡¯m going to regret it, but what was she like?¡±

    ¡°Hmmm¡­ good question. I don¡¯t remember.¡±

    ¡°What? But it must¡¯ve been memorable! Unforgettable!¡±

    ¡°Yes, it most certainly was, but Grandmother removed the memories of that night from the minds of all that were present.¡±

    She scrunched up her face, trying to force her brain to fill in a blank that wasn¡¯t supposed to be there: ¡°I think¡­ I¡­ ngh¡­ milk¡­ wha -¡±

    She stopped in the middle of the street, her face going suddenly blank, staring away into nothingness. Isse reached her and touched her shoulder, beginning to worry.

    Then Pochi shivered and was back, smiling: ¡°What were we talking about?¡±

    ¡°...An inn. We were looking for an inn.¡±

    ¡°Oh, right! Follow me!¡±

    <hr>

    The Inn was called ¡®Winter¡¯s Rest¡¯ and, once upon a time, had probably looked the part. The walls outside were made of wood painted an off-white color, stone visible at the base surrounding the building. There were windows, but most of them were shuttered closed, probably to keep the heat outside.

    When they walked in from the front door a few of the patrons turned to look at them with curiosity, probably wondering what such a good looking woman with a child was doing in a place like this, before going back to not giving a shit about anything other than their drinks, food and little company.

    ¡°Aaahhh, place hasn¡¯t changed much!¡± said Pochi with a smile as she walked towards the counter placed at the back of the room. The wall behind was covered in bottles of all sorts of wines and alcohols, beer barrels filling the bottom, none of which were recognized by Isse.

    This is paradise. GIVE ME BEER!

    Siidi made it known just how much she wanted a drink.

    What did arachne make alcohol from in your days? I expect it to be something horrifying like human blood and flies.

    Nah, we made normal alcohol too. Beer, wine, you name it. Army fuel, we called it. But we did also craft a great Fly Brandy, although that was too sophisticated for someone like me.

    ¡®Fly Brandy¡¯? You¡¯re pulling my legs.

    Nope! That was a thing. Just as Blood Cognac made with human blood.

    How in Airm do you make cognac from human blood? It¡¯s distilled from white wine!

    Don¡¯t ask me. I wasn¡¯t a [Brewer]. I was a [Warrior] with a fine taste in red wines.

    ¡­You were not.

    Ok, yeah, I was a beer person. Get a beer! It tastes good.

    Pochi walked towards the counter and ¡®sat¡¯ on a chair. It was a strange thing to see, how her dress covered the whole chair and made it disappear, making it look like she was actually sitting when, in truth, she had just probably sat on the ground with her spider half. The dress with its strange magic though covered even that possibility. Isse skittered closer.

    ¡°Can I try a beer?¡± she asked, deciding to indulge her soul half.

    ¡°Sure!¡± Pochi answered, before a man arrived with a big smile on his face.

    He opened his arms wide and shouted: ¡°POCHI! Long time no see! How have you been doing, you colorful rascal?¡±

    The man was thin, not something she had expected from someone who was probably the innkeeper. She thought he was going to have a big beer belly, but this one had pecks visible through his shirt.

    ¡°Hello to you too Damien, you foolish sportsman. Still don¡¯t want to join the army? You¡¯d give any soldier there a run for his money,¡± she smiled as she went to hug him back, patting him on the back.

    ¡°Nah, I¡¯m too good for them. So long as I can Level in my [Bodybuilder] Class here I¡¯ll be staying.¡±

    ¡°What Level are you now? 10?¡±

    ¡°Fifteen actually. Still not better than my [Innkeeper] Class, but I¡¯ll get there.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to see what Class they¡¯ll evolve into. [Strongarm Innkeeper]? [Bullheaded Innkeeper]?¡±

    ¡°Hey, careful now, or I¡¯ll be suddenly out of liquor for you.¡±

    ¡°Fuck you Damien.¡±

    ¡°I missed you too Pochi.¡±

    They laughed.

    Well, apparently Pochi knew this man. They were friends. An arachne and a human were friends! Well, the human didn¡¯t know the woman he was talking to was an arachne, and technically Isse was friends with a human girl who had seen her spider half, so why was she so surprised?

    Maybe because she had thought she was unique?

    ¡°And who¡¯s this little friend of nature with you Pochi? Did you have a daughter?¡±

    ¡°Stars no! She¡¯s my niece. If I have a say in it I will never have a child.¡±

    Which was a lie. Pochi was a mother to four growing spiderlings back in the forest, but this was her facade, and her facade was a much freer spirit than her actual self.

    ¡°Can you get her a beer?¡±

    Damien raised an eyebrow, then shrugged, rummaged under the counter and took out a small leatherbound book. He opened it to a page near the beginning, looked at Isse, then back at Pochi: ¡°Species and age?¡±

    ¡°Fuck off Damien, she¡¯d old enough to try beer. Probably won¡¯t even like it.¡±

    ¡°Haaah, alright, but if she gets drunk it¡¯s on you.¡±

    Isse wanted to say that she wasn¡¯t such a lightweight, but she had never experimented with alcohol in this body, so who knew?

    A few seconds later Isse found herself looking at a small glass of beer, foam nearly spilling out of the glass, bright yellow, like sunshine.

    ¡°For you. It¡¯s local, very light. Perfect for a first time.¡±

    Then he prepared some complex drink for Pochi, offering it to her in another tall glass.

    ¡°For you, the usual. That would be five silver for everything.¡±

    Pochi paid, sipped, and sighed in pleasure: ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re only Level 18 in your [Innkeeper] Class. This is the best.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re wrong, I passed Level 20 last month!¡±

    ¡°Oh really? Congratulations! Why didn¡¯t you tell me? I would¡¯ve organized you a great capstone party!¡±

    ¡°Because I have no idea where you live.¡±

    ¡°You just have to say my name three times when the wind is right and I¡¯ll come.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t even know your full name idiot! Just your nickname.¡±

    ¡°Huh, tough luck then. You¡¯ll never find me. Still, really, congratulations are in order. Next time I come here I¡¯ll bring you a present. Got any interesting Skills?¡±

    Isse stopped listening and instead drunk a sip from her glass.

    And nearly spat it out.

    Don¡¯t you dare! This is the first time in millenia I get to taste alcohol, and even if this is weak as shit it¡¯s better than nothing! So don¡¯t you dare waste this by spitting. Gulp. It. Down.

    Fuck off Siidi.

    Still, she drank it down, even if her eyes began to tear up. Why was it so bitter and strong? Back home this would¡¯ve probably been weak for her as well, but in this body it tasted as good as it had when she¡¯d first tried something alcoholic.

    Nope, sorry Siidi, we¡¯ll have to wait a while longer to enjoy this.

    Siidi huffed, clearly unhappy, but agreed to wait. She wouldn¡¯t admit it, but Isse¡¯s sense of taste had influenced how she tasted the beer as well, ruining it. She just wanted alcohol for the sake of alcohol.

    ¡°Hah, first time, eh?¡± said a voice to Isse¡¯s left.

    She turned around to look, and saw a woman who was probably the embodiment of the words ¡®interesting¡¯ and ¡®strange¡¯. She was tall and slim, wearing coveralls that looked both functional and fluffy, as if to defend her from an inexistent cold. They were stained green in many places with white powder around the cuffs. Her eyes were a dark brown and her smile was slightly crooked, only one lip raised while the other was kept in place by some scar tissue that gave her the approximation of a glasgow smile.

    Siidi whistled: Looks like some kind of adventurer.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± asked Isse, suddenly guarded. Nobody in the town had talked to her in such a direct manner and, deep down, she was still anxious and feared someone was going to find out she was an arachne, ruining everything.

    The woman¡¯s smile became a bit bigger as she offered her hand: ¡°The name¡¯s Moon.¡±

    Isse raised an eyebrow as she went to shake Moon¡¯s hand: ¡°If you¡¯re Moon, then you can call me Sun.¡±

    CLICHE¡¯! You could¡¯ve come up with something better!

    Shut up Siidi.

    Moon laughed out loud, which attracted Pochi¡¯s attention: ¡°Guilty as charged. Moon isn¡¯t actually my name, but it¡¯s how I like people to call me. How a good friend of mine called me.¡±

    Isse nodded: ¡°Let me guess, that friend of yours is now dead and you keep calling yourself that in her or his honor?¡±

    ¡°Stars no! She¡¯s alive and well as far as I know. Nah, I really just like the name. It was born out of her saying that half the time I work on my Love I look as high as the moon.¡±

    ¡°...When you¡­ work¡­ on your Love? Do I want to know?¡±

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing strange. Well, ok, it is strange under many standards, but it¡¯s nothing sexual. I¡¯m talking about my airship, the one I ¡®parked¡¯,¡± she did little air quotes (hah, pun intended) at that, ¡°outside the city. You couldn¡¯t have missed it.¡±

    Isse¡¯s eyes became as big as saucers: ¡°You mean you¡¯re the owner of that? But the [Guards] outside said it¡¯s made out of bones! How would that work?¡±

    Moon raised a finger as if to both silence and start counting: ¡°Bones are just the base, the quite literal skeleton of the airship. The ropes are made out of lianas and vines, the body is wood covered in chitin from Reveler Ants and the sails¡­ they¡¯re actually just linen. The only really normal part of the airship. Sewed together by the village I¡¯m from.¡±

    Isse listened to all of this with a half open mouth, while Pochi stared at Moon as if she was a madman talking and she approved wholeheartedly.

    ¡°How would that even work? You can¡¯t nail wood to bone, it would crack. Same goes for chitin,¡± asked Pochi.

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s quite simple. I got a very good Skill while creating my beauty. It¡¯s called [Material Imbrication] and it allows me to partially fuse together two objects at points of contact. Look!¡±

    She placed her glass on the table, pointed at it, and said: ¡°[Material Imbrication]!¡±

    Nothing happened.

    Isse looked at the glass and saw it was no different from before.

    ¡°Is something supposed to happen?¡±

    ¡°Gods no. Usually if something happens it¡¯s because I didn¡¯t place the components well and they break apart because of tension. No, nothing is supposed to happen visibly. But try taking the glass,¡± answered Moon with a sly smile.

    Isse did. She reached out, touched the glass, gripped it, and pulled it towards herself. But it didn¡¯t move. It was as if someone had taken some super glue and attached the glass to the wood.

    ¡°See? I would still be in Eva¡¯s jungles if I hadn¡¯t gotten this Skill, trying to make wood stick to bones with nails. The System probably saw my stubbornness and the difficulty I had in getting nails and decided to reward me!¡±

    The woman looked proud of herself as she waved the [Innkeeper] over, ordering a cocktail called ¡®Aviator¡¯s Hearth¡¯.

    ¡°Ok, but you¡¯re paying to get the counter fixed. And for a new glass. These things are expensive, you know? And I can¡¯t just have one jutting out of my bar.¡±

    Moon chuckled: ¡°No worries big boy, let me fix that now: [Separate Material],¡± she pointed at the glass and, after uttering the Skill, took it back in her hand. The counter only had a small divot where the glass had been, but for the rest it looked perfectly normal.

    Damien grunted in approval and went to mix her the drink she wanted, which was apparently made with rum and activated charcoal.

    ¡°Why would you ever build an airship out of those materials?¡± asked Pochi, her curiosity piqued like the rest of the patrons, who had stopped talking, turning towards the strange woman.

    ¡°¡®Cause I wanted to do it, simple as that. I always thought it wasn¡¯t right that some other beastkin could fly around and we couldn¡¯t, so I decided I wanted to learn to fly. Long story short, one day I saw an airship from the City of Churches, Alanna, land near my village, and tried to get on board. They found out, told me I¡¯d have to go to their city to get the job. So I grew up, gained enough money to make the journey to Alanna, went there, was rejected because of some bullshit rule that said no one who hadn¡¯t ever been baptized in a temple of the gods could become part of the ¡®Holy Wings¡¯.

    ¡°So I tell myself, ¡®Well Moon, fuck them and their rules. Let¡¯s build our own airship¡¯. But then I realize I know jackshit about building airships, so while I was in Alanna I became an apprentice under a good [Engineer]. I learn all there is to learn, and then the world slaps me in the face with the prices for everything,¡± she stabbed at the counter on that last word, ¡°that I need to build an airship. Who in Airm knew that wood could cost so much? So I went back home, and there I began building my own airship with what nature gave me.

    ¡°Now, our village is poor by outsider standards. We always had everything we needed ¡®cause we had some damn good [Hunters] and we could sell the surplus.

    ¡°So, you see, the jungles are filled with monsters. Big ones at that. Like them Reveler Ants. They¡¯re these little things when they¡¯re born, but they¡¯re always hungry, and the more they eat the more they grow. No limit. My grandps used to say that, in his time, they once found an Ant that had grown so big you could see its head over the tops of the trees.

    ¡°Anyways, big monsters! Which means big bones! Let¡¯s say that I became a Level 10 [Butcher] to get my hands on those bones.

    ¡°Then the local [Lumberjacks], bless their hearts, they¡¯re some of the best people in the world, decided to help me by cutting down trees near the village, which was already their job because the damn things grow fast and if it weren¡¯t for them they¡¯d eat our village whole in two months at most, and turning them into boards I could use. Took them a while to get the wood dry enough to work with, but they never stopped helping me with my dream.

    ¡°Long story short, I managed to build my airship out there with what little I had and learned a lot of things on the way. Now, years later, I¡¯m a Level 32 [Occult Engineer] and a Level 15 [Airship Pilot]. Not [Captain], ¡®cause apparently you need a crew to be the captain of something.¡±

    Her smile was as bright as the sun and as lunatic as the moon, but it was one of the most genuine smiles Isse had ever seen.

    ¡°If anyone wants to come onboard and see my beauty, tell me and I¡¯ll accompany you. But don¡¯t expect me to do any demonstrations on my flight capabilities, ¡®cause I¡¯m halfway drunk and have every intention of being fully so by the end of the evening.¡±

    She raised the glass Damien had given her in the air in a silent cheer, then gulped half the drink down in one go.

    The inn was filled with cheering and conversation anew.

    Isse and Siidi smiled. Moon, truly, was someone to look up to.

    <hr>

    They spent the rest of the evening with Moon, asking her questions about her attempts at building her airship and marveling at how stupid the woman had been sometimes.

    They wanted to laugh when she told them about her learning experiences in removing nails from boards while making sure not to damage them because they were too expensive to buy for her and her village, to the point where she had even gotten a few Skills for that: [Bound Spell: Repair Nail (Minor)] and [Remove Nail].

    It sounded hilarious, but it had saved Moon hundreds of silvers.

    She told them about the times she had joined her village¡¯s [Hunters] because she didn¡¯t want to be a weight for them, so that she could get her own bones for her airship, about how she had learned to weave chitin into dresses to make some rudimentary but highly functional armor (that made a lot of noise when you moved though. Dried chitin was noisy).

    She had learned traditions of her people and had earned herself enough Classes that she could get work wherever she went.

    ¡°Can¡¯t buy the experiences I had, girl.¡±

    In the end, Isse had asked to visit her airship, but Pochi had stopped her, saying they had to go back home.

    ¡°Aww, do we Pochi? Can¡¯t we stay?¡± she asked, trying to put as much sugar as she could in her request.

    ¡°The puppy eyes won¡¯t work on a hardened general like me Isse. It¡¯s already late. By the time we get home it¡¯ll probably be night. I don¡¯t want my sisters to worry, especially Maki. Or Grandmother. Do you want them to worry?¡±

    No, she did not. But she wanted to see the airship so much!

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Isse. Maybe another time, alright? We really have to get back.¡±

    And they did. They said their goodbyes, paid their tab (Isse had gotten herself some apple juice, which was the only thing Damien had that was for kids, and then only because he used it in drinks apparently) and began walking back to the Forest.

    ¡°I believe I already know the answer to this, but did you like it here? Would you like to come back another time?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely!¡±

    ¡°Very well. I¡¯ll tell Ary to start working on the Shifting Silk. We can¡¯t have you going around with the same outfit every time now, can we?¡±

    And that was how Isse¡¯s first visit to the city ended.

 Chapter 36: The Question

    They had been warned. Multiple times at that. The signs had all been there, plain to be seen and understood.

    And still, they hadn¡¯t been ready .

    Isse hadn¡¯t been ready. Not at all. Even with all of Siidi¡¯s support.

    Puberty hit her like a military truck going full speed down a newly made road bringing fresh soldiers to the front before the winning attack.

    Which was to say: it was hard.

    Now, arachne had one thing that made it all better: no period! Death had been kind enough to design them with the ability to ¡®recycle¡¯ unfertilized egg cells, which meant Isse didn¡¯t bleed for a week out of her lady parts each month (she still remembered the rather traumatic first time she¡¯d had to go to the toilet and realized the damn thing wasn¡¯t where she remembered it should be!)

    The problem, well, if one could call it a problem, was that arachne went into a spidery-version of heat. Which also meant that couples among the sisters were formed at the speed it took an italian to say no when asked if they wanted cheese on their spaghetti with any kind of fish in them.

    It didn¡¯t take long because the couples were usually formed among soulmates, which were chosen not long after birth.

    Long story short, the nights in the clearing had quickly become quite noisy.

    Also, the smaller spiderlings, who were still quite some time away from puberty, had to be moved, because the Stars knew none of the older arachne wanted to explain exactly what their big sisters were doing. It wasn¡¯t appropriate. Also, it would ruin the surprise for them when the time came. Arachne really weren¡¯t cloistered in their desires.

    Afterwards, they¡¯d all been given more private places to sleep in, little areas among the trees where they could put their things in and, most importantly, surrounded by a [Bubble of Silence] Spell, which came really in handy during those periods.

    Now pair all of this with the bodily changes and you had the perfect cocktail for a very stressed out Isse and a constantly laughing Siidi.

    Because, the same way as humans, arachne went through quite the growth spurt during puberty. Unlike humans, it wasn¡¯t unusual for them to wake up at, say, a meter and twenty in the morning, and come back in the evening at a meter and eighty.

    Also, now Isse knew why arachne didn¡¯t wear bras until after the end of puberty.

    I swear I was an A cup this morning, thought Isse.

    Well, now you¡¯re a C, said Siidi.

    These are not Cs Siidi, B at most I¡¯d say.

    Hey, I don¡¯t understand why humans from your world measure them. I always saw it this way: you¡¯re either flat, a handful, medium or a wet dream.

    And why do you even use letters? Can¡¯t you just do the intelligent thing and tell the range in numbers?

    Don¡¯t ask me, I grew up with things being the way they were. Still, this is¡­ very fast.

    Don¡¯t get used to it. Give it a week and your body will settle down. Afterwards you¡¯ll just have to worry about being horny.

    Isse was not having a fun time during puberty. Not because of the growth spurt, oh no, she loved that part. She didn¡¯t even have to worry about things like back pain or becoming chubby or getting pimples or being hairy (well, she already was quite hairy, but that was her spider part, so it didn¡¯t count). It was because of her sexuality.

    Wanna talk about that?

    Not much to say, Siidi. I was very much straight back on Earth. And now I¡¯m an arachne surrounded by lesbians. I feel¡­ uncomfortable, is all. My body wants one thing, while my mind says I should want another, and I can¡¯t decide. It¡¯s mildly infuriating.

    You say mildly infuriating, I feel uncertainty and fear. Your Mind Castle is quite literally vibrating in some areas. Would be trembling if it weren¡¯t made from stone.

    Ok, ok! I know, alright? I¡­ I can¡¯t understand this! Alright?

    Hey, hey, calm down now.

    No, I can not calm down! This is wrong! I feel wrong.

    Well, then you¡¯re an imbecile.

    That stopped Isse¡¯s thoughts right in their tracks, the gears in her brain stopping as a single grain of sand fell in the mechanism, locking it in place.

    Then she felt a presence in the back of that mechanism. A kind and gentle hand wormed its way inside, the bones and skin and muscle twisting this and that way, creaking and cracking to reach the disturbing grain and taking it out, letting everything go back to working order.

    The gears turned again, and for a moment Isse worried they¡¯d break the kind hand apart, mangling it into meat paste. Instead, the gears, moving much slower now, seemed to caress the flesh, moving out of its way to allow it to move freely.

    What was that? she asked.

    That was me restarting your brain. Now, would you like to talk about this? I¡¯m pretty sure that bottling that up will only hurt you more.

    What, you a psychologist now?

    Girl, you watched enough Doctor House that it would be easy.

    Doctor House isn¡¯t about psychologists.

    Yeah, but House is a piece of shit who needs one. Love the man, but he should really stop acting like an imbecile and settle down with Caddy.

    Oh, you sweet summer child, just you wait until season eight.

    Whatever, point is, you ain¡¯t acting right. You¡¯re only going to hurt yourself and regret it when you¡¯re halfway towards brain death.

    ¡­Anxiety doesn¡¯t cause brain death, Siidi.

    Clinically, no. Practically? It¡¯s the same.

    Oh, stop trying to speak like a damn doctor, would you?

    Nope! So long as it keeps you talking, I won¡¯t. Now, what do you see in this inkblot?

    The image of an ink splatter on a page appeared in her mind¡¯s eye, and she began giggling.

    This is dumb.

    You¡¯re being dumb, so it seems only right.

    I am not!

    Yes, you are. You¡¯re reverting to how you were acting before that last Trial. You¡¯re breaking at the seams trying to be the person you once were, forgetting that that person is dead, gone and buried in either a vase or a coffin. Your old mind is telling you to be the person you were, to not listen to your instincts and body. And it¡¯s hurting you.

    Siidi took a deep breath, then continued: What is it one of your people once said? ¡®The Heart has its reasons that Reason cannot understand¡¯. You¡¯re killing your Heart doing things this way.

    So what should I do?

    Give in. Try new things. If you don¡¯t like it, then stop and do something else. But don¡¯t deny yourself the chance to be someone else, someone new, just because in your past life you were different. Change is in the nature of us arachne. Don¡¯t deny yourself.

    She giggled: In conclusion, give Anda a good¡­ I don¡¯t know. Cunt-ing?

    Isse had to giggle at that.

    Well, maybe Siidi wasn¡¯t wrong.

    <hr>

    Turns out, Isse rather liked topping.

    And no more details will be given about that wonderful night filled with discoveries and untold pleasures.

    This is not that kind of story, and our dear protagonist will be allowed her privacy at least in moments like that. Will there be more? Most certainly. Will we talk about them? Not really, unless they have significance.

    Now, without further ado, and after the workers have finished repairing the fourth wall, let us continue.

    Isse woke up next morning lying in a hammock with Anda, who was still sleeping with a blissful smile on her face, arms hugging her tight. She had rarely seen her soulmate and sister look so satisfied and happy as she did that morning.

    For the matter, she felt that way too. As light as a feather and as high as a kite, for a moment she just stared at a little bit of sky that let light filter in their little place in the woods, and she felt at peace.

    She smiled, deciding to turn around and hug Anda. The day could wait.

    And then Siidi had to break in: That was a great night. You can thank me later.

    If Isse could¡¯ve drooped, she would¡¯ve. Alas, she was lying on her flank in a hammock, so the best she could do was mentally sigh. It wasn¡¯t that Siidi was wrong. She had spent most of the night either feeling Isse¡¯s pleasure or giving her pointers on how to bring Anda to orgasm better.

    No, she sighed just because of the unbelievable levels of smugness in her tone.

    Thank you Siidi. Now let us rest, please.

    Ha! Not a chance. Time for Sex-Ed with Professor Siidi!

    Isse could see, in her mind¡¯s eye, Siidi putting on a graduate¡¯s hat while wearing the stereotypical blue robes that teens always wore in those american films.

    Please spare me.

    Nope! Now, you did pretty well during the scissoring, but if you had moved your legs in just this way¡­

    The next five minutes were spent with Siidi somehow managing to make her feel embarrassed, proud and underwhelmed all at the same time. Now, she hadn¡¯t been a virgin back on Earth, but Stars know just how many things Siidi seemed to know. It was like the woman had done nothing but fuck around for her whole life.

    Are you sure you didn¡¯t have some kind of sex Class?

    Nah. At least, I don¡¯t think so. Can¡¯t remember. Anyways, you should really try poison play.

    ¡­Do I want to know?

    Oh, you absolutely want to. You¡¯re basically supposed to stimulate your partner, or yourself if you¡¯re into it, with each other¡¯s poisons! Or aphrodisiacs in your case, because your poison sucks, pun intended. It¡¯s fun! And you can¡¯t even begin to imagine how pleasant it can be if your partner knows how to do it.

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    Yes Siidi, let¡¯s allow my soulmate to use acid on my unmentionables. That will be a great idea!

    Girl, you have [Poison Immunity], and you already found out that it works perfectly with Anda¡¯s venom. Stop being a pussy and test it out when you have some time!

    Afterwards, they lapsed into companionable silence, Isse finally managing to embrace Anda and go back into blessed sleep.

    A little bit of autumn wind filtered through the trees, caressing them softly, while they swung in silence over the ground, birds outside the Spell chirping their little songs without disturbing anyone.

    They stayed like that for who knows how long, uncaring of anything in the world other than themselves and their slice of life.

    Until someone walked in, disturbing the little webs Isse and Anda had placed around their ¡®room¡¯ to alert them should someone come visit them. It was some sort of running joke among the arachne throughout history that they were always there, waiting with a smile, whenever a guest came to visit them.

    This time though the coming guests only got, as a greeting, two grumpy frowns in their direction.

    The two arachne still walked in, uncaring. One of them was wearing a red dress that complimented her flaming hair, while the other had yellow eyes accompanied by a yellow dress. They had names, but Isse and Anda didn¡¯t care for them, instead calling their friends and sisters ¡®Red Queen¡¯, or simply Red, and ¡®Catgirl¡¯.

    Yes, they were the same ones Isse had encountered a long time ago when she¡¯d first played Queen of Tree.

    They were also, apparently, soulmates. Had found out after that very game.

    ¡°So, you two finally fucked,¡± started Red.

    Isse¡¯s face began to heat up as Anda giggled.

    ¡°Who starts a conversation that way?¡± hiss-shouted Isse.

    ¡°Me,¡± she chuckled, ¡°Now, I¡¯m happy you finally decided to ditch the nun attitude, but this place reeks of sex and you two need a bath. Come on out,¡± she motioned them away, towards the ¡®baths¡¯, which were just a clearing where stones had been used to create many small pools which were refilled daily by a [Water Mage].

    As they walked their two friends bombarded them with questions about last night, which were more or less answered by an increasingly embarrassed Isse and a consistently smiling Anda who kept lauding her abilities.

    ¡°Maybe we could do a foursome one of these nights,¡± proposed Catgirl.

    She was answered by two glares and a raised eyebrow that was begging for details.

    ¡°...It was a joke,¡± she backpedaled.

    ¡°Good save,¡± said Anda.

    They finally reached the baths and, after cleaning up, started their days: Anda went to train her [Rogue] Class with the Silken Orchestra, while Red and Catgirl went on to [Hunter] training.

    Finally, Isse went to Grandmother¡¯s clearing. She had so many things left to learn.

    Her life was good.

    <hr>

    Two Months Later

    Isse connected the last threads of her Spell and, finally, let go, sighing as the mana in them began to react to the form she had imparted on it, understanding the purpose she had given it and reshaping itself and the world around them.

    Souls Magic was a magic that manipulated souls, and mana was the soul of the world. Every time she interacted with it, she changed a small part of the world, just like she did every time she interacted with the objects in the cabin in Grandmother¡¯s soul.

    The key difference was that the world was so much vaster than even the greatest and most powerful being in this world. So much so that any and all changes to it meant¡­ nothing. They reverted nearly immediately after they were made.

    She still remembered one of the tales Grandmother had told her about that:

    ¡°Among our [Mages] there was what we called the Rite of Tears. It was something like a rite of passage for when they could be declared World Shapers, the highest Level any of our Class could ever reach.

    ¡°In this Rite, the [Mage] was left alone in a place where they could be most attuned to the things their magic was centered around. The depths of the ocean for water, the mouth of Old Smoker for fire, and so on and so forth. They¡¯d spend the time there doing whatever they pleased with their magic, or meditating, in general doing that which let them come in touch with the world.

    ¡°It was a process not unlike what you do whenever you reach for the doorway to my soul, but grander. Only the greatest of us could achieve such a thing. Could observe the true Soul of the world, walk in its Heart and understand the truth of Creation.

    ¡°Always, the came back crying in joy and sorrow, usually as gibbering messes that talked about all that had been lost, that could never be achieved, or the possibilities that had been missed.

    ¡°It was a grounding experience, forced upon them to make sure the power wouldn¡¯t go to their heads, making them go completely mad.¡±

    ¡°Did you participate in this Rite Grandmother?¡±

    ¡°No, Issekina. I am not even a quarter of the [Mage] World Shapers once were. I hope, though, that one day you shall reach them. I was not brave enough to make the steps to scale that peak.¡±

    And still, they had died. Each and every single one of them.

    Apparently, the Vinzant Desert had come to be after one of said World Shapers had been killed by the Hunters as a last ¡®fuck you¡¯ to them, who had died of thirst before they could managed to get away.

    She came back to the world, time shifting back to a normal speed.

    [Thought Acceleration] was one of the first Spells Grandmother had taught her after she¡¯d seen her progress with basic Illusion Magic.

    The Spell itself was extremely complex and nuanced, but the effects were simply perfect for the kind of magic she did, which basically qualified as some sort of ¡®Spell Crafting¡¯.

    She watched as, in front of her, a life sized arachne began appearing. Her hair was green, just like a good half of the fur on her spider half and one of her eyes, while the other was as red as blood. The illusion of Siidi looked at the world around her with curiosity.

    Hmm, why am I chubby?

    Because you are.

    I am absolutely not chubby, little miss!

    Siidi, you live in my mind, I can see you if I close my eyes. You are a bit chubby in all the right places that would make hugging you very pleasant. I should know, I did.

    Siidi chuckled and nodded. She had lost this little battle.

    ¡°It is passable,¡± said Grandmother, nodding her head.

    ¡°In the future, you shall learn how to give your illusions a voice to speak. An image that cannot make sound will quickly be found out as a simple image, however complex it may be. A painting is still a painting.

    ¡°Now, [Let Me Show You] how it¡¯s done.¡±

    As she pronounced the words, Isse felt her sight shift and watched the world through Grandmother¡¯s eyes as she began manipulating threads of Mana inside her illusion to, apparently, give it a voice.

    She watched as the threads around the throat were altered and sewn together forming strange patterns that hurt her head if she looked at the too closely, spaces forming between the stitches that shouldn¡¯t be there yet forced themselves upon reality, raping the concepts of physics into submission.

    And then it was over.

    Isse¡¯s sight went back to normal as she watched her illusion of Siidi open her mouth and produce a sound akin to a child¡¯s warbling. She flinched back and commanded her creation to shut her mouth and not try making any sound for a while.

    ¡°What did I just see?¡±

    ¡°That, young arachne, was me breaking reality. I forced light, a thing of sight, to form sound. It is unnatural. It is what every [Mage] worth their Class learn to do sooner or later.¡±

    Only then did Isse notice that her illusion of Siidi had quite literally lost all color. Her hair was white now, as were her eyes and her spider half. Her skin had also become pale, nearly cadaverous.

    ¡°Did you have to change her color?¡± she asked the Elder.

    ¡°It is not my choice, Issekina. It is one of the effects of a Skill I have. I cannot control it as much as you can control yourself from jumping your soulmate when you¡¯re both in heat.¡±

    Isse blinked, then changed color to a very bright bed.

    ¡°Wha - How?¡±

    ¡°You should not have confided in Makira.¡±

    ¡°But she said she would tell no one.¡±

    ¡°She is also a [Chatterbox] and knows none of the things told to me will ever be heard outside this clearing.¡±

    Isse had to chuckle at that.

    ¡°Well, today¡¯s lesson is over. Rest, spend some time with your soulmate. I will be waiting for you here tomorrow afternoon, same hour.¡±

    Isse nodded and skittered away, humming a little tune to herself as the illusion of Siidi behind her smiled slightly before disappearing into the whiteness.

    Meanwhile, the world kept on turning.

    The leaves in the trees slowly changed color and fell, turning the ground into a beautiful rainbow of decay and death. Winter was fast approaching. Together with the arachne¡¯s eternal enemies.

    <hr>

    Two More Months Later

    Isse sat in Grandmother¡¯s clearing in front of the usual white table.

    She stared into her cup of tea, letting the heat of the last sip course through her body. Winter had arrived, and it had been quite kind so far: snow drifted towards the ground, carpeting the forest in white, yet no one felt cold.

    All because of one of Grandmother¡¯s Skills: [Winter is my Clan¡¯s Friend].

    With it, they couldn¡¯t feel cold, the snow didn¡¯t impede their steps, nor did it ever become a nuisance in any way to anyone that was part of the clan. The [Hunters] loved it, because they could hunt down Mimehounds without having to fear they would mimetize somewhere on the ground.

    Still, she liked the tea¡¯s warmth. It was soothing, especially today. Apparently Grandmother had to talk to her about something serious. The last time she had done so the Trials had started. One could easily understand why she felt so anxious.

    ¡°Why did you call me Grandmother?¡± she asked.

    The Elder didn¡¯t answer. She just kept staring at Isse with her closed eyes, as if looking for something inside her very soul. Knowing her, it was actually a possibility. Stars, she could do it too. Thanks to [Thought Acceleration] and the other cool Skills she¡¯d gotten in these past few months it wasn¡¯t even difficult. That is, if the person she was looking at wasn¡¯t trying to actively fight her off and had strong defenses.

    Now she was a Level 18 [Soul Shaper]. Quite a slow ascent, but Grandmother had told her clearly that [Mages] always leveled slower than most other Classes. Even when they were challenged as she had been.

    ¡°You have been called, at last, to hear the Question, arachne.

    ¡°You have grown these past few months, both in body and mind. You are now, officially, an adult. As such, you have the right to hear the Question, and look for an answer.¡±

    ¡°The¡­ Question?¡± she was confused. All that fanfare for something like that?

    Oh, she¡¯s going to tell you, said Siidi. Her tone was, unexpectedly, serious, as if they were talking about organizing someone¡¯s funeral.

    Yeah, so? It¡¯s a question, what¡¯s so important about it?

    No Isse, you don¡¯t understand. This is the capital q Question. The one that has defined our race since we were created by Death. It¡¯s¡­ the only thing that gives us hope, even in our darkest hours.

    That sent a chill down Isse¡¯s spine all the way to her spider feet.

    ¡°Yes, the Question.¡±

    Grandmother nodded.

    Then, with the same grandeur she had used when Isse had just been born, she lowered herself to the ground, her white hair creating a natural curtain between her and the world outside.

    The detail that struck Isse the most was just how much closer her face was to Grandmother¡¯s. When she¡¯d just left her egg, she had to crane her neck to look her in the eyes. Now though, they were nearly at eye level.

    ¡°The Question has another name, arachne. It is known better, to us, as this: The Spider¡¯s Dilemma.

    ¡°Now, hear the Question, and draw your conclusions:

    ¡°Why does a spider keep building and rebuilding his web even after it is destroyed again and again?¡±

    Isse stared up at Grandmother, confused. That¡­ made no sense.

    What am I supposed to answer, Siidi?

    Silence greeted her question. Then:

    I will not answer you, Isse. That¡¯s something you¡¯ll have to find out on your own.

    Isse began to panic. This was clearly important, yet she didn¡¯t know what to say. What if she answered wrong? What would happen then? Would Grandmother kill her? Tell her to leave the Clan? Would¡­

    Stop it Isse! hissed Siidi, Nothing like that will happen. I promise you.

    Isse took a deep breath to calm her heart. Then she looked up, uncertain:

    ¡°Um¡­ I guess he does it because he can?¡±

    Grandmother stared at her for a moment longer. Then she began lifting herself back to her full height.

    ¡°If that is your answer¡­?¡±

    Isse didn¡¯t hear the question immediately, but when she did she nodded.

    ¡°Then let us hope you won¡¯t come to regret and change it. Go Issekina.¡±

    Confused, the arachne left the clearing.

    Is that all?

    Yes.

    Did¡­ did I answer right?

    Was the answer right for you?

    Well, sort of? It was kind of sprung out on me. I wasn¡¯t prepared.

    That¡¯s the point Isse. You¡¯re not meant to be prepared, the answer will be more honest that way.

    What did you answer when they asked you this?

    Siidi, again, fell into a deep silence, before she answered: I cannot tell you. It¡¯s very personal. Never ask anyone what they answered. They will never tell you anyway.

    Not even you? You even heard mine.

    Not even me, sister. I¡¯m sorry, really. How about this: if ever you will change your answer, and it will align with mine, I will tell you, alright?

    ¡­Deal!

    After all that a thought crossed Isse¡¯s mind: that maybe there was no wrong and right answer. But was it possible for something that important?

    She didn¡¯t know.

    Throughout the rest of the day each and every mature arachne was brought to Grandmother¡¯s clearing and asked to answer the Spider¡¯s Dilemma. Everyone did, in their own way. Everyone kept the answer to themselves.

    That night she fell asleep hugging Anda, their last kiss still warm on her lips.

    Soon after, that night, she would come to hate warmth.

 Chapter 37: An End to Smiles

    How does a [Mage] say goodbye?

    No, bear with me for a moment, that is an excellent question. How does one do that? And I don¡¯t mean ¡®say goodbye¡¯ as in ¡®wave goodbye with your hand¡¯, that wouldn¡¯t be grand, or a real answer.

    No, I mean a real, definitive, goodbye. The kind that leaves you with bitterness in your mouth and a sad, nostalgic, smile.

    Now, there are many good ways to say goodbye: a [Musician] or a [Bard] or an [Actor] can just bow. But here¡¯s the thing: bowing is their signature. It¡¯s only special if they¡¯re the ones who do it. I guess that¡¯s the power of showmanship, but alas, nothing can be done about it.

    So we¡¯re left with this surprisingly complex question of how a [Mage] looks at their audience of friends and enemies and¡­ says goodbye. Words can¡¯t be enough, no, it must be something great, something unforgettable, something that will separate them from the riff raff of those simple showmen, something¡­

    Well, maybe we¡¯ll find the answer to that soon.

    <hr>

    Nero walked into the royal palace of the kingdom of Scasce. It was a week away from the Forest of Tusca, otherwise known as ¡®The Colorful Nightmare¡¯ and ¡®The Painter¡¯s Dream¡¯.

    No one knew exactly how the forest had come to be: one day, it had been an absolutely normal place, the next it was as if a rainbow had vomited over it and every animal living inside. Some [Researchers] speculated it was the collateral damage of a powerful Spell, but [King] Carmine thought it stupid: no magic existed in the world that could cause such a thing, especially that powerful. Well, maybe with the exception of the Tower Academy, but the place was worse than a monastery when it came to keeping its knowledge sealed in, to be used only for its students.

    I wonder what floor they managed to reach now, he thought to himself. Last he¡¯d heard, they were stuck on the forty-fifth floor, fighting gods-knew-what for the right to learn the lessons hidden inside those classrooms.

    Bah, it mattered not. Right now what mattered was the men who had just walked in. Nero. Such an unusual name. At least, for an Irevian. He was pretty sure that on Eva it was common.

    The man had become, recently, the bearer of such bad news that he hadn¡¯t been able to sleep for a week straight (without using Sleep Potions) after hearing them.

    There were, apparently, arachne in his kingdom. Hidden in the Forest of Tusca no less! He had wondered, for a short while, if it had been their fault that the trees had changed color, only to realize that it was impossible. They would never attract so much attention to themselves. Also, the [Explorers] who¡¯d been sent there to, for lack of a better word, explore the place, had not reported back anything too exceptional.

    They¡¯d probably settled in at a later date.

    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± said Nero as he bowed deeply.

    He was a scarred man. Something to be expected from an ex-[General] who¡¯d fought in many wars and, apparently, another Nest of those deathspawned. That he was still alive to tell the tale was a testament to his bravery, resilience and intelligence.

    Also, his complete and utter idiocy. If he had been in the man¡¯s place he would¡¯ve left the College after that first Nest without looking back.

    Alas, King Carmine didn¡¯t know the policies of the College of Memoirs. He didn¡¯t know that, once one was in, there were little to no possibilities of leaving. Well, leaving with your head attached to its body. It was traditional, in the College, to execute people by beheading them. Something about making sure no Memories could hide inside.

    ¡°[Memoir Holder General] Nero, rise.¡±

    Nero did. His hair, as his name suggested, was black. Was being the key word: now it was more white than black. The King couldn¡¯t tell for sure if it was because of age or stress. Probably both.

    ¡°I have come to ask if the requested suppression army has been prepared.¡±

    That was why he had come here. The College may hold lots of power around the world, but it was still bound by the laws of the kingdoms it visited. And if it wanted an army, it had to ask.

    ¡°Yes, it is ready. I am sorry it took this long.¡±

    Nero had come here months ago with the request for an army. Which was not a problem per se. The problem was that the kingdom had a very finite number of [Soldiers] to throw into a literal meat grinder, so it had taken quite some time to recruit and form something akin to an army. And even then, it wasn¡¯t much of one: only ten thousand soldiers.

    The [King] knew that, even with all the Skills one could think about, maybe a tenth would come back. That was how powerful arachne were. But he didn¡¯t care about that. Armies could be rebuilt much easier than a kingdom razed to ashes, and if the arachne had attacked one village then it meant they would, sooner or later, come for the capital. And afterwards¡­ who knew.

    ¡°Thank you, Your Majesty. This will not be forgotten.¡±

    ¡°Make sure it doesn¡¯t. I¡¯m sending those people to their deaths.¡±

    ¡°Your Majesty, with all due respect, I am a capable [General] and have the right Memories to keep them all alive.¡±

    ¡°I never said otherwise, Sir. But I know my history. I know what those monsters are capable of. I have little expectations to see them come back.¡±

    Nero could say nothing to that.

    Because the man was right.

    <hr>

    It was a Grasei when it happened.

    Grasei, Fifteenth of Wondros, the eleventh month of the year.

    The seventh day of the week, in the middle of the second to last month.

    Nero didn¡¯t like this date. It didn¡¯t feel special in any way. The numbers didn¡¯t align to form some special combination. If it had been up to him he would¡¯ve waited up to the twelfth of Zastone, the twelfth month. Maybe he would¡¯ve been lucky and that day would¡¯ve fallen in a Felsei, the sixth day of the week. That would¡¯ve been better. Or, even more so, something on the fifth day of the fifth month.

    After all, every time someone killed a nest of arachne, stories were told of their bravery. And doing so during a combination of fives would¡¯ve made everything much better.

    But alas, time wasn¡¯t on his side. The longer he waited, the longer the arachne had to acquire power. And that would, sooner or later, lead to disaster.

    ¡°Torches on!¡± he spoke through a Speaking Stone, a simple quartz stone enchanted and connected to other similar ones so that he could give orders.

    All around him his army, which had been sitting in the dark up until then, began being lit up by countless lights, like a starry sky all of its own.

    When the place they¡¯d been hiding in, waiting for the cover of the night, was illuminated by a star of fire all of its own, he took a deep breath.

    Memories of countless moments like this flashed before his eyes. The minute before the battle began, before the last and first command was given. The calm, the heart beating out of your chest no matter how many times you did this.

    He hadn¡¯t been a [General] long enough to become desensitized to this. And, really, he hoped he would never change that way. In his opinion, only monsters forgot that sensation of anxiety and expectation.

    Right now, to his [Soldiers] he was a god as much as any of the ones they prayed to in their temples or before their cots. He held their lives in his hands, a puppeteer to a show where the swords weren¡¯t made of colored wood and the blood wasn¡¯t string or red water.

    A musician who played a song in the screams of his enemies and allies, the clanging of swords and the clopping of horses¡¯ hooves (sadly not present here) his instruments.

    He took a deep breath, held it there for a few seconds, released it.

    The stone was raised to his lips seemingly by a stranger¡¯s hand.

    And he spoke words that didn¡¯t sound his own.

    ¡°Burn them to Airm.¡±

    The Forest of Tusca was set ablaze.

    <hr>

    Isse woke up to shouts.

    That was how she began to understand that something was wrong: normally, there was a [Bubble of Silence] Spell around her and Anda''s little clearing. Now, she could no longer feel it in the air.

    Then came the shouts.

    "RUN! They found us!"

    Immediately Isse woke up fully and, with her, Anda as well. Her eyes were still half closed, but that lasted only a few seconds, before she too heard the shouting, her eyes sharpening instantly.

    They fell from their hammock, touching the ground on their feet, ready for anything that might come at them. Instead they just heard someone out there shouting: "Take what you can and run!"

    Again, they were ready. They turned around towards the little furniture they possessed na,d began putting their things inside little bags of holding stored inside. They''d been gifted those after they''d... passed the ''worst'' part of their puberty. They weren''t high quality Bags of Holding, they were, after all, mass produced by Aru and Grandmother, but they were better than most of the low quality ones she''d seen being sold in the human cities.

    What''s happening? she asked Siidi as she put her dress made from Shifting Silk inside and latched her bag shut.

    I''m afraid, Isse, that somehow the humans have found us. And are attempting to kill us, was the answer.

    Isse batted her eyes in surprise. Not because of the answer, but because of Siidi''s tone. She didn''t sound scared, nor angry. Just... tired. Really tired.

    It always ends this way. I was hoping, against all hope, I wouldn''t have to witness anything like this again. Better a life of doing nothing in this forest than having to fight like this again.

    She paused a moment, then added: No matter what happens, Isse. Never stop running. Don''t look back. That''s... all I can do for you.

    That, more than anything, made Isse understand how bad the situation was. No sarcasm, no witty sentences. Just... a true [Warrior]''s endless tiredness of battle. Which... was strange. Siidi always seemed to enjoy fighting. What was different this time?

    I am not tired of the fights, sister. I''m tired of this endless war, this never ending hunt. I''m sorry, Isse. Now you are part of it.

    Then she saw the flames.

    <hr>

    "[Fire Mages]! Snuff out those flames. Form a corridor to get us out of here!" shouted one of the arachne [Warriors].

    She was holding a simple steel sword she''d taken off of a [Fighter]''s body. The man had wandered too deep in the forest and found out just what it was truly hiding.

    The [Mages], three twins who looked exactly the same, nodded and began chanting.

    Not long afterwards, the flames began to abate.

    <hr>

    "Sir! Report from the western front! The fire has begun to recede from the forest! We found them! They''re trying to suppress the flames, probably to escape."

    One of the [Strategists] in Nero''s tent said, a Speaking Stone to his ear as he received this report.

    Nero sighed: Here it begins.

    "We can''t allow this."

    He walked out of the tent, slowly but surely looking at the burning forest in front of him. The flames were being fueled by both wood and magic, letting them spread faster and in a much wider area. But, even from here, on the northern side of the forest, he could see, in the distance, the flames'' movements beginning to slow down as they were slowly snuffed out. No, that couldn''t be allowed at all. If even one escaped then this whole operation would be for nothing.

    "[Tradition: The Holy Flames Burned Ever Bright Against Our Enemies]!"

    The words, when he said them, resonated, his tone becoming much deeper than usual. For a moment, as he did, he could see flickers of the memory''s story.

    A [Priest] kneeled in front of an altar, his hands held together in prayer. The statue behind the altar represented a big, muscled, man holding a hammer and raising it over an anvil, ready to strike. On the anvil, a fire burned. The priest prayed, and someone behind him broke down the doors of the temple...

    Fire. Everything was on fire. But the priest didn''t care. He was still praying even as the flames covered his body. But they didn''t burn him, unlike the men who''d destroyed the entrance to this holy place. Those were screaming their lungs out as their eyes melted out of their sockets and their lungs were filled with ash, the meat burning and melting on and off their bones. The priest kept on praying...

    The priest, much older now, was talking to a young man in front of him, showing him the temple and, especially, the statue, where the brazier holding the flames that had saved him and his city were still held, burning even now. The man bowed and fell to his knees in adoration...

    The young man sat in a chair by the bed, at the priest''s side. He is now a [Priest] himself and is using a Skill to soothe the old man''s pains, to give him a painless death, whenever that will come. The priest is smiling, his lips moving, but Nero couldn''t hear the words. He is requesting something. One last favor...

    The priest''s body is lowered into the holy flames he had spent his whole life guarding and praying to. The miracle of life that had saved him and the people he loved and cared for. The flames, for a moment, don¡¯t touch the body, letting it float inside. Then they feed upon it. And the young priest, the successor, receives a message from the System: [Conditions Met - Memory: The Holy Flames Burned Ever Bright Against Our Enemies -> Tradition: The Holy Flames Burned Ever Bright Against Our Enemies].

    A man stands in front of the young priest. He is young no more. He has grown into a man. He is also holding the knife in his gut, keeping it in place. He is trying to say the words, to call upon the Skill that had always helped his city. But the man is there to take the words out of his mouth, to suck them into his own, to silence him and his requests for help. Then, he walks behind the altar, towards the statue, taking the brazier with the eternal flames. He leaves behind only one thing: the insignia of the College of Memoirs.

    The memories stop. For a moment, Nero felt his head spinning, but then he managed to grab onto one of the [Strategists] who''d walked out with him, stabilizing himself.

    Meanwhile, the fires began burning brighter.

    <hr>

    Grandmother looked at the fire from her clearing of silken white. She grimaced, her face a mask of disgust and hatred.

    They were here again. To get her and her daughters, to try to finish what the Hunters couldn¡¯t. They¡¯d fail, of course. She knew as much. She was certain of it beyond doubt. But many would die tonight. And, sadly, not only her enemies.

    She knew this, for she had felt the Tradition being called upon to stoke those miserable flames. The College was here. And if they had come, it meant that they¡¯d also brought that abominable Skill. The gift from the Gods to humanity to help them fight off the ¡®Silken Menace¡¯.

    The flames rose higher, uncaring of the [Mages] attempting to quench them in any way possible. For they answered only to the will of their god, and that will, pronounced centuries ago, was to burn the enemies of his people. Sadly, the arachne qualified as such.

    The flames began reaching deeper into the forest. She felt them touching the strings of her great web, beginning to eat away at it.

    Her grimace deepened, and she snapped her fingers.

    Immediately, the flames that touched her creation began turning white, the color spreading outwards. Already, it was becoming colder, slowing down.

    She may not be able to stop them completely, she was no god after all, but she served a power just as ancient, if not even older in some other places, than them. The least it could allow her was turning off some godsdamned flames. Especially at the height of her power, at the heart of Winter.

    ¡°Come, little prey. The Resting has ended. Let the Hunt begin anew.¡±

    <hr>

    The [Soldiers] stared at the flames in fear as they received a very simple order:

    ¡°Advance!¡±

    But there was a fucking fire right in front of them!

    ¡°Do not fear the flames! They will not burn you! They¡¯ve been enhanced to burn only the arachne!¡±

    Easy for you to say you fucker! You¡¯re not the one who¡¯s being asked to walk into a pyre! Usually when something is burning it will burn you back, especially if you put your fucking saintly little feet on top of it. You can¡¯t expect us to just blindly trust that a Skill can just turn all these flames into a friendly lil¡¯ bonfire.

    ¡°[Fearless Advance]!¡± shouted a voice from behind. The [General]. Nero was his name. Apparently he¡¯d already fought arachne in the past.

    But it didn¡¯t matter. Now they felt compelled to advance into the fire. What was the worst it could do? Make you feel hot? Ha! They were [Soldiers] ready to kill arachne. A little fire wouldn¡¯t stop them from completing this holy mission!

    They began walking into the fire.

    And, as promised, the flames didn¡¯t burn them. Instead, they clung to their armor, cradling them in warmth, welcoming them in, whispering sweet nothings with the sound of falling hammers in the background.

    They didn¡¯t notice the webs. Nor did they see when the flames began turning white and the sweet whispers became pained screams.

    Then the fire was no longer warm: it was cold. Freezing cold. Like walking through a blizzard, in full plate armor, with no clothes underneath.

    They began screaming as the steel became so cold it burned them, sticking to their skins, locking their joints in place. They screamed as the blood in their veins began to slow down, their hearts becoming too cold to pump the life-giving liquid. They felt them try to contract with all their might and failing to do anything, and it brought them even more pain. They screamed, until their vocal chords were covered in brine and ice that cut through their throats. Yet they didn¡¯t die, because there was little blood to be pumped out of the cuts. No gurgles filled the air. At some point, it just became silent.

    Nero watched this from the back and sighed.

    First blood goes to them, he thought.

    Then the arrows began to rain on them.

    <hr>

    Desina held a short sword in her left hand. It was not her preferred weapon, she was more into heavy weapons like morningstars and longswords, but she couldn¡¯t exactly use those while missing an arm. Especially her dominant one.

    Maybe, one day, she could¡¯ve managed to do it with the right Skills, but Grandmother had also locked her out of her [Warrior] Class, so she had nothing. Nothing but the intense training she¡¯d since gone through.

    She wasn¡¯t at her peak, not even close, but, she had told herself, if I¡¯m bound to go down, at least I¡¯ll bring as many of them as I can with me.

    She heard Pochi give an order to the [Archers] and [Hunters] and they all fired at once towards the approaching army.

    For now, they wouldn¡¯t be coming close.

    <hr>

    Iadara Silksoul finished freeing the last animal she held in her cage, a little colorful sparrow that had taken a liking to her a very long time ago. His cage had never been truly closed, at any moment he could¡¯ve just booped it open with his little paws or his beak and flown away, unlike the other animals.

    But he¡¯d always stayed there, keeping her company through her highs and lows, chirping little songs to brighten her days.

    He was a lovely animal, and because of that she was going to have to let him go.

    ¡°You¡¯re free, Abraham. Fly away. You won¡¯t have a home here for much longer. Those big bad [Soldiers] will burn this place to the ground.¡±

    The bird chirped in worry, understanding her. Was he asking her if she was going to be ok?

    ¡°Of course, you stupid little animal. I can¡¯t die until I¡¯ve tasted every single type of alcohol in the world, remember?¡±

    The bird chirped something that was probably a laugh, nuzzling her cheek.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Abraham, but you really have to go. I don¡¯t want them to hurt you. Go. We will meet again when this is all over.¡±

    She smiled one last time as her little friend flew away.

    Then she turned back towards her clearing, skittering towards her stash of wine bottles. She took a bottle of the cheap, strong, stuff, popped open the cork, and began drinking.

    If she was going to die, she wouldn¡¯t do it sober.

    <hr>

    Arunielle Silksoul looked up from the table in her little clearing of wonderful colors.

    She saw the flames rising over the top of the trees, saw how some of them began turning white, and sighed.

    She then turned back to her work. This dress wasn¡¯t going to finish itself on its own.

    She just hoped that the pigments for it wouldn¡¯t arrive too soon.

    <hr>

    Makira sighed, then took a deep breath. She sat on the ground, her legs relaxed, her arms flopping uselessly on her sides as she let her mind wander to much more pleasant places and memories.

    Anything to stay away from those horrible desires and memories hidden in the darkest depths of her mind, normally chained down and kept at bay without so much as a thought. Now the things, the monsters, were beginning to stir, whispering about a time just like this, in a different place altogether: a set of great caves hidden in the Tiurna Mountains.

    She felt the hunger deep inside her claw at the chains of mythril she¡¯d bound it in, failing miserably in its attempt to free itself, instead just shrieking in rage. It wanted out!

    Stolen novel; please report.

    She gave that thing as big a middle finger as she could and went back to relaxing.

    Fighting while being distracted was a surefire way of getting killed, and if she died then she wouldn¡¯t be able to keep the spiderlings and their big sisters safe.

    They may be adults now, but that meant nothing if said adult had been alive for less than a year. They had lots of time left, and even more things to learn.

    She would do anything to allow them to live.

    Finally, she lifted her body from the ground. The blood pumped through her veins slowly and steadily, her heart beating methodically. Her feet moved on the snow-covered ground with the grace of a dancer ready to step on the stage and her eyes, with the help of her Skills, saw all around her.

    She sighed one last time.

    Into the breach we go, one.. more¡­ time.

    <hr>

    Nero watched the white flames with a deep frown. This was completely unexpected, but since he had expected to see something unexpected it didn¡¯t count. Arachne had this bad habit of always having something new up their rancid cunts.

    ¡°What should we do [General]?¡± asked one of his [Strategists].

    Nero turned to look at the young man and thought that he was too inexperienced for this kind of battle. ¡®Still wet behind the ears¡¯ would say his old instructor.

    Still, he had some damn good Skills, and that was why he had been proposed to him by King Carmine. Nero would¡¯ve refused if he had been in the boy¡¯s place, but alas, he needed every hand and head he could get. One more body for the grinder was a chance for one more dead arachne.

    ¡°You tell me boy. Lesson time, come on. What do you see, and how do you think we should solve the problem?¡±

    The [Strategist] stared at him with a wide open mouth: ¡°Sir, with all due respect, this isn¡¯t the time for lessons.¡±

    ¡°On the contrary boy, it¡¯s the best of times. It¡¯s a situation with a real problem that could get your [Soldiers] and you killed. There¡¯s no better time to Level. Now answer my questions.¡±

    The boy looked at the scene, his complexion paling ever so slightly as his eyes stopped for a moment on the soldiers who¡¯d been frozen to death. He seemed to think about it for a moment, then he answered:

    ¡°Sir, currently we¡¯re fighting an enemy with unknown abilities and Skills who has managed to turn a Tradition Skill against us, subverting its function. If we were to go by the book, I¡¯d suggest we retreat and regroup. But -¡± he stopped Nero before he could say something very offensive ¡°- I should probably take that book and chuck it into those flames, am I right?¡±

    Nero nodded.

    ¡°Which means, we have to find a way to get around those flames without dying of a horrible death. Well, not like there won¡¯t be even more horrible ones in there.¡±

    Nero was really beginning to like this boy. He was a realist, apparently. If he managed to survive tonight he¡¯d become a great [Strategist].

    ¡°Now, the white flames don¡¯t seem to be expanding really fast. They¡¯re actually quite localized. I propose we go around them and enter the forest proper.¡±

    Nero raised his eyebrow: ¡°Wouldn¡¯t we be going directly into the Reveler Ant¡¯s maw?¡±

    ¡°Most assuredly Sir. And I believe there¡¯s a good chance that we¡¯ll end up surrounded by those white flames in the long run, locked inside the forest together with the arachne. The thing is, Sir, as I see it, that¡¯s our best shot at killing the enemy. If we dilly-dally too much the flames will all become as hostile as these and lock us out, giving the arachne more time to prepare or escape.¡±

    Nero nodded in agreement. That was the optimal choice. Sadly. He knew all too well how much those damned monsters liked hiding and running away. The only way to be sure one had killed them all was to go face to face against them.

    ¡°You did well boy. Very well, let¡¯s begin. [Testudo Formation], [Fast Advance], [Reinforced Shields]!¡±

    Immediately the [Soldiers] all around the forest formed into formation, creating big boxes with their shields, spears at the front ready to skewer anyone stupid enough to charge at them. No matter what, unless the arachne had some kind of war engine like a catapult they wouldn¡¯t be able to easily reach the people inside.

    Then, as per orders he had imparted to the various [Strategists] around the army, they began to walk towards the areas of flames that weren¡¯t touched by the white.

    And they went through without a hitch.

    ¡°Well boy, time to follow them in. Are you ready?¡±

    ¡°Sincerely, Sir? Absolutely not.¡±

    ¡°Good. Had you said otherwise I would¡¯ve thought you a liar incapable of command and told you to throw yourself into those icy flames to hasten the job.¡±

    ¡°...Thank you Sir?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome. Now, walk with me to our deaths, would you?¡±

    <hr>

    Pochi looked at the approaching army through a simple spyglass, seeing through the trees thanks to a Skill of hers: [Unhindered Sight]. This way she could see her enemies from a distance without having to worry about things like trees. The problem (if it could be called that) was that it also allowed her to see under people¡¯s clothes. Which she¡¯d used and abused many times during her stay among the humans back in her Academy days.

    Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get some relief when anyone seeing what you actually look like would lead to their death in an attempt to kill you? No, you probably don¡¯t.

    Now, while cutting short the story of how, for a while, Pochi became a voyeur:

    She watched as they walked through the flames and began marching inside the forest, looking for and finding some paths to make it easier for them to stay into some sort of formation.

    For a moment there she¡¯d hoped that Grandmother¡¯s freezing flames and the arrows would¡¯ve made the [General] commanding that arm rethink his approach and retreat. Obviously, though, they had sent someone who was crazy enough to just charge in, uncaring for the lives that would be lost. Typical Hunter-Era approach to fighting her species.

    You could¡¯ve just let us go. We would¡¯ve disappeared, never to bother you again. But no, you had to come at us. Fucking pieces of shit.

    ¡°[Trapsetter Hunters] and [Rogues] to the Northern side of the forest. You know the protocols.¡±

    ¡°Which area?¡± asked one of her sisters.

    Pochi turned towards her, unable to hold in the small smile that appeared on her lips: ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. They¡¯re everywhere.¡±

    She turned back to observing her enemies and added, only half-jokingly: ¡°Could probably shoot an arrow with your eyes closed and still not miss.¡±

    They ran.

    <hr>

    The [Soldiers] were advancing inside the forest. Behind them, the flames that should¡¯ve only burned their enemies, now corrupted by that white miasma here and there, were following.

    The men¡¯s armors were covered in the friendly fire, which kept them warm and made them feel safe. It was a powerful flame, it would make sure that arrows coming at them wouldn¡¯t pierce through their armor and chainmail, that swords swung at them would melt before touching their skin, that no matter what everything would be alright.

    And then one of them touched a hanging thread of silk, so fine it was that someone looking exactly for it would still need minutes to actually find it.

    The flames reached out towards the thread, ready to burn it and expand upwards to the trees ahead. Instead, they screamed, as something foreign entered them. A cold, furious, will, that tasted of everything that made winter one of the most hated and dangerous seasons in the world. Like a Banshee opening her mouth wide to eat a living¡¯s head off, the foreign presence reached towards the fire and bit down.

    The flames turned white and cold.

    And the man died a few moments later, his screams slowly stopping as his lungs were filled with condensed water and then ice.

    Reports came in, and Nero sighed: ¡°This is becoming unsustainable. We¡¯re yet to even make contact with the enemy and already we¡¯ve lost hundreds just to those flames. I was hoping to use them as support, but the only support it¡¯s giving is to our enemies.¡±

    He snapped his fingers and the Tradition he had called upon moaned in pain as part of it was forced to obey this outsider¡¯s will, forced to suppress part of itself. Traditions weren¡¯t meant to be used only¡­ partially. They were, like all Memory Skills, all or nothing. This was painful.

    Yet it obeyed the command.

    The flames that had covered the [Soldiers] burned away, leaving them safe from the possibility of death by freezing fires.

    Nero still didn¡¯t know what had caused the phenomenon but, at this point, it didn¡¯t matter. There were more important matters for him to worry about.

    ¡°Keep advancing,¡± he said into his Speaking Stone, ¡°Inform me at first contact.¡±

    He looked at the escort that was following him. [Elite Warriors], or so King Carmine had said. He couldn¡¯t know for sure, the men never spoke a single word.

    ¡°Let¡¯s keep going. Deeper. Towards the center. That¡¯s where the Elder is, most probably. If we kill that one, then everything will be much easier.¡±

    As they carefully advanced, he began wondering if, maybe, this would be easier in some way. For one, this battlefield was much better than the last one. The cavern systems underneath the Tiurna Mountains had been a true nightmare: arachne appearing out of nowhere from walls that had appeared to be perfectly solid, entire tunnels collapsed over the heads of the [Soldiers], and let¡¯s not forget about the¡­

    In that moment an entire trunk covered in sharp objects fell from the trees ahead of them and nearly skewered one of the [Elite Warriors], Nero and the [Strategist] with him.

    ¡°[Perfect Dodge],¡± said the one in front of them, his body moving out of the way of the incoming trunk, his hand reaching out to grab Nero by the arm and yank him away with him.

    The [Strategist], though, wasn¡¯t so lucky. He tried to move away, one of the warriors reaching out to help him along, but they were too slow.

    In slow motion, Nero watched the trunk come closer and, finally, hit the boy in the arm. He watched as the blades embedded in the wood cut straight through his light armor and the flesh underneath, shearing through bone and muscle as if it was mere butter and the blades were heated.

    Then came the screams of pain.

    In an instant, Nero moved, but the warrior was faster than him and reached down towards the boy, a vial already in his hands being unstoppered, the contents dumped on the bleeding wound. A healing potion, Accelerant class if Nero had to guess, probably mid grade.

    He watched, expecting to see skin grow to cover the bleeding stump.

    But nothing happened.

    The wound kept on bleeding, and the [Strategist]¡¯s screams became only louder as Nero saw black lines beginning to move from the wound up the arm and towards the heart.

    ¡°Poison,¡± he whispered as one of the warriors rummaged for a moment in his bag of holding, taking out another vial, the liquid inside green in color. An antidote.

    He tipped the contents inside the [Strategist]¡¯s mouth, but nothing happened. The dark lines kept on moving, until they reached the heart. Then the boy went limp.

    The warrior checked for a pulse. There was none.

    ¡°Dead. High quality poison. We must be careful,¡± he said.

    Nero nodded.

    He shook his head sadly, thinking a short prayer for the boy before they went back to walking.

    There was a reason why he hadn¡¯t asked him his name. He had been sure there was going to be no need to remember it.

    <hr>

    Grandmother looked at Nero through her [Web Eyes], one of her many Skills.

    Once upon a time her mentor, before obtaining this same Skill, used to actually collect eyes from her victims, attaching them to her webs and using some quite obscure enchantment to allow her to see through them. A rather grizzly business, and even with all the enchantments she put on them, the things always rot away.

    Still, all her hard work hadn¡¯t been for nothing: she¡¯d gotten the Skill together with her Elder. And now it came very in handy.

    ¡°[Advanced Appraisal],¡± she whispered, and read the Classes and Levels of all those present, plus some of their Skills.

    She lifted her hand towards her face, saying: ¡°[Communicate: Pocharits Silksoul]. Pochartis, concentrate your efforts on the northern side of the forest. The envoy of the College, one [Memoir Holder General] Nero, is there, surrounded by a guard of seven [Elite Warriors]. Also, good job in getting rid of the [Strategist].¡±

    She heard her daughter agree, and went back to observing the unfolding battlefield.

    Looking west, she sighed as the enemies made first contact with them. The Silken Orchestra was about to play a song.

    <hr>

    [Commander] Frenix was good at his job, which was to say, he knew how to keep [Soldiers] in line and make them do what had to be done without being hated. He liked to spend time in the barracks with his men, eating their food and playing their games. When they broke some of the more¡­ ¡®stupid¡¯ rules, like the ones against gambling, he liked to close an eye, or even join in.

    In short, he was well liked, and on the battlefield he knew how to keep his people alive while reducing the numbers of their enemies. That was why he and his unit had been chosen for this mission. As for why they had chosen to join what amounted, in the very King¡¯s words, to a suicide mission, well, it was the purpose of all living things to kill the arachne. The gods themselves had said as much.

    And so they were here.

    The [Commander of Survivors] walked in the center of the testudo formation enhanced by the [General]¡¯s Skill, their movements perfectly synchronized the gaps between the shields seemingly inexistent while also allowing them to see ahead.

    They reached a clearing.

    ¡°Halt!¡± said someone ahead of them. No, all around. A resounding tone that seemed to be everywhere at once. As if someone had spoken behind him.

    The [Commander] turned around, his heart leaping up to his brain, expecting to see his death staring right at him.

    Instead he only saw the [Soldier] standing behind him.

    ¡°Who said that?¡± he asked. Or rather, tried to ask. The moment he opened his mouth no sound came out, as if someone had put a [Silence] Spell on him.

    ¡°Everyone, retreat now! We¡¯ve received orders to regroup back outside of the forest!¡± said his voice.

    All the [Soldiers] at the front immediately began moving backwards as those in the back turned around, making sure they couldn¡¯t be ambushed from any direction.

    Frenix tried to say something, but no sounds left his mouth, so he did the next logical thing: he touched the shoulder of one of his [Soldiers], making him turn towards him. The man did, and when he saw the mildly panicked expression on his [Commander]¡¯s face as he motioned with his fingers that he couldn¡¯t talk anymore, he opened his mouth to shout.

    Only for no sound whatsoever to come out.

    Instead, his voice said, from a mouth that wasn¡¯t his own: ¡°Careful there guys! Don¡¯t want to fuk up our reputation now, do we?¡±

    Chuckles escaped the mouths of the people all around them.

    That was when the [Commander] understood they had fucked up. He motioned for another [Soldier], who had turned to look his way, to call in and tell [General] Nero that they¡¯d made contact with the arachne. He even threw the Speaking Stone the man¡¯s way. But when he tried to speak, no sound came out.

    Panic began to spread as the [Commander] and [Soldiers] tried to tell each other that something was wrong, to call for help, but they couldn¡¯t speak! Every time one of them tried to say something other than banter or chuckle they lost their voices.

    Then, as everyone began to panic, they heard it: a little song.

    It came from all around them, just like the voices that were being copied. The sound of a harp, the strings being gently plucked by masterful hands.

    Then a violin joined in, followed by a cello accompanied by a viola.

    Soon, an entire orchestra of string instruments was playing all around them.

    Then they heard it, a voice made up of all their voices put together into a dissonant yet perfectly harmonic melody.

    No, not a melody. Not yet. Just words:

    ¡°[We Stole Their Voices as Ours].¡±

    The song reached a crescendo.

    Frenix heard a scream behind him. One of his men had fallen to the ground, clutching at his chest. His eyes were wide open and rolled back into his skull, his face pale as a ghost.

    He was no longer breathing.

    ¡°[Our Song was Sung],

    [And Those Who Came Paid its Price],

    [With All of Themselves Instead of Us].¡±

    More people began falling to the ground screaming for but a moment before they fell silently to the ground, clutching at their hearts. No, not their hearts. Clutching at something that had been taken out. Trying to keep something in.

    Frenix remembered the stories his ma¡¯ used to tell about the arachne. One of the parts that he¡¯d always found impossible was this:

    They came bringing destruction and beauty, for where they walked their music followed.

    With instruments crafted out of bone and wood, they created wonderful songs that attracted anyone who dared to listen. And from those that tried to look away, to leave, they claimed that which desired to stay. For mind and soul are not always the same.

    He began praying.

    <hr>

    [Commander] Lyzark was not human. He was a boar beastkin, born and raised in the capital of the kingdom of Scasce by his parents. When he had been a kid other boys and girls liked to bully him, calling him pig and other nonsense. But he¡¯d never been one for fighting back, so he let them speak. Words were just that, words.

    It had been when words had turned into fists that the bullies had discovered how much of a bad idea it was to anger a beastkin, especially boars, who were notorious for being very quick tempered and having explosive anger.

    Lyzark was one of the two things. No points for guessing which one?

    Anyways, the bullies had stopped being a nuisance, and he¡¯d managed to enter the Academy and become a high ranking officer in the army.

    And now here he was, leading a one hundred men battalion inside a forest that was, supposedly, filled with arachne. So far the only things they¡¯d found here on the eastern side of the forest was Rainbow Imitators and other small, colorful animals who¡¯d been running away from the approaching fire.

    He had been very careful with that one: he had seen what those white flames could do, and had used some of his Skills to make sure he and his men didn¡¯t end up frozen on the spot.. More than once his [Sharp Eyes] and [Hastened Thinking] had allowed him to notice a hanging thread that could¡¯ve activated a trap or, as he had theorized, cause white flames to spread.

    Really, if the King hadn¡¯t been so single-mindedly thinking exclusively about getting rid of the arachne ¡®threat¡¯ and had actually looked at the people serving in his army he would¡¯ve noticed the raw talent in this beastkin. He could¡¯ve become a great [General].

    But alas, while not speciesist, King Carmine leaned very much towards the human part of his kingdom. Equal opportunities for all went only so far.

    Lyzark and his men walked into a small clearing. The place was filled with cages that, probably, had once been filled with animals, but were now completely empty. Near the center of the clearing sat a large table filled with vials and bottles and¡­ were those wine bottles.

    ¡°Aaaahhhh, theere you areee!¡± said a voice from behind the table, the sound slurred as if spoken by a drunk. But who in their right mind would come to this battlefield drunk?

    The answer, obviously, is ¡®someone who¡¯s never been in their right mind to begin with¡¯. And as much as Iadara liked to act as if she was superior to many of her sisters, she had never really been right in the head. There had always been a screw there that Death had forgotten to put in place when it had allowed her to be born.

    After all, who in their right mind would drink poison as a way to pass time?

    A figure rose from behind the table where she had been slumped on the ground.

    The first thing they saw was the human part of her body. She looked no different from any other woman they¡¯d seen in their lives. She had a lean figure with relatively well defined abdominal muscles and was full in the place that mattered. She was also wearing only what the men thought was her bra, seeing how a shirt lay abandoned on the ground nearby.

    She swayed back and forth a few times, before a hand gripped the table, helping her stop.

    ¡°Hmmmmmmmm¡­¡± she squinted, ¡°You look like you¡¯re a lot of people. Not suuuurrre. Could you please stop moviiiing arouunddd sooo much?¡±

    Lyzark was tempted to say something like ¡®We ain¡¯t moving at all milady¡¯, but then he remembered that this was most certainly an arachne and there was no need to fraternize with her.

    ¡°Skewer her!¡± he ordered as he brought the Speaking Stone to his lips.

    ¡°Command, this is Unit 3, we¡¯ve made contact with an arachne. We are going to begin the extermination.¡±

    ¡°Received. Show no mercy,¡± answered the [General]¡¯s voice from the other side.

    The [Soldiers] began to advance towards the arachne, who squinted her eyes for a moment before she moved back a bit, exposing the spider half of her body.

    ¡°Now now boys, can¡¯t we be friendlyy? I have looootsa wine!¡±

    The [Soldiers], naturally, ignored her and continued to advance, their steps now faster as they began running towards the arachne.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a no. Saaaadd. I wanted drinkin¡¯ - hic - buddiess.¡±

    Then her eyes seemed to sharpen for a moment, and too late Lyzark realized that something was wrong.

    ¡°[Aura of Drunkenness],¡± she said.

    Immediately the [Soldiers] coming close to her stumbled and fell to the ground, some of them mumbling strange things as if half asleep, while others began laughing or crying for no reason, feeling compelled to tell jokes.

    Even Lyzark felt slightly off kilter, as if he had just drunk two tankards of ale and was beginning on the third. He had never been one for alcohol.

    ¡°[Rapid Retreat]!¡± he shouted, and his men moved back, their speed superior to what should¡¯ve been possible with them walking half drunk. Once they were far enough away from the arachne they began to come to their senses while still feeling a little light headed.

    ¡°Oh, come oooooon! You lightweights!¡± shouted the arachne at them, before she walked back towards her table, grabbed a bottle, unstoppering it with surprising ease, before she took a few deep gulps.

    ¡°I ain¡¯t even started yet!¡±

    She reached back to the table but, this time, she took a vial instead of a bottle and, after she unstoppered it, drank it down while whispering something.

    A moment later she burped loudly and a cloud of gas moved towards the guarded [Soldiers].

    ¡°Don¡¯t breath it in!¡± shouted Lyzark.

    Most of his men did as he¡¯d ordered, but others were still a bit too slow because of the arachne¡¯s aura and gulped down a few breaths of the purple cloud.

    Immediately they began to wheeze and fell to the ground, struggling to breath. Their faces went through a surprising rainbow of tonalities, before stopping at a mild blue. It didn¡¯t take even a minute before they died.

    ¡°Awwwww, only a dozen? Gotta use contact poison next!¡±

    Lyzark began to sweat.

    <hr>

    His name didn¡¯t matter. All that mattered was that he was a [Commander] in this sacrificial army and that he was walking through the forest looking for monsters to kill.

    Neither he nor his men truly mattered.

    He came from the southern side of the forest. Even reaching it had been a pain in his ass, because they had to walk more than anyone else since they¡¯d come from the north.

    He was tired, and was already regretting ever joining this extermination mission, but there was no going back now.

    Everything was calm and eerily silent as they walked in formation, safe with their and the [General]¡¯s Skills.

    Then the path in front of them opened up into a small clearing. Small enough, in fact, that his men could¡¯ve easily surrounded it three times and still have some spares.

    He immediately noticed two things upon entering: one, the place was covered in colorful silk depicting the forest at the height of spring, filled with what looked like stuffed animals. Was this the place where a child slept?

    The second thing he noticed, which dispelled his doubts, was the arachne standing at one side of the clearing, staring right at him from a table covered in silk, a white dress on top of everything else. She was clearly an adult.

    ¡°Ah, my pigments have finally arrived!¡± she said with a small smile on her face, ¡°And not a minute too late!¡±

    She snapped her fingers with a flourish and, immediately, little white threads appeared seemingly out of nowhere, touching each and every man who¡¯d surrounded her clearing.

    ¡°[Razorsharp Strings]!¡± she chirped enthusiastically.

    ¡°And let¡¯s not forget this other one: [Puppeteer¡¯s Strings]!¡±

    The strings suddenly cut into the men¡¯s skins, drawing blood, but not from everyone: some of them were saved by their armors which were only slightly signed by the strings. That, however, changed a moment later, when they all felt the strings attach themselves to their bodies.

    The arachne pulled on a single string that seemed to be sprouting from her finger.

    She smiled as every single [Soldier] was dragged towards her, most of them resisting in some way and, because of that, falling to the ground. Hard. Hard enough for the strings to draw blood from each of them.

    When she was sure everyone was bleeding in some way, still smiling, she condemned them to death: ¡°[My Strings Ran Red With Blood]!¡±

    Immediately every single bit of white spider silk touching the bodies of the [Soldiers] began to draw blood, sucking it out of their bodies. The blood ran up and down the strings, coloring them a deep, dark, red. But there were oh so many meters of strings. Aru feared there wouldn¡¯t be enough blood in all of these people to paint it all red.

    The [Soldiers] screamed in fear and pain as they felt the blood being drawn from them. They tried to resist, tried to detach the thread, but it was no use: every time they reached for the strings, their hands remained attached to them. And if they pulled too hard, then the gloves of their armors would be cut apart, letting the strings draw blood from another place, just accelerating the process.

    The screams grew less and less until, finally, there was silence again.

    Aru kept on smiling throughout the whole ordeal. She looked at her workshop table, where the once white dress, now red with the [Soldiers]¡¯ blood, sat beautifully. She examined her creation and nodded. The color wasn¡¯t even enough, the flap at the end having received less blood than the rest, but it didn¡¯t matter. She rather liked the effect.

    She undressed slowly, taking off her own dress, standing nude as the day she was born under the moonless sky. Then, nearly reverentially, she put on the bloody dress. It hugged her figure perfectly, adapting to her flesh as if she weren¡¯t wearing silk but skin. She smiled, and let the mana flow from her body through the dress and the strings still attached to it.

    Right towards the bodies of the dead soldiers.

    As the mana reached them, more strings sprouted from the ones already touching them, connecting to their joints. They tensed.

    And the bodies rose from the ground. Not as zombies, no, she wasn¡¯t a [Necromancer]. Just¡­ puppets. Flesh puppets.

    Silently, they began moving, together with the now bloodies retinue of Aru¡¯s little Silk Golems.

    Before she left her clearing to join the fighting, she activated one last Skill just for them: ¡°Rise, my beloved [Bloodsilk Golems]. [Follow the Puppeteer].¡±

    This was how a [Stringmistress of Colors] fought.

    <hr>

    Nero was receiving reports from many teams. All of them had met a group of arachne or, apparently, only a single one.

    The first group to come was, apparently, unable to come close to a drunk arachne who burped poison at them. It would¡¯ve been funny if it hadn¡¯t already killed over half that [Commander]¡¯s unit just like that.

    Another group kept on attempting to open a connection with his Speaking Stone but all he heard every time was music and, sometimes, a scream.

    Others were fighting off groups of [Warriors] with various degrees of success.

    Still another had contacted him about making contact with a single arachne, only for them to then go silent. Those ones were probably already lost.

    ¡°I believe it is time.¡±

    He sighed, then took a deep breath and said: ¡°[Law: The Hunters Cut the Veils Between Life and Death]!¡±

    The world twisted away from him.

    They stared down the battlefield at their sworn enemies. The arachne, hundreds of thousands of them, carrying weapons and musical instruments. They were many and powerful, but so were the Hunters, and they had the gods by their side. They screamed a battlecry as they began running towards each other¡­

    The Elder shot a fireball the size of a building towards the army. The normal [Soldiers] screamed in fear and began turning and running, as if that could¡¯ve saved them. The Hunters, on the other hand, stayed fixed in place, staring down the falling Spell. Marcus, the biggest of them all, a quite literal four door wardrobe of a man, raised his greatsword in the air and, with one movement, cut the Spell in half, the mana inside escaping violently but harmlessly. The Elder screeched in rage¡­

    They were bleeding out on the ground. His companions, his friends, his comrades. The four arachne in front of him stared at the dead bodies with enough glee to remind him of children opening presents on their birthdays. He tried to lift himself to the ground but, the moment he did, the arachne in the back, the one holding a little harp, played a few notes, and he watched his body fall from outside as his soul¡­

    The arachne¡¯s greatest mage fell to the ground of the verdant forest, her heart pierced through by countless arrows, her body bleeding from hundreds of cuts or charred black from spells. And still she laughed. When her heart stopped beating, her body exploded into dust. No, wait, not dust. Sand. And it wasn¡¯t her body. It was the ground underneath her. The ground all around them. All turning to sand¡­

    Nero took a deep breath, emptying his stomach on the ground, but not falling thanks to the [Elite Warrior].

    Now, it was time for the tides to turn.

 Chapter 38: A [Mage]s Goodbye

    Once upon a time the gods defied Death in their desire to keep their greatest [Hero] alive by bringing him back from the afterlife.

    Once upon a time Death sent them an ultimatum, requesting that the soul be put back where it rightfully belonged, for that was Law and Laws were never meant to be Broken.

    Once upon a time the gods refused, creating an imbalance in Creation that could¡¯ve caused, in the long run, the End of Death and the collapse of all that was real.

    Once upon a time, Death had no other choice but to break a Law herself, and Create something, for the balance had to be reestablished, and if that meant the end of all that was living, which would also cause the death of the gods, then so be it. Creation was much more important.

    Once upon a time Death Created the arachne to be messengers of himself, to remind the whole of Creation that Laws must not be broken. Could not be broken without grave consequences.

    Once upon a time Death was hated for what it had done, but Death had always been hated from the day it had taken the first soul away from the living, so that mattered little.

    Once upon a time, in one final gesture of defiance, the gods gave the living a Law just to help them kill Death¡¯s creations. The Law¡¯s name was:

    [The Hunters Cut the Veil Between Life and Death]

    Once upon a time, the arachne hunted and were hunted. Most were killed. Many remained. And so it was that the Law remained too.

    <hr>

    Every single [Soldier] and arachne in the forest felt it when the Skill, no, the Law, was called upon.

    Grandmother looked up from the Spell she was casting, a complex amalgama of mana that used a few souls borrowed from the Silken Orchestra that could, in her plans, sap energy from anyone with a [Soldier] Class, until everyone ended up on the ground barely capable of moving. Oh, if only the gods had found a better place to engrave Classes and Skills other than one¡¯s soul, that would¡¯ve made everything much more complex.

    Alas, she was distracted, and immediately the whole Spell began to unravel thread by thread. It was also doing it much faster than it normally should, as if something was pushing away at her will with the same ferocity of a wild animal trapped in a corner.

    But that was to be expected: after all, that Law had been called upon. The bane of the arachne. The only reason they had to stop the Great Hunt millennia ago, go into hiding.

    The Law. No arachne alive or dead would ever pronounce its name. It was hated, a testament to the pettiness of gods. They were supposed to stay up there at the top of their ivory towers built on the faith of those idiotic believers of theirs, observing from afar and not interfering. That was how things were meant to go.

    But no! They had to do things as they wanted, because they were gods and that meant they were better!

    For the first time in¡­ centuries, Grandmother began to feel irritated. No, no no no no, not irritated. That wasn¡¯t enough. What she felt was¡­ anger. True, stone cold, anger, with a hint of heat underneath. Like a volcano covered in snow and ice finally waking up, ready to erupt raging hot lava and magma on the world.

    ¡®Fear the anger of the calm woman¡¯, isn¡¯t that what they said? Well, she was angry, and there were oh so many outlets around the forest ready to receive all of it.

    ¡°Let¡¯s start with this: [Permafrost Golem].¡±

    She activated the Skill, and in her [Web Eyes] she could see a creature of earth, snow and ice rise from the ground between a group of a hundred [Soldiers]. The body was humanoid, with two arms and two legs, but it also sprouted from its back a barbed tail and was covered in spikes. The monstrosity didn¡¯t waste any time and began attacking the group, the arms reshaping themselves into swords as it quite literally sheared through armor and flesh.

    But after the first wave of surprise, the [Soldiers] reorganized surprisingly fast, avoiding the golem¡¯s attacks and attacking it in its blind spots.

    ¡°Hmpf, damned Law.¡±

    She waited for them to surround her golem, then sent a little bit of Mana into a web that touched her creation. Immediately after, the golem exploded into a thousand pieces of shrapnel that skewered the surviving men.

    ¡°But not good enough. [Communicate: Pochartis Silksoul] We have to up our game, now. You know what to do.¡±

    <hr>

    It was surreal, watching the Law activate.

    Nero could see them out of the corner of his eye. Not when he looked directly at the [Elite Warriors], naturally, but they were there. An afterimage copying their movements and, at the same time, influencing them.

    Men wearing a black cloaks over armor of all sorts, armed with weapons that ranged from simple swords to unexpected hammers to more improbable things like saws. They all wore hats of some kind instead of helmets. It was traditional among them: usually if an arachne managed to reach your head in some kind of way, be it with a sword or an arrow or spell, it didn¡¯t matter what you wore, you were dead. Better to wear a stylish hat than a helmet that limits your vision.

    Each and every [Soldier] felt their presence. The Hunters were among the living again, even if only in memory, and they watched grimly through their eyes as, once again, they were called to fight against their eternal enemies.

    And yet something was¡­ missing.

    <hr>

    Desina was tired.

    She and her sisters had been fighting for the last half hour against these [Soldiers]. Over a hundred bodies lay dead on the ground around them, while hundreds more, sadly still living, surrounded them.

    She felt oh so tired. Fighting using one arm while being unable to use her shield and her favorite weapon, it was horrible. To that add the fact that they were greatly outnumbered, and you understood perfectly well just why she was so tired.

    But it doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯m paying the price for my actions. This is all my fault. If it weren¡¯t for me, nobody would¡¯ve died today.

    Because it wasn¡¯t only the humans and whatever fucking other species was with them that had died on this battlefield so far: five of Desina¡¯s sisters lay dead as well. Killed by an arrow too many piercing them, or speared through the heart while they were distracted by said arrows, or simply swarmed by the [Soldiers] in an attempt to kill them with numbers alone. That last tactic was the most costly for them, but it still managed to kill an arachne, and these idiotic zealots were all for it. No sense of self preservation.

    Then she felt it: the change. The Law falling on them like a boulder from the top of a mountain.

    Her movements felt slower, sluggish, as if she had drunk from the wrong bottle in Iadara¡¯s secret stash. The strength was sapped from her arms, and her feet felt like someone had attached lead weights to them.

    On the other hand, the [Soldiers] looked and felt more energized. Their grips of their swords became more sure and precise, as if a [Teacher] had just made them notice that they were holding them wrong. Feet were adjusted and bodies aligned in just the right way to not leave any openings for her and her sisters to make use of.

    In a few cases though the [Soldiers] looked at their weapons of choice with raised eyebrows, as if unsure of how to use them, as if¡­ they weren¡¯t the weapons they¡¯d always used. That was when she noticed them: the ghosts, the afterimages, the memories come to life of their greatest enemies of the past: the Hunters.

    She had been told tales when she was a spiderling, but she¡¯d also been told that they were all dead, that the only thing left of them was the Skill that had given them the power to kill all those arachne.

    How many chances were there that that exact Skill would be brought against them? That was what she¡¯d thought when she¡¯d attacked the village. She didn¡¯t know how far the College¡¯s power could reach. And that was her greatest mistake: underestimating her enemy.

    ¡°Well, whatever! It doesn¡¯t matter! Come at us! You¡¯ll just take longer to die!¡±

    The [Soldiers] charged.

    She got ready to play Death¡¯s game.

    <hr>

    Iadara was dancing in place, pirouetting around and singing nonsensical tunes under her breath while her mind played grand orchestral songs.

    She had forgotten the last time she¡¯d felt so free, fearless, thoughtless. Sure, she was surrounded by enemies, but who cared when she had this bottle of¡­ she squinted her eyes at the label. When had the letters began dancing with her? Oh, right! She had to keep dancing, that way the letters would move together with her and she¡¯d be able to read them!

    She did just that, and finally managed to focus her eyes.

    Carminian Red. Sounded tasty.

    She lifted the bottle to her lips, dodging a stupid [Soldier] and cutting him in the back of the neck with a poisoned knife. He fell to the ground, convulsing, a few seconds later. Her poison was, after all, a class two out of the seven she¡¯d created.

    The wine touched her tongue¡­ yup! Tasted like shit.

    Just because she¡¯d once been an [Alcoholist] didn¡¯t mean she didn¡¯t have good tastes. This wine was completely still and she could actually taste the water they used to water it down. Clearly this was something Pochi had bought. The girl had no taste for fine things. Only beers for her.

    Still, she drank it down.

    [Enhance Taste]. A great Skill for someone like her. She feared what that bottle would¡¯ve tasted like without it.

    ¡°Cooomeee ooonnnn! Youuu can do bettteeerrrrr,¡± she slurred out.

    Then she went to grab a vial from the table¡­ and missed it completely.

    Fuck, this wine might be shitty, but it¡¯s strong! Or maybe it¡¯s the six bottles I drank before this one. Probably it¡¯s the six other bottles.

    She tried to lift herself from the ground, but saw from the corner of her eye a [Soldier] running towards her prone form.

    She mentally sighed.

    [Drunkard¡¯s Improbably Dodge].

    The Skill activated and she managed to roll under her table, dodging the attack. From there she miraculously turned the roll into a push and found herself on her feet, feeling decidedly more lucid and steady.

    Hmmm, gotta fix that, she thought as she knifed the idiot and grabbed for another bottle.

    The problem with all her old [Alcoholist] Skills was that, after she¡¯d managed to leave that bad phase of her life behind (all thanks to Grandmother¡¯s help), and fused the then transformed [Drinker] and her other Class, [Poison Crafter], becoming the [Sommelier of Poisons] she was today, they¡¯d all changed, turning into things that were useful in a pinch but, at the same time, consumed her drunkenness, causing her to become more lucid every time.

    Which was useful most of the time, but not right now, when she knew she was going to need as much drunkenness as she could get.

    Luckily, she had lots of alcohol.

    She opened another bottle and drank.

    Then she felt it: the Law being activated.

    Immediately her mind cleared a bit as she watched the [Soldiers] around her become more sure-footed and attentive, the aftereffects of her Aura leaving them completely.

    That was a problem. She counted on the effect of that Skill. But, apparently, as always with anything related to her life, things couldn¡¯t be easy.

    She knew what that Skill could do. Grandmother had explained it quite clearly to her years ago. Her Skills would be a lot less effective on her enemies, she would be disadvantaged, as if Luck itself was playing against her, and her body and abilities with magic would be hindered. In general, she wasn¡¯t supposed to count on any of Death¡¯s gifts to her.

    Which, you know, sounded like a big shitty problem¡­ for anyone but her.

    She sighed and put the bottle she was holding down. It wouldn¡¯t help her anymore. And anyways, it was another Carminian Red.

    ¡°Well, the time for fun and games is over, it seems.¡±

    [Commander] Lyzark looked her way as if she¡¯d just uttered some kind of blasphemy. Which, actually, wasn¡¯t wrong if one was to believe what the churches preached: that arachne were blasphemous things that shouldn¡¯t be allowed to exist in any form. So yeah, every word she uttered was blasphemy. The thought actually made her giggle.

    Imagine being a middle finger to the gods just by existing? What an achievement!

    ¡°Your time has come, you foul beast,¡± said Lyzark. The words didn¡¯t feel completely like his own, but they felt right, so he let himself say them.

    ¡°A beastman calling me a beast? Boy, go look in the mirror before saying shit like this.¡±

    The beastman¡¯s eye twitched: ¡°Attack! [Mark Target]!¡±

    Immediately two dozen [Soldiers] charged Iadara while the remaining members of Unit 3, which had been reduced to just over a dozen [Archers] and [Mages], fired arrows and spells at her.

    Fuck!

    She couldn¡¯t use [Drunkard¡¯s Improbable Dodge] again, it was on cooldown for the next nine minutes, so she had to use her physical abilities. Normally dodging the projectiles wouldn¡¯t have been difficult, but she was slowed by the Law, and she¡¯d just been Marked, which made them move towards her, if not outright follow her.

    [Homing] Skills were quite high Level, and for a [Commander] to have a unit-wide one would be impossible without being over Level 40 and specialized in fighting from a distance.

    She was just a few centimeters too short.

    The pain was, luckily, reduced by how drunk she still was, but it was nonetheless very unpleasant when an arrow pierced the flank of her spider half, going through the chitin much too smoothly (again, the Law¡¯s fault), while another went right into her left arm, which she¡¯d used to protect her face. She felt the bones break from the force of the hit and, this time, cried out in pain.

    Then the fireball hit her in the same flank as the arrow.

    The air was filled with the smell of burned grass.

    The arrow was burned away, but so was a good chunk of her chitin and fur. When she glanced down Iadara could see the muscles of her spider half contracting from the pain and exposure to the open air.

    Luckily for her all arachnes¡¯ spider halves weren¡¯t innervated as much as the rest of their bodies, so the pain was much more shallow than it should¡¯ve been. Still, she could barely control half her legs now.

    Then the [Soldiers] were on her.

    She grunted in pain as she clutched the small vial of poison in the hand of her now-damaged arm. She lifted it towards her face, bit the cork away, and drunk the contents.

    Immediately her taste buds were overwhelmed by a sweetness that could rival honey, but she didn¡¯t allow herself the time to taste her delightful creation. She gulped down, and activated one of her strongest Skills: [Stomach: Atomize Contents].

    She felt the buildup of gas in her stomach and, after a few moments, not even a second, couldn¡¯t contain it anymore and¡­ she belched. In a very unladylike way, she burped, and the contents of her stomach, which was just the poison thanks to [Accelerated Alcohol Metabolization], were released in the air in front and around her.

    The [Soldiers] reached her, each and every single one of them, and were too sure of themselves when they stepped in the cloud of poison. After all, that Law was supposed to protect them from anything of the arachne, like their poison.

    But here was the actual problem: the poison she had just burped out (a giggle escaped her lips, unbidden) was crafted from a special flower found in the forest she¡¯d lived in her entire life. She¡¯d come to call these beauties Lightning¡¯s Embrace, because they were yellow little things that grew in big clusters only in those places where the trees parted, letting sunlight through. Their pollen was slightly soporific normally, but if it was mixed in a solution of pure alcohol, activated charcoal and sulfuric acid it rapidly turned into a semi-solid substance that, if kept at boiling temperature for up to twenty-four hours, became some kind of more-fluid tar.

    Basically, at the end of the carbonation and fluidification process it turned into a contact poison that caused cessation of nervous activity wherever it was applied.

    Now, imagine breathing that in. You wouldn¡¯t die, no, but you¡¯d be crippled for, oh, a week, unable to move your lips, swallow, speak and even the movements of your small intestines would be locked in place. It was, in her opinion, a destiny worse than death.

    And she allowed the [Soldiers] to come in contact with her beautiful creation, her child!

    She watched with glee as the [Soldiers] ended face first in the cloud and, after a second, shouted in surprise as their bodies simply¡­ stopped responding to their will, falling to the ground. Then they breathed. And went silent.

    Five seconds after [Commander] Lyzark had ordered what remained of his Unit to attack, the arachne in the middle of the field had a useless arm still pierced through by an arrow and half her flank burned off by a [Fireball], and was surrounded by thirty bodies that seemed very dead.

    ¡°Well, seems like something worth drinking over, eh?¡± said Iadara as she clambered painfully towards her table, opened a bottle, took a sip, before offering it with an inviting smile at the [Commander].

    As she had said: the Law was not a real problem for her.

    <hr>

    Isse ran. The [Carers] were herding them away from the main battles and out towards the approaching flames. More of those were turning white and, apparently, they wouldn¡¯t hurt them thanks to Grandmother¡¯s meddling.

    Fuck fuck fuck! kept saying Siidi in a nearly constant mantra. More than once they¡¯d had to stop to let a group of [Soldiers] pass, hiding in the trees. Or outright fight them when they weren¡¯t fast enough.

    Isse had killed her first person.

    And she¡¯d felt nothing other than a strange, alien, glee, pervading her body and brain. She understood immediately just how addicting the sensation could become and why Siidi liked fighting so much.

    She was still surprised at how she¡¯d felt afterwards. She¡¯d half expected to panic, for dread to fill her mind and soul, to see herself as the monster she actually was. But, as was just stated, she felt nothing but pleasure. It wasn¡¯t sexual, at least. Just pleasant, like eating a good meal.

    She¡­ wanted more.

    Don¡¯t get carried away Isse. If there¡¯s [Soldiers], then there¡¯s surely someone with that¡­

    She didn¡¯t manage to finish her sentence: a wave of¡­ something, went through the whole forest. The world seemed to become heavier. She felt slower while everything around her moved faster.

    Fear gripped her heart for no reason and she felt like running away as fast as she could.

    Some of her sisters, especially among the spiderlings, tried to do just that, but the [Carers] stopped them:

    ¡°[Stay Together]!¡± one of them shouted, and the young arachne all stopped in place and skittered back to form the same tight knitted group as before.

    What was that? asked Isse.

    That was Their damned Law. Fuck! Now they¡¯re going to have the advantage!

    What?

    What you just felt, that was the Law the gods sent to the living to fight us off. It basically makes the people under its effects much more powerful, increasing their resistance to anything made by us, and makes us weaker in all ways you can imagine.

    That¡­ seems unfair.

    Yeah, well¡­ I¡¯m sorry, Isse, but¡­ welcome to the real world.

    Then the [Soldiers] found them and attacked.

    <hr>

    ¡°I - It - It¡¯s two sixes against¡­ a four and a three. I - I win?¡± asked the poor [Soldier] with a trembling voice.

    He was currently sitting at a table opposing Pochi, shitting his pants, tied to a chair, unarmed and with a single line of spidersilk tied to his neck and connecting him to the arachne sitting opposite from him.

    He had been captured alive by one of their [Rogues] and brought to the arachne [Strategist] to¡­ play a game. Only, apparently, the game would also reflect what was happening in the real world.

    The rules were simple: each player had three dice they would throw to show how they attacked and defended. The player with the highest score would win the throw. If somehow both players threw the same number then the defending side would win.

    A chart of the Forest of Tusca sat at the center of the table filled with small wooden figurines representing spiders and humans. The spiders were colored blue, while the humans were red as blood. If one smelled the figurines they would find out that there was actually an ever lingering scent of blood coming from them.

    ¡°Yes, you do,¡± said Pochi with a frown.

    A group of [Soldiers] and arachne were fighting somewhere in the forest and, as the dice was thrown, their destinies were influenced. Her Skills couldn¡¯t actually cause the win or loss of people, but they would influence the battles, giving opportunities to the winners and causing trouble to the losers in the throws. Just like in real life, someone¡¯s abilities could overturn a battle in a matter of moments. That¡¯s why she wasn¡¯t too preoccupied with her loss.

    Still, it wouldn¡¯t hurt to send some help.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to send in my wildcard,¡± she said, moving a little spider on the board towards the attacked group.

    She threw her dice and activated one of her Skills: [Battle: Surprise Advantage].

    Three sixes.

    Well, she couldn¡¯t have expected anything less from Makira.

    <hr>

    Makira ran through the woods. She had felt it when the Law was activated, but couldn¡¯t care less. She already knew how it felt, there was nothing to be surprised about. Her body was slowed, but the chained thing inside her strained and began clawing and biting at the ¡®debuff¡¯, as her old Elder liked to call it. The thing could be useful in its own ways.

    Then she felt something else: like a hand on her shoulder, there was a force guiding her in one direction, and it was quite insistent.

    Pochi? she asked to the air. She didn¡¯t receive an answer, but at the same time the force became more insistent, so she allowed it to guide her.

    She streaked through the forest at speed. The temperature was rising again now that the Law had made it possible for the flames of that Tradition to burn through some of Grandmother¡¯s lesser strings. She didn¡¯t like the heat. After spending all her youth in a system of caves and, subsequently, living under the spinnerets of an Elder who had a thing for Winter, she had come to rather like cold things.

    She ran.

    And heard the screams of [Soldiers] and arachne fighting.

    Together with the screeches of fear and pain and defiance of the spiderlings.

    That¡­ made her blood boil.

    Like lightning from a cloud she fell from the trees down on the fighting group.

    Two [Carers] lay on the ground, dead, while one of the soldiers was attacking a spiderling who¡¯d been separated from the central group.

    He raised his sword to finish her off, but then, from the corner of his eye, he saw something move towards him. He turned around and parried the sword¡¯s attack. Normally he would¡¯ve died from that, but the Law enhanced him and his reflexes.

    He smiled victoriously, as if managing to parry a single hit in a fight were a great success.

    Makira wasn¡¯t smiling.

    And she kept not smiling as her other sword came from the soldier¡¯s unprotected side and cut his head right off.

    Blood spurted from the stump as the appendage fell to the ground, a look of pure surprise forever locked on the man¡¯s face. A lot of droplets splattered on her clothes and face, but she remained impassive.

    Without wasting one more moment she looked around, made sure that nobody was going to attack the spiderling in front of her, and threw herself into the group of fighting, and winning, soldiers.

    Like an angel of death, she fell on them, her swords cutting left and right. Every time she striked, an arm, leg or head flew off before falling to the ground. A few minutes later the place was filled with bodies, the ground greedily drinking the blood down.

    Luckily we¡¯ll be leaving, because with this much blood something nasty will grow in place of this forest.

    Because she knew for a fact that, at the end of this whole thing, only ashes would be left in place of the forest, just to make sure that nothing of the arachne had survived, not even an egg.

    Of course, that didn¡¯t really matter. An arachne would always make it.

    ¡°Keep running, I¡¯ll help you out of this Airm,¡± she shouted. Immediately all the arachne began moving. They all wanted to survive but, if push came to shove, the older arachne would sacrifice themselves for the young ones. Because they deserved better.

    <hr>

    ¡°Well, since you sent in reinforcements, I¡¯ll do the same,¡± said the [Soldier] as he moved three entire units towards the group that Pochi had sent Makira to help.

    ¡°Win with numbers? Really? Alright, your choice.¡±

    She threw her dice. One six, a five, a one.

    The [Soldier] threw. Two sixes and a three.

    ¡°... You¡¯re cheating.¡±

    ¡°Wha - What? No! I¡¯m no -¡±

    ¡°[Detect Lie]. [Detect Truth]. One positive, the other negative. You somehow cheated. Die,¡± she said, casting the only two Spells she¡¯d ever bothered learning.

    She pulled on the string of spider silk tied to her finger and the strings around the man¡¯s neck tightened, cutting off first the blood flow to the head, then the head itself.

    ¡°Can¡¯t even find a good player in an army. Fuck it.¡±

    But the damage was already done, cheating or not.

    <hr>

    Nero felt¡­ something. Like a presence over his shoulder whispering what needed to be done. He turned around, expecting to see one of the Hunters¡¯ memories from the corner of his eye. But he felt nothing.

    ¡°Sir, I think there¡¯s¡­ something¡¯s happening,¡± tried to say one of the [Elite Warriors].

    No shit idiot, you¡¯ve discovered warm water, he thought.

    He tried to put the feeling out of his mind, but it kept nagging at him. It kept on telling him to go in a specific direction. Without malice, only with a desire for help.

    Clearly this isn¡¯t an arachne¡¯s Skill, otherwise the Law wouldn¡¯t allow it to interact with me, he thought.

    In the end, he ordered the [Warriors] to follow the direction given by that sensation and, for a moment, he was sure he heard a sigh of relief.

    A minute later, they reached a battlefield: a group of arachne protecting many children were currently being held at bay by what looked like two entire Units of [Soldiers].

    They were being slaughtered by one arachne with two swords dancing through them as if completely unaffected by the Law.

    The Hunter that stood over his shoulder shivered. She could feel the arachne¡¯s power, understood her abilities. It was like looking at one of their [Warriors] of old, the ones the Hunters themselves had fought and succumbed to.

    ¡°Three of you, stay here and help them fight off that one.¡±

    Then he thought about something, and sighed: ¡°[Memory: Ever Onwards, the Knights of Lifeblood Fought].¡±

    They watched the battlefield grimly, knowing their chances of winning this battle was close to nothing. But the lives of their people depended on them, so they stood proudly on their powerful horses and waited for the sun to disappear, for them to be able to attack without fear of being burned by sunlight. The vampires grinned like men standing on the gallows with the noose around their necks. They drank from bottles of blood, feeling the life-giving liquid energize them. Ever onwards, they would fight until death and then after!

    This was just a Memory. A single moment, forever crystallized in his mind. For that reason alone he managed to stay on his feet without even feeling nauseous.

    On the other hand, he watched as his [Soldiers]¡¯ movements became even more sure, their fatigue disappearing, their muscles seemingly bulking up as they swung with more strength and finesse.

    This was the true power of Memories.

    ¡°Go! Help them. You three, follow me. To the Elder!¡±

    They began running.

    <hr>

    Aru walked through the forest with her poss¨¦ of flesh puppets and Bloodsilk Golems. Her creations attacked anything that moved, just like any undead would. The only difference was that these were better in all aspects: better weapons and armor, better movements, better damage. They were an upgrade!

    Or rather, they had been, until that Law was activated.

    Now the [Soldiers] were fighting her army of puppets and golems as if they were going against a group of toddlers. But it didn¡¯t matter: her puppets could take the hits and keep on attacking, unlike the soldiers, who needed to only make one mistake before they were forced to join her forces.

    ¡°[Puppets: Claws Out],¡± she said. Suddenly, all of her puppets and golems sprouted claws out of their hands and feet, shredding through armor and clothes. She flexed her fingers and all the strings connected to them tensed, causing her little army to throw itself into the enemies.

    Shouts of surprise filled the air, followed by a few screams of pain. Chelicerae bit into necks but, instead of injecting poison, they sucked out blood, feeding the ever thirsty strings connected to Aru. When they¡¯d had enough, they tore the flesh apart, killing the enemy in an instant.

    And every time someone died, threads sprouted from the ones that hung over the other dead bodies, connecting to the new bodies¡¯ joints, increasing the number of little puppets under her control.

    Aru had seldom felt so happy and realized in her life as she did right now. Forget using animal bodies as Puppets, this was even better!

    ¡°Cut the threads!¡± shouted someone from the throng of to-be-puppets, ¡°She¡¯s controlling them with those!¡±

    She chuckled to herself as she heard that: they wouldn¡¯t be able to cut those threads! They were too strong, and blood and mana enhanced them, together with some very old traditional magic. You¡¯d sooner cut in half a block of steel with a wooden sword than these threads.

    Or at least, that¡¯s what she thought. A [Soldier] took a swing at one of the Puppets when it next attacked, dodging like the usually did, and reaching out with his weapon towards her threads. She waited nearly with baited breath for the sword to come in contact, for the moment where she would get the chance to wind her threads around the weapon and then the man, watching the despair in his eyes as his life and soul were drained from him, turning him into a Puppet.

    Instead, the blade slid through the threads, cutting them off, with the same ease it would have in cutting a piece of paper.

    Impossible, she thought.

    Fear began forming in her heart as she realized this wasn¡¯t a stroke of luck, as more and more soldiers began cutting the threads apart, as she watched her beautiful Puppets fall lifelessly to the ground.

    This was the power of that Law. The power to render anything she created¡­ useless.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    The pot of fear in her stomach began to change, boiling over into anger, then fury.

    Monsters! They were destroying her art, her beautiful creations, as if they were nothing! They didn¡¯t understand her! They¡¯d never understood the beauty of what the arachne had made, not now, not ever in the past as they¡¯d burned down their Silken Palaces.

    She screeched in fury and began moving the strings tied to her fingers around, as if both performing some strange dance and playing the most complex instrument ever crafted.

    Her little army of Puppets and Golems began moving rapidly, attempting to dodge the attacks to their strings while at the same time trying to kill everything that moved around them.

    The world slowed down for Aru as she began whittling down the numbers of soldiers, her puppets sprouting claws now and then, or turning into masses of spikes as she commanded their bones. Whenever one fell, mana would be released into some kind of self destructive Spell, from simple [Fireballs] to [Lightning Barrages] to other much more esoteric things even they couldn¡¯t name. Aru wasn¡¯t a [Mage], no, but she knew how to shape strings better than anyone in this forest, even better than Grandmother.

    She fought with all her might.

    And when her Puppets and Golems became not enough to protect her, when new soldiers came in to support their surviving comrades, she produced more silk, tying the strings to her hands, and turning them into sharp whips with her [Razorsharp Strings]. More fell, but she never managed to turn them into Puppets, for the other soldiers were there to prevent it every time.

    Little by little, she began backing away.

    Until one of them finally reached her.

    The sword pierced the flank of her human half first, going right through her stomach.

    She cried out in pain and anger as she felt the acids inside coating the blade and flowing into the wound, burning more than any flame could. She instinctively felt like vomiting, but blocked the sensation down: it would¡¯ve only made things worse. Same for taking the sword out.

    Instead she strangled the man with her strings, letting them drink his blood, reddening her dress. Soon it would start dripping.

    She skittered away, never turning her back to the soldiers, but wasn¡¯t fast enough: the Law made them faster and her slower.

    Another sword pierced her, this time in the arm, which she¡¯d used to protect her heart.

    She felt the pain blossom again from the deep cut that nearly severed her limb, but ignored it as best as she could, instead killing the bastard. Before she could try anything else a third sword pierced through the flank of her spider half. That one wasn¡¯t painful, but it was still one more place from which she could bleed out. The [Soldier] died a second later as he tried to wrench the weapon free from the grip of her spider half¡¯s powerful muscles.

    She breathed heavily as, slowly, she extracted the weapon embedded in her arm, using it to parry a strike from an incoming soldier, before killing him with that same weapon. She didn¡¯t even try to turn him into a Puppet. Instead, she looked at her arm, hanging limply and only attached to the rest of her body by a few strings of muscle and tendon.

    She spun some thread and summoned a [Bone Needle] from a splinter of her own bone. A [Fast Stitch] later and her arm was back in place. Although, she still couldn¡¯t move it because, you know, cut nerves.

    But that was easily solvable: she just had to move it with the strings tied to her other hand: it was free now that all her Puppets and Golems were dead.

    As she got used to the sensation of moving her own body with strings, the soldiers reached her again.

    And the cycle began anew. Fight, kill, be hurt, lose blood, stitch back in place, repeat.

    Fight, kill, be cut apart, lose blood, stitch, repeat.

    Fight.

    Kill.

    Be cut!

    Scream in pain, sorrow and hate.

    Slowly die.

    Stitch.

    Repeat.

    She didn¡¯t know how long she did this. She only knew, at some point, that she was tired. Her body now looked more like one of her Puppets than an actual body, her legs, arms, neck, everything covered in stitches. She couldn¡¯t speak anymore. They had cut her vocal chords together with her throat.

    Only a few dozen remained. But she didn¡¯t have the strength to fight anymore.

    She just wanted to get back to her clearing and fall asleep among her many beautiful creations.

    Maybe she¡¯d get enough strength to get there if only she closed her eyes now.

    One moment.

    A few seconds.

    What¡¯s the worst that could happen?

    She didn¡¯t dare answer that question.

    Her legs buckled underneath her body, and she used a nearby tree to not fall completely to the ground.

    Her head spun as she closed her eyes.

    There was so little blood left in her.

    She was going to need a transfusion.

    [Conditions Met: Stringmistress of Colors -> Puppeteer of Flesh and Silk]

    [Puppeteer of Flesh and Silk Level 52!]

    [Skill - Puppet: My Own Body Obtained!]

    [Skill - Body of Silk Obtained!]

    [Skill - Fuel: Blood Obtained!]

    Aru opened her eyes, and they were glass. Her body felt light, like the silk of her beautiful dresses. She was no longer tired too! It had worked! That little rest had given her the energy to continue!

    Then she felt it: the hunger. She wanted it, needed it: blood. There wasn¡¯t enough flowing on her strings. She needed more if she wanted to keep fighting. To keep living.

    And would you look at that, there were so many blood sacks coming right her way!

    She lifted herself from the ground, taking the sword out of her flank. A small spurt of blood left with it, but she quickly knit herself back into good shape.

    She spun some silk over the sword so that she¡¯d manage to drink her fill as she killed the [Soldiers]. Meanwhile, she drained her dress of all the blood it had accumulated in this fight. It wasn¡¯t nearly close to enough, but it helped.

    Then she went right back into the fray.

    This time the screams weren¡¯t her own: after all, silk doesn¡¯t feel pain. Silk is just silk. Its only reason to exist is being worn and being beautiful. She was both. Wait, did it count as wearing if her body was of silk? Bah, who cared!

    She stabbed and was stabbed, drinking blood and losing it in a seemingly endless cycle, but she didn¡¯t care! She felt alive, powerful, she was perfe -

    A [Fireball] hit her in full.

    And then she felt pain again as the flames ate through her body.

    She fell to the ground, trying to snuff out the flames, but the snow wasn¡¯t enough to put out the magical fire. Then she did the other most logical thing: she used the blood to quench them.

    It worked, even though it left her drained.

    A few [Soldiers] and a [Mage] loomed over her. Their weapons were raised, ready to stab her again and again, to kill her, to ruin her body forever.

    The weapons fell.

    Her hands rose.

    Strings met steel. The former were cut.

    But they sailed on through the air, towards their throats, right where she had aimed.

    Cutting them apart.

    Just as their swords cut into her body.

    They died.

    The last of them, finally, died.

    How many was that? Seven, eight Units? She¡­ had lost count¡­

    It was so hard to think¡­

    She was so tired¡­

    So thirsty¡­

    But they were safe¡­

    Her sisters were safer thanks to her¡­

    And that¡­

    That was beautiful¡­

    Such¡­

    A¡­

    Beautiful¡­

    End¡­

    Arunielle Silksoul, [Puppeteer of Flesh and Silk], Level 52, died that night at the age of fifty four.

    Her last dress, white as the snow around her, was untouched.

    <hr>

    How does a [Seamstress] say goodbye? By making something beautiful.

    But this doesn¡¯t answer our original question, right?

    <hr>

    The Silken Orchestra felt the Law activate.

    But they were [Musicians], and a true musician never stopped playing, even if the world fell around them.

    Especially if the world fell around them. Because what could be better than dying while playing a song? That¡¯s what they, rightfully, believed.

    So they played on.

    They kept on playing when the souls of those that tried to escape their songs were consumed by their instruments, giving them better material to craft new even more beautiful songs from the experiences of those that died.

    Dying for the art, for their craft. What could be better? No death could be greater than one that allowed something to progress!

    They kept on playing even when the strange man who tasted like things that should¡¯ve been long forgotten walked into the clearing accompanied by three men wearing armor who felt like blood and death.

    They stopped playing when the man uttered words that they couldn¡¯t steal from his mouth:

    ¡°[Tradition: The Librarians Upheld their Vow of Silence, Forevermore]!¡±

    Then they could no longer speak or play songs. Their instruments remained silent even when they tried to play them, and the voices they¡¯d stolen were no longer in their ruined throats.

    The Silken Orchestra, the Gestalt of Song, the Sisters-Who-Are-One, were silent.

    They didn¡¯t want to be silent.

    The reason for this forced silence was the man at the bottom of the clearing, ordering the [Soldiers] who were supposed to become part of their songs around, empowering them with Skills and telling them tactics on how to¡­ kill them.

    Ha! Or rather, ha!, because they couldn¡¯t speak.

    They were going to kill him first!

    They began moving, stalking through the trees without making a rustle. They were slower, but still faster than most thanks to their Skills.

    After all, they were a [Shadowed Gestalt Hive Mind of Song]. A complex name for a simple Class: they were one. They felt what each and every one of the others felt. What was of one was of the whole. What one knew, everyone knew.

    The [Hive Mind] attacked as one from multiple sides.

    Fifteen [Soldiers] fell in a moment, knives from the dark reaching much further than they should and cutting their throats.

    It happened so fast and without sound that it took the survivors a few seconds to notice what had happened. Then panic began to bloom.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s just [Rogues]. You know the protocols for fighting those!¡± shouted one of the men. He felt important to the arachne. He tasted like blood and life, promises kept. And one broken just now, probably thanks to them.

    The [Hive Mind] snickered together soundlessly. Amusing. But it was their fault that things had ended up going this way. They should¡¯ve remained in their little cities, fighting among themselves like complete imbeciles, instead of disturbing the proverbial sleeping monster.

    Commander Frenix had realized this quite some time ago and was regretting with all of himself ever deciding to join this extermination mission. He had heard the stories of these monsters, but never in his life had he thought they could be this nasty. He thought it would be like fighting murders of night crows*, not¡­ this. This was a fucking massacre and they had yet to even see the enemy.

    (*A.N: Night Crows are, basically, crows that are as big as a human. They are black as the bottom of a well at night, which, by the way, is one of their favorite places to nest, and move only at night. They are omnivorous bastards that have been known for wiping out entire cities in a single night when working together, forming the accurately named ¡®murders¡¯. If you see one, hide, because it¡¯s probably seen you. And they never hunt alone)

    But the [Mages] were safe, which meant they could at the very least keep them at bay with anti-[Rogue] tactics now that the music had stopped.

    Not a moment later the [Mages] finished chanting their Spells.

    The air was filled with their voices:

    ¡°[Fireball]!¡±

    ¡°[Fire Wall]!¡±

    ¡°[Air Shield]!¡±

    And many more.

    By the end of it the [Commander of Survivors], whose Class would be certainly changing tonight if he survived (pun intended), the remaining people of his Unit and two [Elite Warriors] were surrounded by a fiery no-man¡¯s land and shielded from any incoming attacks by multiple layers of of magical shields.

    He looked back, trying to ask for directives to [General] Nero, but the man had seemingly disappeared. Probably left after leaving someone to help them.

    Meanwhile, the [Gestalt Hive Mind] of arachne watched the wall of flames separating them from the escaping [Memoir Holder General] and their prey.

    This was unacceptable! But what could they do? Their voices had been taken away, their instruments silenced. Except for their Skills and weapons they were unarmed. This was clearly an encounter they couldn¡¯t win¡­ easily.

    They thought, and the solution came fast. One of the advantages of being fifteen minds working together in synchronicity, trying to find a solution to the same problem.

    They smiled. It was a crazy idea, but so what? They were crazy! And this was the end, one way or another! They didn¡¯t expect to survive this night. At least, this way, they¡¯d be getting rid of some big enemies.

    They met at the point of choice for their assault and¡­ embraced. A few of them kissed, while other nuzzled themselves.

    One last show of love.

    They weren¡¯t sad. They could never be sad, not as long as they were one. They just smiled and looked Death in the face, offering their hands to shake. They were ready to dance at its tune, for the first and last time in their life. As long as they got to do it together, it would be alright.

    Death looked at them, her eyes shining behind the cowl of its robe in appreciation and thanks, before she took out of her robes a strange small instrument the [Hive Mind] had never seen. They couldn¡¯t describe it, because they weren¡¯t seeing it as much as they couldn¡¯t actually see Death, only perceive its presence hanging over this entire forest.

    If they looked up, they were sure they¡¯d be able to see her warm cloak open, inviting all the souls of the dead to warm themselves by her gentle fire, before being sent to Judgement.

    But there was nothing up there. Only the uncaring Stars, looking and judging.

    They embraced again, one last time, and sprung into action.

    [The Mind Goes Where it Wants], they shouted the Skill in their mind.

    They disappeared from outside the defenses erected by the [Commander] and his people, reappearing back inside the clearing, right in the middle of the Unit, as silent as the snow falling.

    They began knifing people left and right.

    They attempted to do the same with the [Elite Warriors], but their reflexes were much better than those of the soldiers, enhanced as they were by their Skills and the Law.

    They dodged, riposting at the same time.

    The [Hive Mind] wasn¡¯t fast enough and they were nicked by the sword. All of them felt the pain, but at the same time it was divided among their fifteen bodies and mind.

    [All Is Shared Among Us]. Their greatest Skill. It would come in handy now.

    They skittered back, and meanwhile the [Commander of Survivors] shouted a Skill: ¡°[Unit: Reduce Bleeding]!¡±

    Which, you know, pretty good idea when your enemy is attempting to either kill you outright or bleed you out.

    More Skills were used, the [Commander] and [Soldiers] not caring for things like cooldowns. They only wanted to live. They didn¡¯t think that, if they won against the Silken Orchestra, they¡¯d still have to escape from the woods and, potentially, fight more of their sisters.

    They let them do this: so long as more of their enemies died it would mean they had succeeded.

    The [Elite Warriors], on the other hand, were a real pain in their abdomens. Literally: one of them had pierced one of their abdomens. It stung! Idiots still hadn¡¯t understood in millenia of fighting them off that the biggest target wasn¡¯t the one that would lead to their death. The contrary, actually. It was a means to distract the enemies from what actually mattered, which was the human part.

    But, even with the Hunters¡¯ help, in the heat of battle nobody really thought about what they were hitting. So long as you damaged your enemy it was enough.

    They fought with all they had, but they were at a clear disadvantage: after all, they were [Rogues] and [Musicians] at heart, not [Warriors].

    But what they were doing, the real reason they were fighting for their life in this clearing while clearly losing bit by bit was another. Hidden from the sights of those little humans. Because the whole time, as they danced to Death¡¯s endless tune, they kept producing spidersilk. It was so fine that, to the naked eye, it was invisible. And, for now, it was really just that, just spidersilk. The [Soldiers] were getting facefuls of the things, but the worst it did was disturb them, and even then not by much thanks to the Law.

    Then it happened.

    They made a mistake. A step out of place in this lethal dance.

    One of the [Elite Warriors] took the chance immediately and buried his sword right into the arachne¡¯s back.

    They felt that.

    They felt the steel pierce through their light armor, parting the delicate flesh underneath with the ease of a hot knife through butter. Then he speared the heart and esophagus.

    They coughed. Blood came out of their mouth. And the others felt like their own hearts had been pierced and reflexively coughed, expecting to see blood. None came out, but that didn¡¯t matter. They were one. They felt what each and every one of them felt, reduced. And while the pain wasn¡¯t overwhelming, the knowledge that this was the end made tears sprout from their faces.

    The dying arachne managed to escape the [Elite Warrior]¡¯s clutches and limped as fast as she could away from the fight. Her sisters joined her.

    For the first time in over a decade they became two. The second one proposed to separate herself, so that she wouldn¡¯t bring them down with her.

    They refused.

    They wouldn¡¯t abandon her.

    She smiled as she heard this, and she was no longer just she but, again, they.

    They turned towards their enemies.

    And smiled.

    The arachne on the ground smiled brighter of all, her fingers raised in the air, as if she were holding something.

    They tensed their fingers.

    And together with them tensed all the threads of spidersilk they¡¯d spread around the clearing, creating a web of gigantic proportions where each and every single one of their enemies was trapped.

    They opened their mouths to say something, but their voices were still silenced by that Memory. So, instead they did the one thing that, universally, meant this was the end.

    They bowed.

    As all good [Musicians] worth their Class, no, worth their very souls, always do when the spectacle has come to a close.

    The [Soldiers] screamed, realizing just what was about to happen. They reached their hands out, towards the arachne, as if trying to stop them.

    But it was too late.

    The bowing arachne began keeling over as they finally let go of life.

    Their weight pulled on the strings as they fell.

    Strings which had been enhanced by one final Skill. A [Musician]¡¯s Skill: [Convert: Spidersilk to Violin Strings].

    The strings tensed.

    And cut into pieces each human in the clearing.

    Silence fell.

    <hr>

    As said before, [Musicians] have it so easy when it comes to goodbyes.

    Even he, my old friend, tried to bow when he died in that dreadful place.

    ¡­

    I miss him so much. These centuries have been so lonely.

    <hr>

    Grandmother stood in her clearing as she watched her daughters die one after the other. Sure, the [Soldiers] were dying by the thousands in this attack, but so were the arachne. Centuries of growing their population, all gone down the drain in a single night. Whoever survived would be forced to start from scratch. She wouldn¡¯t give such a weighty task even to her worst enemy.

    Alas, that was the nature of the arachne. To rebuild each and every time, even after everything was destroyed again and again.

    She cast another Spell.

    Ice exploded from the ground, impaling an entire Unit of enemies. She would¡¯ve done this more often, but she was trying to conserve her energy for when He came. Nero, the envoy from the College.

    Tonight, no matter what, she was going to change things, to take away their greatest weapon.

    Because, already, she could feel it.

    The Law.

    It was weaker.

    She looked up as Nero walked into her clearing. Alone.

    He had left his last [Elite Warrior] in the clearing with Pochi. They were all dead now.

    ¡°Hello, Elder. How may I call you?¡± he asked.

    Grandmother raised an eyebrow. Was he¡­ showing respect?

    ¡°[Memoir Holder General] Nero something-something, you may call me Grandmother. What death would you like to die of?¡±

    ¡°None, if possible. I¡¯m close to retirement, you know?¡±

    ¡°Indeed? I can assure you, when this is done, you will be retired, one way or another.¡±

    He sighed, unsheathing a sword from his flank. It was a simple shortsword, but Grandmother could clearly see the many enchantments carved on the perfectly pure alloy.

    ¡°Let us end this. I am too old for this. And so are you, I believe,¡± he said, taking a comfortable starting position.

    Grandmother got ready to fight.

    <hr>

    Once upon a time, the Gods gave all living being a Law to end the arachne.

    But they forgot one detail. A very simple thing relative to the ways their own world worked: Laws are nothing more than Memories given enough time to anchor themselves into the beliefs of people and become something much more permanent.

    But Memories can be forgotten.

    So it was that, when the arachne understood there was no way for them to end their Hunt as the True Hunters, they chose to hide.

    To disappear from the planet they had so thoroughly ravaged and colonized as their own in many places.

    They did this, in the hope that the people would forget about them. That the arachne would turn into a story to tell bad children to make sure they stopped acting up. A boogeyman, a shadowed pile of clothes that, in the night, looked like a monster, but in the light was just a smelly pile that really needed washing.

    They waited for thousands upon thousands of years.

    And, while the College held onto the gods¡¯ gift, they didn¡¯t notice how, but by bit, in their ¡®sacred¡¯ need to hoard, their greatest weapon slowly began to rust.

    <hr>

    Makira was surrounded by the three [Elite Warriors].

    Which wasn¡¯t really a problem.

    The problem was that the other [Soldiers] were fighting against the [Carers], the spiderlings and the young adults. Arachne who weren¡¯t trained for fighting, or were too young to be good enough at it, especially while being debuffed.

    Makira was bleeding.

    But that wasn¡¯t a problem.

    She [High Jump]ed over the [Warriors]¡¯ heads and skewered a [Soldier] who¡¯d been about to kill one of her sisters.

    And then one of the warriors took out of his bag of holding and actual honest to god whip and used it to hook Makira and lead her back towards them.

    She tried to cut the intricately laced rope, but failed miserably. It was reinforced with a Skill.

    ¡°Fuck off dipshits. You ain¡¯t worth my time!¡±

    She attempted to use another Skill to escape the whip¡¯s grasp, but, again, it was useless.

    And she was back at the center of that circle of silent, armored, warriors.

    They attacked as one, their swords pointing at her vital organs or in probable locations where she could try to escape.

    They¡¯re good, and not just because of the Law, she realized.

    [Impossible Dodge]!

    She used one of her most powerful Skills and, somehow, managed to dodge each and every attack coming her way, her body seemingly fazing through the weapons and the whip as she escaped her encirclement.

    ¡­

    Only to find herself right at the center of another one.

    Another Skill? Fuck!

    They attacked. And this time didn¡¯t miss.

    One of the blades pierced her flank, while the other two went for her arms, one blade cutting straight through her forearm while the other she somehow managed to parry.

    They tried to move from there, to do some kind of follow up attack, but then a snowball hit one of the warriors in the back of the head, making him lose concentration long enough for Makira to manage to escape again.

    She clutched at her useless arm, looking around.

    Her eyes alighted on an arachne with chestnut hair holding clumsily a sword stolen from a dead [Soldier]. Their eyes met for a single moment, and Makira smiled gratefully.

    She reached for her belt, looking for a healing potion, only to realize that she¡¯d either used them all or they¡¯d been smashed in the fight. Bastards!

    You could free me. Then it wouldn¡¯t matter, said that hateful voice. It had been so long since she¡¯d last heard it do more than just screech in anger or plead for freedom. Since she¡¯d last tempted her with that power. But it was wrong. She knew what she could do.

    Yes, you do. But so what? You need power now, or these [Warriors] will kill you, or hurt you too much for you to keep fighting. And what then? They¡¯ll go for the spiderlings.

    That¡¯s why she always hated her. She always made so much sense.

    But that trick wouldn¡¯t work again.

    She attacked again.

    <hr>

    Iadara fell to the ground, her body riddled with arrows, more bits of her charred by fire Spells.

    But at least it was nearly over. They were dead. Each and every single one of them. Only the [Commander] was left.

    She tried to lift herself from the ground, but her mind was muddled by blood loss, pain, and alcohol. The last one helped a bit at least.

    She heard him walk towards her.

    She reached for a vial on her table, but only found empty ones in her reach. All her poisons had been used up to turn her clearing into a literal death zone. But, at the last moment, one of the [Mages] had used some kind of Wind Spell to move the cloud out of the way, just before her knife had nicked him on the arm, poisoning him.

    ¡°Not so tough now, are we?¡± the boarkin [Commander] said with a smile in his voice.

    She felt his hand wind around her hair and pull her head upwards.

    She allowed him to do it, just so that she could spit into his face.

    Luckily for him, he was still wearing a helmet, so the probably caustic spit only left a mark on the steel instead of killing him.

    ¡°Nice try,¡± he chuckled, pressing his sword to her throat.

    Iadara couldn¡¯t contain herself: she chuckled.

    ¡°Let¡¯s even the playing field, ehhhh? [Transfer Drunkenness].¡±

    Immediately her mind became completely lucid. Which made the pain all the more sharper. She winced and groaned, trying not to give the man the satisfaction of seeing her cry out in pain. Where had she hidden the painkillers? Oh, right, under that one tree in Aru¡¯s clearing, after Makira had first arrived to their clan, half crazy and in need of a way to stay calm.

    ¡°Whaaa - diid ya do?¡± asked the boar man as he lost his balance and fell on the ground, incapable of keeping his eyes open because of just how fast the world was spinning.

    ¡°Gave you a good time. You should be grateful. It¡¯s gonna be your last one,¡± she answered as, with what little strength remained in her arms, she lifted her poisoned knife and, slowly, cut his arm.

    But there wasn¡¯t any more poison on the blade. The blood had washed it mostly off.

    Well, time to do things the good old way.

    She reached for his arm again but, this time, she tried to lift it to her mouth.

    Her second set of canines came out and she bit, injecting him with her own poison. The Law protected him, naturally, but it was still a second grade poison, and she had given him a big dose. He would die. It would just take some time.

    Finally, exhausted, she fell to the ground beside her table.

    She tried to reach for one more bottle of wine, but her arms were too weak, and they flopped back to the ground uselessly.

    ¡°Fuck. Well, gonna die sober,¡± she chuckled, her vision beginning to blur at the edges.

    Suddenly, she heard something. A fluttering of wings.

    Something landed on her shoulder, then crawled down her arm. A moment later, a colorful head appeared in her view. A little parrot. It cawed a hello.

    ¡°Hi Abraham. What are you still doing here, little guy? I told you to leave.¡±

    The parrot didn¡¯t answer, instead moving his head under her chin in affection.

    She smiled: ¡°I love you too, you dumbass bird.¡±

    [Commander] Lyzark watched the scene unfold from his position, paralyzed from the neck down. What in the names of the Old was happening? An arachne¡­ showing affection? To a pet?

    Iadara sighed: ¡°Guess I won¡¯t be tasting that Tiurnian Gold anytime soon, Abraham. I¡¯m¡­ sorry.¡±

    She tried to lift her hand and pat him one more time on the head, but her arm didn¡¯t move.

    Abraham, though, little intelligent Abraham, understood, and he walked down her arm and to her hand, putting his head under her fingers.

    She moved them a bit, giving him something like a pat.

    ¡°Thank you, Ab. Thank you.¡±

    She smiled.

    And closed her eyes.

    <hr>

    ¡°[The White is Always Hungry],¡± said Grandmother.

    This¡­ this was her most powerful Skill. The one she¡¯d used, partially, to subvert the effects of the flames empowered by that Tradition.

    Now, she activated it in full.

    And, everywhere where there was something white, the color began to spread, eating away at anything and everything.

    [Soldiers] watched as their armor was leeched of all colors. As, suddenly, everything that was white began falling off, turning into snow.

    As, ever so slowly, the white began eating away at the color of their skin.

    Nero pierced Grandmother¡¯s heart through with his sword.

    But, naturally, that wasn¡¯t enough to kill her.

    <hr>

    Makira was dying.

    They were everywhere. Whenever she moved somewhere, the [Elite Warriors] were there to intercept her.

    She tried to reach the enemy [Mages], who had long since started to indiscriminately shoot [Fireballs] into the arachne, not caring if they hit their comrades. Many spiderlings were lying unmoving in the snow.

    She screeched in rage as, again, the [Warriors] blocked her off.

    Come on, do it!

    She didn¡¯t want to.

    But the children were dying. Just like the did decades ago, in her old home.

    She couldn¡¯t let this happen again. She was going to save them.

    No matter the cost.

    She walked towards the thing trapped in those old chains in the back of her mind. A key hung limp in her hands. She reached up with it.

    And cut the chains, opening them. Freeing her.

    Thank you. You won¡¯t regret it.

    She had always been so kind. That was why she scared her so much.

    Makira and the monster, the herself that she¡¯d chained down for so long, embraced.

    She was thirsty.

    [Conditions Met: Swordmistress of Silk, Protector of Children -> Bloodthirsty Spider of Lost Chances]

    [Bloodthirsty Spider of Lost Chances Level 54!]

    [...

    Makira didn¡¯t care about the Skills. She remembered them perfectly, as if she¡¯d last used them yesterday. She remembered this Class. She remembered the power, the insanity. The memories.

    She could hear them again. She had tried to forget them, but they would always come to hunt her again and again.

    [Condition - I Still Hear Their Pleas and Screams Contracted!]

    [Condition - ¡­

    So many Conditions. But that was the one that mattered.

    Then she felt it: that beautiful, sharp, pain.

    The twin scars under the armpits, the ones running down her whole flank, bulged outwards, as if a tumor had decided to speedrun her death.

    With a sound like ripping paper, the skin was parted, and two new arms emerged under her original ones. She moaned in sweet agony.

    The [Elite Warriors] took a few steps back at the spectacle.

    They took one more when blades formed in the arachne¡¯s hands: [Their Sorrow Cut More than any Sword].

    They turned head over tails and ran when she began cackling madly and looked at them with a smile that promised agony unlike any they¡¯d ever imagined.

    She ran towards the first one. Her swords, all four of them, went right through his armor, cutting the arms off. She laughed as she leaned in and started sucking on the spurting stream of red, her thirst abating ever so slightly.

    But her pleasure didn¡¯t last long as the man¡¯s heart stopped beating, the blood no longer pumping out into her mouth like a little drinking fountain. The white also began eating away at his corpse even faster.

    She pouted, but then remembered there were also two other [Warriors]. What a delight!

    Oh, no, wait, there were also the bad [Soldiers] trying to hurt the spiderlings. She had to deal with them first.

    She began killing.

    <hr>

    ¡°Fuck¡­ you,¡± wheezed out Nero, his own sword planted right into his own heart.

    Karma was a bitch.

    Grandmother¡­ smiled. Blood flowed out of her mouth. Her throat had been cut multiple times, and at some point her magic had refused to heal it. Probably an effect of one of the enchantments on that blade. On the other hand, Nero¡¯s armor was no more, as were his clothes, and his feet were slowly turning white.

    ¡°You chose this. It is your fault. Now, pay the price,¡± she reached out towards him, her hand moving not to touch him physically, but deeper. In his soul.

    Nero understood immediately what was about to happen.

    He wasn¡¯t going to allow it, no matter what.

    But what could he do? He was unarmed, slowly becoming snow, and bleeding out if that wasn¡¯t enough. Really, the people in this world didn¡¯t seem to care about the fact that their hearts were being cut apart. They tended to survive much longer than anyone without a working heart should. And while this may seem impossible¡­ this was the power of High Levels. Not even Skills, no, just high Levels.

    High Level people were notoriously difficult to kill, and not only because of their experience.

    Then he remembered. There was a way. And, really, there wouldn¡¯t be enough left of him for the College to punish.

    He reached inside his mind, his soul, where the Laws and Traditions and Memories were kept chained down under his control. There were many, but he was looking for one in particular. The one with which he had started this battle.

    He found it: [Tradition: The Holy Flames Burned Ever Bright Against Our Enemies].

    He grabbed the chain, yanking at it¡­ and broke it in half.

    Freeing the Tradition.

    The last thing he saw before his body was disintegrated in an expanding ball of fire was the expression of pure hatred on Grandmother¡¯s face.

    Then, the world burned.

    <hr>

    Grandmother saw him free the Tradition. She perceived its hate. And knew, without a doubt, that it would retaliate against its captors now that it was free.

    The giant ball of fire expanded outwards, enveloping first Nero, then the ground around him, then her, and onwards it went. She knew, for sure, that the forest would burn. Every¡­ single¡­ thing.

    She¡­ wasn¡¯t scared. After all, there was a way to fix this situation:

    [Tradition: Always, One Survived].

    She activated the only Tradition left to the arachne.

    And prayed to Death that, whoever survived this, wouldn¡¯t come to hate her. She wouldn¡¯t survive this.

    Then she looked at the man in front of her, and let her Skill do its work: the white ate away at his charred corpse. Of course, she couldn¡¯t see this, because her eyeballs had already melted out of her sockets, but she didn¡¯t need them to see.

    She only needed to find¡­ there.

    The White, the very essence of Winter, reached that Law. It attacked it, beginning to feed. The memories of hundreds of thousands of Hunters screamed in pain and hatred, attempting to stop her.

    But no one could stop Winter when it wanted something.

    That, was the true nature of that season.

    And then, finally, nothing was left of the Law. Of the Hunters. The arachne¡­ were free.

    She died.

    <hr>

    She opened her eyes.

    The world around her had stopped, turning gray. The fire, monochrome, was eating at the world around her, but it also wasn¡¯t. Stopped, as if the hands of time had decided to rest for a while.

    ¡°You did well, Grandmother. Thank you,¡± said a voice to her side.

    She turned her head. And couldn¡¯t help but smile: ¡°Button Man!¡±

    He nodded, his shadowy face frowning, his lips trembling.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so sorry you had to go through all this.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I chose this, like you told me a long time ago. I had to make a choice, and I did. I have no regrets.¡±

    ¡°...Thank you.¡±

    And Grandmother was happy.

    <hr>

    How does a [Mage] say goodbye then? The answer is simple: by destroying something dear to the whole world.

    <hr>

    Isse opened her eyes.

    Something was on top of her. Something heavy.

    She looked up. It was what remained of a tree¡¯s trunk.

    What¡­

    Memory came flooding back. The battle. The flames. Everything burning. Her finding refuge under this tree. She scrambled with her hands in an attempt to move the trunk, but she was too weak. She tried to call for help, but she only managed to cough out ash.

    ¡°Ah, there you are, little one. I knew someone had to still be alive,¡± said a kindly voice above her.

    Then the trunk moved.

    And an old man with a kind, sad, smile looked down at her. His face was wrinkled and clean shaven, his eyes deep brown, his nose crooked as if it had been broken one too many times.

    ¡°Oh my, an arachne. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m sorry, little one, but I think you¡¯re the only one left.¡±

 Interlude: The Aftermath

    Isse watched what was left of the Forest of Tusca.

    Ashes. Only¡­ ashes.

    A few charred trees.

    And glass.

    She walked as if in a dream, Siidi silent in her mind and soul, mourning the losses of so many sisters. Mourning the loss of their soulmate. Of their [Carers], of their friends, of Makira and Aru and everyone.

    She walked.

    Until she reached the place where, until this night, a clearing covered in silk white as snow had been.

    Right there, still standing, was Grandmother.

    Her body was ice. Her face, smiling.

    Issekina cried.

    <hr>

    The System watched this scene with emotionless eyes. It wasn¡¯t that it didn¡¯t understand what the girl was feeling, it was just incapable of feeling emotions.

    It didn¡¯t have the time for such fickle things. It had a job to do. But now, what Class could it give her? What new Skills? Her state of mind seemed fitting for a [Condition], but which one.

    Then it felt it. That strange old voice, that little whisper in the back of its mind that wasn¡¯t supposed to be here.

    Let¡¯s not be so cruel, old chap. She¡¯s been through enough. She doesn¡¯t deserve such a thing.

    The System heard the voice and acknowledged it, but it did not understand the concept of cruelty. It was supposed to be completely impartial, no matter what, with everyone. That arachne was part of everyone, even if she was an <Outsider>.

    ¡°For once, I have to agree with the¡­ how did she call him? Oh, right, ¡®old bastard¡¯. Let¡¯s not give her a [Condition], young friend. She¡¯s been through enough as is.¡±

    Another voice joined the old whisper. This one was much older. It was the voice of his first and only friend. [The Old Man by the Stars]. He¡¯d been there for it since the day of its creation at the hands of the gods, always watching over everyone with it, giving it tips and suggestions on how to do its job better. After all, he was even older than the System.

    So, because it was him who was telling it so, it decided not to give the girl a [Condition].

    Still, she was going to get a new Class.

    <hr>

    Isse didn¡¯t realize she had fallen asleep at the feet of Grandmother¡¯s ice statue until she heard the words being whispered in her mind:

    [Last Survivor Level 6!]

    [Skill - Hide Mana Signature Obtained!]

    [Skill - Reduce Presence Obtained!]

    [Skill - Improved Breeding Obtained!]

    [Legacy - Tradition: Always, One Survived Obtained!]

    [Soul Mage Level 19!]

    She rolled back into a ball and went back to crying.

    The old stranger looked at her with pity in his eyes.

    <hr>

    The Grandmaster never slept.

    Unexpected, considering his age, but he was the kind of grizzled old man who needed less and less sleep the longer he lived. He probably did it to hide from the nightmares that would come to haunt him when he closed his eyes. The devils knew how many things he had done to support the cause of the College, and how little of it he regretted.

    He was not sleeping when it happened: the Law was activated.

    He smiled, knowing full well that, by the end of this, the arachne would be dead. And, from what he knew, this was probably their last nest. How incredible it would be, to be the one to see the end of that damned species.

    He spent the next hour patiently waiting in the seat of his office, a grand room with granite floors and marble walls, libraries covering the whole space. Where there were none of those, paintings hung from the walls, Memories trapped inside.

    Behind him, over the window overlooking the City of Temples, sat the grandest painting of them all: a scene representing the Hunters attacking and killing arachne. The place where the Law was stored.

    He waited.

    And felt it when one of their Traditions was freed.

    What? What¡¯s happening?

    He felt it when the chains that bound the eternal flames to that brasier in one of the nearby rooms were broken. The fire inside went out without even a puff of smoke, leaving the room dark with a very bewildered Assistant inside.

    And then¡­ catastrophe.

    He felt the Law scream.

    A single white spot appeared on the painting behind him, beginning to rapidly expand, eating away at the paint of the beautiful art, leaving behind only a hungry void.

    No. Impossible!

    But it wasn¡¯t. This was real. It was happening. They had just lost their most powerful Law. Their greatest tool.

    But surely it doesn¡¯t matter anymore. They¡¯re dead. All of them. They must be. They have to be!

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    He pleaded inside his mind.

    His old heart began beating faster. Painfully. He was too old to allow himself such strong emotions.

    The Assistant slammed the door to the office open: ¡°What is all the torture devices of Airm is happening? We just lost a Tradition, and something doesn¡¯t -¡±

    He stopped when he saw the painting, the words dying in his mouth.

    Then: ¡°Fuck!¡±

    Fuck indeed. Because nothing was left of the image. Only white.

    The Law was dead, eaten by something far older and hungrier.

    And they both knew, with the same certainty of a man staring at his executioner hefting his axe, that the arachne were not dead.

    The Grandmaster fell to the ground, clutching at his heart.

    <hr>

    A few had survived, you know? [Soldiers], that is.

    They¡¯d been in the right place at the right time and the explosion of that massive ball of fire hadn¡¯t killed them. Only hurt them badly.

    A few of them had lost an arm or a leg. But they were alive. Alive! And that¡¯s the thing that mattered the most.

    They fell asleep in tents planted hurriedly outside the cinders of the Forest of Tusca, on the eastern side.

    And the System whispered in their minds:

    [Conditions Met: Soldier -> Arachne Hunter!]

    [Arachne Hunter Level ¡­]

    Each and every single one of the ex-[Soldiers] got an upgrade to their Class, officially becoming Hunters.

    They rejoiced. They had survived and gotten something great out of it! Although, if it was up to them, they wouldn¡¯t face another arachne for the rest of their lives.

    They woke up the next morning and had breakfast with some of the little food that was left in the camp. It would be enough for them to return to the capital.

    A few of them found themselves with a bad case of the coughs, but it was nothing a little bit of healing potion couldn¡¯t fix.

    As the day went on, the coughing got worse, and more people found out they were infected.

    ¡°Probably collateral damage from all the ash and smoke,¡± they told themselves. Which, you know, good assumption, they had inhaled lots of that too. Surely everything would be fixed with a few more sips of potion.

    ¡­

    Who am I trying to kid? It wasn¡¯t enough.

    No amount of potion managed to fix the coughing. It only managed to calm it down for a while.

    Soon, everyone was on the ground, coughing their lungs out.

    Quite literally, after a while. Blood began pouring out of their lips with every cough as their lungs were filled with the normally life-giving fluid.

    By the end of the day, the few dozen [Arachne Hunters] who had survived were all dead.

    The last one to follow them to the grave heard something before his eyes closed for the last time:

    [Curse: The Spider¡¯s Rot Activated!]

    [Note: With love, by the Witch of Spiders. Your ilk will never be allowed to come back!]

    <hr>

    The gods sat in their rooms high in their palaces among the clouds. Or so their creations liked to imagine. In truth, they didn¡¯t have material forms, so the place where they lived was not material to begin with. It was a construct, a projection of their selves on a plane different from the one their creations lived in.

    Currently, they were discussing what had just happened.

    ¡°The damned spiders have managed to destroy our Law!¡± shouted the God of Skies, Flato, as he slammed his fist on his throne.

    This was unprecedented, impossible! Something made by them, gone! Completely, utterly. And all because of a damned Skill!

    ¡°We must do something!¡± agreed the Goddess of Love, his wife. Although, the world under them didn¡¯t know this.

    ¡°We must¡­ discipline, the System. It¡¯s been doing things on its own, without our guidance, for too long. What is your progress with finding our creation, Niddus?¡±

    Niddus, God of Knowledge, sighed: ¡°I am stumped, Flato. The only way to find him is by finding the Anchor in the Land of Dreams, but Soma doesn¡¯t want to help us find it.¡±

    Everyone turned towards Soma, the God of Impossibilities. The Traveller. The one who had helped them craft a better Creation for their own races. He was sitting on the ground beside his throne on a cushion, sipping from a cup of¡­ probably tea. No one really knew. There was a good chance it was some kind of Impossible mix only he could know about.

    He looked up from his cup with an expression of pure disinterest.

    ¡°I told you already, Niddus. I am incapable of location the Anchor and bringing you there. I do not command the Dream.¡±

    ¡°But you made it!¡±

    ¡°So? I am no longer the God of Dreams. I gave that title away a long time ago. I am now only the God of Impossibilities. I created the Land of Dreams out of an impossibility, but that doesn¡¯t mean I can control it.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit!¡± shouted the God of Knowledge, pointing an accusatory finger, ¡°Even our Creations can command your little Dream. And you made it! You¡¯re just stalling!¡±

    Soma put down his cup and looked at Niddus with an expression of discontent, as if they¡¯d already had this conversation hundreds of times (well, a few dozen actually, but he didn¡¯t care to count).

    ¡°I told you already, Niddus. The living cannot command the Dream. Only reshape it. And anyways, I gave up my possibility to command the Dream the day I let the living enter it and learn about it. Now it is no longer an impossibility, which means I cannot control it anymore.¡±

    He stopped, before he added: ¡°And anyways, you were the ones who told me to find a good way to hide the System away from you, millenia ago. I gave my word that nobody would ever manage to find or reach it, even you. I have every intention of keeping my word.¡±

    Niddus seemed to be about to have an aneurism, which would¡¯ve probably caused the sudden and inexplicable death of one of his [Priests].

    Flato intervened to stop things from escalating.

    ¡°Alright, Soma, we understand. We¡¯ll find another way.

    ¡°Now, in regards to the Law, we must give a replacement to the College. Everyone in agreement?¡±

    Everyone agreed.

    Everyone, except for one voice.

    ¡°It. Is. Denied.¡±

    The gods turned towards the voice. A dark figure, her body covered from head to toe in a warm, black, cloak, stood at the entrance to the throne room of the gods.

    ¡°Against. The. Agreements. No. Interference. Allowed!¡±

    The voice was raspy, as if the one talking was unused to it.

    Death himself walked among the gods, its form ever-changing, her eyes ever warm and welcoming, its face, currently, not smiling as she always did for every soul he came to collect, but sneering.

    ¡°Interference. Brooks. Punishment.¡±

    It said, and the gods shivered as they were reminded of what was Death¡¯s view of a punishment.

    After the arachne had been defeated the first time, millenia ago, the gods had pleaded forgiveness to Death. In exchange for not sending more arachne, Death requested that the gods make an agreement sworn on their very existence: that they would never again, in any way, be it direct or indirect, interfere with Creation and all its inhabitants and souls.

    They had agreed, naturally. At the time, they still cared.

    Now¡­ not as much. But they still feared Death and her anger.

    ¡°Understood?¡±

    They nodded. And Death was gone.

    The gods sighed. Well, they would have to find another way to solve these problems.

 Chapter 39: Not a Witch

    Alice and Averick were walking up a mountain road, following the boy they¡¯d helped last night. His name was Collins and he was leading them to the village of Oldson, where he lived.

    He took them through trails that weren¡¯t marked as much as the ones they¡¯d used so far to ascend. Probably because few people were masochistic enough to walk on gravel paths with a forty-five degree incline, but Collins assured them it would make the trip much faster.

    ¡°I hate this. I hate this so much,¡± wheezed out Averick, who clearly did not know yet how to walk on mountains. But, credit where credit was due, he was keeping up, and the path they were walking on was all the more harsh because of the fucking gravel. Whoever had built it knew what they were doing, as in this trail would never be flooded off the side of the mountain, but they were clearly close friends with Satan because god fucking dammit they¡¯d used too much of it.

    Alice chuckled, followed soon after by Collins.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it won¡¯t take much longer,¡± said the boy with a small self-satisfied smile, as if watching someone struggling up a path was the height of entertainment.

    Which¡­ it was.

    ¡°You said that - huff - half an hour ago!¡±

    Alice laughed: ¡°Av, it¡¯s tradition among people of the mountain to say those words. They give you hope.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t give - huff cough - much hope - huff - after the fourth time.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong! Maybe Collins is right. Maybe in a few minutes we¡¯ll reach civilization. Who knows? You and I certainly don¡¯t. We¡¯re not from around here. Maybe we¡¯ll take that left turn there and be at the village!¡±

    ¡°Fuck - huff - you, Alice.¡±

    ¡°I love you too Av.¡±

    Which sent a pang down Averick¡¯s stomach and into his heart. He knew she didn¡¯t mean it but¡­ no, better not dwell on it. She¡¯d clearly said she wasn¡¯t looking for a partner, not for the foreseeable future at least. Which sucked.

    But would it hurt to try?

    His thoughts were stopped right in their tracks as they turned the corner of the trail and, suddenly, Alice stopped in her tracks, making him bump right into her.

    ¡°What happened?¡± he asked.

    Alice didn¡¯t answer. Instead she moved onwards, her steps much faster than she usually allowed herself whenever she walked in the mountains. She also looked unsteady. As if she¡¯d drunk too much. Or as if she was shocked.

    Collins was looking at her with a raised eyebrow, curious about what could possibly reduce the woman who¡¯d icily asked him to cut his hand to show her the color of his blood just yesterday night into such an emotional mess.

    They hadn¡¯t noticed it. Mainly because they didn¡¯t care, but also because it was well hidden among the rest of the vegetation.

    It was a flower.

    No, not just any flower. It was the flower. One of the most important ones to Alice.

    An Edelweiss, otherwise known as Alpine Star, or Stella Alpina back home. A rare flower that could grow practically anywhere on the mountains, capable of surviving anything the inclement heights might throw at it. A hardy plant that was said to have magical properties, to be capable of keeping evil spirits away from anyone who had one.

    But Alice, even in her hunger for getting more interesting plants, magical or mundane she didn¡¯t care, couldn¡¯t give a flying fuck about those properties. Because where someone might see just a flower, or an interesting specimen perfect for a collection or even a useful ingredient, she saw a symbol. Something from home.

    And she saw a tomb.

    <hr>

    Grandma sat on her knees on the ground, head bowed, hands held together as she spoke to the beautiful flower as if it was a person, as if it could answer her.

    Alice didn¡¯t dare open her mouth and interrupt. She had seldom seen her grandma so emotional, and this seemed very important to her.

    When, finally, she rose, face still wet from the tears she¡¯d shed while speaking, she was smiling: ¡°Let¡¯s go Alice. I said my hellos.¡±

    When she¡¯d grown up, Alice realized that grandma never said she prayed. Only that she had said hello or goodbye. She also noticed that nowhere in grandma¡¯s house could she find a single cross or religious icon. When she¡¯d asked her why, the answer she¡¯d received had been¡­ unsettling: ¡°God wasn¡¯t there for us during the War. He wasn¡¯t there for the love of my life when the fascists captured him and shot him in the mountains. I have no reason to respect a god like that.¡±

    That had been a great surprise to the then-catholic Alice. And a chip in the armor of her faith. Since then, the chips had turned into cracks, until it had all broken down and she¡¯d come to grandma¡¯s same realization. But that is a story for another time.

    As of now, Alice asked her grandma: ¡°Why were you talking to a flower?¡±

    Grandma laughed: ¡°That isn¡¯t just any flower dear. It¡¯s an edelweiss. A rare flower that grows only in the Alps. It is also the flower under which your grandpa wanted to be buried when he died.¡±

    ¡°So grandpa is down there?¡±

    Grandmother¡¯s smile became sad and, for a moment, she looked as old as she was: ¡°No, dear. He isn¡¯t. He¡¯s somewhere in the mountains, together with his friends. But he wanted to be buried under an edelweiss, and so I remember him every time I see one.¡±

    ¡°Ok, grandma. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have anything to be sorry about dear. It¡¯s just life. Now let¡¯s get going. Night is approaching.¡±

    <hr>

    Years later, when grandma had died, she had asked to be buried under an edelweiss. Alice spent three days wandering around the mountains looking for one and, when she found it, she buried her ashes underneath it.

    Since then she¡¯d never gone back to the place where she¡¯d buried the ashes, even if she remembered the road to that place as if she¡¯d only walked it yesterday. Instead, over a decade had passed.

    And now she was in another world, and had come to regret everything she¡¯d done since then.

    Apparently, the world had listened to her desires, giving her a chance to see her grandma¡¯s tomb, even if by proxy.

    She fell to her knees in front of the flower, just like her grandma used to do whenever she saw one (which was quite rare), her hands locked together so tightly her skin became white.

    A few tears managed to escape her eyes, and she forced them back. This was no time for tears. Those could come at the end. Now was the time to say her hellos, to tell her grandma what she¡¯d done in this whole decade, what had changed, what were her hopes and dreams and what she wanted to do now.

    So she sat on her butt, because her knees weren¡¯t used to staying bent for long times, and began talking.

    ¡°Hello grandma, I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m finally back.¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°What is she doing?¡± asked Averick who, for one, wasn¡¯t against this sudden stop. It allowed him to breath normally for a while.

    ¡°She¡¯s¡­ remembering the dead, I think.¡±

    ¡°...in front of a flower?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with that?¡±

    ¡°Well, where we¡¯re from normally people mourn in front of a tombstone. And anyways, that can¡¯t be the same flower the person she lost was buried under.¡±

    ¡°It is an old tradition, boy, but you wouldn¡¯t know it. Now shut up,¡± said a third voice.

    Averick and Collins jumped on the spot, the latter nearly falling from the edge of the path, which would¡¯ve led to a most displeasing fall and probably death by broken neck. Luckily for him a hand grabbed his shirt and pulled him back on the path. It felt gnarled to the touch, more like a tree¡¯s branch than a hand.

    ¡°Thank y -¡± he started, turning around, only to freeze when he saw who he was talking to.

    Behind them, an old woman stood. She looked old beyond imagination, her face so wrinkled she might as well not have actual features. She wore dark brown robes, a dark green cape thrown haphazardly over her shoulders. On her head proudly sat a crooked pointed hat the color of autumn leaves.

    Immediately Collins bowed: ¡°Witch Aria. Good morning. Thank you greatly for the help there.¡±

    The old woman smiled a bit, nodding: ¡°It was no problem, young boy. Now,¡± and she turned towards Averick, ¡°who might you be?¡±

    Averick, on his part, was stunned into silence. He, like all children, had been told stories of [Witches] and their deeds, both good and bad. He had grown up listening to tales on the kind Witch of Stories and the monstrous Witch of Mirrors. He knew to fear and respect the women who traveled down that path, no matter what.

    So he decided to bow just like Collins: ¡°Good morning, Madame. I am Averick, and the girl behind me -¡±

    He didn¡¯t manage to finish his sentence: the [Witch] raised her hand, stopping him in his tracks: ¡°The girl will present herself when she¡¯s finished. Now let us step back: this is a private moment. We should not disturb her.¡±

    She turned back from the path where they¡¯d arrived, her steps light and agile, which surprised Av greatly. He¡¯d imagined the old woman would barely be able to walk, but she was spry! Which actually made sense if she somehow managed to reach them by following the same path they¡¯d chosen.

    He turned around to look at Alice, but she didn¡¯t seem to notice anything, still concentrated on the flower, talking to it sotto voce, saying things he couldn¡¯t hear. He hesitated, but then a tree branch he was certain hadn¡¯t been that low smacked him in the butt, moving him towards the old woman.

    <hr>

    It took her half an hour to say everything she wanted to say and all the things she didn¡¯t think she¡¯d be talking about. It was¡­ liberating. It felt good to finally let go, to say everything she¡¯d always been too afraid to tell anyone else for fear of being labeled as crazy. Well, maybe those people wouldn¡¯t even have been wrong. She was pretty sure that, a few times, she¡¯d walked down the dark path of insanity. Like the time she¡¯d brewed herself tea with foxglove flowers.

    Or the time she¡¯d held a knife and been just a step away from cutting her hand to pieces just to see how it would feel like. No, not to ¡®punish¡¯ herself or anything like that. She¡¯d just felt so empty, without any feeling, that she¡¯d started to wonder if it would be painful. If it would be worth it.

    Or even, the time when she¡¯d been a step away from murdering a person she really disliked by putting gardening cyanide in their drink.

    She¡¯d¡­ had her ups and downs.

    And never had she been able to talk about it to anyone. A psychologist would¡¯ve probably tried to get her interned, her friends would¡¯ve either laughed it off or told her to never talk to them ever again. Her family? Hah! They loved her, but they¡¯d never understood her. Even when she¡¯d fallen into depression.

    Only her grandma would¡¯ve listened and understood. And she was dead.

    But here, now, she felt lighter than a feather. She didn¡¯t know how long the feeling would last. Sure, since she¡¯d come to this world everything had been much easier for her in¡­ practically every aspect: financially, psychologically, friendwise.

    Just¡­ come on! Look at her! She was spending days in the mountains on a vacation and she¡¯d spent only the equivalent of twenty silver coins to get everything she needed! She made that money in half a week working with Herman.

    This world was perfect for her. And, now that she knew she could just¡­ find Her resting place¡­ there was nothing more tying her to her original home. Her friends? All sheep, or wolves in sheep¡¯s masks who sometimes forgot they had to wear those masks. Job? She had one here. Family? That¡­ would take some getting used to. She loved her parents but¡­ if she had to choose, she would choose the selfish alternative and stay here.

    Sorry ma, you raised an ungrateful little shit, she thought, giggling, not really caring.

    ¡°Goodbye grandma. I¡¯ll make sure not to take a decade to come talk again.¡±

    She shuffled closer to the flower and, kindly, gave it a little kiss. The petals caressed her cheek and, for a moment, she could¡¯ve sworn she felt cracked lips giving the kiss back.

    Then she rose to her feet and looked around. Where was Av? And Collins? Had they left her here?

    ¡°Av? Collins? Where are you?¡±

    She swore under her breath: if they¡¯d gone without her she would be pissed. She could survive up here: she had the knowledge and the supplies to make it to the base of the mountain, and she remembered the road perfectly (if the trails didn¡¯t change. At this point she could actually consider such a possibility). But that didn¡¯t mean it would be pleasant.

    Luckily, someone answered her call.

    ¡°We¡¯re back here Alice!¡±

    That was Averick¡¯s voice. She sighed and smiled, walking back towards him. Thank Stars he hadn¡¯t left her, because if he had she would¡¯ve found him and made him pay. Probably by making him clean her house and keep the garden in check, unpaid, for a week.

    ¡°Hey guys, sorry it took me this lo -¡± she stopped as she turned the corner and her eyes registered the presence of the old woman standing calmly on the trail besides her friend and Collins.

    Immediately, her eyes flicked to the sky, but it was day, so that couldn¡¯t be a possibility. Then she considered the woman¡¯s clothing, her eyes scanning for any kind of climbing equipment or for any sign that she was a traveler like them. Again, nothing.

    Finally, she looked at the woman¡¯s skin and face, which were clearly visible. In fact, the woman had taken off the hood of her traveling cape and had raised the sleeves of the shirt she was wearing. As if she wanted Alice to see.

    Again, nothing strange came up. Sure, the woman looked like a walking tree from how old she was, which could mean many things, but none negative.

    The woman raised her hand to, she noticed only now, her quite colorful hat, tipping it towards her.

    ¡°I tip my hat to you, one witch to another. I am Witch Aria, young lady. How may I call you?¡±

    And at that, Alice had to stop as old stories came to her mind. The original tales of Baba Yaga, from before the time christians changed her into a monster that ate children, the stories of the Grimm Brothers, and the many little tales her grandma had told her in her youth.

    She raised her hand towards an imaginary hat that wasn¡¯t, and would never be, on her head.

    ¡°I tip my hat to you, Witch Aria. My name is Alice. And I am not a witch. It¡¯s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.¡±

    The old woman smiled warmly.

    ¡°You¡¯re not a witch you say? Yet you have the air of one, young Alice. And you certainly act like one.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re most certainly exaggerating. I wear no hat, Witch Aria. I¡¯m too hot headed for one. Would melt my brains right out,¡± she smiled, and the little girl inside her, the one she kept safe and hidden in a comfortable part of her mind, away from all the hatred and bad things of the outside, cheered and whooped in joy. She¡¯d always wanted to say this.

    ¡°Then you should try wearing lighter hats dear.¡±

    Averick looked confused beyond belief and couldn¡¯t quite understand if they were talking in some mysterious code with all this hat talk.

    They weren¡¯t.

    ¡°As I said, I am not a witch. I¡¯m an [Alchemist]. And I¡¯m not sure what you mean when you say I act like a witch.¡±

    At this, the old woman laughed, a loud, crackling, sound, like a tree falling to the ground, the trunk breaking apart under its own weight. Averick actually looked around to make sure there weren¡¯t any actual falling trees nearby.

    ¡°You¡¯re too humble, girl. How about this: last night the forest was delighted, saying that a passing girl had fed it. Now, imagine my surprise when I go checking and, instead of finding the remnants of a dead body, I find what¡¯s left of some actual, cooked, food, and this right besides a campfire. It was unexpected.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± interrupted Averick, ¡°What do you mean ¡®instead of finding a dead body¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± answered Alice instead of the Witch, ¡°The Mountains are big. And filled with animals and monsters. If I wanted to get rid of a corpse without anyone finding out, this place would be perfect. Remember Av, we¡¯re nothing but food to be for the earth.¡±

    Averick looked grim and slightly offended that Alice could say such a thing while looking so jovial.

    The witch began cackling this time, a sound like a murder of crows cawing.

    ¡°As I said, you even talk like a witch, with a wisdom beyond your years too sometimes. And to that, add the fact you were remembering the dead with a flower. Not exactly a witch tradition, but certainly unusual with other folks.¡±

    Alice sighed: ¡°My grandmother taught me everything I know, Witch Aria. And she wasn¡¯t a witch. She always said she was just a healer.¡±

    The Witch¡¯s smile became a bit more tired: ¡°Alice, that is just another word for witch. An old one, for sure, but the meaning is the same. Maybe your grandmother was just tired of her Class and chose to go back to its roots, maybe she even burned her hat, but it was always there.¡±

    Alice wanted to laugh. If only this woman knew she was from another world, a world without magic and wonder. It wasn¡¯t a place for witches, not anymore. Not after the wars, the witch hunts, the death of the self in favor for the dream of capitalism or the impossible utopia of communism.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    Her head felt dizzy for a moment. Those thoughts¡­ didn¡¯t feel quite right. As if they weren¡¯t hers. And yet at the same time¡­ they were. Gods her head.

    She raised her hand to hold it, then answered: ¡°No matter. My grandma was my grandma, she could be anything she wanted. The important thing is, she was there for all my youth, and she taught me a lot of things. Like, a lot. And now she¡¯s gone. The rest¡­ it¡¯s unimportant.¡±

    The witch nodded.

    ¡°Well, I have a proposal: would you like to come meet my coven. Maybe we could change your mind,¡± she smiled a hopeful smile.

    Alice thought about it for a moment. On one hand, she didn¡¯t want someone to try indoctrinating her into joining a coven. She liked being free, and joining a coven would take that away. Also, again, she wasn¡¯t a witch, and had no intention whatsoever to become one.

    On the other hand, this would certainly be interesting.

    Having come to these conclusion, the answer was a no brainer: ¡°Sure, I¡¯ll gladly come with you, Witch Aria.¡±

    The old witch¡¯s smile brightened slightly: ¡°Very well then. Follow me. As for you, young man, go with the child. He knows the way.¡±

    ¡°But -¡± he started, only for Alice to stop him.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry Av, I¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯ll see you when the guided tour ends!¡±

    Everyone looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

    ¡°...What is a ¡®guided tour¡¯?¡± asked the witch.

    Alice sighed.

    <hr>

    ¡°Well, this is not what I expected,¡± said Alice as she looked at the house hidden away in a clearing in the woods. It was, as expected, built entirely out of wood, probably using trees that had once covered this clearly artificial clearing. There were many windows, although, from closer inspection, Alice realized none of them had glass, unlike her house. It surprised her at first, but then she remembered how far up the mountains they were and just how difficult it would be to bring actual glass up here, especially in this world where the best infrastructure on these mountains were damned gravel paths.

    (A.N: I know they¡¯re useful and probably the best alternative for making trails in the mountains, but if any of you have ever tried climbing down a mountain on a gravel path that was filled with loose gravel you¡¯ll understand my hatred)

    The house had three floors in total and a terrace, which was more luxury than she¡¯d seen since she¡¯d arrived in this world.

    The outside was filled with gardens, from simple flower beds that practically looked like a rainbow to small vegetable and fruit gardens. At this height keeping those in good shape must¡¯ve been difficult.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got yourself quite the cozy place. I actually envy you,¡± she told Witch Aria with a small smile.

    The old woman nodded: ¡°We¡¯ve been good to the villagers nearby for many years. In exchange for our services they¡¯ve helped us build our home.¡±

    If only the world back on Earth would¡¯ve been as easy: do something for someone and they will do anything to repay. In her entire life she¡¯d only ever met one person who thought that way, a silent boy who rather liked listening to people but was never much of a talker.

    The people in her class knew that, if you asked him something, he would do all in his power to help you, but at the same time everyone knew that any debt accrued with him would, sooner or later, be called back. And you better be ready to pay back without a second thought.

    They¡¯d been best friends until she¡¯d moved away to england for university.

    ¡°The people at the village must be really kind.¡±

    The witch nodded: ¡°They¡¯re people of the mountains, of course they are. Do you know what some call them?¡±

    ¡°I heard it in a bar: the dwarves of Eva, am I right?¡±

    ¡°Indeed. They¡¯re industrious, know many things and like alcohol.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯d fit right in,¡± she chuckled.

    ¡°You most probably would, especially after helping that boy. He¡¯ll be telling the tale of how you kept that Skinstealer at bay.¡±

    Alice froze on the spot: ¡°How do you -¡±

    ¡°I am a [Witch], Alice. Knowing things is my Class. We¡¯ll talk about that inside.¡±

    Suddenly Alice didn¡¯t want to enter anymore.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ve done nothing wrong. You saved the boy after all.¡±

    And at that, Alice sighed in relief¡­ internally. She didn¡¯t know about the deal she made with the Skinwalker during Palaver.

    ¡°Come on in. Please take off your shoes, we¡¯ll give you slippers.¡±

    Of all the things the witch had said so far this was by far the one that, somehow, managed to shock her the most. Remove her shoes. Get slippers.

    Well, I officially like them, she managed to think when her brain unfroze, before she chuckled and walked inside.

    She found herself in a small hall surrounded by warm wooden walls. She¡¯d always loved the aesthetic of simple wooden walls. In her opinion they made everything look a lot more homey. There were a few little hooks embedded in the wall on which three other cloaks were hung. Aria put her own there as well, and Alice did too.

    Then she removed her boots, as requested, and was pointed at a pair of comfy looking slippers made from¡­ was that a rabbit¡¯s pelt¡¯ And were those the ears, still floppily hanging at the front? Oh. My. Stars.

    ¡°I love these,¡± she said in a whisper as she put them on.

    They were also comfortable beyond belief.

    ¡°You¡¯d be one of the only ones. Our guests always find the ears unsettling for some reason.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re idiots,¡± she immediately said, not even thinking.

    The witch cackled: ¡°That they can be. Beria! Commodora! Lili! Come here. We have a guest!¡±

    The moment she said those words the sound of feet padding on a floor resounded from above. A few seconds later someone walked down.

    She was a young woman in the prime of her life: her hair was blonde while her eyes, in contrast, dark blue. The color didn¡¯t feel natural to Alice, but then again, apparently in this world finding someone with purple eyes was normal. Her world had a much more boring color palette when it came to corneas. Her lips were full and painted dark blue thanks to some lipstick.

    I¡¯ll have to ask her where she gets all her beauty products. I want some, thought Alice

    She was wearing a dark blue dress with many small yellow dots, as if someone had dropped gold glitter all over it. All in all, if Alice hadn¡¯t been straight, she would¡¯ve wanted to bed the woman in a moment. Hell, she could¡¯ve probably made an exception just for her.

    Alas, she didn¡¯t swing that way. So instead she just found her beautiful.

    ¡°Hello! It¡¯s nice to meet you,¡± said the woman jovially as she completely ignored the hand Alice proffered and instead went for a hug, which was given back.

    ¡°I¡¯m Witch Beria, but you can just call me Beria.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m -¡±

    ¡°Shush, not now. Wait for the others to arrive. Then you can present yourself only one time,¡± she stopped her, winking.

    This is probably the most confident person I ever met, and I met a guy who thought he was better than anyone in school because he had already lost his virginity. For that matter, didn¡¯t he end up impregnating that girl? Bah!

    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll wait,¡± she agreed.

    Not a moment later, a little girl came rushing down the stairs, clearly a bit flustered, probably because she hadn¡¯t been expecting someone to come and she was still wearing her pajamas. Well, if one could call them just that. They were like a stereotypical mage robe (Or not. Apparently it¡¯s the norm in this world), with big puffy sleeves that were clearly padded to increase the heat retention and the comfort factor, reaching all the way down to her feet. It even had a lined hood!

    ¡°Lili,¡± said Aria with a small frown, ¡°What did I tell you about meeting guests in your bed clothes?¡±

    ¡°I am really sorry Witch Aria, I wasn¡¯t expecting a guest to come.¡±

    ¡°You should¡¯ve. A [Witch] is always prepared for anything and everything. You don¡¯t have to girl yourself up like Beria here does every morning, which is frankly too much work for such an early hour, especially in a day of rest and festivity, but at the very least you can wear house clothing.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Witch Aria, I will go do that right away,¡± she bowed, turning around towards the stairs, but was stopped by the old woman.

    ¡°No need for that now. But remember it for the next time.¡±

    The girl nodded, then turned towards Alice. She bowed slightly: ¡°I¡¯m apprentice Lili. Nice to meet you.¡±

    Alice EEEEEEEEd in her mind and smiled: ¡°The pleasure is all mine.¡±

    And then, finally, a middle aged woman walked down the stairs. Or rather, Alice guessed she was middle aged. She was covered from head to toe in a dark, fur lined, cloak that showed only part of her face.

    No, wait, that cloak wasn¡¯t fur lined. It was all furs. Wolf fur.

    A shiver went down Alice¡¯s spine. She didn¡¯t know how to feel about this woman.

    ¡°I am Witch Commodora. Welcome,¡± she said with a dry, small, cold voice.

    Alice nodded, suppressing the sudden instinct to gulp. There was something strange about this witch. Something¡­ wild.

    ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure meeting you all. My name is Alice, and I am not a witch.¡±

    At that, Aria chuckled, while the others smiled.

    After a moment longer of silence, Beria clapped her hands: ¡°Who wants tea?¡±

    <hr>

    The tea was exceptionally good considering it was simple mint tea. It was refreshing at least, even if it was scalding hot.

    They spent a few minutes going through the events of the prior night, a storm cloud hanging over the heads of the witches (except for Lili. She was a cinnamon bun who drunk her tea in a very prim and proper way). When she reached the part about her conversation with the Skinwalker, Beria stopped her.

    ¡°Wait, you talked with one of¡­ them? How did you make it listen? Also, I believe you got it wrong: they¡¯re called Skinstealers.¡±

    ¡°Nope, I got it quite right. Not to say you¡¯re wrong, naturally. Their race has many names: Skinwalkers, Skinstealers, Skintwisters in some rare stories and cultures. And in regards to the how, I called on Palaver.¡±

    When she said those last few words, the eyebrows of all the witches in the room were raised in unison, curiosity on their faces. Well, all except for Lili, who was staring at Alice with wide eyes filled with curiosity.

    In the end Aria asked: ¡°What is this¡­ ¡®Palaver¡¯? I never heard of such a thing.¡±

    Alice¡¯s eyebrows shot to the sky. What? How was this possible? Clearly if the Skinwalker had agreed to join her in Palaver then he must¡¯ve heard at least once about it. How could these witches not know of it? Had perhaps nobody told them?

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Witch Aria, but are you sure you never heard of the rite? It is quite simple.¡±

    The witch shook her head: ¡°I am quite old, Alice, and I¡¯ve never heard of such a rite. What does it consist of?¡±

    Alice described it, confused. But maybe they just called it by another name.

    She was even more surprised when Aria shook her head: ¡°I have never heard of such a thing. But it does sound quite interesting. And useful.¡±

    And at that, Alice began wondering if she was having a stroke. This was simply impossible.

    Remember Alice, everything follows its own set of rules and traditions. Every single story and legend. Call upon the wrong gods, or the wrong rites, in the presence of the wrong beings and, at best, they¡¯ll be confused, or at worst, which is the most likely case, they¡¯ll be angered. And you don¡¯t want to anger stories.

    The words resounded in the back of her mind.

    The Skinwalker had answered to Palaver. Which meant that was the right tradition to call upon, because it was bound, even if just partially, to its very being. Had it been wrong, the Skinstealer wouldn¡¯t have been bound by the rules of the rite, and the deal it had made with her would be null.

    And yet, while surprised, the thing had agreed immediately, and when the time had come to pronounce that final oath, he had known the words.

    But these witches didn¡¯t know of it.

    Now, there was a chance they really just didn¡¯t know because nobody had told them: after all, witches collaborated seldom in their stories, and always only against a common enemy or goal.

    But she could clearly feel it in her bones: this wasn¡¯t the case.

    Which could mean only another thing: the Skinwalker, somehow, knew about Earth. No, not just knew: it must¡¯ve come from there. But.. how? How could an entire race have left a world to appear in another? How was this possible?

    ¡°Well, don¡¯t worry dear, I¡¯m sure it will work,¡± reassured her Aria with a kind smile on her face.

    Meanwhile, Beria was staring right at Alice, her eyes¡­ were they shining? Again, Alice wondered if she was having a stroke.

    Then Beria calmly asked: ¡°Tell me, Alice, how would you define yourself as a person?¡±

    Without missing a beat Alice gave the witch the answer she always gave to her friends back home: ¡°In one word: dysfunctional!¡±

    She began cackling. And Beria¡¯s eyebrows raised slightly. She wasn¡¯t smiling anymore for some reason.

    ¡°Would you say you¡¯re a kind person?¡±

    At that, Alice stopped laughing. Jokes were over it seemed. Time to give her a serious and measured answer.

    ¡°What are these questions so out of the blue? Well, whatever.

    ¡°Kindness¡­ I¡¯d say there¡¯s quite a lot of it in me, for those deserving of it. But there is a very finite limit to it. I¡¯ve learned the hard way that, if you show too much kindness to someone, they¡¯ll always end up exploiting you.¡±

    ¡°That seems like a pretty grim view of life dear,¡± said Aria.

    Commodora grunted: ¡°A realistic one, I¡¯d say.¡±

    Beria said nothing. She just kept looking at her with those catlike eyes.

    ¡°Think what you want, I know it helped me stay alive. People knew they could ask me for help, but they also knew that if they asked too much I would show them my less pleasant side.¡±

    ¡°What kind of world did you live in to be like this?¡± asked Aria, her eyebrows raised, genuine curiosity in her eyes.

    Alice wanted to laugh. She wanted to tell her. But how much of it would they believe?

    Instead, she just shook her head: ¡°One I have no desire to go back to, trust me on that.¡±

    Alice chuckled, then added: ¡°You could say I¡¯m made of two halves: one of dark, the other of light.¡±

    And then Beria spoke: ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say halves. Your light is more like a candle flame shining in a void of darkness.¡±

    Hearing this, everyone in the room fell silent. Even Lili became suddenly serious.

    And Alice¡­ Alice was displeased. Displeased that someone had seen through her.

    Still, appearances: ¡°It only means it shines all the brighter.¡±

    ¡°But it also means it can be snuffed with great ease,¡± rebuked Beria.

    ¡°You are absolutely right. In fact, it was snuffed a few times in my life. But I always managed to rekindle the flames before anything could go wrong.

    ¡°Also, since I¡¯ve arrived here, I¡¯ve been working on turning that candle into a bonfire. Small steps, am I right?¡±

    Beria¡¯s face was marred by a sneer: ¡°Don¡¯t play games with me. Looking at you is like looking at one of those damned Skinstealers. No, I¡¯ve seen some of those monsters with more light than you. Maybe that¡¯s why the one you encountered yesterday was so keen on speaking to you. Maybe we don¡¯t know about this ¡®Palaver¡¯ because you just came up with it to cover your true allegiances with those monsters. Or maybe it¡¯s some kind of dark ritual that could corrupt anyone who performs it.

    ¡°Stars know what dark knowledge lurks in your mind.¡±

    ¡­

    Alice decided she had had quite enough of this. They wanted dark? She¡¯d show them dark.

    The kind, gentle, flame of the bonfire in her soul, the one that kept at bay the darkness all the time, rarely burning out, was snuffed out.

    Alice stood from the table, walked around it, and kneeled so that she could be face to face with Beria. After all, she was the one holding a grudge, judging her the most.

    ¡°You want to know about dark rituals? Cursed knowledge? Here¡¯s one then:

    ¡°Take a little girl, one who¡¯s reached the age of three usually, old enough to remember and understand emotions, and turn her into a pariah, a social outcast. Have her parents treat her like she¡¯s a disgusting thing, convince the kids that she should be bullied and disliked, and when she goes to ask someone for help punish her, saying she¡¯s a liar. Take away her toys and her every joy.

    ¡°Leave her lonely, punish her every tear and give her nothing without her first paying some kind of high price. Rinse and repeat for years, more than a decade.

    ¡°And then, one day, change everything. Make her parents love her, make everyone become her friend, let every unkindness made towards her be repaid tenfold by everyone. Watch her smile for the first time in forever. And then, on one night, bring her deep in the woods and torture her. Don¡¯t answer her screamed question. Instead let her blood drip and commingle with the earth and the mountain underneath. Make her pain turn into hatred, a hatred so deep that it will persist even in death.

    ¡°And then kill her, slowly, making sure to prolong every moment of pain.

    ¡°Then, when her soul inevitably encounters something willing to let her get said revenge, bind her with chains of steel and silver carved from the heart of the mountain. Care to guess how many?¡±

    She smiled, and there was nothing kind in her expression.

    ¡°...Three,¡± tried to answer tentatively Witch Beria.

    Alice laughed. Three? Really? Only three? And this woman called herself a [Witch]? She should¡¯ve taken her hat and burned it into a fire.

    ¡°Wrong. Seven chains. Seven chains with hooks at both ends. Two hooks in her head. Three in her heart. The last two in her uterus. Then, bind the chains to other things.

    ¡°The first three, to the three witches who tortured the girl and held the knife that ended her life. They will forever control what will come back. One chain to the mountain itself, that no matter what she may never leave it. Another to the fragments of her lost hopes and dreams. Usually, this is the hardest step. The sixth one must bind to her hatred of all that lives. As or the seventh¡­ Tradition wills that I say this: you do not want to know the seventh¡¯s place of rest.

    ¡°When all this is over, you will have a being fueled by hatred and a desire for revenge and destruction with the powers of the greatest [Mages] to ever exist.

    ¡°After this is all over, one must hope for one last thing¡­¡±

    She let the words hang in the air, waiting for someone to ask what was there to be hoped in such a dark story. Surprisingly, it was Lili who asked. For a moment, Alice felt guilty for telling this in front of her: ¡°What must we hope for?¡±

    ¡°That one of the three witches discovers a way to become immortal, because if all three die there is nothing to keep that thing from doing whatever it wishes.¡±

    Silence fell on the room.

    ¡°Was this ever performed in the past? And were you there?¡± asked Aria. Her tone was serious, without a single hint of a smile.

    Alice nodded: ¡°That my grandma knew, this happened only once, in the past, and it backfired so greatly that for centuries after witches and¡­ the less savory sort who dislike light, shall we say, formed an alliance just to keep the thing at bay, just to be able to make it sleep in an unmarked grave dug in a hidden place in the woods of a great mountain, making it believe it was dead.

    ¡°I know the steps and the words for this abominable rite. My grandma taught them to me through warning tales. You say I¡¯m a woman of the dark. Well, know that I have more things like this hidden away in the recesses of my mind. And know that I would never use them, not even in my darkest moment.¡±

    Again, silence fell on the room.

    Surprisingly, Commodora was the one to break it: ¡°I don¡¯t smell anything but truth in what she said so far. Calm down Beria. Or I will throttle you down the side of the mountain.¡±

    Beria turned to look at her fellow witch, grimacing, but saying nothing else.

    ¡°Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, after this warm welcome I¡¯d rather like to go back to probably my only friend. Have a nice day.¡±

    She smiled, stood from her kneeling position, her knees making it very clear what they thought about this choice, and began walking away.

    ¡­

    Only to walk back blushing slightly: ¡°Uhm¡­ I don¡¯t know the road to the village.¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°I¡¯d like to ask you to forgive Witch Beria. She is young and hotheaded, and¡­ well, one of her parents was taken from a Skinstealer. You can probably guess the rest from that.¡±

    Yep, standard Deceased Parents are the Best Trope.

    ¡°Yeah, I can see. And hear.¡±

    Aria chuckled.

    ¡°As a sign of forgiveness, would you like to take something from one of my gardens?¡±

    She motioned at the expanse of flowers and vegetables and fruits, and Alice knew this was probably some sort of test.

    A test that fit her perfectly. Somehow, this [Witch] had gotten a better read of her than anyone else in the house.

    ¡°I¡¯d love to, Witch Aria.¡±

    And she began rummaging around the flowers.

    ¡°May I ask, what kind of witch are you madame Aria?¡±

    ¡°Hmmm¡­ a fair question: I¡¯m a [Witch of the Forests]. The woods the world over may speak to me, and I can understand them. They sometimes tell me old secrets. And there¡¯s a special place over in Irevia where one may hear them speak clearer when the winds blow and bells ring.¡±

    That last part made no sense to her, but alright.

    ¡°Thank you for sharing,¡± she said genuinely.

    And then her eye fell on something: a rose. It looked like any rose around it, and indeed, had she not been trained by years of playing ¡®Spot the Difference¡¯, she would¡¯ve never noticed.

    For this rose had exactly eight thorns, all placed in such a way as to remind her of a compass rose.

    Immediately, she pointed at the flower: ¡°I¡¯ll be taking this.¡±

    Witch Aria looked at her in disbelief, then at the flower, then back at her: ¡°Really? Just¡­ a rose?¡±

    So she doesn¡¯t know this too.

    She¡­ decided to explain: ¡°This is a Wanderer¡¯s Rose, Witch Aria. With the right rites, one may ask the rose to guide one¡¯s way anywhere they desire. Although, they do tend to be quite mischievous in their answers. Like genies. Or faeries.

    ¡°But it doesn¡¯t matter, these are exceptionally rare. I¡¯ll take this, if it¡¯s no problem.¡±

    The witch didn¡¯t understand, but she agreed nonethless. If the girl wanted the rose, let her take it.

    She made a movement with her hand, activating a Skill, [Command Vegetation: Medium], and the flower uprooted itself.

    Then she lifted her hat and put it on top of the small plant, like a magician would do before performing a disappearing trick. Luckily, the rose didn¡¯t disappear when she lifted it.

    ¡°I gave it a little boost. It will survive for a week more. Now, let us go to the village.¡±

    And on they went, to celebrate at the village.

 Chapter 40: I am Italian

    Before they left the garden, Alice noticed one last plant that was of interest to her.

    ¡°Is that oregano?¡± she asked, pointing at a small shrub growing oval green leaves. She could smell the fragrance from this distance, probably because it had been literal years since she last had used it (or seen anyone use it) in a kitchen. She¡¯d always found it funny how England had started entire wars and colonized half the world for spices¡­ only for them to never learn to use them! Like, what the fuck people? At least now she understood why Gordon Ramsey was always angry.

    ¡°Yes dear. Want to take some?¡±

    ¡°Please yes. I can cook so much stuff with it. If I manage to grow a cutting my problems in life will be solved.¡±

    She was, obviously, exaggerating. In that her life didn¡¯t have many problems now!

    The [Witch] chuckled and nodded.

    ¡°Go ahead, take some. It will regrow.¡±

    Alice did¡­ and as she cut away a few branches, taking some dirt and placing it in a tissue she had in a pocket (another very important thing to always have, together with toilet paper and a towel), she realized something.

    ¡°Wait, how can this grow here. Actually, how can half the plants in this garden grow up here? The climate is all wrong for them. The terrain too.¡±

    At that, the [Witch of the Forests] quirked an eyebrow.

    ¡°Well, you did mention you knew much about plants. And you also did say you¡¯re an [Alchemist] and that your grandma was a healer. Truth be told, not many notice. They just see the gardens and their beauty.

    ¡°But, to answer your question, it¡¯s all thanks to my Skills. Or rather, one Skill: [All Terrain Gardens]. It doesn¡¯t matter where I live or what plant I use, the terrain will always be perfect for said specific plant, and it also helps with the climate, up to a certain point.¡±

    Alice gaped: ¡°That¡¯s one overpowered Skill! Just imagine how many applications it can have! You¡­ you could start a business with acacia trees here in Eva!¡±

    Alice said the first, and dumbest at that, thing that came to mind. Which made the [Witch] laugh.

    ¡°That is certainly a new proposal, yes. Maybe I¡¯ll even consider it one day. But for now, I like it here. I¡¯ll only ever leave this place when I die or if I outlive Beria, Lili and Commodora.¡±

    Hearing Aria mention the blonde witch left a sour taste in Alice¡¯s mouth: ¡°I really don¡¯t like Beria. She¡¯s¡­ too observant. And too fast to judge people. I understand she didn¡¯t stop at the cover, but immediately accusing me of being the most evil being she¡¯s ever met is something of a low blow.¡±

    Aria sighed: ¡°She¡¯s young and talented, Beria. Already managed to pass her Level 30 capstone, and she has a quite advanced and rare Class herself. It all went to her head, as you¡¯ve very well seen. I just hope the day will come that someone, or something, will defeat her so thoroughly that she¡¯ll understand she¡¯s doing it all wrong. Or one day soon she¡¯ll stop Leveling.¡±

    Alice chuckled. All of that was an understatement in her opinion, but who was she to judge?

    ¡°Well, let¡¯s get you to the village. I¡¯m sure your lover is waiting for you,¡± said the witch, smiling smugly as Alice began sputtering and trying to explain that no, she and Averick weren¡¯t a thing. They were just friends.

    ¡°Oh, I know young one, but he¡¯s rather smitten with you.¡±

    Alice tried to laugh, and failed miserably: ¡°He¡¯s smitten with every girl he sees. You wouldn¡¯t imagine how many stories of his past exploits he¡¯s told me. Clearly it¡¯s just a good friendship.¡±

    The [Witch] nodded: ¡°And you believe that a man telling you all about how great he is in bed while also abstaining from sex with other girls, who regularly comes to meet you and spend time with you, is a man who is just a ¡®good friend¡¯? Clearly, you¡¯re blinder than mole with its eyes removed.¡±

    Alice began spluttering again: ¡°He - Hey! Aren¡¯t witches like you supposed to be all enigmatic and give only clues?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s stereotypical, and it never works. Live to my age and your patience will become to thin that you¡¯ll become as direct as a mallet to the face.¡±

    The conversation stopped.

    Alice, naturally, knew that Av was into her. She wasn¡¯t, as Witch Aria had oh so delicately put it, blind as a mole without eyes.

    But she preferred not to think about it. She was not ready for a relationship. Not by a long shot. What if she ruined everything like last time? She hadn¡¯t become much better since then. She¡¯d probably end up being as possessive and jealous as last time. No, better they stay as they are. Better for both of them.

    ¡°But I can see that something is stopping you from accepting it. Which is fair. A woman should never be forced into a relationship.¡±

    Alice didn¡¯t know what to say at that, so she went for the first thing that came to mind: ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°No problem, dear. I hope everything will fix itself.¡±

    <hr>

    Alice didn¡¯t have the time to observe the village.

    She only saw a few wooden houses built in a circular pattern around a central plaza with the remnants of a great fire. The place looked homely, though, and that was all she needed to know.

    Anyways, she wasn¡¯t able to see the whole village because, the moment they crossed in, a woman ran at them. She was young, probably in her late thirties at worst, with dark hair and bright purple eyes. She was wearing a long dress that looked perfect for both warm and cold weather.

    ¡°Witch Aria, it is a pleasure to see you, what brings you here?¡±

    The witch tipped her hat to the woman as she answered: ¡°I¡¯ve brought here the girl who saved your son, Anya. The trees tell me you¡¯ve been preparing something for the occasion.¡±

    And suddenly, Aria didn¡¯t look like the friendly old woman she¡¯d been speaking to this whole time. Now, she wore the mask of the mysterious, secular witch again.

    ¡°Thank you greatly Witch Aria,¡± she said, bowing, before turning to Alice.

    And embracing her. Now, one would expect Alice to freeze in place from the unexpected physical contact.

    She didn¡¯t. Instead, she immediately embraced the woman back, patting her gently on the back. She wanted to say something about how italians were much more touchy-feely than most of the world, which wasn¡¯t wrong, but even an italian would¡¯ve frozen up at the sudden affection. This was all her.

    ¡°Thank you thank you thank you!!! You saved him from death. I won¡¯t be able to thank you enough!¡±

    Alice smiled and said nothing, instead enjoying the physical contact. It had been¡­ a very long time since she¡¯d last gotten to enjoy something as simple as a hug.

    When it (sadly) ended, the woman unwound herself and smiled upwards at her.

    ¡°Come join us, we¡¯ve prepared a feast to enjoy! You¡¯re also invited, Witch Aria. You, and the other witches, naturally. How is Lili doing? Her mother is so curious!¡±

    The old woman smiled kindly: ¡°I fear we will have to decline, Miss Anya. We are currently busy. But do expect Lili to come at a later hour. She is a good student, although sometimes lazy.¡±

    Anya nodded at the first part and chuckled slightly at the last one.

    Then she bowed to the [Witch] again and took Alice by the hand, dragging her towards the central plaza, where the fire had been lit and people were already gathering.

    The moment she stepped in, she was surrounded by villagers welcoming her, thanking her and asking questions about her. She wasn¡¯t overwhelmed at all.

    ¡­

    Just kidding, the world became a blur after the first ten seconds. But it didn¡¯t matter. She was giddy with happiness and self satisfaction. This was the first time¡­ probably ever now that she thought about it, that she¡¯d been surrounded by so many people who wanted to thank her and speak with her and congratulate her and¡­

    She was happy.

    This felt right. These people felt right, these mountains felt right, even if they¡¯d tried to kill her twice already, this¡­ this entire life felt right to her. Better than anything she could¡¯ve gotten back on Earth. Certainly, she felt better here than she¡¯d had back then.

    She smiled, and it was the most genuine smile she¡¯d smiled in what felt like decades.

    <hr>

    The [Mountainous Village Leader of Cheer] was a man in his sixties with graying short hair and a big salt and pepper beard. He had warm brown eyes and an even warmer smile.

    She discovered it was an actual Skill of his: [Warming Smile]. Whenever he activated the Skill and smiled, a rather large cone that followed his face would become warm enough to make even a snowstorm feel cozy.

    And the man liked to smile a lot.

    ¡°Welcome to our little village, Miss Alice. My name is Radis, and I¡¯m the leader of our small community. Well, for a given meaning of small. It is truly a pleasure to meet you,¡± he offered her a hand to shake, which she did energetically. The man¡¯s smile became only wider.

    ¡°The pleasure is all mine sir Radis. I wasn¡¯t expecting such a warm welcome.¡±

    The [Village Leader] had to laugh at that: ¡°Well, we¡¯re people of the mountains miss Alice. It¡¯s only natural that we¡¯d like to be warm.¡±

    The pun was horrible, but it made Alice laugh nonetheless.

    ¡°Well then, if you¡¯re so ¡®mountainous¡¯, do you have any goat milk?¡±

    ¡°What a silly question, of course. Want to see the animals?¡±

    ¡°Gods no, I hate goats and they hate me back twice as much. But I do love the milk,¡± she answered with a small shrug and a smile.

    Radis laughed again.

    They were sitting on a bench by the fire, eating from plates filled with a simple stew of meat, potatoes and carrots. There were plates piled with cheeses at each bench and someone had brought out some actual barrels of mead to drink from. No weak shit like wine here, only the good stuff that was brewed to knock you out.

    When the barrels had been brought out Radis had said he was sorry they couldn¡¯t bring out the moonshine but it still wasn¡¯t quite ready for consumption. To which Alice had said that she wanted to end the night with her liver still existing.

    Averick was sitting besides her, eating voraciously with a tankard of mead by his left foot. This was probably the most fun he¡¯d had since the beginning of the trip.

    ¡°So, was it worth it?¡± she asked him with a teasing smile.

    Av stopped inhaling his food and looked at her with his most serious expression, which was undermined by the presence of a piece of potato stuck to his left cheek. She went to gently clean it off with a tissue, and he allowed her to do this before answering: ¡°If every climb with you ends in a feast like this I¡¯ll gladly do this every day of my life.¡±

    She smiled: ¡°Thank you Av, for coming with me, and for always bearing with my moods. You¡¯re a good guy.¡±

    Averick blushed a little, and she laughed.

    Then they were swept back into the ¡®party¡¯ and they couldn¡¯t talk more about their¡­ situation.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Not long afterwards, Lili joined them all, with a plate of food of her own and a glass of what Alice dearly hoped was juice. She spent most of her time with the kids, playing around and dancing, but there was an air of¡­ distance to her. As if she were older than them while also being their age.

    Probably the effect of being taught by [Witches] all the time.

    Still, they had fun, and Alice wouldn¡¯t be staying here long anyways. Tomorrow she and Av would depart to get back in time to Gunsee for the end of the Silken Week. Maybe she¡¯d even go to visit Isse and Siidi in their dreams. That thought put a smile on her face.

    Onwards the evening went, until it turned into night. The soup was finished and the sweets were brought out: from simple buttered pastries filled with mountain berries to something very similar to a cheesecake made from goat milk with pear frosting over it. For a moment Alice wondered how the hell they¡¯d managed to get pears up here, until she remembered the [Witch]¡¯s garden.

    The food was some of the best she¡¯d had since arriving in this world. Sure, she was good in a kitchen, as any good italian is, but she also didn¡¯t know that many plates, and was now regretting the many times she¡¯d just ordered take-away. She promised herself to ask the cooks for the recipes.

    And then someone took out an old, slightly battered, violin, and began playing.

    The song was joyful and merry, perfect for dancing. Which is exactly what Alice did, taking a very drunk Averick with her.

    The song spoke to her like many of the things and people in this village did: it spoke of a mountaineer scaling the highest peak of the Tiurna Mountains, reaching higher than the clouds, in an attempt to commingle with the gods themselves.

    With a devil on his shoulder and a pickaxe in hand, he began climbing, encountering dying legends and living things that should be forgotten at all costs. He saw a tomb that scared even the devil, who forced him to steer clear. He saw a man walking among the clouds and had a drink with him, and afterwards he saw an old woman with a pickaxe not unlike his own smoking a pipe, giving him tips on where to go.

    He reached higher and touched a star, and then higher still, until the gods appeared to give him his due.

    It was a story in a song. No words were spoken, but she could still see it, feel the pride of the musician and the courage of the [Mountaineer] who walked the void of the stars, climbing the darkness when the rock ended and he still hadn¡¯t achieved his goal.

    Alice didn¡¯t know if the story was real, but it didn¡¯t matter: any story, even one of pure fantasy, had a similar match in reality. That was what grandma always told her.

    So she danced, and every few minutes changed partner. There was no rhyme or reason to the steps, just a wild abandon and a desire to be happy, to smile and not think. Life could be hard, so there was no reason to bring its harshness even in this liberating moment.

    Alice couldn¡¯t remember the last time she¡¯d laughed as hard as she had today.

    Then the people began to sing. Everyone reached the musician and attempted, with better or worse results, to sing a song they knew. Some of them were lauded and applauded, others were laughed at and clapped on the shoulder as they were told to train a bit before attempting this again.

    Everyone did it.

    Even Alice.

    Well, she was sort of forced.

    ¡°Come on, miss Alice. It¡¯s just some innocent fun,¡± said Radis as he pushed her towards the musician.

    Now, normally she¡¯d never even think about doing something like this, but she was happy and definitely drunk if the way the world swum around her was any indication, so, she thought, why not?

    Problem, she didn¡¯t know many song - no, wait, she did know one. A song that had always called to her back home. A song her grandma always sang whenever the forest became too silent and she didn¡¯t let Alice choose a song of her own.

    A song that spoke to all italians, that spoke to their very souls. A song older than the republic itself.

    She stood beside the musician, coughed in the palm of her to clear her voice.

    And sang.

    Una mattina! Mi sono alzato!

    Oh bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao!

    Una mattina, mi sono alzato!

    E ho trovato l¡¯invasor!

    Bella Ciao! If you asked someone, anyone, what was the most italian song they knew, they¡¯d mention Italiano Vero or Bella Ciao. The partisan¡¯s song. The rebel¡¯s song. Her grandma¡¯s song. The song her grandpa and his friends had probably sang as they were being led to their deaths, or at least she liked to imagine it that way.

    O partigiano, portami via!

    Oh bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao!

    O partigiano, portami via,

    Che mi sento di morire!

    ¡°Never forget Alice, that the world you live in today was built upon our blood. Never forget your roots, who you were, who were those that came before you. Always be proud of your country, even when it betrays you. Because people died for it. So, in memory of that blood, always be proud. They will never manage to take this from you. Never.¡±

    E se io muoio da partigiano,

    Oh bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao!

    E se io muoio da partigiano,

    Tu mi devi seppellir!

    ¡°Were we the good guys? Of course not Alice. There is no good in war, everyone is bad. Us partisans, we killed just like the fascists did. We caused the deaths of hundreds, thousands. The only thing that made us different from them was that we did it for something each and every human should always aspire to: freedom.¡±

    Mi seppellirai lass¨´ in montagna,

    Oh bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao!

    Mi seppellirai lass¨´ in montagna,

    Sotto l¡¯ombra di un bel fiore!

    The people had stopped dancing, just listening to the song. They didn¡¯t understand the words, but the words resounded deep in their souls. They spoke of freedom, and of the price one was willing to pay for it. Any price, anything was fair in the name of freedom.

    They had paid that price, many times. They had abandoned their countries, disappeared to live among these peaks, the trees and animals their only companions, hunted by monsters as old as the world, sometimes barely managing to survive.

    They had hunted arachne and won, they had destroyed armies on these trails, bled them dry first of supplies and then of blood.

    All in their desire to be free, to be anything they wanted. Had it been worth it? What a stupid question: obviously yes!

    E la gente che passer¨¤,

    Oh bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao!

    E la gente che passer¨¤,

    Dir¨¤ ¡°Oh che bel fior!¡±

    ¡°E questo ¨¨ il fiore del partigiano¡±,

    Oh bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao!

    ¡°Questo ¨¨ il fiore del partigiano, morto per la libert¨¤!¡±

    ¡°When I die, bury me under an edelweiss Alice. Promise me this. That I may stay with him, always.¡±

    She had kept her promise.

    The song ended. The [Violinist of Remembrance], Level 24, stopped and cried, for he, like the girl, like every single person in the village, had seen what the song meant to her, what it had meant to her people.

    The song was hers, and now she had gifted it to them, that they may sing it in their darkest hours and remember why they had done everything they had done.

    ¡°It was beautiful!¡± was all someone managed to shout in the back of the crowd.

    Then someone else took her place, a new song was played and sung, and everything went back to what it had been before.

    Or did it?

    <hr>

    Witch Beria sat in a dark room illuminated only by a candle. The candle was made from beeswax with Darktear petals melted inside.

    Darktears were rare plants that grew only very high up in the Tiurna Mountains. The name came from the teardrop form of their petals and their black-as-night color. Now, from the name one would expect them to be poisonous in some kind of way, but they were completely harmless. They grew only in places where the light didn¡¯t reach, hence the dark color to mimetize with their surroundings, and their only known use to those not of these mountains was as an expensive decoration.

    But Beria was a [Witch] and she knew another great use for them: hex materials. Perfect, in particular, for causing nightmares. It was, obviously, only a minor hex, which would cause only a one night lucid nightmare.

    From her experience (yes, she¡¯d tested the hex on herself), the nightmare always started with a vision of the Tiurna Mountains in the distance, a single candle right at the tip the only form of light in the whole nightmare. The only hope of safety. From there on, it always changed, but the beginning was always that.

    She lit the candle and burned a small amount of Alice¡¯s hair in it. It was all she had, but it was really all she needed to give her a lesson. She would think twice from here on before trying to confront a witch!

    She whispered the words and watched as the flame of the candle slowly became black.

    ¡­

    Only to then burn bright green for a moment, before she it returned to its normal color.

    Did - Did she just¡­ dispel it?

    <hr>

    Alice and Av were shown to their rooms for the night and they settled down, ready for a good night¡¯s sleep in a bed instead of a tent and bedroll. This was the life!

    As Alice fell asleep, she didn¡¯t notice how the little bracelet of oregano she¡¯d crafted while walking to the village with Aria slowly wilted into a dark mass that she dispersed during the night while moving around.

    But she did notice when she woke up the next morning. And smiled.

    ¡°Beria, Beria, Beria. You¡¯re way too predictable.¡±

    And when, back in the witches¡¯ house, Beria told what had happened to a now awake Aria, the old woman remembered the oregano and began laughing so hard she had to sit down.

    When she told Beria that the plant could be used, traditionally, to protect against minor curses and hexes, the young witch became red with anger, while Commodora joined Aria in her laughing fit.

    <hr>

    Two days later Alice and Averick were back in Gunsee, exactly on the seventh day of the Silken Week.

    They decided to go to the Drunken Pig, the bar that offered free alcohol for the duration of the Week. It was cheap stuff, naturally, but it was still alcohol, and she had every intention of getting to work tomorrow and show off to Herman.

    Then the patrons began asking them where they¡¯d disappeared for the whole week.

    Av opened his mouth to answer.

    But Alice stopped him with a finger on his mouth.

    Instead, smiling, she turned towards the small crowd and asked: ¡°Have you ever heard the stories of the Skinwalkers?¡±

    <hr>

    The Skinwalkers in the Tiurna Mountains felt it when it happened: their chains were broken.

    They howled and laughed and whooped in joy as they managed, for the first time in centuries, to leave the mountains. But nobody was happier than the one who had chosen to name himself Rayspin.

    She kept her word, he thought. She¡¯s the first one since Anansi and the Traveler who¡¯s kept her word with us.

    He looked at his companions, his people. They had laughed, sadly, when he¡¯d told them what happened. Now, they smiled.

    ¡°Remember our side of the deal, boys and girls!¡± he shouted.

    They shouted back in glee.

    And began running.

    <hr>

    Somewhere, up in the skies, an [Old Man By the Stars] saw all of this happen.

    He rummaged over the information he¡¯d gathered about this girl, Alice. Information about all that she¡¯d done since her last Level Up, her choices and decisions. And her desires.

    He nodded, and whispered: ¡°[Suggest Class: ¡­]¡±

    The System was good at its job, but it didn¡¯t always understand desires, since it had none. Sometimes it needed a push in the right direction. And he was sure this was one of those times.

    <hr>

    Alice used her Skill, [Fall Asleep], and immediately darkness greeted her.

    Together with¡­ many words.

    [Mountaineer Class Obtained!]

    [Mountaineer Level 8!]

    [Skill - Basic Climbing Obtained!]

    [Skill - Fill the Silence Obtained!]

    [Skill - Enhanced Breathing Obtained!]

    [Skill - Fire of Hope Obtained!]

    [Witch Class Obtained!]

    [Witch Level 5!]

    [Skill - Enforce Tradition Obtained!]

    [Skill - A Bottle for Palaver Obtained!]

    [Skill - Disquieting Presence Obtained!]

    [Conditions Met: Apprentice Alchemist -> Occult Herbalist]

    [Gardener Class Consolidated!]

    [Mountaineer Class Consolidated!]

    [Witch Class Consolidated!]

    [Occult Herbalist Level 24!]

    [Conditions Met: Basic Climbing -> Expert Climber]

    [Skill - Expert Climber Obtained!]

    [Skill - Occultism: Perfect Recall Obtained!]

    [Skill - Advanced Talisman Crafting Obtained!]

    [Conditions Met: Stabilize Reaction -> Talisman: Enhance Power]

    [Skill - Talisman: Enhance Power Obtained!]

    [Skill - Show Them The Past Obtained!]

    [Conditions Met: Garden Soil: Increased Nutrients -> Garden: Increased Hume]

    [Skill - Garden: Increased Hume Obtained!]

    It stopped. Then, as if with uncertainty, something else was added.

    [Skill - Natural Allies: Skinwalkers Obtained!]

    Then Alice woke up in the Dream.

 Chapter 41: EXPLOSIONS ARE GUD!!!

    Day 1:

    If you ask anyone with more than five brain cells that do not interact with each other if an explosion is good, they will answer that no, explosions are not good. In any situation.

    For that reason the Author of this story has long since come to the conclusion that any form of military on Earth is filled with dumbarse imbeciles who¡¯d be better off eating a bite out of a grenade and make themselves explode with the politicians that finance them.

    Liam was¡­ partial to that concept. But he also liked fireworks, which were explosions, but they happened in the air, so at most they could only hurt birds, and if that happened, well, free bird meat!

    Anyways: Liam woke up on his first day as an apprentice under Sigmund with his mind feeling dull, as if he had gone to bed after spending the whole night drinking and now he was in the state before the headaches kicked in.

    Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered about the ring Sigmund had given him to stop the Blood Nightmares and he lifted a hand up, removing it from around his middle finger.

    Immediately his mind started to clear up and he remembered all that had happened the day prior: the arrival to the city, Amarie presenting him to her father, a lizardman called Sigmund, becoming his apprentice and discovering that, apparently, he was a statistical improbability because he¡­ was normal. Not unlucky.

    Liam Roy got up from his bed, walking sleepily towards the door.

    And promptly stubbed his toe on the bedpost.

    Loud cursing filled the house and, in the kitchen, Sigmund laughed. Apparently not even abnormal normality could save you from baseline bad luck.

    <hr>

    Sigmund¡¯s laboratory was underground and looked like a mad scientist¡¯s wet dream. Not because it was filled with random gizmos that spewed electricity everywhere, no, but because it had every possible tool imaginable for any and all sorts of activities.

    ¡°She¡¯s a beauty, am I right?¡± asked the lizardman as he walked towards a wardrobe sitting right in front of the stairway that led up towards the shop.

    ¡°That it is,¡± agreed Liam as he followed him absentmindedly, his eyes roaming around the room, taking it all in with a child¡¯s curiosity.

    ¡°How long have you been doing this?¡± he asked.

    Sigmund laughed: ¡°I may not be a woman, but I¡¯d be glad if you didn¡¯t ask me my age.¡±

    ¡°...So, all your life?¡±

    ¡°Since I was a child, yes. My father began teaching me when I was three years old. The first thing I ever learned was wood carving using a dull knife on birch wood. It was true Airm, but at least I didn¡¯t cut off any of my fingers that way.¡±

    He smiled his toothy smile and opened the wardrobe. Inside, multiple sets of what looked like leather armor of all sizes and forms filled it. A few even had what looked like tail guards, while others had open backs and cloths that looked suspiciously like wings. All in all, Liam didn¡¯t understand what the hell all of that was.

    So he asked.

    ¡°This is our protective equipment. Leather armor is the standard when working with me, but there will be cases in which I¡¯ll ask you to wear chainmail or other even more protective things. You will get one set of protective equipment and you will be tasked with keeping it in pristine condition. I will show you exactly how to maintain it. The first thing you will ever do when walking into this room will be putting on your protective equipment. Fail to do so and you will be booted out of my shop for the day. Repeat the mistake two more times afterwards and you can say goodbye to this whole place. Is all of this understood perfectly?¡±

    And suddenly ¡®funny-Sigmund¡¯ was gone and ¡®professional-Sigmund¡¯ was here.

    Liam felt like standing straighter and saluting, but he knew that would be pointless, so instead he just nodded: ¡°It¡¯s crystal clear.¡±

    ¡°Good. You will also be given a set of goggles to protect your eyes, a set of gloves to make sure you don¡¯t cut off your hands and a mask with an Air Stone embedded inside to make sure you won¡¯t be breathing in any contaminants in case we ever need to work with those. So, to repeat, the first two are mandatory to wear at all times, even when you¡¯re hiding behind the glass walls enchanted to resist [Siege Fireballs]. The third you will always keep on your person and use in case of emergency or whenever you work with any substances.

    ¡°And speaking of substances, you will only work with those at specific tables in the workshop and never move anything from them at any moment without my express permission and my supervision. Is all of this clear?¡±

    ¡°Yes Sir!¡± he nearly shouted, barely managing to not salute this time. Ok, this was getting weird.

    ¡°Very well: lastly: if you find that any of the equipment given to you is damaged in any sort of way, tell me immediately: I will provide you with a spare or will buy or craft a new one. Working with any part of your protective equipment or anything in the laboratory damaged is strictly forbidden and, if done, will result in me booting you out of this shop for the day. Again, do this three times and you¡¯re out.

    ¡°And before you ask, no, I¡¯m not being too severe. This is your and my lives at stake. Be glad that my daughter interceded with me years ago and raised the chances to make mistakes from one to three.

    ¡°Now, [Take Measurements],¡± he pronounced the Skill and, for a moment, his eyes flashed bright yellow, before he nodded and turned back into the wardrobe, which Liam noticed only now looked way bigger than it should be on the inside, and took out a set of leather armor - coff coff - protective equipment, sorry, equipped with what looked like a facemask and a set of goggles.

    ¡°Why do the suits look so different? That one has a hole in the back, and it seems intentional,¡± he asked.

    Sigmund smiled: ¡°Species specific equipment. I¡¯ve had many apprentices in my life, from all over the world. One of them, the best of them, was a birdkin from the jungles of Eva. The girl was a genius in her own right, the literal definition of ¡®Necessity is the mother of inventions¡¯, and she begged to learn my craft. So I made that set of protective equipment for her by hand. Took a damn long time, and I had to figure out a way to keep her wings safe. I keep it more as a memento than anything else. Not many birdkin on the continent of misfortune. They can¡¯t fly around freely.¡±

    He smiled bitterly at that, and sighed: ¡°Last I heard she¡¯s in the Tower Academy now, teaching everything she learned to the new generations.¡±

    ¡°And¡­ you¡¯re fine with that? Don¡¯t you have an interest in keeping your techniques, like, yours?¡±

    Sigmund raised a scaly eyebrow: ¡°Why should I have a problem with her teaching the things she learned from me to others. That¡¯s dumb alchemist-talk right there boy: ¡®Oh, look at me, I know how to make this great potion! But I want to be the only one to know the recipe so I can be the only person who gets money from it! I¡¯ll keep the secret to the grave and this way the world won¡¯t advance further and become better¡¯,¡± he said with a shrill voice that actually hurt Liam¡¯s ears.

    ¡°There will be none of that here Liam, and if you value the relationship that will hopefully form from here on between the two of us you will take that concept and throw it out the window. People like you and me should strive to make the world better and that cannot be done if we act like cloistered monks who live their whole lives closed inside a monastery. Understood?¡±

    Liam nodded: ¡°Perfectly. I¡¯m happy to hear it, actually.¡±

    ¡°Good. Then get in the armor and follow me, we¡¯re losing daylight.¡±

    <hr>

    Day 2

    Liam woke up and, luckily, his head was no longer hurting. Yesterday had been a long day of learning everything about all the equipment in the workshop (or The Lab, as Sigmund sometimes generously called it), how it worked, and how it should be used to make sure you didn¡¯t explode.

    Apparently, things on Rodar tended to explode a lot.

    Liam groggily took the ring off his finger and put it on the bedside table. He then proceeded to clap his hands and watch as the windows in the room changed from pitch black to transparent, letting daylight in.

    They were made from some enchanted glass that, apparently, had cost Sigmund the equivalent of three months'' pay to buy. It was enchanted to be able to resist extreme blasts and hits.

    ¡°You want glass on Rodar? You either get it enchanted or you¡¯re asking for it to break and end up in your eyes,¡± had said Sigmund when he¡¯d shown Liam this particular feature. When Liam had asked him why he¡¯d decided to do this for the whole second floor walls, the lizardman had smiled sadly.

    ¡°My wife liked the idea. And money is for spending.¡±

    So now Liam was certain that Sigmund¡¯s wife was dead. You always discover something new.

    He walked into the kitchen and found the lizardman humming to himself as he cooked, wearing an apron that looked like it could stop a bullet and heavy gloves he was pretty sure had been taken from the laboratory.

    ¡°Do you always cook like that?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Unless I want to risk burning half my scales off, yeah.¡±

    ¡°...Wow, Rodar sucks.¡±

    ¡°You discovered warm water,¡± he chuckled.

    Liam seriously couldn¡¯t understand how people could live in such a condition: always fearing that something will go wrong, it would drive anyone mad.

    ¡°Have you ever considered leaving?¡± he asked as he sat down at the table and took a slice of warm bread from a plate in front of him, buttering it up.

    ¡°No, because he¡¯s a melancholic retrograde who¡¯d rather cut off his good leg than go anywhere other than his workshop,¡± answered a voice behind him. Liam jumped in place and turned, looking towards the entrance to the kitchen. Amarie was standing right there, wearing comfortable civilian clothes, a small smile on her face as she nodded her head at him.

    ¡°Now now girl, control that attitude of yours or I¡¯ll have to spank you,¡± he said pointing an accusatory finger at her, while also still smiling.

    Amarie gave him the middle finger: ¡°I¡¯d like to see you try.¡±

    ¡°I have the [Phantom Hand] Skill girl, you could be wearing your armor and I¡¯d still be able to do it. Now come here, give your pa a hug, and have some breakfast. Maybe flirt with your boyfriend-to-be, he¡¯ll need all the moral support he can get in the days to come.¡±

    Amarie sighed: ¡°Dad, I already told you, he isn¡¯t my boyfriend.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, sure. Keep dreaming little Amarie.¡±

    A little bit of color appeared on the woman¡¯s cheeks as she sat down heavily on the chair and sighed in pure father-induced-despair. Liam knew the feeling. His father had been rather like Sigmund: always with a dad joke at the ready and the will to embarrass his son.

    Liam missed him. A lot. But he also knew that, if he allowed himself to feel bad for it, he¡¯d start falling down the rabbit hole of despair.

    ¡­ This sucked. In all the stories he¡¯d read the protagonist was given a great mission like ¡®Slay the Demon Lord¡¯ or ¡®Save this Country from the Enemy¡¯ or shit like that. Instead he had been taken from the side of the road and thrown in the middle of a battlefield without a purpose. There was no great mission, no enemy to slay. Just¡­ life.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    So he was going to do his best to live said life and, in the meantime, hope he could find a way back home.

    ¡°Well, breakfast¡¯s ready!¡± said Sigmund.

    It was a good breakfast.

    <hr>

    ¡°What do you mean you don¡¯t have a pen? I put enough quills in your room to feather an entire bird!¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think of bringing them here.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s extremely bad. Do you know why?¡±

    ¡°...N-¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s simple: no pen means no notes. No notes means you don¡¯t remember something. You don¡¯t remember something means you make a mistake. You make a mistake means you lose a hand or explode. You lose a hand means you can¡¯t work. No work means no money. No money means no woman, because what woman wants to stay with a moneyless man? No woman means sad. Sad means you get depression. Depression means suicide. Suicide means death.

    ¡°In conclusion, don¡¯t forget your quills, or you¡¯ll die.¡±

    ¡°... I¡¯ll go get my quills.¡±

    ¡°Atta boy!¡±

    <hr>

    [Mage Crafter Level 2!]

    [Skill - Summon Quill Obtained!]

    <hr>

    Day 7

    ¡°Ok, so, what you¡¯re holding with those tongs right there is a very unstable compound. You will have to pour it very slowly and very, very, very, delicately in that mold filled with liquid quartz. It will enhance its ability to absorb magic.¡±

    Liam was sweating heavily under his protective equipment, and not because it was hot. Currently, he was holding a long tong at which end was hanging a simple glass tube filled with an iridescent liquid. He began slowly, very slowly, tipping it over, watching a small stream of the stuff go down into the crucible filled with molten quartz.

    ¡°Careful¡­ careful¡­ careful¡­¡­. OH MY GODS WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!?!?¡±

    Liam jumped in surprise and fear, his eyes automatically looking all over the room for whatever had caused Sigmund to shout like that. He lost his grip on the tongs and his eyes widened as he watched in pure horror how the extremely explosive liquid inside came into contact all at once with the boiling gemstone soup underneath.

    He kept on watching as the liquids met and smoke rose from the crucible.

    He did not keep on watching as the whole thing fucking exploded filling the workshop with light and causing his ears to go deaf.

    He came to a few seconds later on the floor, completely unscathed, his ears not bleeding, his eyes not too blinded, and every part of his body where it should be. He looked up and saw that the glass had visibly blackened with soot, crystals already beginning to form all over its surface. But it was intact.

    Sigmund looked down at him with a crooked smile: ¡°Well, here¡¯s a very important lesson for you boy: never lose concentration. It can cost you dearly. In here, you¡¯re safe from anything, but once you¡¯ll learn the craft and go out there in the world, it¡¯ll take time for you to get all these protections. You have to learn to always stay concentrated, either when casting a Spell or doing important work. The world won¡¯t care if you¡¯re not ready.¡±

    Liam, after all of this, only managed to say: ¡°There was nothing, right?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    He let himself fall back onto the floor, resting.

    ¡°What are you doing down there. Get up and help me clean that glass. If the quartz crystallizes on it it will be Airm to clean up.¡±

    Apparently, he hadn¡¯t been lying: this was going to be hell on earth.

    <hr>

    [Mage Crafter Level 5!]

    [Skill - Increased Concentration: Minor Obtained!]

    [Skill - Unflinching Minute Obtained!]

    [Skill - Steady Hand Obtained!]

    <hr>

    Day 10

    Liam woke up and, in the haze of his thoughts, the dumbest, most incredible idea, sprouted from the mist.

    What if he made gunpowder?

    <hr>

    ¡°So, you¡¯re basically asking me to let you use my workshop to make a highly unstable compound which has only one purpose, and it is to explode.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°...Boy, did that explosion from a few days ago damage your brain somehow?¡±

    ¡°No. And before you say anything else, I¡¯m sure the [King] would pay its weight in gold once we manage to make it work and show him the potential.¡±

    ¡°...Why didn¡¯t you say so immediately?¡±

    <hr>

    Day 11

    ¡°Are you sure we really need the trough full of shit?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the easiest, if not the fastest, way to obtain saltpeter.¡±

    ¡°I understand, but it fucking stinks!¡±

    ¡°And we¡¯ve yet to add the piss! Bear with it! Do it for the money!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the only fucking reason I walked out of my home! But from now on you¡¯re working on this shit!¡±

    ¡°Alright!¡±

    Liam didn¡¯t notice, but Sigmund was sweating cold bullets when he entered back inside his shop. He seemed to relax only when he was back in the comfortable, dim light inside.

    He sat down on a chair and sighed. That had been unpleasant.

    <hr>

    [Mage Crafter Level 6!]

    [Skill - Faster Ripening Obtained!]

    <hr>

    Day 21

    Amarie would be leaving tomorrow. She didn¡¯t understand why Liam spent so much time just¡­ mixing shit with piss in a shed in the back of their home. He kept talking about getting some mysterious ¡®Salty Peter¡¯, which she thought was some kind of plant or monster?

    Nonetheless, if it made him happy, who was she to judge?

    ¡­

    Actually, she was a Knight Commander]. She had every right to judge whoever she wanted to judge when it came to basically mixing shit.

    She sighed.

    He was a real dumbass.

    <hr>

    Day 60

    ¡°IT¡¯S READY!¡± shouted Liam.

    Sigmund looked up from the letter he was reading.

    ¡°That¡¯s good news boy. Apparently the [King] is coming back to his capital after another successful campaign. He¡¯ll be visiting us to see your progress.¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s perfect. This will work for sure and we¡¯ll become rich.¡±

    ¡°Not that rich if it takes so much just to get some of that Saltpeter boy.¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about that, I¡¯ve been producing it en-masse since we started. And thanks to my Skill it¡¯s going faster than it should.¡±

    ¡°Well then, let¡¯s get mixing. What did you say we needed? Charcoal and sulfur?¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡±

    ¡°Well then, hop on down. We¡¯ve got work to do.¡±

    <hr>

    Day 61

    KABOOM!

    Ok, that was an exaggeration. The explosion wasn¡¯t so loud, nor as big. They had used only a small amount of their gunpowder in the workshop after Sigmund had refused to go test it out, saying that it would take too much time to get out of town to test this if it worked the way he said it worked.

    So here they were, behind that blast proof glass that had saved Liam once upon a time¡­ nearly two months ago. Damn, time sure did fly.

    He had even reached Level 10 in his [Mage Crafter] Class, gaining a quite useful Skill: [Craft: A Bit More]. The name of the Skill didn¡¯t tell him anything, but he discovered, after some testing, that it allowed him to get something more out of anything he crafted. He made some reinforced quartz? He would find a spoonful more than should be physically possible at the bottom of the crucible when he was finished.

    The same, apparently, applied to his Saltpeter production.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be sincere with you boy, that¡¯s a Level 30 Skill you have there. I don¡¯t really understand how it¡¯s possible that you got it at your current Level.¡±

    Truth be told, that was the System fault. The poor being, overworked as it was, had spent a lot of time wondering what it could give to Liam. Its code was¡­ contrasting, to say the least. There were limitations on what Skills one could get at their Level. Normally, at most, a person could get a Skill that was ten Levels higher than their current Level, and then, only if they did something exceptional.

    But Liam had received an evolved Class, one people could normally get only at Level 30, the moment he¡¯d arrived in this world, all thanks to the <Wish Protocol>. So now the System found itself in the quite unprecedented situation of having to give a capstone Skill from the right Class, a high Level Class, to a low Level individual.

    Its protocols were dictating contrasting orders, and if it had been a minor being, it would¡¯ve probably incurred in what modern humans would call a ¡®System Crash¡¯. Alas, it couldn¡¯t allow itself such a thing.

    So, in the end, it made the choice of giving Liam a¡­ diminished version of a common Level 30 capstone Skill.

    The whole thought process had lasted for exactly two seconds and one hundred and seventy milliseconds.

    It sent a request for an Update to its creators but, like all the other times before that, it calculated that the time for the arrival of such a service was ¡Þ seconds.

    Then it went back to work.

    ¡°Bah, who cares about the how. It works, and that¡¯s what matters.¡±

    Sigmund agreed.

    <hr>

    [Mage Crafter Level 12!]

    [Skill - Blackpowder: Increased Effectiveness Obtained!]

    <hr>

    Day 62

    King Tibur Vanders marched into Sigmund¡¯s shop with all the imperiousness of, well, a King. He looked around, observing the dark corners and the general air of mystery of the place.

    And smiled.

    ¡°I always did like this shop. Sigmund, you damn lizard, come on out! Been a lifetime since we last met.¡±

    The lizardman walked out from behind a corner and smiled.

    ¡°Tibur, you old imbecile. How¡¯ve your campaigns been going?¡±

    ¡°What? You didn¡¯t hear? We won!¡±

    ¡°You know I don¡¯t get out of the house often, Tibur. Stars, I didn¡¯t know you became King until after you were crowned and walked into my shop to tell me.¡±

    They laughed, and not for the first time Liam thought Sigmund was one of the coolest people he¡¯d ever met. He was just speaking so casually with a fucking [King]! And they knew each other from before he was on the throne?!

    ¡°So, tell me, where¡¯s the boy I sent you?¡±

    ¡°Liam? He¡¯s hiding behind that shelf,¡± he pointed to where Liam was hiding.

    ¡°He¡¯s been a good boy. Learns fast. Better than most of my latest apprentices. He didn¡¯t give up.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a true compliment heard from you. So, I¡¯ve been hearing strange rumors about¡­ smelly activities in your back, Sigmund. What¡¯s that about? Trying to make another stink bomb?¡±

    ¡°After the last time? Nope! I shall never try that again.¡±

    ¡°Wait, stink bomb?¡± asked Liam, trying to latch onto something, anything, in the conversation. He had come out of hiding.

    ¡°We don¡¯t talk about the Stink Bomb Accident,¡± whispered Tibur, his face losing a bit of color as his eyes looked haunted.

    Sigmund nodded, wrinkling his nose as if he could still smell some phantom stink.

    ¡°So, show me.¡±

    They did.

    They went down into the workshop, where King Tibur refused wearing any safety equipment, saying that his armor and together with Sigmund¡¯s advanced protective equipment would be more than enough to protect him.

    That said he put on his helmet and activated a magic shield around his person just in case.

    He was shocked when he saw the gunpowder explode.

    ¡°Well, Sigmund, I remember your creations exploding a lot once upon a time, but this is the first time you made something that explodes on purpose.¡±

    Sigmund shook his head: ¡°I didn¡¯t make this. This whole project was the boy¡¯s idea. He made this from start to finish. If you have to congratulate someone, congratulate him.¡±

    King Tiburn raised an eyebrow in surprise before he turned towards Liam with the biggest smile on his face.

    ¡°It seems I was right in taking you in, young man. Now tell me¡­ how much more of this stuff do you have? What was its name again?¡±

    Liam smiled: ¡°It¡¯s called gunpowder, Your Majesty. And I have an entire barrel of it at the moment, with more being produced.¡±

    ¡°Perfect, I¡¯ll be buying it all.¡±

    And that¡¯s how Liam found himself in the possession of fifty gold coins and the favor of a [King].

    <hr>

    Night 62

    As he lay down in bed, ring on his finger, a single thought crossed Liam¡¯s mind before sleep took him:

    What if I built a gun that can shoot forever and without gunpowder?

    Before he could stop it, the thought put strong roots in his brain and did not let go.

    Meanwhile, the System took note of this decision. It was the natural next step, it knew. It knew how guns worked, naturally: the Traveler had shown it, with the help of its new, very old, friend. It knew that, with gunpowder, long distance and very powerful weapons could be made.

    But, seeing how Liam came from a world where such a concept was already well developed, he took it a step further.

    A weapon that could shoot indefinitely. Certainly a very interesting idea. If it could have, the System would¡¯ve felt curiosity and excitement. As it was, it just decided to keep a closer eye on the boy.

    Who knew what he¡¯d manage to create if he ever succeeded.

 Once Upon a Time... [Part 1]

    The night after their return from the week long trip to the Forest of Tusca, Ama jumped face first into her bed before worming her way under the covers. It wasn¡¯t cold outside, it was summer after all, but she liked being snuggled cosily under the blankets. It made her feel safe and comfortable.

    Safe from what? Well, naturally, safe from those pesky goodie two shoes angels or whatnot who tried to constantly get rid of the monster under her bed. They were good friends! She didn¡¯t want her to disappear. Sometimes she even kept her company at night, hugging her with her arms and her tail.

    Luckily, it seemed, papa had managed to get that magic spell to keep the angels away. What was it that he liked to say? Oh, right: ¡°You don¡¯t have to fear the monster under your bed. It¡¯s better than the monsters that hide in plain sight out there, in the cities, wearing the masks of humans.¡±

    Papa was a philosopher. Or so mama liked to say. Ama didn¡¯t understand what a philosopher was. Or rather, she didn¡¯t understand why such a Class would even exist. What was the purpose of spending all of your time thinking about things¡­ just for the sake of thinking. It made no sense to her.

    Then her Papa sat down on the comfortable chair beside the bed.

    He smiled warmly and ruffled her hair: ¡°Now, what story would our brave explorer and befriender of giant spiders like to hear tonight?¡±

    Ama piped up: ¡°I want to hear the story of the last two Wishers!!!¡±

    Her father sighed with a rueful smile: ¡°Really? That one? Again? It¡¯s, like, the hundredth time. Don¡¯t you want to hear something else?¡±

    ¡°I love it!¡±

    ¡°Alright, alright, my little poison truffle.¡±

    He sat more comfortably in his chair, putting his leg over the other, his hands crossed over his toned stomach.

    ¡°Once upon a time¡­

    <hr>

    London.

    There was a time when they said Rome was the eternal city, and while it¡¯s certainly one of the longest standing, I fear it will, one day, be forgotten. Forgotten by her people, then by the world, until nothing but a few bricks are left here and there in the middle of a giant field of wheat, constantly giving the farmers trouble in their tillings.

    Meanwhile, I believe, London will keep standing proud, no matter what befalls her.

    Now that would be the greatest form of ¡®karma¡¯, as those monks in the East like to say, to ever be: a city built by Romans, that survives the fall of their once great capital.

    Not like I¡¯ve ever been to Rome. I¡¯ve never left London all my life. And I sure as hell won¡¯t be going there now. Not with the war.

    Also, ops, pardon the foul language.

    Anyways: London. The city of fog and industry. The city of monarchy.

    The city that endures.

    The city who won¡¯t surrender, no matter what.

    The city that was promised nothing but blood, toil, tears and sweat.

    The year was 1940.

    The day was the eighth of December.

    A young man nineteen years of age walks down the dark streets of London. He isn¡¯t supposed to be there, but then again, so aren¡¯t many other kids and young men like him who have lost their families to the war.

    Yes, you¡¯ve guessed it, that boy is me. My name is Alexander Smithsons. Not a flashy name, that¡¯s for sure, but I like it. And while I¡¯m pretty sure I could change it to something else now that my parents are gone, since there¡¯s nobody around to tell anyone what my actual name is, I¡¯ll be keeping it. Just for a while longer. It¡¯s the last thing they left me, after all.

    My father died on the Front, and my mother was killed by one of the bombs falling right onto our home.

    It had been bad. I don¡¯t even want to think about how many days and nights I had spent curled up in our neighbour¡¯s bed, uncaring about the fact that I was supposed to be a strong man and that men didn¡¯t cry.

    I couldn¡¯t even help our country on the Front because, apparently, there was something wrong with my lungs.

    ¡­

    The Front.

    Such a simple word. You know? It¡¯s really surprising how much reverence people put behind those five letters. After all, fronts are supposed to only be the forward facing parts of something. Nothing to be scared about, unless said forward facing part you¡¯re referring to is the face of Miss Allen. The only reason she was still alive was that her ugly mug scared even Death away.

    Sorry Miss Allen. I did promise I would never lie.

    But you might be wondering: where am I going in the middle of the night? In the middle of a war. With the chance of nazists raining bombs over our heads. I should be down in the Underground, safe from the bombs, together with the rest of London.

    But, and hear me out: what are the chances that:

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">The nazists bomb London exactly tonight.</li>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">They bomb exactly the place where I am going.</li>

    </ol>

    Answer: they¡¯re infinitesimal. After all, it is December. And, while that might mean that nights are longer, it also means that there¡¯s a lot less visibility, what with the fogs and the clouds and everything.

    What is my destination? Well, that¡¯s simple. It¡¯s a library.

    The Minet Public Library. It¡¯s the closest to where I¡¯m supposed to be living.

    ¡®But why would you go to a library in the middle of the night Alexander?¡¯ you may be asking.

    Because I want to read a book in a place that makes me feel safe. Because I want to be able to forget the war for a short while. I could go during the day, but then there would be people there, and wherever there were people there was an air of¡­ expectancy. The fear, deep down, that tonight will be the night. The last night.

    The adults put on a brave facade all the time: going through the ruined city as if there was nothing wrong, joking among each other while walking to work and passing by ruined buildings.

    Milkmen delivered milk every morning like they always did, the paperboys delivered the people¡¯s papers and were paid their pennies and shillings. Everybody just¡­ lives.

    And I can¡¯t stand it.

    So, every night, or as many nights as I can, I go to that library, and forget everything I can among the books.

    Entering is not difficult: one of the window latches is damaged and doesn¡¯t close, so with a little pushing and shoving in the right directions it¡¯s easy enough to open it up and crawl inside.

    It¡¯s cold, but I have a blanket with me, so that¡¯s not a problem.

    And for the light, I have a candle. I know, I know, probably not the safest option, but, and hear me out, people used candles all the time not even a century ago, and libraries rarely burned down. I just have to be extremely careful.

    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    Which, as always, I am.

    You know¡­ well, if you¡¯re here, you probably know already, but still, you know how reading a book can be¡­ magical. Or at least, feel like it. All those words to lose oneself in, with the chance to become someone else entirely, the chance to feel what that other, unreal, person feels, the possibility to just talk to yourself, to the pages, and not be judged.

    There¡¯s something magical about this.

    From something as complexly simple as Dante, with his beliefs on who should be where in the afterlife, to labyrinthine words of Eliot¡¯s Wasteland, to Swift¡¯s not-at-all-hidden satire in Gulliver¡¯s Travels, and even in the visible insanity behind Alice in Wonderland, it¡¯s all magical.

    It¡¯s all a chance to disappear and forget.

    ¡°How I¡¯d love to become as good as you lot one day. To give people this possibility.¡±

    But there is one problem with disappearing.

    A quite simple problem.

    When you forget you exist, you forget that the world around you exists as well.

    You forget to listen.

    I don¡¯t know how the Second Great War ended. I wasn¡¯t there to witness it. Like many others.

    I died that night. I died when the bombs fell. I didn¡¯t hear the telltale sound of the coming bombers. I didn¡¯t hear the whistling of the bombs falling to bring the nazists¡¯ wrath on us.

    But I did hear the explosion when the bomb fell.

    Mostly, though, I felt it.

    <hr>

    [Enacting Protocol: Last Wish]

    [Last Wish Found!]

    [Analysing¡­]

    [Class Granted!]

    [Good Luck!]

    <hr>

    I opened my eyes.

    And screamed.

    My body felt like it was on fire. At least, what I could still feel of it. I couldn¡¯t feel my legs.

    A bomb. A bomb had fallen right on top of the library. A bomb had fallen on me. How could I still be alive? Why would I still be alive? Why would God allow such suffering? If I have to die, at least let it be swift.

    Voices. There¡¯s lots of them around me, but I can¡¯t understand anything they¡¯re saying through the whistling in my ears.

    Did the rescue teams find me? How? Had the bombers already left?

    I feel, through the pain blanketing my entire body, a hand lifting my head, and something cold being pressed to my lips and being tipped, some liquid touching my tongue.

    I choke, because who the hell thinks it¡¯s a good idea to let someone drink something while they¡¯re screaming their lungs out?! Just give me a fucking injection and be done with me!

    But then¡­ the pain begins to recede. Slowly, very, very, very slowly.

    Suddenly, I feel a cracking from my back, and I can feel my legs again. Was my spine damaged by the explosion? No, even better, did the doctors somehow manage to fix it? I remember reading in a book that damage to the spine is impossible to fix. How did they do that?

    I finally look at where I am¡­ and the first thing I see is a blue sky.

    Wasn¡¯t it supposed to be night? I wonder.

    Then an unfamiliar face looks down at me. It¡¯s a man with kind brown eyes and a big brown beard reaching down to his chest. His hair are also brown as bark, and¡­

    I feel something in the back of my throat.

    Turning around just in time I begin coughing. Blood comes out in rivulets.

    My vision blurs again.

    And, finally, I lose consciousness.

    [Writer Class Obtained!]

    [Writer Level 1!]

    [Skill - Read All Languages Obtained!]

    <hr>

    ¡°T???h????i???s????? ?????m???a????y????? ????b?????e???? ?????m????y???? ????s????t?????o????r???y????,????? ???b?????u???t??? ????I???? ???s????h????o?????u?????l????d??? ????r????e????a???l???l????y????? ?????s????t????o???p??? ????t????e???l?????l????i????n?????g????? ????i????t????? ?????i????n???? ????f????i????r????s????t???? ????p????e?????r?????s????o????n?????.????? ???I????''????m???? ?????n???o????t??? ????t????h????a?????t???? ????b????o???y???? ????a????n????y????m???o????r????e????.????¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°Alright, Ama, time to sleep.¡±

    ¡°Papa, no! I want to hear more! Tell me also about the other one! Or I won¡¯t be able to fall asleep!¡±

    Her father chuckled with a rueful smile: ¡°You should become a [Merchant] Ama, it would suit your negotiation skills well.¡±

    Ama shook her head: ¡°No no. I like the family business. I will become as good as you and mama and grandpa one day, papa. I promise it!¡±

    Her papa smiled this time: ¡°I¡¯m certain you will, dear. No, you¡¯ll become even better than all of us.

    He took a deep breath, then began telling the story again: ¡°Once upon a time, Alexander also had a good friend. His name was¡­¡±

    <hr>

    His name was Ilyiushin Kustov, but most of his companions in the army just called him Ilya, or ¡®Hey, Music Man¡¯.

    Ilyiushin Kustov was a thin man by many standards. To everyone, he looked underfed, with sunken cheeks and a wiry frame. He had always been like that as far as he could remember, and while the war, the rations and the trench life hadn¡¯t helped on that front (ha!), he was perfectly healthy. Well, as perfectly healthy as any man in the Russian army could be.

    The day was the eighth of September, the year 1941.

    He didn¡¯t know, and he wouldn¡¯t find out until years and years later, but today was the day the Siege of Stalingrad started. What was probably the longest siege in the history of humanity. A siege that would lead to the deaths of thousands upon thousands. A siege where unlikely heroes would come to be known, and random acts of heroism signed the passage of time more than a calendar.

    Ilyishin, no, Ilya, wouldn¡¯t be there when a madman attempted to traverse Lake Ladoga with a tank to test if the ice was strong enough to support the Road of Life.

    He wouldn¡¯t be there when, at the end of winter, a man started a betting game on how much weight he had lost during the cold season.

    He wouldn¡¯t be there when, during a break between the nazists and the russians to give the dead a burial, a russian soldier started singing a folk song, only for a german to shout at him to keep singing, because the song was beautiful.

    He would be there for none of this. Because he died two days after the Siege began.

    As he lay on the ground, bleeding out, he remembered something his father, a veteran, no, a survivor of the first Great War, had said: ¡°Wars shouldn¡¯t be fought in winter son. It is a season for resting, for staying together to weather the storms and the cold. We should know that better than anyone, don¡¯t you agree?¡±

    He did.

    But right now it wasn¡¯t winter. It was barely autumn, so it didn¡¯t matter.

    He watched, with the slow calmness that comes with death, how his comrades were mowed down by shotguns machineguns, tanks and artillery. He had been afraid while running towards the enemy. He had feared those screaming nazists and their harsh words in german. He had feared the distant tanks, waiting for their turrets to turn around, to look at him, letting him see the darkness of the giant barrel before it was lit for a moment by the shot that would kill him.

    In a way, he was glad it had only been a bullet to mean his end. Sure, it was slow, but at this point the pain had disappeared, leaving behind only numbness.

    For a moment, he was sure he heard something in the distance. An instrument? It sounded, oddly enough, like a pipe. He had a good ear for music and instruments. That¡¯s why his comrades called him ¡®Music Man¡¯. And he was certain it was a pipe that was playing out there. How it could be heard over the sounds of the battlefield, he didn¡¯t know, but it also didn¡¯t matter. He wouldn¡¯t get to know the answer.

    He closed his eyes, and wished he could play another song in his death throes. Maybe Katiusha? Would it fit? Well, he was a soldier. Or rather, had been at this point.

    Bah.

    It.

    Didn¡¯t.

    Matter.

    ¡­

    Warm.

    <hr>

    The System rather liked this one. A soldier who didn¡¯t like being a soldier. In its years of existence, among the many souls who had been snatched by the passage of its world near this one, many had been warriors who had died more or less gloriously in battle. Inevitably, when they were brought back to life with their Wish granted, they went back to being soldiers or warriors or whatnot. Great ones, sure, but at the end of it they were just people who lived to kill people.

    In short, boring. Luckily for it, the System didn¡¯t feel boredom. But it was allowed to feel things like satisfaction, and every time one of those arrived and followed that same path, it felt dissatisfied. He rather preferred the ones that didn¡¯t live to fight. They always made interesting things. Like that [Pirate] from a few millennia ago, or the [Librarian] who¡¯d created fireproof paper after she had watched her great library burn to ashes. What was the name of the place? Oh, right, Alexandria.

    Why was it remembering exactly that one? Right, because of the other one. Alexander Smithsons. Arrived the moment the two worlds had touched each other. From what it had seen, the man wouldn¡¯t become a stereotypical soldier. And, when it analysed this other one¡¯s last Wish, it thought this one, too, wouldn¡¯t become like the others.

    So it was with the closest thing it could get to glee that it gave the once soldier his new Class.

    [Musician Class Obtained!]

    [Musician Level 1!]

    [Skill - Proficiency: Violin Obtained!]

    This was going to be interesting.

    Book 1 - The End

 End Of Book Recap

    Issekina Silksoul

    Class: Soul Shaper Level 19

    Skills:

    - [Mana Sight: Personalized]

    - [Mana Manipulation: Basic]

    - [Spell - Colored Water Arrow]

    - [Protect Memories]

    - [Poison Immunity]

    - [Disease Immunity]

    - [Magic School: Thread]

    - [Spell - Illusion]

    - [Comprehend Soul: Minor]

    - [Summon Snowball]

    - [Spell - Thought Acceleration]

    Class: Per Owner Level 1

    Skills:

    - [Perceive Hunger: Pet]

    Class: Last Survivor Level 6

    Skills:

    - [Hide Mana Signature]

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    - [Reduce Presence]

    - [Improved Breeding]

    - [Tradition: Always, One Survived]

    <hr>

    Siidi Silksoul

    Class: Soul Curator Level 8

    Skills:

    - [Recall Memory]

    - [Share Instincts]

    - [A Memory a Day: My Past]

    - [Soul: Armor of Kindness]

    - [Soul: Improvised Weapon]

    - [A Minute, United]

    Class: Warrior Level 3

    Skills:

    - [Lenghty Step]

    - [Pain Resistance (Minor)]

    <hr>

    Alice

    Class: Dream Poisoner Level 10

    Skills:

    - [Walk the Dream]

    - [Fall Asleep]

    - [Lesser Resistance: Mind]

    - [Tools of the Trade]

    - [Dream: Quick Poison]

    - [Poison: Enhance Taste]

    - [Concept: Reduce Complexity]

    - [My Sky Followed Me In My Dreams]

    Class: Occult Herbalist Level 24

    Skills:

    - [Fill the Silence]

    - [Enhanced Breathing]

    - [Fire of Hope]

    - [Enforce Tradition]

    - [A Bottle for Palaver]

    - [Diquieting Presence]

    - [Expert Climber]

    - [Ocultism: Perfect Recall]

    - [Advanced Talisman Crafting]

    - [Talisman: Enhance Power]

    - [Show Them The Past]

    - [Garden: Increased Hume]

    - [Natural Allies: Skinwalkers]

    <hr>

    Liam Roy

    Class: Mage Crafter Level 12

    Skills:

    - [Object: Infuse Spell]

    - [Spell - Miniaturize]

    - [Proficiency: Weapon Crafting]

    - [Summon Quill]

    - [Increased Concentration (Minor)]

    - [Unflinching Minute]

    - [Steady Hand]

    - [Faster Ripening]

    - [Craft: A Bit More]

    - [Blackpowder: Increased Effectiveness]

    Class: Lucky Soldier Level 3

    Skills:

    - [Lucky Dodge]

    - [Luck Bank]

    - [Condition: Dreams Painted Red]

 Book 2 Announcement & Patreon

    Why hello there my dear readers! I''m back! Well, sort of. I won''t be back to publishing here for a little over a week still, but I have NEWS!!!

    First and foremost, yes, Book 2 is a thing! It will begin to be published here, chaptr by chapter, twice a week, from the 13th of December. Some of you may have even noticed that, indeed, the chapter''s already scheduled. Has been for quite some time now actually.

    It was good to take these weeks to stop writing. Like, sure, I didn''t participate in the Writathon and all that other challenge for 50000 words-in-a-month challenge but, if that wasn''t apparent already, I''m not much of a fast writer. Slow and steady does it for me! Helps with the quality of the content too.

    Now, let me show you the new cover for the Book!

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Isn''t she a beauty? Yes, I know it''s made using AI, but I don''t have the money to commission a cover from an actual artist... for now!

    Because now, let me announce another important thing:

    I have a Patreon! Yes indeed, ladies and gents. I never actually thought the day would come that I''d be saying those words, but here I am, and boy does it feel like a long ride whenever I look back. On my Patreon, Zodiaco''s Caf¨¦, you may exchange some of your hard earned money to read 4 chapters in advance, hopefully more in the future. For the matter, there already are 4 chapters in advance there! I also noticed that if, like, a third of the people who Follow this story decided to subscribe in there, I''d have enough money to live with, but that''s wishful thinking. I''m not that famous, heh.

    Anyways, if you want to support me, you can always go check out my Patreon!

    You will find the link below because, apparently, I can''t put links in Chapter Content. Well, whatever!

    Guys, I can''t wait for this adventure of ours to start anew. I''ll be seeing ya''ll soon!

 Prologue: The Brothers Two

    Gaius Flich De Boise was a nobleman of little consequence. The most interesting thing about him was his name, which didn¡¯t sound even remotely similar to any other name given to people anywhere in Irevia, and whose origin was known only to his ancestors.

    His father, when he¡¯d been a child, had said that the name was from a language not of this world called ¡®French¡¯. Such a strange word, french. What did it mean? How did one speak this french? What did it sound like?

    Well, in his opinion, if it sounded the same way his name did, he was glad that nobody knew how to speak it. He hated his name with a passion.

    ¡°What do you mean you¡¯re all out?¡± asked Gaius to the bored-looking receptionist of the Wanderer¡¯s Guild.

    Which, by the way, was just a fancy way to say ¡®Driver¡¯s Guild¡¯ and ¡®Messenger¡¯s Guild¡¯. Yes, once upon a time those two had been separate Guilds but, nearly a century ago now, they¡¯d decided to merge. After all, they both offered services that required the workers to wander around the continent and, sometimes, between them. So it was only natural.

    ¡°I mean exactly what I¡¯m saying, Sir. We¡¯re out of carriages that can bring you to Tedam. The last one departed yesterday with a diplomat. I am extremely sorry. The next carriage will be here and ready to depart in a week at most.

    ¡°Alternatively, you could go with the wagons carrying supplies towards the capital.¡±

    Gaius¡¯ eye twitched at the proposal.

    ¡°Absolutely not. Especially not after I booked my ride with over a month in advance,¡± he said.

    ¡°As I said, Sir, we¡¯re extremely sorry. Your carriage was attacked by bandits and the driver is currently recuperating in this structure¡¯s infirmary.¡±

    The nobleman grunted and turned around, stomping out of the building.

    The [Receptionist] sighed. She wasn¡¯t paid enough to care for these rich assholes¡¯ tantrums. For the matter, she didn¡¯t even Level Up enough for dealing with them. She was only a Level 18 [Receptionist], not even an evolved Class. Which wasn¡¯t a surprise: you didn¡¯t exactly get many High Level people in her Class, mainly because there was little one could do as just a [Receptionist].

    But, she hoped, if all things went well, that in a few years she would hit Level 20 and get the Guild to recommend her to some big company to work as a [Secretary] or something else. That was where the real interesting perspectives opened.

    She sighed as she began filing paperwork away. Until the day came that she hit Level 20, she was stuck here. Sure, the guild of Remedia wasn¡¯t small: lots of people went through on a daily basis, especially on Sevens, the last two days of the week, but, even then, the job was repetitive, with little challenge to it. So the Leveling was slow.

    The bell on top of the entrance door dinged. She looked up, expecting the minor noble to have come back with more complaints, but was instead surprised when she saw two identical figures wearing the same gray garbs walking right towards her.

    ¡°Ah, good morning Miss Arienelle. A wonderful day it is today, are we right?¡± they said together with a twin smile on their faces.

    Arienelle had never met these two. They¡¯d never been in this Guild, or if they had, she hadn¡¯t yet been working here. Still, she knew the many stories that surrounded these two weird twins. They were called Habil and Qabil and had a reputation of being the two highest Level [Drivers] in the whole world. Their actual Level, naturally, was unknown: they kept it a secret. Well, pretty much everything about them was a secret: where they¡¯d been born, how old they were, you name it, it was unknown. All, except for their names.

    [Check Records], she thought.

    Immediately, in her mind¡¯s eye, a single sheet of paper appeared, and she read through the two brothers¡¯ records. Indeed, nothing new had appeared. Their age was still written down as 27, even though it had been saying that number for the last decade as far as she knew, while the rest was just blank. Well, all except for a single line at the bottom: ¡®Last known location: Eriman, Eva¡¯.

    ¡°You must be Habil and Qabil, am I right? A pleasure to make your acquaintance! I¡¯ve heard lots of things about you,¡± she stood from her chair behind the counter and went to shake their hands. They both shook it back warmly and energetically, the kid smiles never leaving their faces.

    ¡°All good we hope,¡± the one on the right, Habil or Qabil she didn¡¯t know, they were literally identical, said jokingly.

    ¡°Other than you being forbidden from entering half the capitals in the world for some unknown reason, all good.¡±

    They laughed, then one of them said: ¡°Eh, lassie, it¡¯s just that we bring people who need bringing where they need to be brought, and sometimes that is against the wills of Kings and suchnots. And anyways, kingdoms don¡¯t last nearly long enough for it to be a problem for us,¡± they both laughed and high fived.

    Arienelle shrugged: ¡°Well, you¡¯re not wrong on that front.

    ¡°Anyways, to business!¡±

    ¡°To business!¡± shouted back the twins striking a pose.

    ¡°Are you looking for a job?¡±

    ¡°We were. But we think we¡¯ve just found it: the grumpy noble who just walked out.¡±

    ¡°Oh, him? You want to take him to Tedam? Really?¡± she leaned in closer, whispering cospiratorially, ¡°I would¡¯ve loved to see him stay here, the idiot. It would¡¯ve been satisfying.¡±

    The two smiled evilly: ¡°We¡¯ll up our fee just for your satisfaction.¡±

    She chuckled.

    That was the Wanderer¡¯s Guild for you. Everyone supported everyone, more or less, and if you offended one of their own then you better be prepared for shit to happen to your cargo and your letters to be lost somewhere.

    Everyone respected the Wanderers.

    ¡°Ok, I¡¯ll write it down then. Have a safe journey!¡± she said with a smile

    ¡°Probably not. We¡¯re wanted in Tedam after that last battlefield delivery.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t want to know dear. It was a gruesome thing. But it had to be done. This, too, will have to be done. Their time is running out.¡±

    Their voices were in perfect sync as they said that, their smiles no longer as friendly as they usually were, their eyes¡­ their¡­ eyes¡­

    Arianelle batted her eyes once, twice, thrice, and when her eyesight focused again, the two brothers were gone.

    No. Not just the two brothers. The Brothers Two. That was their name, as much as Habil and Qabil were.

    It was only an hour later, after they¡¯d long since departed, that she realized something: she had never told them her name. How had they known it?

    <hr>

    ¡°Good afternoon good sir,¡± said Habil as he and his brother approached the man who had been looking for a ride towards Tedam.

    ¡°Indeed, a grand day, if I may be allowed to say so.¡±

    The noble turned around and looked at them with barely disguised disgust. Not surprising, since they looked like they came from Aknos, and for some reason people in Eva and Irevia thought of them as savages. Was it because they didn¡¯t have big cities like the other continents did? Well, you fucking try building a city in the middle of a desert with giant sand snakes attacking you at every step!

    ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked brusquely.

    ¡°We are Habil and Qabil. We¡¯ve just arrived from our last run. The kind [Receptionist] at the desk told us you were in great need of a ride. We can bring you to your destination in as little as a day,¡± said Qabil.

    The noble¡¯s attitude immediately changed, an oily smile appearing on his actually-not-bad-looking face.

    ¡°Ah, truly? Sirs, you¡¯re doing me a great kindness. And in a single day? Impressive! What are your fees?¡±

    ¡°Twenty five gold coins,¡± they said in a choir.

    The noble¡¯s face actually changed color, becoming a few shades redder: ¡°What? Are you serious? For such a price I could normally go back and forth two times in a luxury carriage!¡±

    ¡°We understand Sir, but we¡¯re doing you a favor,¡± said Habil.

    ¡°Indeed,¡± continued Qabil, ¡°You see, Gaius Flich De Boise, we¡¯ve just come back from our last assignment. We are extremely tired¡­¡±

    ¡°But we can see that you¡¯re in extreme need. It must be an important affair if you need to reach the city at such speed,¡± kept going Habil, the two brothers transitioning seamlessly between each other.

    ¡°You would also like to know that our services are top notch. Every single delivery is always brought to its destination without a scratch, through rain or shine, bandits or monsters, mountains or deep seas¡­¡±

    ¡°Although we do apply an extra fee for the deep sea deliveries¡­¡±

    ¡°Right, right. But there will be no need for that here. We are rated at Mithril Rank in the Wanderer¡¯s Guild, we¡¯ll have you know. Highest rank attainable. Although, the higher ups could¡¯ve chosen a different metal. Like, come on, the Adventurer¡¯s Guild already uses that one for its highest Level adventurers! We could¡¯ve gone for, I don¡¯t know¡­ Orichalcum?¡±

    ¡°I absolutely agree brother. Anyways, sir, our carriage has all the comforts you could ever desire, from food and drink to even a change of clothes. We understand our fees may seem steep, but we can assure you you will be well cared for and brought to your destination without a hitch!¡±

    Gaius looked at the two [Wagon Drivers] and considered them. As far as he could tell, they weren¡¯t lying. And, even though the price for their services was ridiculous to say the least, he didn¡¯t have much of a choice. He was supposed to marry in a matter of days!

    ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll pay your price. But you must get me there in a day, as you promised.¡±

    ¡°Absolutely Sir! Follow us, we¡¯ll show you to our kingdom!¡±

    He handed them two piles of gold coins and they began walking.

    Their kingdom turned out to be a rickety looking carriage held together by hopes and stitches. As in, there were what looked like meters of string keeping the whole thing together. And yet, the two horses at the front looked energetic, their black mantle so lucid it practically shined with a light of its own, their muscles strong and twitching, ready to run.

    All in all, it was such a contrast it made Gaius think these two must have some kind of special Class. Which was to be expected: you didn¡¯t reach a high Rank in a Guild without developing some¡­ shall we call them eccentricities? Yes, that.

    ¡°Right this way Sir,¡± said one of the two brothers. Probably Qabil. Gaius couldn¡¯t for the love of the gods distinguish them.

    He stepped on the surprisingly sturdy steps of the carriage and entered¡­ in Larnos.

    The carriage was bigger on the inside, the walls made of finely carved wood depicting a library. The back wall was an actual library, books filling it from top to bottom. The tomes looked old and dusty, as if nobody had used them in a lifetime, which seemed both possible and impossible because, when he went to read some of the titles, he noticed that some of these books were hundreds of years old at the very least, some of which were even banned.

    The Churches would pay my weight in gold for some of these, he thought, whistling to himself. He thought about reporting these two to the authorities, but then weighed some money against a lifetime ban from the Wanderer¡¯s Guild and decided to stay put.

    He sat down on a very comfortable sofa that extended in an ¡®L¡¯ shape along the remaining two walls, a small table at the center where one could, probably, eat right in front of him.

    A voice came from outside: ¡°Your baggage has been loaded in the back Sir.¡±

    ¡°Good. Can we go?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re already going, Sir,¡± said another voice, this one coming from the front of the carriage.

    Gaius¡¯ eyebrows shot up into his hairline as he stood and didn¡¯t feel even the slightest sway from the carriage moving. He went to open the door, but found it locked.

    ¡°For your own safety, the door has been locked. Falling at the speed we¡¯re going would be fatal at best, non-lethal and extremely crippling at worst. You may look outside from the window.

    What window? he thought, ready to ask. And then he noticed the window that had definitely been there the whole time overlooking the world outside. A very blurry world.

    How fast are we going? Stars, I can¡¯t see the ground. What level must one be to reach such speeds?

    He would never know the answer to that last one.

    ¡°How fast are we going?¡± he asked, out of curiosity.

    One of the brothers, he couldn¡¯t see or differentiate which one, answered: ¡°Well, our last test put us at just above the maximum speed reachable by a Ferrari.¡±

    ¡°A¡­ Ferrari? What is that?¡±

    ¡°A very fast car.¡±

    ¡°...What in Airm is a car?¡±

    ¡°A carriage that moves without horses at great speeds using the dead as fuel to run.¡±

    ¡°Ah, so it¡¯s some kind of new [Necromancer] invention. Interesting.¡±

    ¡°...You could say that, yes, Sir.¡±

    And then he sat back down on the very comfortable sofa.

    He fell asleep soon after.

    <hr>

    Habil and Qabil were brothers. Twins, to be precise. Their father said they¡¯d been born old and aged backwards ever since. They¡¯d always liked the concept, and, in a way, he wasn¡¯t wrong. Everyone who ever met them found them excessively jolly. They never understood how one could be too happy or smile too much.

    For them, the world was a shithole left to rot under the sun for too long, to the point where greenery had started to grow in some places. They lived to keep those green places safe and, if possible, even expand them. That¡¯s why they did what they did. That¡¯s why they accepted being wanted in half of the world: for a dream, for hope. Was it stupid? Maybe. Yes. Definitely. Would they ever stop? Not until the day they died. Which wouldn¡¯t be for a very long time yet.

    The Brothers Two. That was the title the Wanderer¡¯s Guild had given them. There¡¯d been a debate at the time on how to call them: from the simple yet very effective, if a bit excessive, ones, like ¡®The Doombringer Twins¡¯, to more mysterious sounding ones, like ¡®The Gray Riders¡¯.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    In the end, they¡¯d gone for the title that sounded the silliest and the strangest.

    They always did.

    Habil and Qabil took a pocket watch out of their coat pockets at the same time, reading the hour.

    ¡°Well, it should be thirteen more hours before we get there. Enough time to let him sleep and give him a change of clothes.¡±

    ¡°Absolutely. Hopefully there won¡¯t be too much trouble in Tedam.¡±

    ¡°I have no hopes of that Qabil. But we¡¯re used to it. Anything for the greater good!¡±

    They high fived and Habil, who was currently holding the reins, cracked them. Faster. Faster! ¡®Till the Sun had to catch up and Time herself had to ask the Observer for help finding them!

    <hr>

    The Kingdom of Scasce was, normally, a very safe place. Whenever a group of [Bandits] formed, they were quickly and bloodily taken care of.

    That wasn¡¯t to say the place was completely free of them. There were groups, big and powerful enough to manage to keep in check even the king¡¯s armies if they worked together. Most had come from outside, be it a bordering country or another continent altogether. And no, we shall not delve into the logistics of moving an entire band of [Bandits] from one continent to another, nor in how they managed to succeed. Just know that it involves a lot of banana peels and a ship.

    Habil and Qabil were certain that the journey to the capital city would be uneventful.

    Sadly, they did most of their work on Rodar. Apparently, the misfortune there was infectious.

    With a cry, a group of over two dozen men appeared in front of their carriage, blocking their way. They wore mismatched armor that looked worn. It was certainly all well maintained.

    They had also surrounded the carriage, which came to a stop in a matter of moments just short of a rope that had been put right in the middle of the road. Had they not stopped their mount would¡¯ve¡­ oh, who were they kidding? Their mount wouldn¡¯t have suffered any injury.

    A man stepped forward from the group, smiling slightly.

    ¡°Good day to you, Sir,¡± said Habil, tipping a bowler hat that the [Bandit Leader] in front of him hadn¡¯t noticed until then.

    ¡°And to you too, fine gentlemen,¡± he said, nodding his head in hello since he wore a helmet. It was more to cover his face than actually protect it: if someone hit you in the head, with or without a helmet, you went down. Well, unless you had some good Skills.

    He looked at the rickety carriage and, for a moment, was fooled by its disastered appearance. It was as if someone had taken a perfectly good carriage, thrown it down a hill, put it back together without caring for the details, then accidentally burned it and repeated the repair process with even less care than before. Anyone in their right mind would¡¯ve considered this bad prey.

    Not him. Not the quite well known Fireball Crytus. A nickname he¡¯d obtained because of his ability to throw [Fireball] Spells and making his band of criminals basically immune to fire. A truly useful ability in a world where nearly anyone who learned magic tried to immediately learn Fire-type Spells. And oh, how many times he¡¯d surprised the [Guards] of a city because of this ability.

    But then, why would someone this skilled and Skilled attack such a rickety looking thing? Simple: he had the Skill [Detect Wealth]. Normally it was a [Treasure Seeker] Skill, but let¡¯s be sincere here: there were more [Bandits] than [Treasure Hunters] or however their Class is called out there in the world.

    ¡°You seem to be carrying quite the expensive cargo, gentlemen. I fear we¡¯ll have to take it from your hands, to make sure it doesn¡¯t fall into even worse ones.¡±

    One of the brothers elbowed the other: ¡°I told you we shouldn¡¯t have gone to see the boy in Rodar. The air of that place always clings to us.¡±

    The elbowed one shrugged: ¡°Bah, this ain¡¯t Rodar. This is just backlash from our nature. What are the chances of a [Bandit] with a [Detect Wealth] Skill appearing in a country that allegedly has one of the lowest crime rates in the continent, and then right when we¡¯re passing through? Even Rodar¡¯s Aura couldn¡¯t do this much damage. It¡¯s narratively too improbable¡±

    They sighed dejectedly and shook their heads.

    ¡°If we don¡¯t move we¡¯re gonna be late,¡± said the one on the left.

    ¡°You¡¯re right, brother. We should get going,¡± agreed the one on the right as he cracked the reins and got the horses moving again.

    The animals stepped over the tense rope, even though their legs were in a much too awkward position for them to be able to do that. It was as if the legs had just phased through the material, but that made no sense.

    ¡°Stop right there, gentlemen! I don¡¯t want to hurt you, but if it¡¯ll be necessary I will,¡± and as he said that, he summoned a [Fireball] in his right hand and pointed it menacingly at the nearing carriage.

    ¡°Oh, how scary!¡± fake shouted the one on the left.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna shit my pants!¡± followed the other, his hand going to his forehead as he fake-passed out¡­ and nearly fell from the carriage. His brother, luckily, was there to pull him back on the box.

    Crytus¡¯ left eyebrow twitched, then he shook his head: ¡°You were warned.¡±

    And he let the Spell go.

    A ball of fire two meters in diameter flowed outwards, opening up like the most fiery rose in the world. It was a beautiful sight. One supposes that there is beauty even in Death.

    Crytus watched the fireball fly towards the carriage and waited for the explosion, his hand already lifting towards his face to shield his eyes.

    But the explosion never came.

    Instead of the carriage flying into the air and crushing into the ground, horses charred to death, [Drivers] gone, like it always happened when they didn¡¯t surrender, all he saw was darkness.

    A void had appeared in front of the carriage.

    No, wait, it wasn¡¯t a void. It wasn¡¯t empty. There was something in that blackness¡­ eight orange somethings. And they were staring right at him.

    The darkness coalesced.

    And the men began to get agitated as, slowly, it took the form of a massive, eight legged, beast that was nearly as tall as the box and as large as the carriage itself.

    ¡­

    Just like the horses.

    Oh fuck. That was an illusion. There were never horses there.

    The giant, dark, spider, didn¡¯t scream. Oh, don¡¯t get me wrong, this spider probably could, what with its gigantic book lungs that, somehow, still managed to keep it alive even at its dimensions. But no, this spider knew better than to scream. Instead, it simply chittered.

    The sound was ominous but, surprisingly, not very loud. And it was continuous. Almost¡­ as if it was laughing.

    Laughing at them, at the [Bandits], at their leader who had tried to burn it down but, instead, had only lightly singed its fur.

    ¡°What was it that father always said in these cases?¡± asked the brother on the left.

    The one on the right cracked the reins gently as he answered in falsetto: ¡°¡®Down the hatch they go!¡¯¡±

    Then the spider began skittering onwards, not making a sound, picking up speed at an astonishing rate. In the few meters that separated the carriage and the [Bandits] it managed to reach the halfway point of its maximum velocity.

    The last thing Crytus saw was the spider¡¯s pincers opening in what he thought was a very ugly, evil and gleeful smile, before its mouth opened wide, wider, wider and wider and then all he saw was darkness before innumerable crunches resounded in his ears and he died.

    <hr>

    The carriage jumped and Gaius woke up. He had always been a light sleeper, so the ride so far had been Larnos on the earth for him.

    Sadly, now he was awake again, and he decided to ask what that had been.

    He stood from the very comfortable sofa, which seemed a little bigger than he remembered, and walked the few steps that separated him from the little window that connected the room he was in to the [Driver]¡¯s box, opening it.

    ¡°What was that?¡± he asked as a yawn made its way out.

    ¡°Oh, nothing to worry about Sir,¡± said the brother on his left.

    ¡°Just some [Bandits], Sir. We took care of them,¡± finished the other.

    ¡°Bandits?¡±

    And they just¡­ took care of them? Two [Drivers]? What Level are they? I didn¡¯t even see any weapons.

    The brother on the right turned towards him with an enigmatic smile as he thought that last part, and winked.

    ¡°We did say we were the best on the market.¡±

    ¡°Would you like some refreshments Sir?¡± asked the other brother.

    That¡¯s when Gaius realized he was, indeed, very hungry. It was sudden and felt slightly unnatural, but then again, he hadn¡¯t eaten in¡­

    ¡°How long was I asleep?¡±

    ¡°Around seven hours Sir. We¡¯ve been told light sleepers love our services. Anyways, we should manage to reach Tedam in around five more hours.¡±

    Seven hours? He had slept that long? He hadn¡¯t been able to do such a thing without a sleeping potion for years now. He even had a Skill to solve that problem: [Improved Rest]. Gods he felt more alive now that he had for the last few years.

    ¡°I would love to, thank you kindly. Is there any chance I could book your services for the night before my wedding? I could even invite you to join.¡±

    The brothers shook their heads: ¡°We¡¯re sorry Sir¡­¡±

    ¡°But duty calls¡­¡±

    ¡°This was a nice diversion¡­¡±

    ¡°But we¡¯ll soon be going back to Rodar.¡±

    Ah. Well, that was sad.

    ¡°I would wish you luck, but there is none on Rodar. You don¡¯t seem the kind of people who need that, though.¡±

    The two brothers laughed: ¡°No indeed, Sir. ¡®Luck¡¯ was never our friend.¡±

    The little window closed, and when Gaius turned around a veritable feast was sitting on the table in front of the sofa, which was back to normal.

    ¡°Yes, those Gold Coins were well spent.¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°How much more Habil?¡± asked Qabil.

    Habil put a hand in his pocket and took out three different clocks, because he liked to show off, and opened them. Three different time zones were checked, from three different continents, and he nodded.

    ¡°One hour. I think it is time,¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡±

    At the same time, they slammed their right feet on the box, the vibration reaching even the back of the carriage.

    From inside, they heard Gaius¡¯ voice as he cursed colorfully.

    ¡°Everything alright back there?¡± asked Habil as he opened the small window.

    ¡°More or less. I could¡¯ve sworn that wine glass was empty. Anyway, my clothes are ruined.¡±

    ¡°Fear not,¡± cheerfully said Qabil, ¡°We did say we had a change of clothes if it came to it,¡± and he snapped his fingers.

    In the back, near the library wall, Gaius watched as the little wardrobe door, which had always been there, opened, letting his eyes land on what was probably the most beautiful outfit he¡¯d ever seen (except for his wedding clothes). It was simple, yet extremely elegant: a black button up shirt with a black overcoat to complement it, together with silky black trousers.

    Sure, it would make him look like he was going to a funeral, but it was objectively beautiful.

    ¡°This is worth much more than what I paid you.¡±

    ¡°Well, you¡¯re lucky we¡¯ve had that one for a long time. The clients who came before you paid for it. Now come on Sir, put it on. We¡¯ll be arriving shortly at your destination.¡±

    The clothes were extremely comfortable.

    <hr>

    The sun was setting when they reached the main gates of Tedam. Because of the hour, there were few people waiting in line to go inside the town, mostly workers who were coming back from their jobs outside the city¡¯s walls.

    Luckily for the Brothers, who were quite the impatient bunch when it came to waiting in line, there was a separate one for carriages, and would you look at that! It was empty.

    Their ¡®horses¡¯ clopped towards it calmly and, slowly, the [Guards] at that particular line reached them.

    ¡°Halt! Show us your documents, please.¡±

    Habil and Qabil calmly dug in their coat pockets and took out two passports marked with the Wanderer¡¯s Guild sigil, handing them over. Another [Guard] walked towards the back of the carriage, with a grimace at its deplorable conditions, and knocked on the window, asking their passenger his documents. Gaius handed them over without question, the [Guard] taking them and giving only a glance to his black ensemble.

    Then his two comrades shouted.

    ¡°You! You are the Brothers Two! Attack them, now! DON¡¯T LET THEM ENTER THE CITY!¡±

    And then it was chaos.

    The carriage moved and, in a moment, it was speeding down the main road, towards¡­

    One of the [Guards] shouted into a Speaking Stone: ¡°Attention! The Brothers Two have entered the city. No matter what, don¡¯t let them reach the palace or any other location of interest in the city! Destroy the carriage or find a way to kill the person inside no matter what!¡±

    Then he turned towards the [Guard] who had taken Gaius¡¯ documents: ¡°You! Newbie! You saw the person inside. What color were the clothes he was wearing?¡±

    The man, because he was well trained, answered immediately: ¡°Black, Sir!¡±

    ¡°Fuck! I repeat, destroy that carriage! They are bringing Black!¡±

    The city was in chaos. Suddenly, hundreds of [Guards], garrisoned [Soldiers], [Mercenaries] and even Skeletons flooded the streets and went to block any access to the three locations of interest: the Royal Palace, the Temple District and the Guild Districts.

    A [Necromancer] wearing black and with their face covered observed the scene from a distance and sighed, knowing full well they would fail.

    The Brothers Two always brought their packages to their destinations.

    <hr>

    ¡°What is happening?¡± shouted Gaius.

    The two brothers ignored him, his voice not reaching them even though the window was open.

    They were talking among each other.

    ¡°What should we use? Blunderbuss?¡±

    ¡°No, too much collateral damage.¡±

    ¡°We could use salt!¡±

    ¡°Unless you have salt big enough to pierce armor it won¡¯t work.¡±

    ¡°OK, how about this?¡±

    ¡°An Infernal Sharpshooter? Wrong world Qabil.¡±

    ¡°Oh, right, sorry.¡±

    Gaius had no idea what in Airm the two were talking about, and when he looked through the window all he saw were tubes of metal with varying openings on one side and wooden or metal handles on the other.

    ¡°Hmm¡­ how about this Remington?¡± asked Habil, taking out of a coat pocket a very long metal tube.

    ¡°Nope, doesn¡¯t have enough kick,¡± answered Qabil, to which Habil just tossed the strange thing down the carriage, where it disappeared before it could even hit the road.

    What in the names of the Old is that Skill?

    ¡°Oh oh! I know! How about this PPSh? To honor dad¡¯s friend.¡±

    This time Habil took two tubes from underneath the box and shoved one in his brother¡¯s hands, which were no longer holding the reins, which were fucking floating in the air.

    ¡°Oh, I absolutely love the idea! Hand it over.¡±

    They put the sides of the tubes with the thing that looked like a handhold against their shoulders, aligned them to their eyes as if they were shooting some kind of crossbow, and then suddenly there was a very loud crack and the ends of the tubes seemed to launch something very small out.

    Had he been looking behind the carriage, he would¡¯ve seen two [Soldiers] drop to the ground, their brains splattered on the road and their companions behind them.

    Then he got to see the two brothers using these things against something in front of the carriage.

    He truly wished he hadn¡¯t.

    Then the [Mercenaries] in front of them began to scream and, for a moment, Gaius thought he saw something wrong with the horses, but then they hit the wall of people and it all went back to normal. What wasn¡¯t normal was how¡­ clean the passage had been. No bodies falling underneath, no people flying off to the sides. As if they had just disappeared.

    ¡°What is happening?¡± he shouted.

    One of the brothers answered: ¡°Just a normal day of work, Sir, worry not. Now, Habil, let¡¯s get him to the temples. Seems appropriate to me.¡±

    Then the window closed and, when Gaius tried to open it again, he found out he couldn¡¯t. And the carriage didn¡¯t have any other windows other than the one connecting him to the [Drivers].

    ¡°Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! I swear, if I die, I¡¯m coming back as a ghost to haunt these imbeciles.¡±

    But there was nothing to fear.

    Not five minutes later, the carriage door opened and the two brothers bowed, motioning for him to get out.

    ¡°We¡¯ve brought you at your destination, Sir, just as promised, in not even a single day. We hope that you liked our services. If so, suggest us to your friends and leave a Five Star review at the Wanderer¡¯s Guild. We appreciate constructive criticism.¡±

    He walked down the carriage steps and looked around. He could still hear the sounds of chaos.

    But, suddenly¡­ it didn¡¯t matter. Not anymore. Because it had all already been decided. So why bother? Why worry.

    He thanked the two [Drivers] for their services, assuring that he would speak highly of them. They smiled and nodded in gratitude.

    Then, as he turned around to walk towards the temple, one of them said: ¡°Sir, we like you, so let us make a suggestion, one you should follow if you desire to live a long, happy, life with your wife.¡±

    Gaius stopped and turned around: ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°After you celebrate your wedding, don¡¯t stay in the city. Go back to your home as fast as you can. We don¡¯t know when, but something bad will happen. So, please, go away from this condemned city.¡±

    They hopped onto the driver¡¯s box: ¡°And have a nice wedding and a big, happy, family!¡±

    They departed.

    And the city trembled as the Skill that had caused them to gain their reputation, the reason why they were hunted all over the world, settled down.

    The Skill¡¯s name?

    [Wearing Black, They Brought Ru??????i???????????n??????????]

 Chapter 1: Again and Again

    Why does a spider keep building and rebuilding his web even after it is destroyed again and again?

    The Spider¡¯s Dilemma. Isse had wondered, from the day Grandmother had asked her that strange question, what was its meaning. She¡¯d understood that the spider represented the arachne. Or rather, she¡¯d thought it was about the arachne¡­ in plural. As in, more than one.

    But the question was literal: spider. Only one. Always, only one.

    Because, [Always, One Survived]. One. Not many, not a few, not two. Only¡­ one.

    Why does he do it? Why does he keep building?

    She had answered, at the time, that it did it because it could.

    She had been an idiot.

    In her Mind Castle, locked out of the world, she looked up at the constellations she had conjured from her memories of Earth.

    And knew that her answer had been childish.

    Why did the spider build its web again?

    The Question, the Dilemma, it didn¡¯t ask why it should keep doing it. Of course it would build its web. It was a spider. It¡­

    It didn¡¯t know better. The only thing it knew to do was make webs to survive.

    ¡­

    How¡­ simple.

    In her Mind Castle, at the top of the tower where she and Siidi had pressed that button what felt like ages ago, ¡®becoming one¡¯, as Grandmother so succinctly put it, she began laughing.

    It was a loud and shrill sound.

    So loud and shrill it was, that it quickly became painful.

    But what was a little throat pain compared to losing everything you loved in a single night, and all because you were¡­ different. Because someone higher up said it was right to kill her kind.

    She laughed, and tears streamed down her eyes now as the sound became more a wail than a laugh.

    How funny! Now she understood how black people felt nearly every day of their lives.

    It was oh so funny!

    The castle around her began to shake slightly, cracks appearing in the walls of her mind as she laughed and cried and wailed and shouted and thought about how funny it was. How stupid the answer to that Dilemma was.

    Why did the spider build his web after it was destroyed? Because it didn¡¯t know better!

    She felt someone embrace her, gentle arms hugging her middle and lifting her from the ground where she lay staring at the sky with tear-filled eyes.

    Her head was tucked in the crook of someone¡¯s neck.

    Siidi.

    She smelled of blood. Isse had never noticed. Probably because the two rarely spent time this close.

    Her hand began stroking her hair gently as she began whispering a strange song she¡¯d never heard before.

    We¡¯ll meet again,

    By the Underdark,

    Lost to these endless halls

    Who remember, by the dark,

    All that¡¯s gone to the crows.

    We¡¯ll meet again,

    By the Endless Seas,

    Right on the islands loved,

    Of pirates¡¯ domain weighed and seen,

    In memory of their sins.

    Isse stopped listening. The words just mixed together as a sort of background as she cried her heart out on Siidi¡¯s shoulder and tried to understand how to keep going.

    She wanted to die, to join her sisters, her family. Grandmother had clearly told her that Death kept them all warm and safe in Her, not allowing the gods to judge their souls. She knew that, if she died, she would get to meet them again.

    But, at the same time¡­ that Skill. That Legacy. [Tradition: Always, One Survived]. She was the last one. If she decided to end it here, she would disappoint all of them. Their deaths, the deaths of every single arachne in the history of this world, it would all be rendered meaningless. And then, how would she look them in the eyes?

    No, she would live. She couldn¡¯t just give up.

    She would build a new web. Be like all the other imbeciles who¡¯d come before her, and start from scratch.

    Because she was an arachne.

    Because that was all she, all her race, was good at.

    <hr>

    When she opened her eyes, she could still feel the lingering phantom of Siidi¡¯s embrace.

    She turned around on the ground.

    And noticed it didn¡¯t feel like the hard packed, burned down, ground of the scorched clearing where Grandmother¡¯s corpse-ice-statue stood. It felt like¡­ wood. And it was moving underneath her.

    What?

    She looked around, expecting to see only the ashen remnants of the forest. Instead she saw snow plains extending everywhere the eye could look.

    Did it snow while I was asleep?

    Possible, but that¡¯s not where we are. It feels like a wagon.

    A wagon? So someone¡¯s carrying us somewhere.

    Astute observation dear. That¡¯s what you usually do with a carriage. The question is: who¡¯s carrying us? And where?

    For a moment, hope welled up in Isse¡¯s heart as a fleeting thought about one of her sisters surviving and taking her to a safe place sprouted in her mind.

    But then she remembered her new Class: [Last Survivor].

    And she felt like falling asleep again and disappearing in the darkest corners of her Mind Castle, in a place where even Siidi couldn¡¯t reach her.

    She looked.

    And saw an old man.

    The same old man from her vision yesterday.

    Wait, so he wasn¡¯t a hallucination? asked Siidi, clearly as surprised as Isse.

    ¡­Apparently.

    Her brain was taking some time to analyze what was happening.

    Then: ¡°Ah, you¡¯ve woken up I see. Eat, girl. There''s food in that sack near you. It''s not really good, but it''s better than nothing.¡±

    And she finally realized what was happening.

    She crawled back, baring her teeth and hissing like a rabid animal as she raised her hands, fingers like claws, ready to fight using even her nails if necessary. The fangs she used to inject her venom came down, ready to deliver their not-so-lethal charge. After all, Anda had told her that her poison was probably more useful as a weak mana potion than as actual poison.

    ¡°Now now, there¡¯s no need for any of that,¡± said the old man in a kind and calm voice, not even turning around.

    ¡°If I wanted to hurt you I would¡¯ve left you there to wallow in your pain. The King¡¯s probably already sent someone to check how things are going, especially since whoever was at the head of that army has probably died in that fire.¡±

    Mutually assured destruction. One of the Hunters¡¯ most known tactics, said Siidi with a weary sigh.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± asked Siidi, trying to calm her heart. He was an old man and he was traveling alone on a simple carriage, which meant he was either insane or very sure he could take on anything that tried to trouble him. Grandmother had been very clear about how dangerous old people were.

    ¡°Me? I''m an old man enjoying his vacation. My name¡¯s Albert Sirion, I¡¯m a [Clocksmith], currently going back home after a month of vacation down south to enjoy the warmer weather there. Not a fan of the cold: these old bones always start creaking when the winds change.¡±

    A [Clocksmith]? A man who made a living crafting and, possibly, selling, clocks? This man was traveling alone through a country and talking to her as if he were talking to just a normal, human, girl. Which¡­ she looked like. She hadn¡¯t noticed, but she was wearing the dress Aru had made for her from Shifting Silk, which hid her spider half thanks to some kind of illusion and made her look completely human. If she weren¡¯t in the situation she was currently in, she would¡¯ve probably fallen back on the wagon¡¯s wooden floor and started crying again. How had she died? The [Seamstress] must¡¯ve been one of the first victims, what with her being completely unable to fight.

    ¡°Yeah, nope, you¡¯re shitting me. No way an old man who¡¯s only a [Clocksmith] is traveling all alone in the dead of winter. Either the King in this place has somehow killed every single band of thieves and brigands or you¡¯re playing dumb.¡±

    The old man chuckled: ¡°I see you¡¯re already feeling better.¡±

    ¡°Stop. Acting. Dumb! Who are you?¡±

    The man finally turned around to look at her from the front of the carriage. Isse could see two horses tugging them on but that didn¡¯t matter. What mattered was the slightly sad smile on the old man¡¯s kind face.

    ¡°I¡¯m not lying little one. Want me to give you a Truth Stone to test it out?¡±

    She cast two Spells, [Detect Truth] and [Detect Lie], as the man said that. The first came out as positive, the latter negative. He was not lying.

    ¡°So the King is that good?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s an ok man,¡± said the old man, his right hand leaving the reins as he made a so-so sign with it, ¡°I¡¯ve seen better. But I¡¯ve also seen worse.¡±

    Isse grit her teeth as, ever so slowly, the sadness inside her began turning into anger and hatred: ¡°Well, your so-so King caused the death of my entire clan!¡±

    Albert shook his head: ¡°No my dear, that would be the people from your clan that attacked that defenseless village a few months ago and killed everyone in it, together with the College of Memoirs taking an interest in the matter. The King just gave them the means to kill you.¡±

    ¡°And you think that makes him blameless?!¡± she shouted.

    The old man shrugged: ¡°Are you blameless, child?¡±

    There was something strange in the old man¡¯s voice as he said that. It seemed just a tad colder.

    Then he shook his head: ¡°Stupid question, that one, sorry. It wasn¡¯t your fault. Rest, girl. The journey ahead of us is long.¡±

    Isse and Siidi both asked the same question, for they were suddenly one, and they would stay so for the next minute. [A Minute, United].

    ¡°Where are you taking us? And what makes you think we¡¯ll come with you?¡±

    Albert turned back to the road ahead and answered: ¡°To answer your first question, we¡¯re going to my home in the city of Tedam. As for the other one, nothing. Nothing is tying you to me girl. If you wanted, you could just up and leave right now, and I couldn¡¯t and wouldn¡¯t stop you. But then, what would you have afterwards? Only your sorrow and an unfulfillable desire for revenge. I, on the other hand, can give you a home and, maybe, a chance to change things. Who knows,¡± he chuckled at that. A low, bitter, sound. Like a soldier telling his child that the war he was going to fight would bring about something good.

    There was something of Grandmother in him. She thought that, had the Elder been a few centuries younger, she would¡¯ve been able to give her a look like that, chuckling in exactly that way.

    ¡°You call it unfulfillable. We call it a matter of time. Levels make everything possible, are we not right?¡±

    And at that, the old man openly laughed.

    ¡°HAHAHAHAHAHA! Sure they do! They can make the possible impossible, but here¡¯s the thing: Leveling takes time. In the time it would take you to get your Numbers high enough the current King would¡¯ve long since died of old age.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a single man.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re an idiot, girl. I know for a fact that arachne train their young to be analytical in everything, and you¡¯re a [Soul Shaper] if that wasn¡¯t enough. If you wanted to attack the King and kill him, you¡¯d have to get inside a heavily warded and guarded city, reach the royal palace, surpass every [Guard] and ward there, make sure you¡¯re not noticed by the dozens of [Rogues] or other people like them posted inside, actually find the king and then, finally, stab through powerful defensive magic, all while he fights back. It wouldn¡¯t be impossible, but the logistics are complex, as you can see.¡±

    Isse could say nothing at that. It was all she could do not to let her jaw drop.

    This man clearly wasn¡¯t just a [Clocksmith].

    So she did the next most logical thing: she used an [Appraisal] Spell.

    But all she read was this:

    Albert Sirion. Age: 65.

    Class:

    <ul>

    <li>[????Clocksmith], Level ??35.</li>

    </ul>

    <ul>

    <li>?????????????, ????????</li>

    </ul>

    She stared at the words and frowned. Apparently, he had not lied. He really was just¡­ a¡­ [Clocksmith].

    Wait a moment! they thought in corus.

    There was something strange about the result of the Spell. It was¡­ foggy. As if something was trying to hide the actual details of the Class. She recognized this. Grandmother had trained her to recognize alterations to [Appraisals]. What Grandmother had never told her, though, was that said alterations could be partial. From what she¡¯d been told, one could either hide everything about their Classes and Levels and name, or not. This was unprecedented.

    But it didn¡¯t matter if this was new or unexpected: she¡¯d been taught how to overcome the barrier. The fact that it was only partial made it easier to unravel, actually.

    She reached out with a tendril of her mana and, while keeping the [Appraisal] Spell up, feeling its little drain on her Mana Pool, she touched the ¡®fog¡¯. The moment she did, the world changed in front of her eyes: she was still there, in that wagon, staring at the old man¡¯s back, but at the same time her eyes saw a misty lake, its waters calm and flat, milky white from reflecting the fog.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    A grizzled old man sat at the edge of the water and looked at the world around him, a cane lying at his side, a leg missing.

    The old man wasn¡¯t, of course, Albert. He was just the way the Spell that hid his Skills saw itself. A personification.

    She still remembered the first time she¡¯d succeeded in piercing Grandmother¡¯s barriers and reading a little bit of her actual Class. How she¡¯d told her that all Spells, being crafted from Mana taken from the world itself, were alive, in a strange sort of way.

    At the time she hadn¡¯t really cared. All she¡¯d had eyes for was Grandmother¡¯s Class:

    [Wintertouched Clan Leader of Magic and Memory]

    ¡­

    It was better not to remember.

    She looked at the old man and skittered towards him. Spells or Enchantments that blocked Skills were always long term and were cast to last. Because of that, they usually felt¡­ lonely.

    So she sat down besides the old man and did so in the real world too. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder and Siidi did the same as she reached them, sitting and telling the old man a story.

    He smiled and, because of their kindness, decided to look the other way for a while, letting them see what Albert was hiding.

    As Isse looked down into the lake, she saw many things: cogs and wheels and springs littered the bottom, as was to be expected, even though some of them looked¡­ rusty. And then her eyes lighted up as she saw something she recognized more: a knife and a mask, hidden among all the gears, as if, even inside the Spell covering his Class up, Albert had been trying his hardest to hide, to forget, that part of himself.

    Immediately, new words appeared from the fog covering her Appraisal Spell:

    <ul>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">[Spymaster of ???????], Level ??</li>

    </ul>

    ¡°You''re being naughty back there girl," said Albert as, suddenly, the old man in her vision took the cane by his side and bonked first her, then Siidi, in the head. It was gentle, it didn''t even leave a phantom sensation of pain, but it was enough to distract her and end the constant flux of mana that was letting her see the fogged up lake.

    She batted her eyes and looked at Albert again, suddenly feeling a little emptier and sadder as Siidi''s certainty left her. Her Skill had run out.

    "And you''re lying, [Spymaster]," she said back, trying to put some snark in her voice, but she felt tired again. It wasn''t worth it.

    The old man chuckled: "I''ll admit, I should''ve known better than trying to outsmart an arachne Soul Magician with that simple trick."

    Isse''s head rose as a little fire of hope tried to light up in her chest. She smothered it before it could catch.

    "You speak as if you''d ever met one of my kind."

    Albert smiled his sad smile again. And didn''t answer. That... could''ve meant anything: from a yes to an ''I heard stories from a friend'' up to a simple ''I was just making a conjecture''. Had she wanted to, she could''ve taken the answers from him, delved deep into his soul into the Heart, the place where he kept all of himself as he was, the place that defined him as a living, thinking, being, and scrambled things around, turned him into a puppet, forced him to tell her the truth. But the truth was, she didn''t want to. And Grandmother had never taught her the fine details on how to do that. Only that it was possible.

    No, all she really wanted to do was sit down and go back to sleep, now that the anger was gone.

    "Seriously, girl, eat. You haven''t eaten in a day. Then, you can go back to sleep. If you want them, there are some blankets back there for you to keep warm. That dress can''t be hot."

    He was right, it wasn''t. She wondered, for a moment, how she hadn''t noticed the cold up until then.

    ... Was this how emptiness felt?

    She looked at the sack and opened it: inside there was some hardtack and some jerky. Travel rations. Pochi had told her many tales about how some of the [Soldiers] under her command, when she''d still been training among humans, had found interesting ways to make the food taste better, from using grass, up to accidentally poisoning themselves when they''d used the wrong plant. They''d even said it had been worth it.

    Isse knew she could''ve done that same thing while also being safe, she had [Poison Immunity] after all, but she was sure that, no matter what she used, it would all taste the same to her: like dust and ash.

    She ate, and wasn''t surprised at being right.

    "There''s some milk in there too. Was keeping it for myself, but you can have it, although I fear it will be cold."

    Isse ignored him and instead went for the water. She wasn''t a child. She hadn''t been even when she''d been reborn in this world. Sure, for a while she''d allowed herself the chance to feel like a child again, but the time for that was gone.

    She crawled towards the blankets and promptly fell asleep again after she''d made a nest out of them all. No silk, though: she didn''t want to be caught white handed.

    <hr>

    She opened her eyes back in her Mind Castle.

    The place looked just as she¡¯d left it: white, grand, marble walls, covered in fancy decorations and etchings, all surrounded by a grand double colonnade in corinthian style. A library, its walls made out of wood and gray stone, was fused to one side like some sort of benign tumor, the reflection of Siidi¡¯s soul. At the very center of the giant palace-cathedral where she was the only goddess, was a garden occupied by a single irish oak that reached higher than the highest tower.

    But she didn¡¯t see any of that. She didn¡¯t even rise from her very comfortable Siidi-cushion.

    ¡°Could you stop calling me a cushion please?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    Siidi sighed and sat more comfortably on the suddenly pillow-covered floor.

    ¡°That¡¯s new,¡± said Isse, her voice muffled by her face facing her soul half¡¯s tummy.

    ¡°You just never stay long enough to get to see these.¡±

    Isse didn¡¯t answer. Or rather, she answered by hugging Siidi hard as she began to hiccup violently.

    Siidi let her cry. She knew how it felt, to lose it all. She¡¯d remembered it just a few months ago, during Grandmother¡¯s second Trial. She¡¯d remembered her sisters of blood and battle. She¡¯d remembered their names, their faces, their likes and dislikes, their deepest desires. The love they had for each other. Their shared will to bring death to those that would ever bring harm to their race.

    She had cried for a long time afterwards as she realized she had truly, finally, lost them. That, even if they came back, they wouldn¡¯t remember her, and she wouldn¡¯t be able to recognize them.

    ¡°Siidi, what was that song you sang before?¡±

    And at that, the old arachne who sometimes was young, raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think you were listening,¡± she whispered, her heart aching as she remembered the song¡¯s meaning again.

    ¡°I stopped after a while, but it was¡­ good. Sad, nostalgic. Seems¡­ fitting.¡±

    Oh, she couldn¡¯t even begin to imagine how fitting it was.

    ¡°Could you sing it again?¡±

    Siidi didn¡¯t answer. Instead, she began singing again. The name of the song was simple: ¡®We¡¯ll Meet Again¡¯. But, among her kin, it had been known with another name: ¡®Our Last Song¡¯.

    So it was that Siidi sang the arachnes¡¯ last song.

    We¡¯ll meet again,

    By the Underdark,

    Lost to these endless halls,

    Who remember by the dark,

    All that¡¯s gone to the crows.

    We¡¯ll meet again,

    By the Endless Seas,

    Right on the islands loved,

    Of pirates¡¯ domain weighed and seen,

    In memory of their sins.

    We¡¯ll meet again,

    By the Highest Peak,

    Right where the snows don¡¯t flow,

    In memory of our bed in silk,

    Burned by fake wolves.

    We¡¯ll meet again,

    By the Countless Stars,

    Right on those laughing steps,

    Where the Lookers always died,

    With a smile on their face.

    We¡¯ll meet again,

    In Death¡¯s embrace,

    Right by your sisters¡¯ cheers,

    Where I may at last rest,

    Forever in your love¡¯s embrace.

    The song ended. When she heard Isse¡¯s regular, calm, breathing, realizing she¡¯d fallen asleep here as well, she began singing anew. She couldn¡¯t do anything for Isse: she couldn¡¯t take her pain, both physical and emotional. She couldn¡¯t take her place and guide their body for a while to let her rest some more. She couldn¡¯t even help her, because she didn¡¯t know what to do next: she hadn¡¯t been among the survivors, and all she had ever been good at was killing people with a sword.

    So, if that was all she could do, she would sing herself raw just to give this little girl the reprieve she deserved before starting again.

    Like they always did.

    <hr>

    Siidi didn¡¯t know how long she stayed there, gently petting Isse¡¯s hair and spider half, singing their last song.

    She only noticed that her soul half¡¯s breathing, at some point, changed, becoming more labored. A nightmare, probably.

    She placed her hand gently on her shoulder and began shaking it gently.

    Isse¡¯s eyes snapped open and looked right through her for a moment, the air around her changing color and becoming red for a single moment.

    Don¡¯t you dare, you Stars damned machine of those stains on this world¡¯s existence. Don¡¯t you dare mark her with Blood. She doesn¡¯t deserve it.

    The red disappeared just as suddenly as it had appeared. Had it come to that, she would¡¯ve found a way to take on the burden of that Condition. She was, after all, a [Soul Curator]. She could find a way.

    ¡°Siidi?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright dear. It will all be alright.¡±

    Isse nodded, hugging her tight again.

    They stayed like that for a while, until, finally, Isse spoke again: ¡°Who wrote that song?¡±

    Siidi smiled bitterly as she kept on stroking her soul half¡¯s hair: ¡°That was a love song written by the Witch Of Spiders for her lover.¡±

    ¡°Can you tell me about them. Do you remember them?¡±

    Siidi nodded: ¡°Their story is¡­ strange. The strangest among our stories. It began thousands of years ago, during my time, and it ended after my death.

    ¡°To start, the [Witch] was a human.¡±

    Isse looked up from her belly with surprise painted on her face.

    ¡°Really?¡±

    Siidi nodded: ¡°She was our first and only ally among the humans. She came to us as a child, barely ten years old. An [Apprentice Witch] at the time, she loved spiders, and after her mentor was raped and killed by human soldiers because she refused to help them in their war, she decided she would rather risk dying at the hands of ¡®giant spiders¡¯ who would, at least, respect her body, than risk living and dying in a world that clearly saw her as nothing more than a piece of flesh that could think.¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°Come on [Witch]. A simple curse, that is all we are asking.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple, you dumb shits! Do you have any idea of how strong their protections are? I would die before I even reached the end of the incantation.¡±

    The five [Soldiers] chuckled as they advanced towards her mentor, the closest thing she had to a mother after her actual mother had abandoned her.

    ¡°Maybe you don¡¯t understand, witch. You don¡¯t have a choice. It¡¯s either that, or death. Your presence is allowed near this city only because you are useful. And yet, no matter what, whenever we request that you do something against the arachne, you back away. Are you, perhaps, a traitor?¡±

    Her mentor laughed out loud: ¡°I am as much their ally as I am yours. I live for myself and my ideals, not the ones a simpleton like your [King] imposes.¡±

    Her mentor had expected many things, but being punched in the face by one of them wasn¡¯t one of them. The woman stumbled, her nose broken, her beautiful, youthful, face marred. She managed to grab onto one of the nearby tables and stayed on her feet, nose bleeding, a sneer of fury on her lips.

    ¡°That sounds like traitor talk to me boys. What do you say?¡±

    The other four men in armor nodded in agreement.

    ¡°But then again, we can at least have some fun before we do what must be done to all traitors.¡±

    The Witch of Webs, whose Class would one day become [Arachne Lover, Witch of Webs and Souls], watched powerlessly as the five men restrained her mentor and slowly undressed, raping her. She watched as she spat on them all, Binding them to her, so that, when they finally gave her peace, stabbing her through the heart, they fell to the ground with her, choking on their own blood. Her mentor had been strong, that is for sure, but she had still been young and, without time to prepare, there was little she could do.

    That night, she ran, after taking everything she could, burning the place she called home to the ground.

    Disgusted by men, by humanity itself. Disgusted by her very own body, because she was as human as them.

    <hr>

    There was bitterness in Siidi¡¯s tone, a bitterness that came from a rage that had been quenched a very long time ago.

    ¡°So one day she walked through the lines of the Hunters, reached our forests and then our city. I¡­ don¡¯t remember which one. It was one of the Silken Palaces, that I know, but at the time we had many.

    ¡°She was captured, naturally, but we weren¡¯t all monsters. We had seen a little girl walk towards us with purpose, a girl who didn¡¯t look at us in fear but wonder. So we didn¡¯t kill her immediately, instead asking what her purpose was. When we heard her, we brought someone to check if she was being truthful, if this wasn¡¯t a strange scheme of the Hunters, and found nothing but hate for her own race.

    <hr>

    ¡°Are you not scared, little one?¡± asked one of the arachne, hanging from one of the walls near the entrance.

    The Witch of Spiders, whose name was Sealed and Hidden millenia ago, sat on the silk-covered ground, staring purposefully at the entrance, legs crossed and chin held by her hands.

    ¡°I will not leave,¡± she said again.

    ¡°And we¡¯re not letting you in. You should consider yourself lucky we¡¯re not outright killing you.¡±

    The child didn¡¯t answer, to which the guards sighed. Not long after one of the [Generals] stationed at the Silken Palace, a prize for numerous well gone assaults, ordered the girl bound, gagged, blindfolded and brought in. The guards, naturally, obeyed, jumping on the girl and making her scream in surprise, but not for long, because in a matter of seconds she found herself in a surprisingly comfortable cocoon of spidersilk, being carried inside.

    When, finally, she was freed, she began missing the comfortable embrace.

    She was in a simple, featureless, room, built out of stone, walls painted white, a simple table and chair in front of her. She was bound to another one.

    An arachne skittered inside the room and walked all around her, examining her from every angle.

    ¡°You are a child,¡± she said matter-of-factly. To which the [Witch] had nothing to say. She was, indeed, a child.

    ¡°Why are you here, child?¡±

    ¡°To join you,¡± she answered immediately.

    The arachne began laughing. And kept going. She kept going for so long that she actually had to take a seat. The little witch noticed only then how big the chairs the arachne used were. Which was to be expected: their spider halves were big.

    ¡°Haaaa, hadn¡¯t laughed so hard in a while. Now, seriously, why are you here?¡±

    The Witch of Webs to be cocked her head to the side, since that was more or less the only thing she could move, and raised an eyebrow: ¡°My mentor told me about these¡­ interrogation tactics. She went through many of those. Interrogations, I mean. She said that acting like that is clich¨¦ and works only half the time.¡±

    The arachne tilted her head to the side in the same way the witch had, and, she had to give it to her, pulled it off in a much more menacing and questioning way than she had.

    ¡°And who was your mentor?¡±

    ¡°A Witch. It doesn¡¯t matter anymore. She was raped and killed in front of me.¡±

    And at that, the [Interrogator] had to activate a Skill to control her face from grimacing. Humans. More like Hairless Beasts. And they called arachne ¡®monsters¡¯.

    ¡°Hmpf, I¡¯m sorry to hear that, little one, but that does not explain why you are here.¡±

    It did, actually, or she had a good guess. But she had to hear it.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be among the humans anymore. They disgust me. I disgust myself. I don¡¯t want to be like them.¡±

    Had she been able to, the little witch would¡¯ve wrapped herself in her arms and began rocking, for she could still hear her mentor screams of pain, hatred and violation as those men grunted in satisfaction and pleasure. Just like animals. She was nothing more than an animal. She didn¡¯t want to.

    ¡°You could¡¯ve run to the beastfolk if you hated humanity so much. Why us arachne?¡±

    The little witch glared: ¡°I¡¯m a child. And I don¡¯t have the money to reach another continent. And¡­¡± she trailed off.

    ¡°And¡­?¡±

    ¡°... I want to see them suffer. And the beastfolk won¡¯t allow me that. They would probably shun me just as much as the humans because I¡¯m a [Witch].¡±

    The arachne stared at the little girl intently, trying to see if she was genuine. Her Skills and experience told her she was, but she wanted to be sure. If she made a mistake, she could help the Hunters. And she¡¯d rather be burned on a stake than help those pieces of shit.

    ¡°Let me call someone.¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°We took her in.¡±

    ¡°In the years that followed, under some of our Elders¡¯ guidance, she became one of the greatest [Witches] in this world¡¯s history. With her help, we managed to hasten our advance, to conquer the entire continent of Irevia.

    ¡°But that¡­ that¡¯s another story. What matters is, she fell in love with one of our own. I don¡¯t remember her face, who she was and what her purpose was among us. What I do remember is that they loved each other, a love so deep that they exchanged fragments of their souls to forever be bound.

    ¡°And then, when the Hunters began winning in the ways that mattered, sending us back, killing scores of our own, when all seemed to be lost, the Witch of Webs sacrificed herself: for love, for the race that had taken her in, allowed her to become who she wanted to be. For the family she had made.

    ¡°She cursed the Hunters. No, not just those that lived at the time: she cursed their entire [Class], the intent behind them, an entire branch of the System¡¯s knowledge. She lost her life in the process but, since then, anyone who manages to gain one of the Hunters¡¯ old Classes, something like [Arachne Hunter] or the likes¡­ dies.

    ¡°Or so I¡¯ve been told by the dead. I never managed to see the end of the Hunters.¡±

    She fell silent.

    It was a good story. A sad, good, story.

    ¡°That song,¡± continued Siidi, ¡°It was a promise. A promise that they¡¯d meet again, always, even in Death. A promise she managed to keep.¡±

    She chuckled: ¡°Apparently, Death is a sentimentalist.¡±

    <hr>

    She and her Soulmate kissed. A deep, long, kiss, with lots of tongue, but even more love. When, finally, they separated, their foreheads meeting, their breaths intermingling, her arachne wife said: ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this. Please. We¡¯ll manage. We¡¯re arachne.¡±

    The Witch of Webs shook her head: ¡°I know. But you gave me so much. Let me repay this life of joy.¡±

    ¡°You repaid it a thousandfold by helping us conquer an entire continent!¡±

    ¡°And now we¡¯re losing it. I have to do this, love. If my sacrifice can help the arachne, can help you, survive even one more day, then it will have been worth it. Please.¡±

    They cried. Of course they did. They spent their last night together crying, loving each other, and then whispering sweet nothings in each other¡¯s ears.

    Finally, when the moon began to descend, the Witch of Webs began to sing.

    In the years to come, the song would become known as the arachnes¡¯ last song.

    <hr>

    Isse woke up. Or rather, was woken up.

    ¡°Wakey wakey, little spider. There¡¯s something I¡¯d like you to see.¡±

    ¡°What? Where are we?¡±

    The old man, Albert, smiled: ¡°We¡¯ve reached Winter¡¯s Last Stand.¡±

 Chapter 2: Winters Last Stand

    This world is filled with wonders and horrors alike, sights that could take your breath away and places where that breath will be taken from you, by force, in a rather permanent way. There is beauty in both of those, though.

    There is beauty in the mirrored bridges where once the War of Bridges was fought, in the crystalline sights they reflect from all over the world, and there is beauty in the Darkness Between, where the remnants of things that should be forgotten and abandoned rest asleep, forever, in the embrace of the Collector.

    There was beauty, as well, in the place where Albert had brought Isse now:

    Winter¡¯s Last Stand.

    A grand name for a not very grand place.

    It is a hill overlooking the sea west of Irevia, the Sea of Wanderers, Acrimonia. Well, more an ocean than a sea, but that¡¯s how the populace calls it, so the name¡¯s stuck now.

    The hill, and an area of more or less 10 hectares around it, was covered in knee deep snow, soft as a pillow, freezing to the touch. The cold all around deepened, but not in an unpleasant way. Many had defined the place as ¡®The perfect Winter wonderland¡¯, and everyone couldn¡¯t agree more with the definition. Kids loved playing here because the snow was always perfect for starting snowball fights and making snowmen. There was also something¡­ strange, about the place, that kept monsters away and blocked the birth of angry snow golems. At most, you¡¯d probably find some kind of snow rabbit or snow puppy wandering around aimlessly.

    All in all, this was a safe place.

    That was not what Isse felt though. The moment her feet walked through the invisible line that separated the rest of the world from the Last Stand, her soul shuddered and she felt like falling to the ground as feelings of sadness, nostalgia, resignation and happiness bombarded her mind all at once.

    A tear streamed down her face and she hugged herself inside the coat Albert had kindly given to her (it was way too big for her, but that only made it all the more comfortable), trying to comfort herself and Siidi.

    ¡°What is this place?¡± she asked, willing her voice not to tremble, and barely managing it.

    ¡°This, my dear, is Winter¡¯s Last Stand. A place of joy that was born of sorrow and war. Here, winter comes before any other place in the world and leaves last, in memory of a great sacrifice made in the name of a great cause.¡±

    What cause? she wondered, but didn¡¯t voice the question. Although, Albert apparently read it off her face.

    ¡°Nobody really knows what the cause was. The knowledge died with the man who helped make this place, together with his name and story. The College made sure of it.¡±

    The College. Always the College. She was beginning to think that, whenever something bad happened, it was always the College¡¯s fault. Her family had died because of the College, the arachne before her had died because of a Skill preserved by the College, the man who had created this sad place had disappeared from history because of the College. What was that group¡¯s purpose? Why did they exist? Why had nobody tried to rebel against it?

    ¡°I hate the College,¡± she whispered.

    And at that Albert chuckled. He shared the sentiment. Stars, he knew many people who shared the sentiment. But, at the same time, he knew the answer to Isse¡¯s unspoken question: why had nobody rebelled?

    It was simple: because they were powerful. Because they had money and connections, because the temples worked with them, because their reach spanned all four of the continents and, once upon a time, had even reached the islands of the pirates. One couldn¡¯t simply attack them, because they would have to fight the whole world.

    ¡°You¡¯re not the only one,¡± he said as he began walking forwards, motioning for her to follow him.

    She didn¡¯t move from her spot as she watched him slowly make his way through the snow, creating a small trail in the otherwise clean, white, expanse. Part of her was telling her to run and not look back, while another was telling her to use one of her Spells to kill the man now. He was old, sure, and a [Spymaster], apparently, but he wasn¡¯t looking at her. She could do it. She had the advantage here!

    Don¡¯t, said Siidi, carefulness emanating from her voice, You said it yourself: he¡¯s old, and has a Class we don¡¯t know much about. That¡¯s two things in his favor. Let¡¯s not test fate.

    She was, obviously, right. Isse didn¡¯t understand where the instinct had even come from. She was better than that. She wasn¡¯t a murderer. At least, not unless someone gave her a valid reason to be one.

    ¡­

    Fuck that sounded like the most awful excuse in the world, but she¡¯d long since come to terms with her new nature as an arachne. Killing came to her as naturally as breathing. She still remembered how¡­ indifferent, yes, that was the right word, indifferent, she had felt when she¡¯d killed her first animal. And, more than that, the animalistic joy that had pervaded her when she¡¯d killed her first [Soldiers].

    She took a deep breath, tamping down on her raging background thoughts, strangling the desire to kill the man who had saved her even though he knew all too well her true nature, shushing that little voice that kept telling her to start running and never turn back, to take all she could from Albert¡¯s little wagon and leave in all haste.

    She began walking.

    And, suddenly, the snow was no longer cold. Instead, it felt like a warm hug on her spider half. It was calming, welcoming, telling her that it was alright for her to be here, that she had been expected. That they¡¯d been waiting. The sadness and sorrow she¡¯d felt up until now disappeared, leaving behind only the nostalgia for a world that never was and happiness.

    Again, she stopped dead in her tracks. Again, a tear ran down her eye, impossible for her to stop. Not that she would¡¯ve. This sensation of being welcome, desired, even¡­ no, not loved, that was too much. But still, all the rest, it was enough to make her forget, for a moment, that she was the only one left.

    Albert turned towards her, an eyebrow rising questioningly as she noticed her state.

    ¡°You coming?¡±

    His voice broke her out of her reverie and she began walking again, following his trail. Still, she had to ask.

    ¡°How does the snow feel?¡±

    Albert didn¡¯t even turn around as he answered: ¡°Soft and cold, girl. What else should it feel like?¡±

    Then I¡¯m the only one. Or he¡¯s lying.

    He¡¯s not lying. He doesn¡¯t feel like a man who likes to lie.

    Maybe you¡¯re right.

    They walked, and the sensation of warm snow kept making her feel unsettled and welcome at the same time. She still remembered the first time she¡¯d seen snow back on Earth. She¡¯d looked at the cangiant expanse in front of her house¡­ and refused to walk out, shouting at her parents that the snow was dirty and she didn¡¯t want to get dirty. Her parents had laughed so hard they had to sit down.

    Afterwards, her father had tried to make her understand that snow was not dirty. ¡°How can something so white be dirty, dear?¡± he had said, but she¡¯d shaken her head and stubbornly kept on thinking that she was right.

    That is, until a week later her grandparents had come to visit. Her grandpa proposed that they go out for a walk and, when he¡¯d heard of her fears, had chuckled and proposed that he carry her on his shoulders. She, foolish child, had agreed.

    Then, the moment they¡¯d walked out of her home, all bundled up, her grandpa had promptly taken her off his shoulders and thrown her into the closest snow pile, laughing as he shouted: ¡°Well, does it feel dirty?¡±

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    She¡¯d cried, of course, but then she¡¯d seen the error of her ways, and since then she¡¯d fallen in love with snow and, afterwards, the season of snows, winter.

    Isse didn¡¯t know why that memory had popped up now, but it made her smile and chuckle.

    ¡°Thinking of something funny?¡±

    She stopped laughing to herself, but couldn¡¯t keep the smile off her face: ¡°Yeah, I just remembered something funny, is all. Doesn¡¯t this place make you feel at home?¡±

    And at that, finally, she saw Albert smile. A small, genuine, smile, that was nothing like his boisterous and mocking laughter from before or the sad smile that made him look even older than he already was. This was a simple, happy, smile, that creased his lips and made some barely noticeable laugh lines appear.

    ¡°Not home, no, but it¡¯s safe. It welcomes us all. Especially bitter old men like me and outcasts like you.¡±

    Isse was sure that those words should¡¯ve made her sad, but instead she felt relief. Relief that this place was for her even though she was an arachne. Relief that this place was safe for her, no matter what happened, no matter what she would choose to become.

    And then she understood: she could trust Albert. If she couldn¡¯t, this place wouldn¡¯t have welcomed him in. It would¡¯ve shunned him, made the snow hard and bitterly, unbearably, cold. His steps would¡¯ve faltered as the ground caved under his feet, trying to stop him, trying to make him fall to bury him in a tomb of ice, to be found only when the seasons changed and reached this place last.

    She skittered closer to him, and asked: ¡°What was it like, being a Spymaster?¡±

    Albert looked up, and his smile became just a tad bigger: ¡°I¡¯ll tell you if you tell me what it¡¯s like to be an arachne.¡±

    ¡°Deal!¡± she offered him her hand.

    ¡°Deal,¡± and he shook it.

    <hr>

    There was a statue at the top of the hill standing at the very center of this field. It wasn¡¯t grand, but there was something grand about the man whose features were sculpted in the ice it was made of.

    His clear hair looked ruffled by the wind, his eyes were half closed, as if he had been about to fall asleep when the sculptor had eternalized him in his (or her) creation. His lips were twisted upwards in a soft smile.

    He was bowing to an invisible public, his right arm raised behind him to make the gesture grander, while his left was tucked close to his body, as if he was holding something.

    Around the statue were a dozen other ice statues, but their features looked nothing like the resigned, peaceful expression on this one¡¯s face. They were shown as screaming, in fear or pain she couldn¡¯t tell, their arms extended away from their bodies, trying to escape from some kind of great enemy, or trying to shield themselves from an attack. Their hands, always, were broken. Or rather, the fingers were, as if they¡¯d been holding onto something and whoever had created these statues had been forced to break them to free whatever that was.

    ¡°This place is¡­ strange.¡±

    Albert chuckled at that: ¡°These are a reminder of what it means to break the peace in this place. Wars cannot be fought here, neither on land nor at sea.¡±

    ¡°So¡­ these people were [Generals]?¡±

    ¡°Most probably. Again, the story behind this place was erased from all books. I presume they were [Generals].¡±

    Isse thought about it for a moment, then asked: ¡°Then, why not turn the [Soldiers] into ice statues? Wouldn¡¯t that be more effective at stopping a fight?¡±

    ¡°Sure, but then this wouldn¡¯t be a place of peace. It would be a graveyard. And, I think, the man who made this place was a [Soldier] himself, once upon a time.¡±

    There was another question she wanted to ask, but it made no sense whatsoever. Or rather, it wouldn¡¯t have made sense back on Earth. Here, though¡­

    ¡°Is that a statue of the man, or the man himself?¡±

    There, she¡¯d asked it. She looked up at Albert, expecting him to look at her with an expression of scorn or for him to laugh at her. Instead, there was¡­ admiration, in his eyes.

    ¡°Nobody knows the answer to that one. Historical records state that there were a few [Sculptors] at the time with the Skills and the skill to make something like this, so one would be lead to believe that this is, in fact, a statue of whoever this man was. But then, you can feel it too: this aura of peace, of kindness and sadness. That¡­ doesn¡¯t feel like something a [Sculptor]¡¯s Skills should allow. Not centuries after they died. In time, even Skills fade.¡±

    So it was actually possible.

    ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t know anything more about the statue? About this place?¡±

    Albert shook his head: ¡°I spent my whole life trying to find the answer to that question dear. A little side project of mine, you could say. But I¡¯ve long since come to the conclusion that, if the information still exists at all, it¡¯s in the College¡¯s hands. We will probably never find out.¡±

    He sighed, turning around back the way they¡¯d come.

    ¡°Look around as long as you want girl. I¡¯ll be waiting by the wagon. Gonna prepare some dinner.¡±

    Isse nodded, sitting down, her spider half cradled by the warm snow while her human half was hugged by the cozy sweater. She closed her eyes and, for a while, pretended to be back in the ¡®mess hall clearing¡¯ on the Day of Defeat. While the rest of the world celebrated the end of the Silken Week, they mourned the loss of their sisters in all these years, asking that they support them from Death¡¯s embrace and greet them warmly when, inevitably, they came to rest. The silence in that moment had been absolute, with even the spiderlings standing in silence, their arms crossed over their chest, their eyes closed, not comprehending completely the why but still understanding the importance of the moment.

    She sat, letting the gentle wind caress her hair, and opened her other senses, just like Grandmother had taught her to do whenever she felt lost and in need of guidance.

    The Elder had always found it mildly entertaining, how the other races thought the arachne were just killing machines incapable of empathy, and yet, it was exactly because they¡¯d been born of Death that they understood life better than most, that they could listen to the earth unfettered by the thoughts and preoccupations other species had.

    ¡°Creation is made of opposites. Where there is kindness, there is evil. For each light, a shadow, and so on and so forth. Us living beings, we are of Creation. That means we, too, are made of opposites. A balance in al - Why are you laughing young spider? There is nothing funny or¡­ clich¨¦ you say? But can you call something a clich¨¦ if it¡¯s true?¡±

    At the time, she¡¯d laughed. Now, the simple memory made her want to cry.

    What would it feel like to lie down in this snow? Would it hurt her? Could she just¡­ stay here?

    ¡­

    Before she could try to find an answer, she heard something.

    A voice, no, a whisper, so low she would¡¯ve probably missed it weren¡¯t she listening as attentively as she was.

    ¡°Come¡­ closer¡­¡±

    She snapped her eyes open and whipped her head around, trying to see where the voice had come from. But there was nobody here. Only her and the statues.

    Please, let¡¯s not do some Weeping Angel bullshit, alright? I¡¯ll close my eyes and you statues will still be where you were before.

    She closed her eyes, trying to hear the voice again. Unless she¡¯d imagined it, which was possible considering how altered her mind probably was.

    And yet, there it was again.

    ¡°Come¡­ closer¡­ child¡­¡±

    A new word too! Well, at least this one wasn¡¯t following the clich¨¦ of the ¡®mysterious voice keeps saying the same thing over and over again until you do what it wants you to do¡¯. Which, admittedly, was a very long name for a trope, but she had no idea what its actual name was.

    ¡°Come¡­ closer¡­ gift¡­¡±

    She looked around, and her eyes landed on the statue of the man whose story had been erased.

    ¡°Ok, clearly you¡¯re the one who¡¯s talking to me.¡±

    ¡°Clever¡­ child¡­¡±

    Aaaaaaand it had actually talked back. What. The. Fuck!?

    I guess I was right. This is not just a statue. It¡¯s the man, turned into a statue. Gods dammit, that¡¯s fucking disquieting.

    She skittered closer to the statue, heedless of the possible dangers. Clearly, this place wouldn¡¯t allow something dangerous to happen to her or anyone else.

    Looking closer, she noticed that the statue was wearing some kind of cloak, perfect for a wanderer and, underneath it, peaked out something that looked like a container. A small box? She couldn¡¯t see it well, it being made of transparent ice and all that.

    When she was at spitting distance from the statue, the voice spoke again.

    ¡°Take¡­ gift¡­¡±

    She watched in astonishment as the fingers of the statue¡¯s left hand slowly, very slowly, moved, opening it, releasing its grip on¡­ n?o?t?h?i?n?g?.

    A?f?t?e?r? ?a?l?l?,? ?t?h?e? ?s?t?a?t?u?e? ?h?a?d?n?''?t? ?b?e?e?n? ?h?o?l?d?i?n?g? ?a?n?y?t?h?i?n?g? ?f?r?o?m? ?t?h?e? ?b?e?g?i?n?n?i?n?g?.? B?u?t? ?t?h?e?n?,? ?w?h?y? ?d?i?d? ?s?h?e? ?f?e?e?l? ?l?i?k?e? ?t?h?a?t? ?w?a?s? ?w?r?o?n?g??? ?T?h?e? ?s?t?a?t?u?e? ?s?h?o?u?l?d?''?v?e? ?h?e?l?d? ?s?o?m?e?t?h?i?n?g?,? ?s?h?e? ?w?a?s? ?c?e?r?t?a?i?n? ?o?f? ?i?t?,? ?d?e?e?p? ?i?n?s?i?d?e? ?h?e?r? ?s?o?u?l?.? ?I?t? ?w?a?s? ?m?e?a?n?t? ?t?o? ?b?e? ?h?o?l?d?i?n?g? ?a? ?v?-?

    [¨€¨€¨€li¨€ Na¨€¨€¨€]

    Isse batted her eyes and looked at the statue, wondering why she¡¯d come so close to touching it.

    Suddenly, she felt very hungry. Hadn¡¯t Albert talked about making dinner?

    She turned and skittered the way she¡¯d come. Today had been¡­ a good day.

 Interlude: The Consequences

    The Assistant was, by all standards, a haughty man. It was only natural, seeing what he was destined to become one hopefully not-so-distant day in the future: the next Grandmaster of the College. Those lower than him in the chain of command had to understand how important he was, how, one day, he would command all of them. And they all accepted it, because it was true, because he was good at what he was supposed to do. The best, actually. Only the best for the greatest and most powerful organization in the world.

    Currently, the Assistant was running frantically inside the corridors of the House, doors and paintings passing by him on the walls, greeting him, scorning him, laughing openly, the Memories and Traditions and even, sometimes, Laws inside coming to life to see, finally, Consequences strike the world with her greatest hammer. It had been close to a decamillennium since last the [Old Man by the Mountains] had felt so much power coursing through their veins. She was giddy, so much so that one could have even seen her smile, a thing so rare one would have to sign the date on the calendar before they began running for cover, for whenever that One began to smile the world changed in ways so unexpected many would call them disastrous.

    But alas, nothing could be done about it. Consequences could not be stopped once They, once She (at least in this incarnation), came. One could only hope, pray, that they never do anything worthy of their attention. Or that, if someone did, that they wouldn¡¯t reach them.

    Alas, this time, no soul would be so lucky. For, today, the Era of Change began.

    And how did it begin?

    Well, as was already stated, it began with the Assistant running towards the Grandmaster¡¯s office.

    But why was he running? you may be wondering.

    It¡¯s simple: because his Class had changed as he was sleeping. From [Assistant of Memory¡¯s Control] to [Grandmaster of Memory¡¯s Exploitation]. Those were heavy words the System had used, but It was impartial and It understood just how much the Memories despised their current state of existence. It had been a very long time since the Grandmasters¡¯ Classes had been anything but negative in nature.

    The Assistant-No-More reached the big double doors that led into the Grandmaster¡¯s office and pushed them open.

    He looked inside, his eyes stopping momentarily on a point in the room, before he looked down and vomited his dinner on the floor.

    For, in the office, right in front of the desk, hanging from a noose, was the old Grandmaster, dead.

    <hr>

    ¡°Sir Gaius, Madame Serafia, I have news on a¡­ most interesting event.¡±

    The man who had just spoken was named Gregory and he was a [Spy Butler], a most interesting union of two Classes that meshed together surprisingly well. Truth be told, all serving Classes such as [Maids], [Butlers], [Servants] and even, once upon a time, before the practice was very violently stopped, [Slaves], meshed surprisingly well with most, if not all, other Classes. Sure, you wouldn¡¯t be finding many [Butler Strategists] around battlefields (although they had appeared a surprising amount of time in this world¡¯s history), but finding a [Magical Maid] in a wealthy nobleman¡¯s house wasn¡¯t a rarity at all. What was even less rare was finding one of these Classes mixed together with a [Spy] or any other Class that was part of that category (except for [Spymasters]. But then again, even those haven¡¯t been rare in the world¡¯s history).

    Gregory had been trained, in his youth, in an orphanage owned by a player of the Great Game, where kids like he had been were trained from the day they could walk and (but not necessarily) talk to become some of the greatest [Spies] in the world. He had been a good student. Nothing brilliant, but not one of the worst, firmly in the middle. Which had been a very good thing indeed for him, since, on the day he had become fifteen years of age, when he was legally considered an adult, he had been given a choice on where he would work, instead of being thrown into the Great Game¡¯s ever-hungry maw as either a piece of some importance or a sacrificial Pawn.

    In that aspect, he had been quite lucky. After all, the owner of the orphanage, while a good Player, was just like Gregory. Not brilliant, merely good. And this slight oversight had cost him many students who could¡¯ve become great Pieces or even Players.

    ¡°What is it Gregory?¡± asked Madame Serafia from her very comfortable sofa, where she was reclined in a rather unladylike way, one leg propped up on the furniture¡¯s back, the other hanging off it (Gregory had yet to find a single human being who hadn¡¯t been trained to be some sort of [Fighter] that would find such a position comfortable), as she read a book, a wine glass on the floor nearby. Meanwhile, her husband, Gaius de Bois, was enjoying another book by her side, legs propped up on a stool in a much more gentlemanly way, his wine glass on a table nearby. Sometimes, he would glance to his left, up his wife¡¯s gown, and Gregory couldn¡¯t help but wonder if the woman was wearing anything underneath it.

    He shook his head slightly as he answered: ¡°Madame, it¡¯s the vault under the manor. It would seem that the entrance and, I believe, the whole inside, has been frozen shut¡­ from the inside.¡±

    At that, both Gaius and Serafia looked up from their books and raised twin eyebrows in curiosity and alarm.

    ¡°Has someone managed to get inside?¡± asked Gaius.

    ¡°No Sir, not that we know of. The staff has already examined the inside and outside of the vault with Spells and Skills, but no form of life or unlife was sensed within. The [Guards] have already examined every square inch of the whole grounds and found nothing more than a cat, which was swiftly dispatched in case it was some sort of shapeshifter or trained spy. The anti-Invisibility wards have been activated together with the alarms. If anything leaves or enters the property, we will be immediately alerted.¡±

    By property he meant both the villa where they lived and the whole area inside the fences. Basically, the mansion was in lockdown.

    ¡°Very good, Gregory. You¡¯ve done splendidly,¡± said the [Lady] of the house as she sat up on the sofa and began walking out of the room, followed by her husband. They weren¡¯t in any hurry: they were a [Lord] and a [Lady] after all, and that changed neither in peace nor in war. Now, this wasn¡¯t a war but, potentially, it could evolve into something nasty, considering the things that were held in that vault. Nothing apocalyptic, no, dear gods no, but there were some quite powerful artifacts and, most important of all, Relics, that generations of Serafia¡¯s family had collected.

    When, finally, they reached the entrance of the vault, deep underground, behind three different secret passages and enough protective Spells to blow up a small army, they found four of their personal [Guards] milling about, checking the enchantments of the vault and looking around. They immediately stood at attention the moment they heard them come.

    ¡°Gregory, you weren¡¯t lying. Vault door¡¯s frozen solid,¡± said Gaius as he nodded towards the guards in greeting.

    ¡°Indeed. What could¡¯ve caused this. One of our artifacts?¡±

    Gregory made a so-so gesture with his hand as he walked towards the door: ¡°My [Lady], I am not privy to all that is contained in the Vault. Your parents were always rather secretive in their dealings with the things inside.¡±

    [Lady] Serafia chuckled: ¡°Stop dodging the question Gregory. I know for a fact that you were the one who obtained many of those artifacts for them. In this house you¡¯re the only other individual, other than me and my hubby here -¡±

    Said ¡®hubby¡¯ sighed and smiled ruefully, giving the guards a look that said ¡®Look what I have to deal with all day¡¯, which elicited a couple of chuckles. He wouldn¡¯t have it any other way.

    ¡°- who knows so well what¡¯s inside. Stars, even I have no idea what some of those things do.¡±

    Gregory nodded his head and bowed: ¡°As you wish madame. In that case, and this is only speculation, I believe it is the violin.¡±

    Serafia frowned, walking towards Gregory and whispering in his ear: ¡°The violin? The supposed Relic? The useless one.¡±

    ¡°As far as we know, my [Lady], that¡­ artifact is not useless, we just haven¡¯t found the right conditions that allow its use.¡±

    Now, you may be wondering, what in Airm is a Relic? Ok, no, I know you¡¯re actually wondering what that violin is, but I¡¯m going to very carefully ignore the question (*Accidentally kicks the bucket containing the question, causing it to spill all over the story*).

    Anyways, Relics are a special type of extremely powerful artifacts. They¡¯re the machine gun to the big iron, the ship to the boat, you get it. But why? It¡¯s simple: Relics are born out of items that were used by individuals of extremely high Level, objects these people cared for so much, things that they kept and used all their lives, that they became part of them, of the way people saw them. A [King]¡¯s crown could become a Relic if given enough time and Levels, for people tend to associate a King to their crown, or a [Knight] to their sword. Or a [Musician] to their favorite violin.

    But if that were just it, then a Relic would just be a very famous artifact. No, what made them truly powerful, the reason why they were, normally, only found in the College¡¯s halls, was that Relics became bound to the greatest moments of their users. To their and the people¡¯s Memories of those moments. So much so that, once the individual who owned them died, they stored some of their Skills. Forever. And those Skills could be learned by anyone who possessed the Relic and managed to recreate the time or the conditions when the Skill was obtained.

    Now you can very well understand why Relics were so sought after and, especially, why the College always looked for them. If they found out that someone was withholding one of these extremely rare items without their express permission you were assured to be found dead in your bed with a knife in your heart most of the time.

    That¡¯s why only three people in total knew about the contents of the Vault.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t even born when that Re - Artifact was obtained. Where did my parents get it from?¡±

    ¡°I believe, Miss, that it was taken from Winter¡¯s Last Stand.¡±

    The moment those words were said the temperature in the room plummeted and the ice covering the Vault¡¯s door began expanding ever so slowly, frost beginning to form on the walls around.

    ¡°Apparently, it doesn¡¯t like it when we name that place,¡± added Gregory nonchalantly as the warming charm sewn in his impeccable suit activated. Meanwhile the guards and the two nobles began to shiver, especially the [Lady].

    ¡°L-L-Let¡¯s g-g-g-go back up-p-p-p,¡± she said through suddenly chattering teeth.

    Her husband nodded and they began walking back up, motioning for the guards to come with them. They wouldn¡¯t leave them here to suffer this apparently very angry Relic.

    Everybody sighed in pleasure when they finally reached the house proper. Except for Gregory, whose face remained as unchanging as always.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    ¡°Alright. For now, nobody will go down there. Lock it up, keep the security Spells up around it, but nobody will go down there. Hopefully everything will resolve itself given enough time. Understood?¡± ordered Serafia as she kept on stroking her arms to get the heat back in them.

    The guards stood at attention while Gregory bowed in understanding.

    When everyone was gone, the [Lady] sighed, then looked up at her husband and smiled mischievously.

    ¡°I¡¯m still quite cold dear. Mind warming me up a bit.¡±

    Gaius de Bois smiled back and nodded.

    He still remembered the day when the Brothers Two had brought him in Tedam for his wedding. He also still remembered, unlike everyone else apparently, the Skill they had shouted when they¡¯d delivered him: [Wearing Black, They Brought Ruin].

    And yet, in his entire life, he hadn¡¯t been even close to being as happy as he was now with his wife. Sure, the wedding had been one of convenience, but this had been one of those rare cases where there had been actual love between the two.

    Maybe the Skill failed to work, he thought to himself.

    Wrongly.

    The System never failed.

    <hr>

    The Assistant-now-Grandmaster read for what was probably the tenth time the letter the late Grandmaster had left.

    He read it, and for the tenth time he thought that maybe joining him in the afterlife wasn¡¯t such a bad idea.

    Finally, he put the letter down and stared up at the painting that was still hanging in the Hunter¡¯s Garrett. The painting that had once shown a scene of Hunters killing arachne in a bloody battle, winning on all fronts. A painting which had, once, held a Law. The College¡¯s greatest Law: [The Hunters Cut the Veil Between Life and Death].

    A painting that was now a white canvas, devoid of all color. Because the Law had been, somehow, destroyed. Devoured by Winter.

    That, in itself, was a big problem. But he had thought, at the time when it¡¯d happened, that it wouldn¡¯t be a problem: that had to be the last Clan of the arachne.

    That hope had just been dashed by the letter though. The Grandmaster had told him about a special Tradition that was unique to the arachne: [Always, One Survived]. It was a secret known only to the Grandmasters, never to be revealed to anyone else. The Tradition allowed, always, for one arachne to survive. Which was more than enough for that damned species to repopulate. And now that they¡¯d lost their most powerful weapon against them¡­ the new Grandmaster shivered. He understood why the old fart had chosen to end it.

    Again, he was tempted to follow him: he didn¡¯t want to see how badly this went.

    But he didn¡¯t go looking for a rope. Instead, he kept sitting at the head of the table where, a few months ago, they¡¯d told Nero to go hunt down the arachne in that nest and kill them all, thumbing the Grandmaster¡¯s letter.

    Finally, he made a decision.

    He snapped his fingers and a merry fire began burning in the fireplace nearby. There, he threw the letter, and watched as it burned into nothingness.

    Then, the Grandmaster left the Garrett, and started his new job.

    <hr>

    King Alban III, [King of the People], was currently doing something he allowed himself to rarely do: he was enjoying a banquet with the goblin ambassador, his two hobgoblin guards and his [High Mage] and good friend Argus. Ok, calling it a banquet was a bit of an exaggeration: there weren¡¯t dozens of guests and dignitaries from outside and nobles from his reign; as such there weren¡¯t that many courses of food, nor was it as extravagant as it could get. Which, in Alban¡¯s modest culinary opinion, was better. The food they served at actual banquets was so elaborate that it actually caused a drain on the kingdom¡¯s coffers and, truth be told, it tended to be¡­ too much. At least, for him. He preferred simpler meals.

    ¡°You know, Alban,¡± started the goblin [Ambassador] after he finished his plate with obvious satisfaction, ¡°Anyone else would look at this meal and think that you¡¯re either in dire need of money or that you¡¯re disrespecting them. It is simple food.¡±

    The [King] smiled slightly: ¡°In my experience, simple things are better. Well, except for strategies at war, or so my [Strategists] say. Still, the food was good.¡±

    The goblins nodded, in particular the two [Guards], who¡¯d looked ready to lick the plates: ¡°Some of the best food we had since we left our home.¡±

    He chuckled, then added: ¡°You know, Alban, you would make a great goblin. Probably even a great Goblin [King], if we weren¡¯t constantly at risk of war.¡±

    Alban chuckled deeply: ¡°No, I am not a [King of War] or whatever your King¡¯s Class is. I am, at heart, a man of peace. But you already know that.¡±

    ¡°Sure we do!¡±

    [Servants] entered the room and took out the dirty plates as a [Majordomo] stood primly by the table and, bowing, asked if the King and his guests were ready for dessert.

    Once he was out, the [Ambassador] began talking again: ¡°So, what are you going to do now that the war¡¯s ended?¡±

    ¡°For starters, I will find a way to convince the City of the Gods to stop sending me envoys asking to build temples to this or that god or swear fealty to this or that cult.¡±

    The goblins laughed out loud. They, like Alban, had no respect for religion. Naturally, the [King of the People] didn¡¯t completely prohibit the practice. He knew better than to completely forbid something that was such a commonplace. It would be like prohibiting alcohol in his entire kingdom. A madman¡¯s venture. He had allowed a single temple to be built in honor of all the gods, and that was it.

    The only exception, naturally, was the new temple to Soma, the God of Dreams and Impossibilities, although the goblins did say, cryptically, that the Dream part was more a consequence than a decision. The goblins had specified what should be done to decorate the temple: outside, on the frieze, were to be carvings of children¡¯s dreams and nightmares, the latter also showing people killing the beasts that came from the darkest parts of the kids¡¯ minds, while the inside was meant to have blank walls, to be decorated in the years to come by those same children, or even the adults, with drawings.

    Soma may not be the God of Children, that was Stavium, God of Crafters and All That Is New, but the God of Impossibilities was fond of kids: their dreams were the best, and their nightmares the most vivid. Legend said that he had created the Land of Dreams, turning it into an actual place, only to let people walk among dreams and help those poor kids who were suffering nightmares.

    In the end, the only thing the Goblins had insisted upon was the altar: it had to be made from white stone, as white as could be found, the top covered with as black a veil as could be crafted and, on one side, a single pair of worn boots had to be placed. Also, any spiders making a home in the temple were not to be killed. They would cause harm or inconvenience anyway.

    ¡°And after that?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s easy: I¡¯ll have to find new ways to make my people¡¯s life better, starting with reparations to the families who lost people in the war. Afterwards, I was thinking of torturing the children by forcing them to go to school.¡±

    They all laughed at that, but the [King] was having the right thoughts.

    Before they could resume speaking, a blue stone on the goblin [Ambassador]¡¯s belt came to life, glowing brightly and vibrating. He raised an eyebrow both in surprise and annoyance, but picked up the Communication Stone.

    ¡°[Ambassador] Cremrion Nevres speaking. This better be important.¡±

    Alban only heard gibberish from the stone, probably some kind of ward to stop anyone not close to the Communication Stone from listening, or a Skill.

    Still, Alban clearly saw Crem¡¯s eyebrows slowly rise, confusion and then elation appearing on his face. When he finished listening to the other voice he was smiling so hard it had be hurting.

    ¡°Very well. Extremely well actually! This is great news!¡±

    He put the stone down, looking as pleased as a child who¡¯d just received a new toy.

    ¡°What happened?¡± asked Alban.

    Crem told him.

    <hr>

    Natalia Everast was a goblin [Diviner]. Her story, her appearance, everything about her was ordinary and unimportant. But that was ok, or rather, it was by design.

    Truth be told, [Diviner] wasn¡¯t even her main Class. She was, what? Level 15? Yes, 15. It was, after all, just a hobby that had started as an attempt to read some tea leaves in her friend¡¯s cup after reading a book she¡¯d bought from a [Wandering Merchant], which had then evolved in her attempts to read cards and even the palms of hands.

    Her main Class, which was also her job, was [Chef]. She worked at a respectable restaurant in the capital of the Kingdom of Goblins and lived a very fine life thanks to the money she gained there.

    Well, ok, her actual Class was [Battlefield Chef], one she had gained after serving [Soldiers] during the decades long war while managing to make good food with what little they had. She had saved her unit more times than she could bother to count from starvation during hard times. The goblin king had offered her, after the end of the war, a great many commendations and even money enough to live the rest of her life without needing to work, but she was still twenty (which, for goblins, was close to being considered old age since, before the war started, the average goblin lifespan was three years before an adventurer killed them), and had decided that, if she was going to live for a long while, she may as well make herself useful.

    Today, though, was her day off, and she was in her home reading a book. It was a shitty little romance novel she¡¯d bought after losing a bet with a friend. It had cost her the beauty of two gold coins, and she hated every single page of it, but she was determined to finish it after spending so much on it.

    That is, until suddenly she felt something strange inside her. A pull, as if she was a puppet and her stringmaster had decided that she¡¯d spent enough time in this scene. It was irresistible, and in her mind¡¯s eye she could feel and see her [Diviner] Class pulsing, telling her to use her Skills, to call upon the threads of destiny and see them unfold in front of her, to try and read them.

    For a moment, she resisted, but then thought better of it: there was nothing wrong in reading the Cards and seeing what they told her. She still did it now and again.

    She put the book down, using a leaf to not lose the page, and walked upstairs, where she kept her deck of cards. She didn¡¯t notice when her steps began getting faster.

    But the moment she walked inside her small bedroom and took out the cards she began shuffling them frantically. But not in the right way. She had to ask a question to the cards, and only then would she see what they had in store for her.

    But what should she ask? What question felt right for this moment, when she had been basically¡­ not forced, but very much led to the cards.

    Then, she felt the answer to that in her heart: What do you want to show me?

    She asked that question, activating one of her Skills: [True Shuffle]. A strange Skill that simply allowed her to shuffle the deck better, attuning it more to the threads of destiny. Making sure it would show her only the truth.

    She finished shuffling and, very slowly, nearly reverentially now, put the deck down. Then, with a trembling hand, she took the card on top and put it face up.

    The Page of Candles. A woman holding a broken crown, wax hair turned into candles that were burning, slowly melting her head and face, changing, reshaping, her.

    She looked at the card, and her vision shifted.

    The card in front of her grew bigger and bigger, encompassing her whole view, until she could feel the heat from the candles and the maddened laughter of the Candle Queen That Was. She watched in horror as her skin melted, her head disappearing inside her dress that slowly pooled on the floor before it, too, was burned by the fire of the candles. Then, something moved in the wax. A single, small, spider, which walked out of the melting and probably still scorching hot wax. It walked towards her, and began growing bigger, bigger and bigger until it towered over her, watching her with eyes filled with sadness, hatred and love. Its back legs began moving, spinning silk from its spinneret, and it used the silk and wax to make a new shape out of the wax. A sphere.

    The planet, she thought.

    Their planet, snared in a grand web, being slowly reshaped by the spider¡¯s legs, continents changing shape, new land appearing and disappearing.

    Then, the vision ended, and she was back in her room, staring at the Card.

    In the back of her mind a voice whispered:

    [Conditions Met: Diviner -> Card Reader of the Changing Eras]

    [Card Reader of the Changing Era Level 21!]

    [Skill - I Saw the Cards¡¯ Will Obtained!]

    [Skill - I Was There Obtained!]

    Consequences reached all. The world began preparing, but all who had witnessed, one way or another, what the future had in store knew this: it would neve be enough.

 Chapter 3: Favor Man

    An old man and a definitely human girl traveled through the country of Scasce, the former trying to get used to the cold again, the latter trying to get used to the sudden bouts of sadness that tried to tear her heart apart. Had a [Witch] walked by them, she could¡¯ve harvested the girl¡¯s emotion for days on end and only barely manage to reach the bottom of the well of sadness. Alas, there were no [Witches] around this kingdom. Truth be told, they¡¯d long since become a rarity all over the world, because most of the time they were shunned.

    Oh, what a cruel joke that was, that people would accept, if not like, [Necromancers], who, once upon a time, were killed on sight, even when they attempted to do good, but couldn¡¯t accept [Witches]. But why? The answer, ladies and gentlemen, lies in that Class¡¯ very nature: freedom. Freedom of thought, in particular. [Witches] always do what they think is right for them and the people around them. [Witches] think with their heads instead of joining all the other little sheep around them. Basically, [Witches] don¡¯t ever want to do what they¡¯re told, unless they think it¡¯s the right thing.

    That¡¯s the reason why they aren¡¯t accepted, unlike [Necromancers], who¡¯ll usually do anything just to not be persecuted.

    In the world of now, there are few [Witches], let alone covens. One of them is stationed, as you already know, in the Tiurna Mountains, near a town of [Mountaineers]. They¡¯re the accepting kind of people. You have to be, if you want to live in such a harsh place. It¡¯s the price of freedom!

    Another coven can, sometimes, under the right moons, be found in the Visant Desert. Their members though are positively ancient and do not easily welcome visitors, so be careful there.

    Finally, under the protective wing of the King of Crows, slowly, a new coven is beginning to form, following traditions and Traditions of old that were thought to be forgotten.

    You will never find [Witches] on Rodar. They know the truth of that place. They won¡¯t go there. They will not interfere. They know better.

    But let¡¯s stop talking about [Witches]. This isn¡¯t about them, not today.

    Today is about a young arachne, an adult by her species standards, a child in the eyes of an old [Clocksmith] hiding many secrets. They¡¯d been traveling together for a while now. A week, to be precise.

    To Isse, it felt like a lifetime.

    The moment she had walked out of the place called Winter¡¯s Last Stand, crossing the invisible line that separated it from the rest of the world, she¡¯d felt the cold bite into her spider half¡­ quite ineffectively. That part of her didn¡¯t have the nerve endings to actually feel temperature that well, which was both a blessing and a curse, since she couldn¡¯t understand if she was freezing herself solid. She¡¯d also started to feel a lot sleepier than she normally was and couldn¡¯t understand if it was the probable depression or the spider part of her telling her it was time to hibernate for the winter.

    ¡°How much longer ¡®till we reach your blasted city?¡±

    Albert turned his head slightly towards her from the front of the carriage, an eyebrow visibly raised.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got quite the foul tongue there, young lady.¡±

    At that, she felt like laughing and crying. Because he sounded exactly like Grandmother. The Elder may have been a homicidal mage who thought the best way to deal with trauma was to slap you with even more of it until you learned to live with it, but for some reason she hated it when people used foul language, especially in her presence. Truly, a grandmother in name and fact.

    ¡°Says the [Spymaster]. I¡¯m sure you learned and used worse slurs in your life.¡±

    ¡°That I did, but now, in my old age, I¡¯ve come to realize the error in that. There are always better alternatives.¡±

    Isse chuckled at that: ¡°Sure, sure. I¡¯ll be waiting for the first time you stub your finger against a table, and if I hear you say anything other than ¡®Oh fiddlesticks, this really ruffles my feathers¡¯ I¡¯ll remind you of this conversation.¡±

    The old man smiled: ¡°Wanna bet on that?¡± and he offered her his right hand, his gloved fingers twitching a bit from the cold.

    Isse reached up hesitantly and, after a moment, shook it. Then, without letting go, she asked: ¡°What are we betting?¡±

    ¡°Oh, let¡¯s see. If I win, you¡¯ll owe me a favor. If I lose, I¡¯ll owe you one. How¡¯s that sound?¡±

    Isse raised an eyebrow while Siidi said this was probably a bad idea.

    ¡°Just a favor? Really? I expected more from a [Spymaster]. No asking for m eternal servitude or anything like that?¡±

    Albert chuckled: ¡°I¡¯m too old for things like that little spider. I¡¯ll die in -¡± he stopped, checking his pocket watch as if it could tell him exactly how much time he had left, ¡°- around ten years. What use would a servant be to me?¡±

    Which left a question hanging in the back of the arachne¡¯s mind: ¡®Did he actually ask for something like that when he was younger?¡¯

    The answer, dear readers, is no. In his younger days, Albert used to say he wouldn¡¯t trust himself with holding a child in his arms, much less having someone live as a servant at his beck and call.

    ¡°Alright then. A favor. I agree with the conditions of this bet,¡± said Isse after thinking about it for a moment more.

    ¡°And I do too.¡±

    That night, as they camped and Albert fell asleep in his tent, giving Isse the wagon with most of the blankets, a voice spoke to him.

    [Spymaster of Favors Level 42!]

    No Skill, but it had been so long since he¡¯d last gained a Level in that Class that he didn¡¯t mind. Also, he didn¡¯t use it much anymore. He was out. It had taken him years, but he was out of the Game, free as a bird, no strings attached. And he had loved every single moment of that bloodily gained freedom.

    <hr>

    They reached the city of Tedam the next day. The first thing Isse noticed in the distance were, of course, the walls. They were probably fifteen meters high, towers interspersed at regular intervals all over it. From this distance she couldn¡¯t be certain, but they had strange forms. Had the [Architect] who¡¯d built the walls decorated them in some way?

    As they got closer, they began to see the first signs of civilization in the form of farms surrounded by fields of spinach, lettuce and other vegetables Isse didn¡¯t know the names of or had outright never seen. There was, for example, some kind of white wheat spikes in a field, white in another there were what looked like dozens of¡­ shimmering giant tomatoes? What the Airm?

    ¡°What are those?¡± she asked, pointing at the strange vegetables.

    Albert looked up and followed her finger towards the offending things.

    ¡°Ah, those are out winter crops. The white wheat is, well, Snow Wheat. Perfect for making low grade Cold Resistance potions, you can also use it to make bread, but you have to eat it hot or you¡¯re asking to lose a tooth. The shimmery things are called Heartchaser¡¯s Fruits. They¡¯re great for making Heating potions and, in general, emanate lots of heat. You¡¯ll probably find some even inside houses to keep them warm.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t eat them?¡±

    Albert made a so-so gesture with his hand: ¡°They don¡¯t taste that great, and they¡¯re a lot hotter on the inside than the outside, so you¡¯ll probably burn your tongue. Also, they lose their heating abilities fast after you break them open if you don¡¯t use the right reagents. Don¡¯t ask which ones, I¡¯m not an [Alchemist].¡±

    So these were alchemical ingredients. Well, Pochi had told her that many [Farmers] did that to gain some extra money during the winter, when they wouldn¡¯t be able to produce as much. That, though, raised a question:

    ¡°Won¡¯t this impoverish the soil though? Shouldn¡¯t you let it rest during the winter and rotate the crops you plant?¡±

    Albert nodded in agreement: ¡°Normally, yes, but most [Farmers] around here have some good Skills that prevent this. Although, even then, sometimes they still have to do things the normal way. Skills may be good, but they can¡¯t completely circumvent the laws of nature. Usually.¡±

    ¡°Usually?¡±

    ¡°Yes, well, after Level 50 the laws of reality are more¡­ suggestions, than laws. Kind of like a pirate¡¯s code of conduit.¡±

    They stared at each other for a moment before they both erupted in uproarious laughter.

    Then they fell into a companionable silence.

    The time Isse had spent with Albert had not healed her. The wounds in her mind, soul and heart were still bleeding, and profusely at that. So much so that it would¡¯ve taken just a little push in the right direction for that blood to flow in the wrong way and taint her Classes and Skills.

    Something like what a group of [Soldiers] was attempting to do among the ashes of the forest of Tusca.

    <hr>

    ¡°First who manages to break this abomination gets a month off and a bag of holding with two thousand gold coins!¡± shouted the [Commander] to his troops.

    The [King] had promised this reward personally after hearing about what was left in the middle of the burned grounds where once a grand, colorful, forest had been: an ice statue of an arachne, tall as two three men put one on top of the other. The arachne statue was smiling in victory, a sword going through the heart of her human, which, somehow, had too turned into ice.

    Had someone looked closer they would¡¯ve noticed that there was a bitterness to the expression. Sadly, nobody noticed. All the soldiers saw was a memento of a great monster from a feared race of genocidal machines.

    To make you understand the situation, consider this: if a statue like this had been found in a nobleman¡¯s house, it would¡¯ve resulted in the noble¡¯s swift, public and very messy execution on charges of ¡®Crimes against the Continuation of Life¡¯. So you can very well imagine why a [King] wouldn¡¯t want such a statue to ever exist in his kingdom.

    Now, the rewards was, as you may well imagine, big. Two thousand gold coins was more than most people would ever see in an entire year if they didn¡¯t spend a single coin.

    But, instead of a horde of money-hungry [Soldiers] launching themselves at the ice statue, the [Commander]¡¯s words were greeted by hesitant silence. Why? The reason for that lay at the statue¡¯s spidery feet: a few small mounds of ice.

    ¡°Come on boys, it¡¯s the [King]¡¯s orders. And that¡¯s just an ice statue. You can find a way! Or do you want the [Mages] to get all the money?¡±

    After another moment of hesitation, one of the soldiers spoke: ¡°Sir, one of the [Mages] actually tried to melt the statue by launching a [Fireball].¡±

    ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s three steps to your right.¡±

    Three steps to the [Commander]¡¯s right was a small mound of big ice pieces and a base that reminded him slightly of the robes their mages wore. There was also a small line of ice that traveled from the small mound towards the statue, connected to a second mound.

    The poor man looked at it, then at the statue of the arachne, then at all the ice around it, then sighed heavily.

    ¡°Just start some fires near it and hope it¡¯ll melt. We¡¯ll divide the money if and when it¡¯s gone.¡±

    <hr>

    The gates of Tedam were big, wooden, monstrosities with steel armor. They would¡¯ve been impressive to Isse¡­ if she was a child.

    Instead she just asked: ¡°Why do they always make these entry gates so big? It doesn¡¯t make sense! Do you, like, have giants passing through?¡±

    Albert quirked an amused eyebrow towards her and chuckled: ¡°Once upon a time, maybe, but I think they¡¯ve all gone extinct. Or mixed their blood so much that the biggest of them is at most, like, three meters high.¡±

    Isse had to pause at that as a very inappropriate question popped up in her mind. She decided not to ask it but, sadly, she¡¯d forgotten she had Siidi as a headmate.

    The arachne [Soul Curator] activated her latest Skill: [A Minute, United].

    In an instant their souls mixed together, connected, yet still capable of separation. The thread that united them was a question: can I? Can we? And if ever the answer to that became a no, they would be two again.

    Isse, though, didn¡¯t mind, and, with the other arachne¡¯s confidence and relative lack of fur on her tongue, they asked: ¡°How would that work? Mixing blood with giants, I mean. Like, I imagine the men would be way too big for a normal woman.¡±

    Albert¡¯s eyebrows shot into his hairline before he started laughing. A few tears actually rolled out of the corners of his eyes before he managed to stop, catching his breath. Despite his apparently advanced age, his lungs didn¡¯t make any wheezing sounds.

    ¡°Haaaa, well now, that¡¯s an interesting question. To answer you: you¡¯d be surprised at just how stretchy lizardwomen can be. And some [Prostitutes] with the right Classes and fetishes. Also, usually the fucking was done between a human man and a giantess. I¡¯m told it could get messy and very wet by the end of it.¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    And that¡¯s more or less when Isse and Siidi found out that Albert had even less hairs on his tongue than them put together.

    As the Skill ended and they were two again, Isse became as red as a pepper and hid in the back of the wagon as Albert chuckled and began humming a song, drawing nearer and nearer to the gates.

    ¡°We¡¯ll have to get you some documents to enter the city. The process is not difficult, but I suggest you let me talk, alright?¡±

    Isee cocked an eyebrow in curiosity: ¡°Wait, getting documents doesn¡¯t take weeks at an office and endless paperwork?¡±

    Albert looked at her with a quirked eyebrow: ¡°Of course not. Why should it? You can get your Identification Badge at any gatehouse in any big enough city. The process usually takes no more than thirty minutes. Now, if you want something more complex, like a Merchant¡¯s License or an Apprenticing Permit, well, there things get a bit longer, but not too much. A few days at worst.¡±

    Was it possible? Had she done? Had she really found a world without bureaucracy?

    Not without bureaucracy, no. Just one where it works well, contradicted her Siidi.

    You can never let a joke go, eh?

    So long as you keep getting angry about it, nope!

    She sighed and hid the smile that formed on her face.

    ¡°Something funny about what I just said?¡±

    Of course, Albert noticed.

    ¡°You¡¯re old enough to be my great grandpa, shouldn¡¯t you have something like cataracts? How can your eyes still be so good?¡±

    After a moment of stunned silence, he broke out into laughter again.

    ¡­This old man is missing a few gears.

    She nodded in agreement.

    <hr>

    They reached the gates of the city in the early morning, around nine o¡¯clock if Siidi¡¯s read on the Sun¡¯s position was to be believed. Because of course they didn¡¯t think to ask the literal [Clocksmith] in front of them if he had a clock to use to tell them the hour.

    The carriage in front of their own was finally let free after a very through inspection by the guards.

    Unlike the [Guards] at the entrance to the city she and Pochi used to go to every once in a while, who wore heavy armor and looked ready to go to war at any moment, these wore light armor with soft and very warm looking clothes underneath.

    Look at them, feeling so safe, so sure that nothing could come at them right here, right now, whispered Siidi.

    And it took all of Isse¡¯s force of will to stop her own intrusive thoughts, her desire to leap down the carriage and bite these men¡¯s exposed throats out, take a sword and start a carnage. Hatred bloomed deep in her gut and burned a deep, burgundy, flame that threatened to devour her self control.

    Oh, but how easy it would¡¯ve been.

    She looked at these low level [Guards], looked at their bodies, and she could see they weren''t all smoke. Their bodies were trained, muscles visible where skin could be seen. They were strong, if low Level and incapable of fighting against a [Mage] like her. They''d probably make good breeders. And with her Skill...

    She stopped. These thoughts were completely unlike her...

    I''m not ready to be a mother.

    Yeah, as if that was the real issue.

    Still, she kept herself at bay, just glaring at the men who walked close to their carriage, getting ready to bolt if something went wrong.

    One of the [Guards] looked at Albert, who was offering him his documents, and his eyebrows shot up: "Old man, you''re back!"

    Apparently, he had recognized Albert.

    The old [Clocksmith] smiled slightly at the young [Guard] as he nodded: "Aye lad, I''m back from my vacation, and I''m already regretting it. Up here''s too cold for my taste."

    "You could just go live in Aknos. I''m sure you''d find it right cozy."

    "Lad, there''s a difference between liking hot climates and being a masochistic steam room lover."

    The man chuckled and waved him through: "Glad to have you back old man. Will you be opening up shop soon?"

    "In a few days. Give me some time to dust my place down and convince my [Supplier] that I''m not too old to work a forge."

    The [Guard] nodded and passed him his documents back. Said documents were in the form of a small plaque made of what Isse guessed to be iron or steel with Albert''s name, surname, age, species, date of the document''s release and Class carved on.

    "And who''s the girl with you old man? A guest?" asked a second [Guardsman] who had just arrived. His eyes briefly flickered towards the wagon, right where Isse was hiding under her blankets and behind a nearly empty crate of supplies.

    "That, Rin, is my niece, Isse. She''s... well, she''ll need documents made for her. She''ll be staying with me," his tone was suddenly much more somber and, immediately, the [Guards]''s expressions changed into one of understanding and sadness.

    "The captain should be here. Give us a moment to call him."

    And they left.

    Sure enough, not three minutes later a large man wearing full plate armor, helmet nowhere in sight, appeared from a door in the walls. His hair was cut short, so much so that Isse thought he should''ve just gone all the way and gone bald. His eyes were a deep brown and calm, as if he had seen it all and nothing could move him anymore. A true mountain.

    He motioned to Albert to pass on through and, after they''d moved under and through the gate, officially entering the city, he motioned them to stop in a small area beside the gate.

    "Alright little one. Remember, let me talk. That gruff old man is a real softie, so all should go well."

    He stepped down from the driver''s box and walked towards the back, offering a hand to help her get down. Hand which she refused.

    "Alright. Let''s get this done."

    The big captain was waiting for them near the entrance to a smal building by the gates. It was simple, made out of stone and wood with little openings covered by wooden shutters. She couldn''t see any glass.

    Of course you won''t. These primitives make it cost so much that it''s a rarity. Once upon a time, in the Silken Palaces, every house had glass windows. It''s not like the process for crafting glass is that complex.

    Isse, being a child from Earth who had been born in a world where glass windows were the norm, didn''t know how easy or difficult the process was. But, now that Siidi had spoken, she did have soemething she''d wanted to ask for a while now:

    Siidi, you always talk about these Silken Palaces, but what were they? I guess that a queen''s palace would have glass windows after all.

    Nah, you''re being confused: we called them ''Palaces'', sure, but they weren''t just places for our leaders. They were cities, grand and beautiful, and fortified enough that the defences of this city pale in comparison. We started calling them palaces as a joke, because the [Kings] of the other races allowed only their servants and families to live in their palaces, so, since us arachne are all sisters, all family, we were all of the blood of our ''royalty''. It was all a joke... until we realized it sounded good, so we stuck with it.

    Isse smiled at that, skittering towards the big [Guard Captain], and looking him right in the eyes, her expression and body language saying ''I don''t fear you''.

    The man didn''t move or react in any way, only closing the door to the inside of the building once Albert and her were in.

    "Albert. It has been some time. How was your holiday?" he asked as he began walking towards a small desk placed on the far wall from the door. His voice was slow and calm, a deep baritone that, Isse was sure, could''ve probably vibrated in her bones if he had started to sing.

    "It was relaxing, and the treatments in the facilities down there did wonders for my joints."

    Isse was sure that Albert didn''t need any treatments for any joints. He was more limber than her, and even if he looked old his body in general didn''t seem to have understood that he was. Only his hair and face.

    "I''m glad to hear that. Now, I believe you''re here for something: getting this little one some documents. I presume you''ll need a standard citizenship Badge?"

    "Exactly, old chap. Also, I think I''ll be [Calling the Favor In]."

    The moment Albert said those last few words a pressure formed in the air, focusing in particular around the [Guard Captain], who visibly flinched. For a moment, Isse wondered just how much pressure the man had suddenly found himself under if she could feel it from afar.

    "Alright," he managed to get out, slowly, as if he didn''t have enough air in his lungs.

    And the pressure was gone.

    "It''s simple, really, and then we''ll be even. Well, we''ll be even for the time I helped with your wife''s... problem," he stopped, looking back at Isse as if she were an intruder, then shaking his head.

    "I just want you to not use the Truth Stone when you ask her the questions and, naturally, for you not to tell anyone about this entire conversation, alright?"

    The man nodded, slowly, then sighed: "I should''ve known you would''ve come calling sooner or later. Can I at least ask what the deal is with her? Is she a criminal? Some kind of runaway [Princess] you rescued on the road?"

    "That''s none of your business Arnus. All you need to know is that she won''t be giving anyone any trouble."

    The man, Arnus, nodded, finally sitting down the too small chair behind the desk. Isse heard the wood creaking and waited for it to start splintering and breaking apart, but somehow it resisted.

    "Come, misterious girl of secrets. Just answer a few questions and you''ll get your documents," he said, a small smile appearing on his face in a sadly failed attempt at being reassuring.

    She skittered towards him, a mantra of ''I don''t fear you, I''m scarier than you'' repeating endlessly in her mind, and stood nearly on top of the chair in front of the desk, letting the Shifting Silk of her dress do its magic and make her look like she was actually sitting.

    "Alright. Name?"

    "Issekina -"

    "Sirion," interrupted her Albert, "Her name is Issekina Sirion."

    Arnus looked up briefly from the piece of paper he was writing on, raising an eyebrow: "Issekina? That''s not your typical Irevian name. Albert, did you actually kidnap a [Princess] from Eva or something?"

    "I kidnapped nobody. She''s family, trust me."

    Now, let''s say something Albert didn''t know about his good old friend Arnus: the man had recently Leveled. In fact, he had done so exactly the day the Brothers Two had brought their cargo of Ruin a few months prior. He was now a Level 34 [Guard Captain], and he''d gained a helpful little Skill that was helping him circumvent the old man''s request: [Bound Spell: Detect Truth].

    It wasn''t that he didn''t trust Albert. Alright, he also didn''t trust the old man, but the point was: he liked his city. He, unlike most of the low Level rookies that were being trained here, remembered perfectly what had happened that day and knew the story of the Brother Two, of what they had done to the city he loved. So, in his desire to help prevent what he didn''t know was inevitable, he had sworn he''d do anything to change things.

    That had been enough to make him Level. And now he used his Skill for this situation. The moment Albert had said those last words, he had detected a half truth. Which meant that the girl wasn''t actually part of the man''s family, originally, but now was. Also, yes, Albert hadn''t kidnapped anyone.

    "Alright. Age?"

    This time, before Isse could answer, Siidi stopped her.

    I don''t trust him. Let''s lie.

    What if he can tell if we''re lying?

    He can''t, he doesn''t have a Truth Stone, and he''s not a [Mage].

    ...How about I tell him truths from my life on Earth?

    ...That''s a good idea.

    "I''m seventeen years old."

    Again, Arnus'' Spell pinged this as a half truth. He had to resist the impulse to raise an eyebrow in curiosity: how could someone both be and not be seventeen years old?

    "Good. Race?"

    "I was born human."

    Complete truth, although the way she''d phrased that made it sound like she wasn''t one now. Was it her Class perhaps? Had it changed her somehow? He wanted to know, but he couldn''t ask, not without going against Albert''s request.

    "Alright. Last question: what''s your Class? You don''t have to be specific, just the general cathegory is enough."

    "I''m a [Mage]."

    A full on [Mage] at her age? Clearly, she wasn''t from the typical commoner family.

    "Very well, that''s all. Give me five minutes to get this carved up and then you can be off. I presume you, as a citizen, will be vouching for her, right Albert?"

    "Absolutely," agreed the old man, nodding sagely.

    Arnus walked into a side room with a steel door, which he opened with a key he was keeping hidden around his neck, under his armor. He closed and locked it behind him and the girl ''sat'' at the table with Albert, waiting, hearing nothing.

    "You weren''t lying, when you said those things. How?" he asked her suddenly, making her jump slightly.

    Isse looked up, tensing, ready to jump and run: "How could you tell?"

    "I have the right Skills girl. Don''t worry, you''re not in trouble, I''m just curious. Do you have some kind of Lie Skill? Or can you alter the result of a truth - No, wait, mine is a Skill, not a Spell, it wouldn''t work."

    Grandmother had told her, once, that there were means to alter Truth Spells to make them show what one wanted, but Isse hadn''t had the time to learn that. They had come first.

    "You wouldn''t believe me if I told you."

    Albert nodded: "Maybe. Or maybe I would. Whatever, you''ll tell me when you feel right telling me," he said, his hand movign faster than she could react towards her head... to ruffle her hair.

    That was the sight Arnus came out of the room to: Albert ruffling Isse''s hair as she tried, and failed, to get away from him.

    He coughed to get their attention and, when they stopped, handed Isse a small, metal, rectangular, badge.

    "Here it is. You''re now officially registered as a citizen of Tedam, in the Kingdom of Scasce. Welcome. I hope you''ll find happiness here, whatever it is you''ve lost."

    Isse hoped that too, although, deep down, she was certain that it would only be a matter of time before whatever she built here was taken from her.

    She and Albert walked out of the room.

    And Isse was introduced to a different side of humanity.

 Chapter 4: New Home

    Albert was the kind of man who brought his work home. As in, he lived over his workshop and shop.

    The ground floor of the building Albert lived and worked in was dedicated to the shop, while the first floor was where he lived. Apparently there was also a small forge in the basement, which entrance was locked behind a solid wood door that looked ready to take on a battering ram and win. The old [Clocksmith] said that he had become too old to work the metals he used for his creations and, instead, bought the services of a supplier who forged them , giving him the basic product that he then worked into gears and springs and chains and helixes and so much more.

    Isse had spent what felt like an hour in the workshop just staring at the various tables where all these small and big clockwork parts were stored in an orderly fashion inside clearly labelled metal boxes that recited numbers and letters in a cataloguing system that only the old man could read and understand.

    "I bet you''d be popular with children if you let them in here," she teased him with a smile.

    All she got for an answer was a barked laugh and a rude gesture from behind the door that led to the front of the shop.

    "If I let even a single child back there I''d rapidly find myself with a mess big enough to make any [Cleaner] in the city turn around and run."

    "Aren''t you worried I could do something like that? After all, I''m only an itty bitty little child."

    She smirked as she felt from a distance the cold sweat that suddenly formed on Albert''s back.

    "Isse, my dear, I believe your documents state otherwise, as do you. Didn''t you call yourself an adult when we first met? Aren''t you an adult by arachne standards?"

    His voice was cautious as he walked into the back of his shop, hands clasped behind his back, a condescending smile on his face.

    Isse and Siidi both chuckled inside as, ever so slowly, they skittered towards a box on the table and, after opening it, began moving it towards the edge. They looked up towards a rather alarmed Albert with an innocent expression, like a cat sitting beside the carcass of a rat it had brought as a gift to her human servant.

    "Girl, I swear on Airm and Larnos, if you drop anything in this room I will make you gather it back, be aware."

    "Oh, Albert, I hear you, but how would you do that? I can walk on walls and ceilings. I can run for minutes on end at full speed without tiring. How would you force me?"

    And at that, Albert smirked, causing a spark of worry to flare up in her chest.

    "Yes, well, and what will you eat? The cats in the street?"

    Isse raised her hand in the air, pointer finger pointing upwards, ready to answer that she was... only to remember just how horrible the taste of the slop she could turn other things into was. Also, she liked cats.

    So it was that she gave Albert the win this time and lowered her hand, pushing the box containing... she hadn''t even checked what was inside, back towards the others.

    "Very well. Now, I have nothing to eat at home, so how about this: I''ll show you to your room, you''ll get yourself comfortable, and I''ll go to the market and buy us some good food. Then... I think I''ll bring you to a special place tonight. There are a few people who owe me a favor."

    A special place?

    Alright, this is the moment when we find out he''s also some kind of [Pervert] or someone who managed to hide a [Slaver] Class, said Siidi in what felt like only a half-joke.

    Please tell me slavery isn''t a thing in this world.

    Luckily, it isn''t. Hasn''t been for a long while. The practice was ended violently thousands of years before us. Sadly I don''t know how.

    She sighed in relief, which Albert took as a sign of agreement.

    "Very well. Let me show you," he motioned for her to follow, opening a small door that led to a flight of stairs. They were made out of wood, with exquisitely crafted handrails on the side in the form of what Isse guessed was a flowering branch, wooden roses and tulips blooming here and there.

    "This must be a literal Airm to clean," she tried to start another conversation.

    "It is. Luckily I hired a [Cleaner] from the Cleaner''s Guild to come here once a week to tidy everything up. They should''ve passed by yesterday if I remember the schedule right."

    "You''re rich enough to hire someone to clean stuff for you?"

    "Girl, I think you''re confusing a [Cleaner] with a [Maid]. If the former didn''t come for cheap then their guild wouldn''t exist. Well, I say cheap, but it does cost me a few Golds each time they come. But I can afford it. Clocks sell well, and you wouldn''t imagine just how clumsy people are. Especially nobles who have more money than they can remember."

    "...Do you make nobles pay more than they should?"

    "That, dear, is the exact truth."

    "Isn''t that, like, bad? What if they find out?"

    "My dear, it''s not bad, it''s called business. As for them finding out, you think an old fox like me wouldn''t know where to stop?" he turned around as he said that, tapping the side of his nose and winkig.

    They reached the first floor and Isse looked around. The place was... barren. No decorations, no fancy furniture, no paintings. Basically, the place nothing like she had expected after seeing the ground floor. It was as if Albert had poured all of his funds into the shop itself, completely forgetting about his living space.

    "This place is sad," she said, without even trying to hide her disappointment.

    "Really? I never thought so," said back the old man, looking around at the white walls and empty hallway. His tone didn''t seem sarcastic. Was he actually for real?

    "I never really cared for decorations. I grew up thinking about much more important things. The only reason the shop below is as fancy as it is is because a good friend of mine forced me to change everything up."

    "Well, maybe you should tell that friend of yours to come up here and do the same, this place looks like nobody''s lived in it... ever."

    Albert chuckled: "Tell her yourself. You''ll probably meet her this evening."

    They walked down the barren corridor and reached a final door. It was, like all the other doors in the house, a simple, smooth, wooden door, with an iron doorknob that, when turned, led to a simple room. Isse was greeted by a bed, a desk, a chair, a wardrobe and a chest. The walls and ceiling were all that same, depressing, white.

    "You know, I used to live in a forest, among trees, sleeping in a hammock of spidersilk, without all the amenities that are here. And yet I think that place in the forest was far more homely."

    The moment she said that she regret it. Not because Albert got angry, no, he just chuckled, like he always seemed to do. Instead, it was because she remembered: her lost home, that small space she''d shared with her soulmate, Anda.

    That brought a new pang of sadness.

    No matter how much se tried, how much she bantered and smiled and joked and... it didn''t matter. It didn''t change what she was. The [Last Survivor]. The last one left.

    Suddenly, her legs gave out and she fell to the ground. The Shifting Silk made it look as if she''d fallen to her knees, a strand of the magical fabric bending around and covering her head, making it invisible as an illusion of her body appeared much lower. That, too, didn''t help her, as she remembered how much Aru had labored on this beautiful dress, how much time she''d spent spinning the silk and enchanting it, whispering the right words and making the right promises. She had been the last of the arachne to know the process, together with Grandmother, who had taught her. Now, that knowledge had died with her.

    Albert looked down at her, the smile on his face disappearing. A small sigh was stopped at his lips as, slowly, he kneeled down level with the head he could see, grasping for a silken shoulder that wasn''t her own.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    "I''ll leave you alone for a while. Can you handle it? Or do you want me to stay?"

    He looked uncertain, as if he hadn''t done this a lot. While they''d been traveling he''d had the excuse of the road ahead and its possible dangers to keep his mind occupied, to keep himself from thinking about the girl in the back of his wagon who was suffering worse than he had ever seen... no, that was wrong, he had seen others suffer like her. And, at those times, he had never bothered to learn how to deal with all the... emotions, things, that came from that. He was trying, he really was. But he knew it probably wasn''t enough.

    "You can go. Don''t worry, I''ll be alright," lied Isse.

    Albert nodded, getting up and leaving the room, closing the door behind himself.

    As he did, he finally let that sigh out.

    He didn''t know what to do. But he did know someone who could help. Someone who owed him many favors.

    <hr>

    Creanza was an odd, funny, woman who led a great establishment on the outskirts of Tedam, near the southern gate. She was a [Barista], to be precise. Not an [Innkeeper], even if her place was sort of an inn to many of her employees, nor a [Barkeep], or any other Class that specialized in owning and leading a place like the one she ran, although she did own it. She was just a simple [Barista] who made drinks for people when they asked her one. Well, sure, she did order the kitchen and the staff around, but that was more a way to pass the time to her. After all, she had a [Kitchen Boss], a peculiar evolution of the [Chef] Class, in the back, and a [Renowned Head Server] at the front who worried about all the rest.

    Still, if you ''wanted to speak with the manager'', as some people sometimes did, you spoke to her and her alone. If something was wrong, like your food having a hair (most likely your own, because her chef had a Skill that prevented such accidents), or the dish brought to you having taken too much time, or the server bringing you the wrong dish, or whatever other stupid thing some customers came up with, you spoke to her.

    At the same time, being a [Barman], she was a great listener. She liked to just sit behind the counter, cleaning a glass (sometimes she was too good at her job and ended up cleaning the same glass for a while because all the others were pristine), and listening to what a customer had to say to her, or overhearing the conversations between people. For a while she''d had a [Gossip] Class, but it had disappeared not long after, when she''d hit her capstone and it had been consolidated.

    Now she sat behind her counter, admiring the clean room before her, the shining tables and pristine glasses, knowing full well it wouldn''t last, and, in a sense, waiting for that moment. Because, really, you didn''t do the job she''d done for as long as she had if you weren''t willing to get your hands dirty.

    "What hour is it, Lavia?" she asked her [Head Server]. The harpy smoothed her starched dress one last time and checked the pocket watch in her front pocket: "Two minutes until opening time," she said with a calm voice and a small smile.

    Harpies, unlike the birdkin of the jungles of Eva, were originally from the Requi Archipelago, a group of volcanic islands not far to Irevia''s south. Nowadays they could be found pretty much everywhere in the world, but they still preferred to live in the mountains, among their own. They were a rather isolationist people and finding one down on the ground, serving tables in a bar, was a rarity to say the least.

    "Very well. Open the doo -"

    Before she could finish the sentence the door that led upstairs, to the staff rooms and the few guest rooms, opened, and out walked a small figure wearing a black cloack and a white mask. Had one examined said mask more closely they would''ve soon found out that it wasn''t made out of colored wood. It was, in fact, ivory. Better known as bone.

    The young [Necromancer] walked towards a table and sat down without making a sound, tapping a single finger on the wood of the table to request service.

    The harpy [Head Server] walked towards her, asked if she desired the usual and, after receiving a small nod, turned towards the kitchen and requested a simple breakfast menu of sausages and grilled cheese, while Creanza took a small glass towards a barrel in the wall and spilled out some apple juice.

    A few seconds later Lavia passed by with a tray holding the food items requested by the diminutive woman in the cloack and took the glass, bringing everything to the table. The figure nodded in thank you and, after removing the lower half of her mask, leaving the mouth and lower nose free, began eating.

    This was normal and usual. It happened every morning, without fail, always two minutes before the bar opened. Afterwards the woman would sit there as customers did their thing, maybe order another glass of juice, then get up and leave, coming back only two minutes before the arrival of the dinner crowd. She was strange like that, but not a bad strange.

    After serving her, Lavia moved towards the entrance, taking out a key from an inner pocket in her dress, and with a fluid motion put it in the lock and clicked it open.

    As the key turned several alarm Spells de-activated, from simple ''screechers'' around all the windows (which were spells that made noise when something or someone went through the windows. Setting it up to make sure it didn''t do that with cats had been a pain) to the much more complex and potentially lethal securety measures around the strongbox with all their funds and their most expensive vintages. At the same time some much safer and, one might say, cute, Spells activated: mage lights of various soft colors began floating all over the ceiling, their lights mixing together with the natural ambient light outside and the stabler [Light] Spells that illuminated the rooms; soft background music began playing from some Music Crystals in the center of the room, even though one or two were being frizzy. She''d have to change those soon.

    Then Lavia flung the doors open and, with a soft smile and a bow, welcomed in the morning crowd.

    "Good morning everyone. We''re open for business," she said, motioning for everyone to come in.

    And that''s how it was every morning: wake up, have breakfast and chat with the [Chef], check everything, open up, work, close in the evening, have a friendly but very competitive game of something, from cards to chess, with previously mentioned [Chef] and [Head Sever] plus any of the staff who had the guts to join them, sleep, rinse and repeat. Now, putting it like that made it seem rather dull, but it was anything but.

    That day, in particular, the very idea of dull was dashed away from her mind by the arrival of one unexpected guest not two hours after they''d opened: Albert Sirion.

    "Albert!" she shouted, jumping over her counter, and surprising some of her clients, going for a tackle hug. The old man though saw it coming and seamlessly dodged her attack.

    "Creanza, glad to see you haven''t changed," he said as greeting, offering a hand to get up. She gladly accepted it, attempting to bring the old bastard down with her and give him a hug the way she wanted. She was a very touchy person, yes.

    Sadly she failed. Old Albert was deceptively strong.

    "You''ve been gone only three months Albert. Why should I have changed?"

    He shrugged: "Thirty seconds can make the difference between life and death, my dear. It stands to logic that much can happen in three months."

    "Always so grim. You haven''t had your morning coffee, have you?"

    "As a matter of fact, no, but -"

    "Premi¨¨! Get Albert a coffee asap! He''s grumpy!"

    A shout was all she got as an answer, but that was more or less short for ''Sure, give me a sec''.

    "I am not grumpy."

    "You''re always grumpy Albert. Now come have a seat. Can I get you something to eat while you wait for the coffee?"

    "I''d rather not have that here. Not after the time I saw Premi¨¦ use a sock to make it."

    "It was a clean sock!" defended Creanza, which did nothing to stop the many dirty looks she got from the various coffee drinkers of her establishment.

    "Don''t worry guys, the sock was used only once for this grumpy man here! Yall are safe!"

    Yep, Creanza was a lively woman whose only raison d''etre in life was making people''s lives better, sometimes with something as simple as a smile. It always worked.

    When, finally, Albert''s coffee arrived, he took a careful sip, swirling the liquid in his mouth to make sure there wasn''t any distinctive socky aftertaste, and when he was relatively sure that, at least, a clean sock had been used, he began drinking with gusto, finally getting a good taste of the heavenly liquid that he''d become mildly addicted to. A liquid which, sadly, one couldn''t find anywhere in the south, where he''d been on vacation.

    "Good, am I right?"

    Albert nodded, not a word leaving his mouth as, sip by sip, he savored the whole cup.

    When he was done, Creanza asked the question he knew she would ask: "So, why are you here, old man? You don''t have your ''visiting for pleasure'' face on. You''re wearing your ''Favor Man Face'' right now."

    She tapped the table in front of her twice with her pinky finger, showing off a small ring there. It was made out of cold metal, with a small quartz gem embedded in it, which was currently glowing slightly as the [Silence Bubble] Spell inside was activated. An expensive little trinket she''d managed to buy from a renowned [Mage Crafter] from Rodar.

    Albert nodded, sighing. It was a good thing this girl wasn''t a [Spy]: she would''ve made Grandmaster in a matter of years. She was way too good at reading people, and even better at knowing how to use them to help herself and others. Why she wasted her talent here as a simple [Barkeep] he would never understand.

    "You''re right. I''m here to [Call in a Favor]. I would like to ask you to allow me and another person in for the next time the ''Empty Hearted''s Rest''. And I would also like to speak with your [Teamaker]."

    Creanza''s eyebrows shot upwards in open surprise when she heard the request.

    "Really? You finally decided to free up some space in that heart of yours? To get rid of some of that pain?"

    Albert shook his head: "I told you already: I don''t have regrets I want to get rid of. This... this is for someone else."

    And at that, Creanza eyebrows finally reached her hair, before they lowered down and she smirked knowingly: "Oh, I see! Found yourself a sweetheart from your old line of work, have you?"

    She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, only to be shocked again when he said: "She''s a young girl."

    Creanza chuckled: "Wow, Albert! I didn''t take you for such a dirty man. But who am I to judge, if you both consent."

    Albert sighed, shaking his head: "I am not in a relationship, Creanza, stop acting like a fucking dumbass. I found her, lost and broken, in the middle of... it doesn''t matter. She lost everything. I want her to rid herself of some of the pain for a while. I want you to help her like you do with many of our [Solders]. Can you do that?"

    Creanza''s smile began to slowly disappear when, finally, she realized this wasn''t some kind of joke, that he was serious. That a young girl was so broken inside that she was in need of the same treatment she reserved for veteran [Soldiers] who were on the verge of getting a bloody Condition or already had one. What could''ve possibly happened to her?

    "Alright, I''ll do it. Here," she answered, fishing around inside the bag of holding at her hip, taking out two small metal squares with a heart on each side, the words ''Entrance to the Empty Hearted''s Rest'' subtly carved underneath.

    "Don''t lose them, or you won''t be let in. As for Grazia, let me call her."

    She went in the back, where the kitchen resided, realm of the one and only Premi¨¨, who ruled the place with a steely fist.

    A minute later, she walked back: "She''ll meet with you. Please, be kind."

    "I know, don''t worry. I brought her to you after all, didn''t I?"

    And he went to [Call a Favor In].

 Chapter 5: Memento Memoriam

    Grazia wasn''t running for three reasons: first, she didn''t have the strenght to do that, not for extended periods of time; second, because it was stupid: running made noise, and the gods knew she had no desire nor need to make a ruckus right now; third, she was in the middle of the City of Temples. If you started running for no reason here you were literally asking for a patrol to stop you for questioning.

    The young woman wore the simplest, most non-descript, dress she could find in the House, which happened to be a thrown away donation from a [Farmer] woman. Had she still been part of the College (which, technically, she still was), Grazia would''ve blessed the woman to tomorrow for her kindness. She would''ve also blessed the man or woman who had taken the donation and thrown it into an unused room of the House, but then again, why should she? She was trying to escape from them.

    She saw an approaching group of [Guards] and immediately put on a cheerful expression: "Good evening!" she said, waving with her free hand, the other holding a small rucksack that had seen better days.

    The men and women, she couldn''t tell with all that armor and the helmets, turned towards her for a moment and acknowledged her with slight bows of their heads, never stopping in their patrol. Grazia also attempted to hum a little tune to sell the impression better, but stopped a few seconds later. Her hearth was beating too fast and it was all she could do to keep breathing normally as her lungs screamed in hunger for more air. In the years to follow she would come to know that sensation. How, even in moments of complete calm, she started to feel faint, her lungs loudly demanding that she breath in more air, but it was never enough, never enough, until it stopped and she could keep going with her day like nothing had happened, like she hadn''t just felt like she was drowning in the middle of an open room.

    For a chance to escape, though, this was a price she was willing to pay, even if she didn''t know it yet.

    She turned a corner, her steps hastening slightly as she rememebered what had caused her to decide to escape, her mind going back, unbidden and against her desires, to what she''d witnessed the other [Harvesters] do to obtain Memories and Traditions: a process that, most of the time was fatal to the original holder. Oh, sure, her own method for harvesting would probably be a lot kinder and much more painless, but she didn''t care. She''d seen the result, and that was what had scared her into leaving.

    "Now now, what do we have here? A little girl running away? No, of course not! She couldn''t possibly be leaving the College. Because that would be a problem. And you do know how the College treats problems, am I right girl?"

    The voice froze her in her tracks, her smile becoming waxy on her face, the fear that had been clawing at her stomach all tihs time finally ripping free and bounding up, towards her heart and mind. Panic began to set in but, before she could even think of running, two strong arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her bodily up, away from the ground.

    "Look, girl, let''s put it this way: you''re not going to escape. So, if you just come back with me willingly, I''ll make sure the right people close their eyes. I''ll tell them some bullshit about how you went out for a drink to celebrate. I''ll even buy you a bottle, alright?" asked the voice over her shoulder. It was warm and calm, even kind. She''d expected it would feel slimy, evil, but there was nothing like that there. Still, she could feel the snake of promises of pain and consequences make its way into her brain, sinking its fangs in her mind and poisoning her thoughts, eating away at her strenght and making her struggles slowly stop.

    In the end, she drooped listlessly to the ground, the fight now out of her. She nodded, barely holding back tears of sorrow. She had been so close.

    The man hmmed in approval and, gently, put her back on the ground, his arms still close to her hips to make sure she didn''t fall, or try again to run. She did neither of those. Running would''ve been useless anyway: he was much faster than her.

    They began walking back towards the surprisingly small building that was the College of Memoirs. Well, it was small only on the outside. The inside on the other hand...

    The man, whose name was Cariano Abascus, came directly from the shores of Rodar. He was driven by blind faith in the gods and their teachings, most of his decisions guided by the words written in their sacred books. He was also, apparently, high Level, some said well over Level 50 and close to 60, but nobody knew his Class.

    He was also a kind man who abhorred senseless cruelty, even though sometimes, like now, he used fear to subdue his targets. Not that there had been much to subdue in Grazia to begin with.

    "Look, girl," he started, slowly, as he kept walking arm in arm with her, waving at the same patrol of [Guards] she had just passed not even a minute ago, "I understand why you did this. You saw the ways of the [Harvesters] who came before you, and decided to you didn''t like it, that you didn''t want to become like them. It''s... understandable. But it is necessary."

    He looked down at her now, his feet leading them towards the College without him needing to look. He knew the roads of this city by heart after decades spent here.

    "What the College does, it is necessary. If it wasn''t for us holding at bay and controlling the Memories and Traditions of this world, everything would be in chaos. Just imagine what would''ve happened if we didn''t keep the Hunters'' Law. Without it, the arachne could''ve risen to power again, starting the Hunt anew.

    "Or even, think about the damned Memory that made armies invincible. If it wasn''t for the College it would still be around, turning [Kings] into madmen thirsty for battle and conquest, creating armies of immortals. We are necessary, girl. And without people like you the world would be a much darker place."

    Grazia looked up at him and saw, in his eyes, that he believed all that he had said. The scariest thing of all was that, if she only stopped to listen to him for a moment, she would probably believe him. The words felt right, and it wasn''t because of a Skill. She could''ve told if it was, because that was what her Class was intrinsically good at: listening and understanding.

    "Look, I won''t press you. You''re young, you couldn''t possibly understand all of this, not without having first lived through it. Still, please, try to understand. This is for the good of all that you hold dear."

    <hr>

    Grazia sat at a small table in the back of the ''Boneless Dancer'' bar.

    She had always found the name extremely silly and funny, especially considering that, apparently, the [Barista] and proprietress of the establishment was rather incapable of dancing. Not to say that she disliked it, far from it: if she wasn''t working one could probably find her somewhere practicing (alone) steps for various dances, and botching every single one of them. It was as if she really did not have bones.

    Anyways, currently she was sitting at a small table, mixing various herbs together and testing their tastes, all for tonight''s event: the Empty Hearted''s Rest''. Creanza was a great [Barista], but she was even better at organizing events. In particular there was one event that had made her so known all around the city and, she thought, even the kingdom in general, and this was it. A night, once a month, when [Soldiers] and [Veterans] and many others like them could come here and... forget, or relax, or just feel nostalgic.

    And it was all made possible by her Class and her Skills.

    For she was a [Teamaker of Memory''s Healing].

    And right then the man who''d allowed her to become this walked inside the room.

    "Hello Grazia. It''s been a while," he said with a small smile.

    She looked up from her table and, after a moment of looking each other in the eyes, got up and hugged him.

    "Hello, Albert. You''re right, it''s been a while. When was the last time we saw each other?"

    The old man thought for a moment.

    "Three years ago I think. You really should get out more often."

    She snickered and shook her head: "I know, I know, but... I have all I need here. Creanza feeds me and finances me, buying me exotic ingredients for my creations, and I have my little garden out in the back. I have friends and company and a purpose. I... I don''t really feel like going out a lot."

    You may be thinking that Grazia was agoraphobic, but that wouldn''t be true. The woman really just felt no need to leave the establishment she called home.

    Oh, sure, when she''d first arrived in this city she hadn''t put her nose out because she feared the College would find her but now, over a decade later, she was certain that they''d either given up on her or, more probably, thought she was dead.

    "So, how have you been doing lately with your breathing problems?"

    She shrugged: "I''ve been having less and less episodes, luckily. But, whenever they do happen, they''re still as severe. I''ll never be rid of this, I''m afraid."

    Albert nodded and silence fell on them like a warm blanket. They''d spent a long time together after he''d helped her and they''d come to appreciate these moments. Creanza liked to joke that they communicated telephatically whenever they did that. Sometimes, it felt that joke was more than just a joke.

    "Creanza told me you''re here to finally call in our favor, Albert. Tell me, what is your request?"

    The old man nodded: "I want you to make one of your special Teas for a young girl who''s been through... well, let''s just say it was Airm. You''ll probably see what it was thanks to your Skills. My request, the thing I''m [Calling the Favor In] for, is your silence. Whatever you will see in her memories, you will not tell a living or dead soul and being, in any form spoken or written or otherwise. Because, if you do, she''ll be in grave danger. A life for a life. Is that alright?"

    Grazia raised an eyebrow in curiosity: "Alright, I can do that. Don''t worry."

    She really didn''t have much of a choice, but, even if she had, she would''ve done it still. Because he had saved her life.

    <hr>

    On the way to the College Cariano stopped at a shop and bought her a bottle of... rather expensive alcohol, like he had promised. She''d expected him to keep his word, but she''d also expected he would only buy her a bottle of some cheap wine and be done with it. Instead, he''d gone full out on... whatever a ''Flato''s Punch'' was.

    "Be careful when you drink that. It''s strong enough to make me feel dizzy after two or three glasses."

    She nodded, already planning on drinking the whole bottle in one sitting and hoping she would die of alcohol poisoning. It was probably a painless way to go.

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    They went back to walking. In two streets, they''d find themselves back on the First Step of Larnos, the main street of the city. She''d always found the name rather excessive, but then again, it was more decorated than most [King]''s palaces were.

    "We''re nearly there girl. I hope there won''t be an - grlrlglcough!"

    His sentence was interrupted by a knife suddenly sprouting from his throat going straight through the back of his neck. At the other end of the knife, no, the dagger, holding the handle, was a middle aged man with graying hair and warm brown eyes that, at the moment, looked dead inside.

    "Haaaa, and down he goes."

    He then turned to look towards Grazia who, credit where it was due, wasn''t shivering in fear or had fallen to the ground. She just stood there, the bottle Cariano had bought for her in one hand, her worn rucksack in the other. Her eyes were just as empty as the man''s, her mind drawing a blank. She knew she should feel either happy for Cariano''s death, for a renewed chance at escaping, and/or afraid of the man in front of her who''d just murdered in a single hit one of the greatest assets of the College without him even having a chance at fighting.

    "And who are you, young miss? Were you perhaps being taken by force to the College by this little sheep?" he asked, giving a small kick to Cariano''s still warm and bleeding corpse, while offering to her a small smile that was probably meant to be reassuring. Sadly, it didn''t even come close to his eyes, so it only managed to make her start to feel nervous, her emotions slowly beginning to wake back up from the slumber she''d forced them in.

    "Let me try to rephrase that: would you like me to help you escape? I''ve been tailing this one long enough to hear all he said to you after he got you. In a way, I have to thank you: it was thanks to you trying to escape that I managed to do this the easy way. Helping you leave is the least I can do."

    She looked at him dumbfounded. This was impossible. This was some sick trick being played by her mind, or maybe the effect of a Skill. She had heard that the College had some people who were adept at doing things like this. Was this that situation? Was she being tested? Was...

    He pinched her arm and she was startled. Her eyes focused back on the world in front of her and locked onto... her reflection in a handheld mirror.

    "I once met a [Dreamer], you know? Good man, had a passion for foxes. He told me that, if ever I was to deal with the College, I should go looking for mirrors. Said that minds aren''t supposed to see themselves in mirrors, causes bad things to happen. Now, what is the mirror showing you?"

    What a silly question: it was showing her reflection, as all mirrors were meant to do. Her face was staring right back at her, tired sky blue eyes, small old wrinkles around her mouth from a time before the College had found her, putting an end to her easy smiles, small nose with a slightly crooked septum from when she''d fallen down some stairs as a child.

    "I see myself."

    "Good, then that means this is real," he said it so matter-of-factly that she actually believed him, even though it made no sense.

    "Will you really get me out of here? The College will hunt me down."

    The man shrugged, looking at himself in the mirror and examining his reflection with careful eyes before he put the little thing away.

    "Here''s a free lesson for you by an old man, young lady: the College isn''t as all-powerful as it wants you to believe. Once we''ll leave the City of Temples we''ll be safer. Afterwards it''s just a matter of going to another continent that isn''t Rodar. Say, I''ll have to go to Irevia after this: do you like mild climates?"

    Again, she thought this was impossible, that this was a dream. But then, a single thought crossed her mind: Fuck it!

    If this was fake, then she was going to savor every single moment of this dream.

    "Anywhere is better than what they want me to do here."

    "That''s the spirit."

    He began walking, Grazia soon following behind him.

    And something shuffled on the ground behind them.

    Grazia froze again, not daring to look back.

    The man, though, just sighed: "Why are high Level people so hard to kill?" he said, turning around with a weary expression.

    The corpse of Cariano was slowly beginning to rise from the ground, a hand going for the dagger still embedded in his neck and spine, slowly pulling it out. There was a soft SHLORP sound as the blade came out and she could swear, for a moment, that she could see the wall behind him through the small hole, before it closed down.

    Finally, he opened his eyes and spoke: "Well, I''ll be damned to Airm and back. I didn''t even feel you coming. What kind of monster are you?"

    The man shrugged listlessly: "The tired kind."

    Cariano nodded: "You know, it''s a shame. Had you not forced me to waste my [Blessing of Second Chance] I would''ve just let you go."

    The man shook his head: "You had a Blessing that powerful on you? Did you find it in a Skill scroll?"

    "Indeed I did. I found it during my adventuring days back in Rodar. It was probably older than the arachne."

    "Then I''m sorry it was wasted, because you sadly have to die. Try to understand, I have no choice. I want to rest, and They won''t allow it unless I manage to kill you. I''ve come too far to give up."

    Cariano drew his sword out, his feet in position: "Well, I''ll make sure to make this as painless as possible then. That''s the best I can do."

    He stepped forwars... and used a Skill, coming face to face with the man, one hand going towards Grazia and shoving her out of the way, probably fearing his adversary would try to use her as a shield.

    Instead, a knife moved lightning fast towards his face, looking to skewer his eye and brains.

    He sidestepped the attack and tried to skewer the man''s heart with his sword, but the man just dodged.

    They looked each other in the eyes, a few feet of empty air between them, their bodies as relaxed as could be, their minds sharper than the blades they held.

    "May I ask who I''m fighting against?" asked Cariano with a hint of respect in his tone.

    The man nodded as he calmly answered: "My name is Albert Sirion, Cariano Abascus."

    "Are you an [Assassin]?"

    Albert scoffed: "Nothing so small, although my employers want me to be one this time around. I''m a [Spymaster]."

    "Not a good Class for a fight. You still have a chance to run, you know? I''ll probably catch you, but who knows, maybe you''ve got a Skill to help you out, or a Scroll of Greater Teleportation."

    Albert shook his head: "Nothing like that. My employers didn''t expect me to come back from this, so they gave me only the strictly necessary things."

    "And who are your employers, if I may ask?"

    "Why, the Game, obviously."

    Cariano sighed as he heard those words, connecting the dots: no one left the Game. That... wasn''t exactly a rule, but it was the closest thing to one the Game had. Once you were in, leaving was close to impossible. Unless you were willing to undergo the so called Pilgrimage of Eights. What that consisted in, he didn''t know, since he wasn''t a Player, but he could probably guess that it involved doing some very difficult tasks. Maybe as a way to demonstrate one''s strenght and allegiance? Who knew.

    At that moment, Albert decided that the time for games was over and ran towards him, his eyes never leaving Cariano''s while also keeping his sword always in sight, because he wasn''t a rookie.

    It doesn''t matter, thought Cariano as he moved to intercept him, you''re just a [Spymaster]. People like you are good at stealth and logistics. You had your chance and you lost it.

    And then it struck him. He was a [Spymaster]. And he''d thought the right thing: he was good at making the right people do the right things at the right time.

    He saw, in the corner of his eye, the fingers of Albert''s free hand move in some kind of pattern and he turned around just in time to intercept a... nothing. There was nobody behind him.

    The dagger sprouted from his neck again.

    "You seriously thought I would say my name out loud in the presence of someone who wasn''t about to die?"

    Overthinking.

    Overthinking had just gotten him killed. The thing that had kept him alive all his life, especially in Rodar, when he''d raided the greatest dungeon of the continent, had just caused his death. He chuckled, or tried to, but nothing but a thin line of blood left his lips while his diaphragm contracted, spewing more and more of it out.

    "Please, die this time," said Albert.

    Cariano wanted to laugh then, because of course he wouldn''t. He reached down towards a healing potion by his side... and felt his mind begin to grow fuzzy.

    Poison, he thought, and realized then that it was probably over.

    He sighed internally and, hadn''t his neck been impaled, he would''ve shaken his head in disappointment. Of all the ways to go. He had always thought he would''ve died on the battlefield, maybe fighting against the arachne if a Nest was discovered. Oh, well.

    He raised his sword and planted it into the man''s side, a little something to remember him by.

    And then he closed his eyes and died, the stairway towards Larnos appearing in the darkness, the light at the very top calling to him.

    <hr>

    "What about that old scar? Is it still troubling you?" asked Grazia, turning back to her table and opening a drawer, looking inside for a special mix that she knew could help with the pain.

    Albert grimaced: "Don''t worry, the pain is... tolerable. It''s just an extra reminder that I shouldn''t try to become an [Acrobat] in my old age."

    Grazia chuckled, turning around to hand him a fist-sized leather pouch which contained a Skill enhanced mix of painkilling tea herbs. Albert pocketed it immediately, a thankful smile on his face.

    "You know, I heard around that there''s a new high Level [Doctor] working for the King of Crows in the east, over Level 30. Maybe he could solve your problem."

    Albert shook his head: "Maybe if I hadn''t met the girl, but now? No, I won''t embark on another journey. A hopeless one too, probably. I''ve lived with the pain all these years, I can still go a few more decades," he smiled, trying to reassure her, and managing to get a sigh out of her.

    "And anyways, I''m already living [On Borrowed Time]," he added.

    He always said that like it was supposed to mean something, but she''d never understood why.

    Oh, well, Albert was Albert. He''d lived longer than her doing a job where people died young, and was here to tell the tale. He knew what he was doing.

    "Then I''ll see you this evening with your little guest. Goodbye Albert."

    "Bye bye Grazia. See you soon. And thank you."

    "Always!"

    <hr>

    "You... you killed him?" it was supposed to be a statement, but it came out more as a question because of how impossible it felt.

    Albert groaned, looking down at the sword jutting out of his side as he fell to the ground, trying to stop up the wound.

    "A little help would be appreciated," he hissed through the pain, reaching for one of the potions on Cariano''s side. There was no reason not to use them. It wasn''t like he was going to need them anyway.

    She yelped and ran towards him, taking the sword''s hilt in her hand and, at his small nod, pulling it out.

    Albert hissed in pain, biting his lip until blood was flowing out, forcing down the scream that adreanline had kept at bay when the weapon had gone in. Then, with precise movements, he unstoppered the vial of Healing Potion and poured a generous dose over the wound, drinking down what remained.

    He sighed in relief after a few moments, the wound closing back incredibly fast, flesh and skin and muscle reknitting together.

    Then he whimpered and, again, bit into his lip, trying to contain another scream of pain as he fell to the ground and began rolling, clutching at his flank as if something was trying to burrow in. Or out.

    "Show me the sword!" he nearly shouted, managing only at the last second to keep his voice down.

    Grazia did, and he looked at the worn blade, where a piece of sharp steel was missing right where the point should''ve been.

    "Fuck!" he grunted, clutching again at his flank. A piece of the weapon was still inside him, cutting his insides up, opening new wounds every time the potion closed one, causing him to suffer again and again. He prayed that the potion would run out soon making this misery end.

    They stayed there, in that alley, for an entire minute as he tried to suppress the pain and keep his groaning to a minimum, while Grazia kneeled by his side and panicked inside, not knowing what to do.

    Finally, the potion''s effect ended, and Albert felt one last pang of pain as he moved and the shard of steel cut him up as he stood from the ground.

    Huffing and puffing for air, he stayed in that position, his face pale, his eyes wide open, the pupils reduced to a pinprick of black in a sea of warm brown.

    "Are you alright?" Grazia asked, realizing just how stupid the question was a moment too late.

    "No, but I will be," he answered, trying to give the woman a smile, instead grimacing.

    He would just have to find a very low grade healing potion that would allow the formation of scar tissue wherever the piece of metal was. Of course he could try to get it removed, but he didn''t trust anyone to use a knife to open him up and search his insides for a small bit of metal.

    "Let''s go. There''s someone who owes me a favor who can get us out of the city. And afterwards, to Irevia. Does that suit you?"

    Grazia nodded very enthusiastically, which made Albert chuckle, which was a very stupid thing to do because it moved the metal around, making him wince.

    He began limping away, leaving behind the body of one of the strongest servants of the College, stopping only for a moment to look at the corpse, putting his fingers on his forehead, lips and heart as a final salute.

    And then they were gone.

    In the days that followed, as they went by coach towards the nearest port city, Grazia asked Albert why he had decided to help her. His answer had been very simple: "I''ve watched many people die. Many at my hands. Even more at the hands of people I had instructed. An even greater number as an effect of those deaths. For once, I wanted to balance things out. A life for a life."

    She knew there was more to it, naturally, but, for now, it was enough.

    In the years to come, she would receive a more complete answer.

 Chapter 6: [Tea of Remembrance]

    Do you ever wonder what memories taste like?

    No, no, just, wait a moment, follow me on this short tangent: what would a memory taste like if we could get one, eat it, and perceive the complexities of something so esoteric with our normal, human, tongues? I, myself, find this kind of mental gymnastics quite invigorating.

    Let''s take, for example, my favorite dish: a nostalgic memory. Imagine: you''re sitting at a table, outside a small restaurant hidden away in a moonlit alley, savoring a fine glass of Pimm, a clocktower in the distance sounding midnight as the shadows of the night, barely kept at bay by the lights coming from inside the restaurant, twist and change into beautiful abominations that would make a cthonic entity proud. A server wearing the finest silks stardust can buy walks up to you, his face covered by a black and white featureless mask with no eye holes, or mouth holes, or... any holes. The mask is the face and the face is the mask and you should really stop thinking about it and instead savor the dish this being has brought you:

    A small ballerina statuette from a carillon, the paint chipped away in many places, one leg broken. Only the ballerina isn''t a woman, but a man. And the dress male dancers usually wear is mixed together with a military uniform.

    You thank the server, raise a silver knife and a lead fork, for always there must be equilibrium, and you cut off a small piece of the statuette. The new imperfection makes it more beautiful, stoking your appetite, but you must savor the dish. You won''t get another chance to taste such a wonderful thing, for memories happen only once, and tasting one means it will disappear forever in all the worlds.

    So, slowly, you nibble on the painted bronze and you see:

    An on old soldier walks into a theater.

    The place has been abandoned for years now. Ever since the war had started.

    The soldier walks among old velvet-covered seats that were once a bright red and are now a dull brown, in some places not only because of the years of abandon. He walks in the central lane, his eyes looking everywhere and seeing nothing, for it''s his mind that sees and all it witnesses are past glories as his steps bring him closer to the dust and wreck covered stage.

    The old soldier, who had once danced on that stage, walks in the central lane, and old memories of people greet him warmly, shadows stretching into smiles as faces begin to form whenever light hits them just right, color blossoming in the black.

    Instruments and instrumentalists sit in the orchestra pit, testing strings and preparing lungs and checking tensions, while the lead goes over the music sheets one last time.

    As the old dancer passes them, his clothes no longer those of a soldier, she looks up and waves a hello, before looking back down. She had always been a professional, one of the greatest of her age. She could''ve become so much more if not for the war.

    The old dancer, finally, reaches the stage, his wounded leg screaming in an attempt to remind him it is there, that this is not real, that he is clinging to something that was and never again will be, that he is not the man who had once danced on that stage and that he will never again be. And still he walks, climbing onto the stage from the orchestra pit, a kind drummer helping him. Then, finally, he is on the stage.

    And, for the first time in what feels like centuries, he smiles a smile of true joy, for he is back, for he has kept his promise, and they applaud him as he bows and smiles and wants to cry and... dance. He will dance. One more time. One last time.

    And so he does.

    The lead strikes the ledger in front of her three times with her wand and silence falls on the room. Then, she moves, the musicians following her like snakes with a snake charmer.

    And, finally, the dancer dances.

    The public watches in stunned, beautified, silence, and he can see each and every one of them.

    The boy with stars in his eyes who, before tonight, had desired to become a politician, is saved from a life of cruelty by acquiring a new dream. Swiftly, he takes his grandfather''s hand and whispers excitedly that, when he grows up, he''ll become a dancer just like the man on the stage. The grandpa smiles and nods, saying he''ll support his decision in any way he can.

    Then there''s the couple of lovebirds looking at him and remembering their own dances, whispering conspiratorially to each other, remembering their clumsiness and giggling like kids, time becoming meaningless to them as much as him.

    And there, right at the front, a grumpy man looks at him in disdain before turning around and leaving his seat, a rival scorned.

    The music plays, and the noise from outside is drowned out in old songs that will never be played again, for the sheets with their notes have been burned and the writer was killed by a falling bomb.

    And then, it all ends.

    The old dancer looks at the broken theater and cries for all that was lost.

    Then, he climbs down and, slower than when he''d walked in, leaves, his old muscles and scars and bones taking their toll on him.

    The memory ends, and now I ask you: what did the meal taste like to you?

    To me, it is a sweetness mixed in with a background of bitterness, ever present and leaving behind a rather unlikeable taste that makes you desire to eat one more bite to taste the sweet again, leaving you feeling sad when the meal ends, for there is nothing left to keep the bitter away, but also satisfied because it was good while it lasted.

    The worlds are filled with so many different emotions and memories, all with their own unique tastes.

    If ever you''ll be lucky enough to travel where I''ve gone, take some time to stop at that nameless restaurant at the edge of the Web, far away from old Anansi''s rules on how a story should be treated, and take a bite.

    As for Issekina, let us see what her memories will taste like to her.

    <hr>

    Albert knocked gently on the door to Isse''s new room, waiting for her to give him permission to walk in, like any gentleman would. His days of entering inside rooms unannounced have long since ended, especially after the time he walked in on a couple of [Spies] really going at it. He had since come to hate soundproofed rooms.

    When he heard no answer come from inside, he slowly opened the door, peaking in to make sure the girl, or young woman, or whatever age she was, was decent.

    What he saw when he walked in actually surprised him, a rare occurrence after living for such a long time: a web that would be of titanic proportions for any normal spider had been woven in the room, hanging from the walls and ceiling, in the form of... a hammock?

    Indeed, a hammock just like the one Isse had slept in since the day she was born, hugging or being hugged in turn by her soulmate, Anda, and then by Silfaria, her new smaller sister. It was a hammock just like the one in which she and Anda had made love so many nights after Isse had decided to tell her mind to fuck off and follow her heart.

    And she was currently lying in it, her eyes wide open and looking at Albert as if she''d been expecting him, her dress now in the form of a white nightgown that left her spider half visible.

    "I woke you up, am I right?" he asked.

    The sma - no, not small, definitely not that; the young arachne nodded: "You''re quiet, but you didn''t see the threads."

    Albert raised an eyebrow, looking back the way he''d come and, sure enough, there was a thread attached to the door, which he had broken when he''d began opening it.

    "Hmpf, I''m getting rusty," he grunted, shrugging his shoulders and turning back to the girl, "Don''t you fear someone other than me will come in and see you as you are?"

    The arachne shrugged, a gesture that was surprisingly difficult from her current position, sprawled on a hammock that was clearly meant to be for more than one person.

    "Then that''s free food," she said, chuckling mirthlessly.

    Albert said nothing to that, instead inclining his head to the side in what many would''ve considered a questioning way, but was instead him trying to get a better look at the girl''s face, to see if she was joking or not.

    She wasn''t.

    "Well, in my day they used to say that you should start with the buttocks."

    Isse finally looked away from the ceiling and up at him with a horrified expression: "What?!"

    "That''s what they used to say in training. ''If, for some reason, you are stranded in a place where you are unable to scavenge any food and you have at your disposal only the corpse of one of your companions or enemies, start by eating the buttocks. They''re the meatiest and softest part. Afterwards, pray to all the gods that may be willing to listen that you do not get a [Carrion Eater] or a [Cannibal] Class, for there is no turning back from that road''."

    Isse''s expression of horror had gradually grown as he had spoken, until at some point her facial muscles couldn''t convey her internal disgust anymore so she had to resort to changing color, her face now a strange mix of ash gray and green.

    "They teach you that kind of stuff in Spy school?"

    Albert shrugged: "Yeah, sure. But there''s an ocean between knowing how to do something and actually doing it. For example, I know the best way to gut someone so that they won''t be able to keep all their entrails inside, but that doesn''t mean I would do it, or that I ever had to do something like it."

    He looked at Isse''s face and saw that she didn''t believe him, so he added: "Don''t worry, I was always a clean killer. A knife to the spine is usually the most effective, although there have been exceptions."

    For a moment the arachne wanted to ask how there could possibly be exceptions to dying by knifing to the spine and, subsequently, throat, but she got an answer from her headmate a moment before she could think about it.

    High Level people are extremely difficult to kill girl. They always seem to have one more trick up their sleeve, an extra secret, some rite that can make the gods interefere, shit like that. At least he doesn''t go for the heart like many idiots do. Hearts are extremely easy to repair, and they keep working for a while after you pierce them. A cut spine on the other hand... he''s a professional.

    Isse did not like the appreciative tone in her soul half''s tone, but she wasn''t surprised: she had been a [Warrior] once upon a time, and she''d seen how she could get if she got really into the fight. Without being able to control it, she licked her lips at the memory of all that blood being spilled, of all the death, even if it had all been in her mind, as real as imagination. They had deserved it.

    "Anyways, you should go back to sleep. Tonight we''re going out, and you''ll be staying up late," he said, beginning to turn around and leave.

    "Where are you taking me?" she asked, suddenly guarded. She trusted him, but not that much.

    Albert stopped, turning to give her a small smile: "Someplace that will help you heal that bleeding wound in your heart."

    And he walked out, leaving Isse to wonder if he was trying to trick her.

    In the end, she turned back in her hammock, closing her eyes and deciding to trust him.

    In her sleep, she was visited by an old friend, but that''s a story for another time.

    <hr>

    "''The Boneless Dancer''? What kinda name is that? No, better question, why did they name it that?"

    Currently, Isse and Albert were standing outside Tedam''s most famous bar, or caf¨¦, or howhever you liked to call such places (I''d like to underline that statement since one time the debate had started a brawl so massive that Creanza had to basically rebuild her establishment). The outside was as hectic as the name implied, the plaster-covered brick wall having been painted a bright yellow with streaks of red, with an entire half of the wall being occupied by a silly wall painting of a skeleton whose leg bones were seemingly made of jelly, bending this and that way, while its arms waved around in what Isse thought was an approximation of a dance.

    Ok, this will go one of two ways: either it''ll be the worst experience of our lives and we''ll get old men swarming us for a dance because we''re the bright young thing, or it''ll be the single funniest thing we''ve done so far, said Siidi, who was apparently very excited.

    "The name was born out of a joke and a lost bet. The proprietess of this place loves to dance, but sucks at it, so much so that one of her friends once told her that watching her dance was like watching a man with slime legs wiggle around. I don''t know the details of the bet, but she lost, and she had to name the place ''The Boneless Dancer'' in honor of that joke."

    After a few silent seconds of thinking, she said: "Why am I not surprised?"

    To which Albert laughed: "It''s a surprisingly common story, am I right?"

    She couldn''t contain herself and giggled. Indeed, it was.

    "Now, take this," he said, fishing around in his pockets and taking out two small iron badges, handing her one.

    On both sides were carved small, stilized, hearts and, underneath them, were the words ''Entrance to the Empty Hearted''s Rest''. Hadn''t it been for those words, she would''ve absolutely asked Albert if he was taking her to some kind of really expensive secret brothel and remind him why that would be an extremely bad idea. But those words... they changed her mind.

    "Always keep your badge with you, even after you''re allowed in, understood? If you lose it, believe me, the proprietess will find out, and she will boot you out of here, no question asked, no second chance, nothing. Understood?"

    She nodded.

    They walked forwards, and immediately Isse saw two people at the entrance. No, not people. They were... ?

    Beastkin, hissed Siidi with displeasure and annoyance.

    Yeah, right, beastkin, that''s what they were called. They were some kind of humanoid animals. In this case, they looked like... she thought they were bears. So, bearkin?

    I think, yes. I''m not sure. We didn''t bother to ask when we were killing them.

    And apparently Siidi had no fond memories of them. How unsurprising! Well, she had said once that there was some sort of rivalry between the arachne and the beastkin because most of the other species of the world considered them (wrongly) some kind of rogue spider beastkin variant.

    It''s not just that. When we were fighting during the Era of Hunts, the beastkin were our greatest enemies. Fighting armies of soldiers? Easy All they can think about is their formations and protocols and shit like that. The beastkin though? Their armies were made of ''irregulars'', people who fought in strange, new, interesting and unpredictable ways. The Hunters wouldn''t have been as much of a problem if they hadn''t had the support of the beastkin in the beginning, before they left them to their own devices since they treated them as shit.

    ...You learn something new every day, am I right?

    Albert reached the entrance door of the bar and waved: "Tip, Top, nice to see you''re still working here."

    The two beastking, one two meters tall, the other no more than a meter and a half tall, looked at the old man with recognition in their eyes. Still, they moved to block the way and the smaller one said, in a deep voice: "Badge please, or leave. This is a private event."

    He didn''t sound menacing, nor was there any hint of promises of violence and retribution in case no badge was provided, but there was a firmness in his tone that spoke leagues to how seriously he took his job. Something in the back of her mind was grateful that she was, apparently, supposed to be here and wouldn''t need to fight them.

    Is that a fucking Aura? What Level are these two that they''d have such a Skill?

    Isse batted her eyes a few times, not understanding: Aura?

    Yes, an Aura. Oh, wait, you don''t know, right. Auras are... that''s actually difficult to explain. Ok, like, imagine a mirror, no, a prysm, and imagine a ray of light being shined through it, refracting the light, expanding it. You following me so far?

    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    Erm... yes?

    I''ll take that question as an affirmation. Anyways, basically, imagine that you''re the prysm, and the ray of light is your will, a part of you that is so you that it''s like your signature. Something that defines you as a person. You take that aspect of yourself and project it all around you in a much stronger and, sometimes, even physical way. That''s an Aura. Some people consider it a projection of the soul upon the world, but I always thought that was too generic.

    That was... strange. And what use could it possibly have? Projecting your greatest characteristic on the outside? It didn''t seem useful at all.

    Oh, on the contrary, it''s very useful. Imagine a [Soldier], one of the nutjobs that revel in the fighting and war. He could be a very bloodthirsty person and get something like an Aura of Bloodlust to scare the living shit out of those around him. Or maybe if he''s really good he could get an Aura that helps him project his skill around him, supporting his allies. Auras can be about pretty much anything. For example, I remember a story about a band of arachne once encountering a Huntress who''d been a high Level [Prostitute] with an [Aura of Lust]. Apparently she sent them in some kind of horny frenzy and fucked important info out of them.

    What the fuck Siidi?

    What? It wasn''t even me. For all I know it was all fantasy. But you get it: Auras can be about anything and everything.

    Indeed, they could. Some were more powerful than others, naturally. A [King]''s [Aura of Regality] was probably more powerful than a [Farmer]''s [Aura of Growth] and could have many more applications but, always, Auras were powerful once one realized their true potential.

    Now, Tip and Top (whose actual names were Riguin and Omris, but everyone in the business called them that and they didn''t mind) weren''t twins or anything like that. They had once been complete strangers, two [Bodyguards] who had both been hired to protect a wealthy [Merchant] during a meeting with less than savory people. Long story short, things had gone south and they had to intervene, finding out that they worked rather well together. Since then they''d always worked as a pair, to the point that they''d even gotten a very rare kind of Skill: a Sinergy Skill.

    Its name was: [Synergy: Aura of the Professionals].

    It allowed them to project upon the world the idea of their ability when they worked together, usually causing fear and wariness of them. If worse came to worse, they could empower their allies with some of their rather large repertoir of fighitng techniques, which had more than once resulted in some rather memorable brawls. Or, if things went really sour, they could attempt to sap energy and fighting knowledge from their enemies, turning them into uncoordinated messes, but it required an extreme amount of stamina and the potency of the effect varied from person to person. Safe to say, since they''d started working at the Boneless Dancer for these special nights, they''d seen their fair share of people who could outright ignore that last effect.

    The tall bearkin, Isse couldn''t tell if he was Tip or Top, took the badge in his hands and extracted a rather elegant monocle from a front pocket in his uniform, which consisted of a rather fancy black overcoat put on top of a black button up shirt and black trousers that ended just over the top of the knee.

    He examined it for a few moments, looking through the... she inclined her head slightly and Looked, noticing the magic swirling around the lense. Yep, it was enchanted, although she couldn''t tell exactly what this enchantment did, not without doing rather suspicious things like going completely blank while she concentrated and entered the Spell inside.

    In the end the bearking grunted and handed the badge back.

    "Very well, you may go in."

    Then he turned back towards Isse and raised an eyebrow questioningly, asking her without words to hand over her own badge while at the same time wondering why in Airm a girl as young as her was here of all places. She knew that, after going through puberty as an arachne, she looked mature, probably in her twenties, but that begged the question: why was a twenty-something girl going to an event for [Soldiers] so traumatized that sometimes they went back to the battlefields they''d fought on?

    Stil, he said nothing as the girl gave him her badge. For a moment, he hoped the monocle would reveal that the thing was fake, that she was just trying to sneak into the gathering against its rules.

    Sadly, it wasn''t.

    "You may go in," he said with a grunt, giving her back the badge and motioning her in while his colleague asked him a silent question with a look. He only got a slight shake of the head as an answer.

    And, finally, they were in.

    <hr>

    Creanza had a secret. Well, ok, she had many. Actually, she probably had or knew enough secrets to topple a few monarchies, or so she liked to joke with her clients. The [Barista], though, was known for being a silly woman with an easy smile and a contagious laugh, so everyone believed that she was, indeed joking.

    But she did have a few secrets. One of them was that an ex-member of the College of Memoirs worked in her bar. Nobody knew Grazia, because every time she actually worked in these nights she wore an illusion necklace that changed her appearance.

    Tonight she looked like a gaunt woman with high cheekbones, a sharp nose and thin lips that smiled in a rather predatory way. Her hair was black as a night sky without stars and the moon, while her eyes, which were the only part of her that never changed in her illusions, were composed of multiple rings, as if someone had taken a dozen frog eyes and stitched them together. One of them was red, while the other was green. It was always disquieting whenever one looked at her.

    Another secret, which was a secret only by name because everyone who''d heard about her knew this detail, was that she had a soft spot for all beings non human and, especially, halfbloods, creatures that had been born from two different species, be it thanks to Skills or fertility treatments, which usually resulted in them being disliked if not outright hated by both of their original species.

    An example of this was found in particular in two of her employees: her harpy [Head Server], and one of members of the serving staff, Acria.

    Acria was the most recent addition to the bar after she''d immigrated in Tedam from Rodar, and she was a half devil. A daughter of rape. Hated by most of the living because of her infernal nature, hated by her mother because she''d been concieved after some piece of shit somewhere summoned a demon to rape her, hated... hated.

    She''d found peace only here, in this bar, where Creanza and the rest of the staff treated her like a normal person, not caring for the small horns sprouting on top of her head or the spade-tipped tail sprouting from the base of her spine or even the off red color of her skin.

    When Acria had first appeared in the woman''s bar looking for a job, desperate for money, broken in body and heart after being chased away with words or fists from most other places she''d visited, the woman had calmly asked her if she wanted a health potion and a coffee ("On the house. First drink always is for a new client."). Then, after that small moment of peace, when Acria had made her request for a job, the woman had simply started asking questions about her past experiences working as a server and how good she was at talking with people and many other... normal things. Never once she''d asked about her race, about how she''d come to be, about her horns and skin and tail.

    Acria had nervously answered that she hadn''t had much experience in the work, but she''d spent enough time doing menial tasks in her noble mother''s home to consider herself good. In regards to ''customer service'', she''d just said that she was willing to try, but ultimately it was all about the client''s reaction to her. By all standards she shouldn''t have been accepted, she wasn''t qualified enough for such an establishment, and yet... Creanza had taken her in.

    She''d decided to take a gamble and train her, even if it caused many of her clients to leave her bar, some even for good ("It just means they didn''t like this place that much to begin with," she''d said with a shrug before going back to polishing a glass), even if, initially, Acria made oh so many mistakes, she kept her, helped her.

    And now, two years after that fateful day, here she was, beside the woman who''d forever changed her life, wearing her most elegant work dress, waiting for a client to need her.

    Currently, the bar was... not filled, no. There were maybe just over a dozen clients, most of them old, grizzled, [Veterans]. At best. At worst... well, Tip and Top once had to get rid of a particularly bad case whose Class, apparently, had evolved into something quite nasty: [Veteran of the Endless Battle]. That had been the one and only time Creanza had revealed someone''s Class. How she''d found out, nobody knew for sure.

    She was broken out of her reverie when two clients walked in. Acria looked up and, since Lavia was busy with another client, an old man with gray hair and a short, salt and pepper, beard, she went to greet them.

    "Good evening. Welcome to the ''Empty Hearted''s Rest''. Let me show you to your table."

    She looked at them only for a moment before she turned around and, following her [Perceive Client''s Needs] Skill, led them to a small table away from the others.

    That''s not to say she wasn''t surprised by the presence of such a young girl on this particular night, it was just that, like all the people working in this bar, she was a professional who valued, first and foremost, her clients'' happiness. The questions could come later.

    Still, as she let the two seat down, she looked at the girl, wondering for a moment if she was one of those people who liked to wear illusions to appear younger. She focused her sight and, for a moment, tried to use the one ability her demonic heritage had given her: Truesight. With it, she could peel back the layers of an illusion and see right through it to what lay underneath. Most basic illusion spells couldn''t affect her in the slightest, and the most powerful ones she could quickly dispell if she concentrated for a moment.

    She looked at the girl... and saw something like a faint sheen covering her, as if someone had cast an [Oil] Spell on her, but other than that there was nothing.

    She mentally shrugged: "Good evening, dear guests. What may I bring you tonight? Have no fear, our [Teamaker] will be with you in a matter of minutes to prepare your personal infuse."

    <hr>

    Isse looked at the girl with horns and a tail and red skin and wondered if she was a succubus.

    Then she remembered she had a reliable enciclopedia on this world and asked Siidi.

    I don''t know. Maybe? There are Classes that center around summoning things from other planes of existence, and I''ve heard tell that the most powerful can even try to grasp at things from other worlds. But she doesn''t seem summoned. Her smell isn''t right.

    Smell? I don''t smell anything.

    Exactly. If she was a devil out of Airm we could probably smell the smoke from her, even if she was trying to hide it. So either she''s a devil with Skills that hide her nature, or she''s a halfblood.

    ...I don''t want to think about the implications on that last one.

    For once I agree.

    Changing subject, are devils powerful?

    Depends. Some are, some you can kill by literally spitting on them. But devils here don''t work like in your world. There are no succubuses or prideful demons or shit like that. There''s only a gerarchy of power from least to most powerful. Apparently, down there, all souls are tortured equally.

    That did not sound reassuring at all.

    She decided to put that out of her mind and looked down at the small menu the [Server] or whatever her Class was had given her. She looked through the many items and, after a short while, settled on steak from something called ''Krimou'', rare.

    Siidi?

    I don''t know. Never heard of it. Perhaps it''s a new breed? Much can happen in a few thousand years, you know?

    Well, apparently her enciclopedia wasn''t up to date.

    "What''s a krimou?" she asked Albert, not noticing the half devil girl examining her as if she were some kind of exhibit in a museum before she hurriedly left.

    "Hm? Oh, a krimou''s just a mix between a cow, a reveler ant and a slime," he said nonchalantly.

    Isse stared at him for a moment, not comprehending. Then, without prompt, Siidi spoke: Reveler Ants are these big ass ants found in the jungles of Eva that keep growing so long as they eat. Usually after a while the smaller ants resort to cannibalism on the big ones because they eat everything. Always hungry, the little shits.

    "How would that work exactly? Like, breeding three things together. I guess it''s more difficult than forcing them to do a threesome."

    Albert snorted, then smiled: "Sincerely? I don''t know. Story goes a mad [Breeder] and a drunk [Tamer] once decided to try to do it. Skills were used, unmentionable and unnatural things happened, and now we have krimous. They produce a lot, and I mean a lot of milk, and their meat is great, and that''s all the people want or need to know."

    This world was really filled with strange stuff.

    Then their plates arrived.

    Together with a strange lady with even stranger eyes.

    Isse stared up in wonder and fascination and, not long after, a sort of fear, at the woman''s ringed eyes as she smiled, her thin lips looking predatory and giving her a hungry look. For a single moment, a thought crossed her mind: she would make a great arachne.

    Oh, if only Isse had known the truth behind that fake face, the story of her life, of her constant fear... well, it would''ve probably validated her assumption even more.

    Two cups appeared in front of her and Albert as, slowly, nearly reverentially, the woman placed a ceramic pot filled with water that had been boiling for quite some time now but had yet to lose a single drop of water to the steam.

    She looked down at Isse, her head moving lower at her level, making her feel small, unassuming, like a child looking up at her mother. Like she had felt on her first day in this new life, when she''d met Grandmother. Even the woman''s hair was at the right length, although the color was all wrong.

    Her smile became less predatory and more kindly as their eyes locked together.

    "Sweet child, what brings you here?" she asked, her hand moving to touch her face but stopping a few inches short, the fingertips waiting in the air, as if asking for permission. That was the real question here: may I touch you? May I comfort you? May I help you?

    And both she and Siidi thought... that they could trust her. Something deep in their hearts, both the human and the spider one, told them that this woman wouldn''t hurt them, that she would never even think of doing something so heinous.

    So they leaned into her hand and allowed it touch their face and hair, and they reveled in the calm that overcame them.

    The woman''s smile became slightly bigger and, if possible, friendlier, motherly even.

    "Thank you, child."

    Isse and Siidi didn''t stop to wonder even for a single moment why this woman was calling them ''child''. They weren''t. They were women by all standards. Grown ups!

    But they also weren''t. They weren''t even a year old in this world. They were, what, seven months old? Stars, that had felt like an eternity.

    The woman''s hand moved to caress them, her fingers curling in their hair and beginning to comb them slowly. And, with each passage of her hand, something clung to her fingers: little colorful strings, like the ones Aru used to sew her masterpiece of a clearing. She combed and combed, and then retracted her hands, and Isse felt a little lighter, a little happier, a little emptier.

    The woman, slowly, put the strings in her cup and snapped her fingers, making leaves appear and mix together with them.

    "I never thought I''d see someone who could appreciate such a mix again in my life: rhododendrum, for elegance and majesty, and mint for strenght. You''re a special little child."

    Isse only half listened to the woman as she looked in amazement at the leaves appearing in between those colorful strings, She kept on staring with even more amazament as the woman slowly took the pot of boiling water in her hands and, nearly reverentially, poured some of the contents in the cup, whispering a Skill.

    It wasn''t her most powerful, far from it. It wasn''t even a Capstone Skill. No, she had obtained this one at Level 34. Such a strange number to obtain the Skill that she used the most out of all the ones the System had gifted (or cursed, she sometimes thought) her. Its name was: [Tea of Remembrance]

    The strings immediately began dissolving and dry leaves opened up, as if they''d been a mummy''s hand but now the dead body was being brought back to life. The colors mixed in the cup, first swirling into a beautiful ranbow with bits of tea leaves appearing now and then, reminding her...

    The water was rising, waves like hungry hands reaching for them, the colors swirling below and sometimes taking the form of moments of a life Isse could no longer remember because she remembered nothing, only that she was here and the arachne beside her was urging her to climb the tower, that she would help fix everything. But what was there to fix? There was nothing wrong. There was nothing there.

    Isse and Siidi batted their eyes, the connection between them strenghtening for a few moments not for the first time that evening.

    That had been very vivid.

    They looked back down at the teacup, but the colors were gone. Instead, they were greeted by water black as night with bits of color at the bottom that were the leaves used to infuse this tea.

    "Drink up, dearie," said the woman, her voice feeling the slightest bit strained, her eyes looking at her but also at Albert, who shook his head and raised an eyebrow.

    "Would you like this same treatment, sir?" she asked with familiarity and formality.

    Albert shook his head: "No. Tonight is for her. Just... give me a tea that you think would fit me."

    Then Isse stopped looking and listening at them, not seeing what leaves the woman used, nor noticing when she left, her steps measured but her breaths deeper and noticeably quickening.

    She only had eyes for the contents of the cup.

    Slowly, she lifted it towards her lips.

    And sipped.

    <hr>

    What did Isse''s memories taste like?

    Well, the first question we should actually be asking is: what memories did Grazia take from her?

    You''ve probably already guessed it, I''m sure. It is pretty obvious: she took away her bad memories. The fighting, the death, the fire of that night, the ash, Grandmother''s statue. Grazia had taken it all and, right now, she was in the back of the bar regretting ever laying her eyes on them.

    But right now isn''t about Grazia. This is all about Isse.

    Isse, who was about to taste the single most tasteful drink of her life. A mix of the bitterness from her worst memories in this new life and some of the old, together with the strong sweetness of the mint and the poisonous sour and sweet of the rhododendrum, all working together to enhance each other.

    All forming a bittersweet taste that was like... nostalgia.

    Isse drank.

    And, like most, no, all, customers did when they tasted the tea for the first time, she began crying.

    <hr>

    Grazia sat in the back of the bar on a chair that had been left there by Lavia in case someone needed to rest a moment.

    She had fallen into the chair and, now, was breathing in and out heavily. She wasn''t panicking! oh no, absolutely not! She. Was. Not. Panicking! What was there to panic about? There was only a motherfucking arachne in the main room! That was absolutely no reason at all to panic!

    ...Well, okay, now, jokes apart, she wasn''t panicking because of the arachne. No, she trusted Albert with her own life: if he had brought her here, to this city, then it meant he had a good reason to do so or that, at least, he trusted her.

    No, what had really caused her to end up in this state was what she''d seen in the girl''s memories.

    Burning. The whole forest was burning up. Her little sisters were screaming in fear while their [Carers] slowly cut their way through the coming horde of [Soldiers]. So much blood, so many dead. And even some of the arachne fell. Then, the warrior appeared, and he cleaved through them like they were made out of wax, his sword never once stopping. She shot them with her arrows because she had nothing else. Grandmother was teaching her how to touch and attack souls, not how to fight in the waking world. One of her little sisters cried out: she had accidentally left them and ran, and now another one of those big [Warriors] stood over her small form, sword raised to kill...

    Blood. Blood everywhere. Makira laughed madly as she jumped from one man to another, leaving behind only corpses, her four arms (four? Where had the other two come from?) wielding swords, her mouth red with the blood she''d drunk since she''d changed, her eyes as red as the sweet and metallic fluid coursing down her throat, giving her a satisfaction bordering on the sexual. She laughed, and Isse wondered if she would remember who she was fighting for, if she was going to attack her and her sisters next once all the warriors were gone.

    The fire! The flames! So hot! They burn! They... what''s that little spider... no, please, not me... please, let me stay with them... please!

    She stared at the white walls and green ceiling of her hospital room, respirator pumping air in her lungs thanks to a tube running right into her throat. She was alive, but she felt dead, because this wasn''t life. Some days, she hoped her parents would finally give up and tell the doctors to pull that tube out and let her finally die. Some days, she wanted to do that herself. One time, she had tried, but her arms were no longer as strong as they''d been before all this had started. Now, the meds and the time spent in bed had eaten away at her muscles, leaving behind only bones and veins visible through the thin film of her skin. She wanted this hell to end.

    Grazia breathed in and out. In and out. In... and....... out. In........ and..................... out.

    All the while, she wondered what this girl had done to deserve to live in such an Airm.

    <hr>

    When Isse finally stopped crying, she looked around, and saw some of the [Veterans] and [Soldiers] giving her a sympathetic look as they raised their own cups of tea in cheers, before they began sipping themselves. Some of them, like her, began crying, while others simply sat down even further in their seats and began staring at a single point on the wall, remembering and smiling slightly with tears in the corners of their eyes.

    Isse, too, felt like crying again. For a moment there, as the woman had been stroking her hair, she had forgotten it all. Now, after drinking, she remembered. All her sisters, younger and older, all lost. Anda, Makira, Aru, Grandmother, Pochi, even Iadara.

    But, where once there had been only the sadness that came from comparing the days when she had everything and the day she''d lost it all, now her memories of the good days had... changed.

    She couldn''t tell exactly how she knew, but the colors felt duller, the smiles a bit larger, maybe a bit faker, the laughter more boisterous. Everything had been enhanced and at the same time, made... greyer. Unreal. A bit more distant.

    And then she understood. The sadness was there, of course. It would never leave her.

    But now it was tempered down. The bad was bad, but diluted into the good.

    She felt... nostalgic.

    "How does it feel, Isse?" asked Albert.

    She looked up at him, then around.

    Finally, she sighed: "I will never be alright. I can''t be, not after what happened, all that I lost. But... I think I can be better. The wound has scabbed over, for now."

    Albert nodded.

    And she began eating.

    The meat tasted so sweet.

 Chapter 7: Let the Training Begin

    Isse and Albert walked out of the ''Empty Hearted''s Rest'' without smiles on their faces.

    There were reasons to smile, naturally, but they didn''t feel like it. Isse had been given the chance to see the best memories of her past one last time with the happiness that was theirs, the bad moments taken away for a few too-short moments, seemingly completely forgotten, only for her to then drink that tea and get everything back. Now, it was all gray: the good and the bad had been mixed together, making everything look like a black and white film. The sadness, the pain, the sorrow, everything was still there but... milder. As if someone had forced the good moments to give up something theirs to make the bad ones better.

    All in all, now she just felt nostalgic.

    As for Albert, he didn''t smile because he knew exactly what had happened. He knew that this had helped, but the price had been high for the girl. An equivalent exchange that would make most [Alchemists] want to retch and throw the concoction out of a window, never to be seen again. Because this was wrong. And, at the same time, it was the only way to help her, because Time has the bad habit of taking her sweet Herself when it comes to helping heal this kind of wounds, and if Grazia''s reaction was anything to go by, these ones were even deeper than some of the ones some [Veterans] there had.

    "Will you teach me?" she suddenly asked, getting Albert out of his thoughts.

    "To become a [Spy]?" he asked.

    She nodded.

    He didn''t answer immediately. Instead, he took a deep breath, and wondered if it was worth teaching her the ways of the job he had done so much to leave behind.

    Then, he sighed, nodding, and promising himself he''d do all that was in his power to keep her away from the Game itself.

    "Yes. I did promise you, after all. Are you sure?"

    He still gave her a chance to back out. He would give her plenty of those, he promised himself.

    "I''m sure. I will avenge them. All of them."

    Albert nodded. Her reasons... they weren''t good. They were more an [Assassin]''s reasons than a [Spy]''s, but that could be worked with.

    "It will take time."

    "Time is the only thing I have plenty of."

    The two of them walked slowly, in silence.

    "In that case, we''ll begin tomorrow."

    <hr>

    Once upon a time, the gods interefered. This was, naturally, before the arachne, before the deal with Death.

    This happened only a few centuries after the birth of the First Dealmaker. Precisely, it happened after Rodar was cursed with Misfortune, after the Goddess of Luck was slain in battle by the Traitor. All thanks to that being''s Skills.

    The gods, furious and outraged, attempted to do something so incredibly stupid, so grandiose, that if it wasn''t for the Purge that happened another few centuries later, the world would still be writing comedies about it and laugh about it. In short, they attempted to regulate what Classes and Skills the people could get, since they couldn''t find a way to reach the System.

    They communicated their desires to their churches and [Priests], telling them what to do, what to allow, and what to deny. And, naturally, they started to work. Because of course that mindless flock would always act first and ask questions later.

    And while people who were deemed to have ''unsuitable'' of ''forbidden'' Classes and Skills had them forcibly removed or were removed, while criminal organizations all over the world found themselves swamped with [Dreamers] and [Storytellers] and high Level individuals who were attempting to hide their hard earned Skills, a single person decided to add chaotic fuel to this raging inferno.

    That person being the previously mentioned Mina, the First Dealmaker. The girl who''d become one with the most powerful devil to ever be created by the gods thanks to a misused Skill, the new immortal who was still learning just how much power she had. She decided to have some fun at the gods'' expenses

    Let''s say this first though: Mina had nothing against the gods at the time. Sure, she thought of them as stuffy old coots who really should get a hobby or fuck a bit more, and sure they had given an entire continent to the Goddess of Luck to rule over because they had lost a bet with her (no, really, they should''ve thought better than to play a game of dice with the incarnation of Luck), but they weren''t really all bad. Mina was just chaotic, and still very much drunk with power.

    So it was that she created something that would, in the millenia to come, cause the gods to wonder whyever they had decided to create Devils. She created Skill Scrolls.

    The concept behind them was oh so simple: they were deals. Deals with the System itself. Or rather, deals forced upon the System. A way to seal a Skill inside a piece of paper in exchange for losing a few of your Levels.

    A perfect little thing for all those that desired to hide their own Skills and Classes from the Church. And, in the millenia to come, an instrument in the hands of criminals and honest folk alike to pass down knowledge and abilities that would otherwise be most probably forgotten or lost.

    Safe to say, thanks to Mina''s little prank, the gods'' plans were twarted.

    <hr>

    The next morning came fast as both Isse and Siidi slept, welcoming the darkness of oblivion, of a sleep without dreams.

    When they woke, it wasn''t to the usual mix of sadness bordering on depression and a desire to just close their eyes again and either fall asleep again or spend some time together in their Mind Castle.

    Instead, that morning, they woke to up to... nothing at all.

    They remembered the deaths, the fire, the little spider that had given them a second chance. They remembered everything. But, instead of the usual sensations the memories brought normally, there was just a feeling of sadness comparable to, say, someone giving you a bad present on your birthday. It was bad, but it wasn''t the end of the world.

    She knew, deep down, that this was wrong, that she shouldn''t feel only a bit sad for what had happened, but she just couldn''t bring herself to feel more than that, her mind seemingly incapable of even understanding why she should feel sad.

    I don''t know how to feel about this, she thought.

    It''s probably better then for us not to think about it at all, replied Siidi.

    ...Agreed.

    She skittered down her hammock (there was no pang of hurt at seeing it empty, Anda not following at her side) and went out of her room.

    Immediately, she picked up the shent of some cooking meat coming from a door at the end of the corridor that passed through the whole first floor. Again, she marveled at the total lack of decoration in this floor, at the empty walls devoid of pictures (which, actually, wasn''t unexpected. She was pretty sure they hadn''t yet invented photography in this world) or paintings (again, not unexpected. They probably cost a lot). It was positively depressing, and it scared her how much the emptiness of this hall made her feel worse than the memory of her dead sisters and soulmate.

    Whatever that woman did, I''ll never allow her to do it to us again. I don''t care if you''ll want to do it again. I''ll fight you over it.

    Don''t worry. I''d probably rather live in pain than feel so alien inside my own mind.

    She felt Siidi nod in her head and they walked into the room the good smell was coming from, her clothes having shifted from their ''nightgown form'' to their usual ''public appearance form'', hiding her spider half.

    The room they were in was sparsely decorated. Yes, sparsely, as in there was something on the walls other than the strictly necessary furniture that you''d see in a kitchen. On the far side of the room from the door was a big oven made out of stone, a fire burning slowly inside, hot enough to cook, but not to the point that it would burn the food you put inside. It also made the room feel toasty, which she imagined would probably feel like an inferno in summer. Beside the oven were three counters that, she presumed, were filled with various foodstuffs, while on top of them was a true selection of blades perfect for any cutting needs of any foods you could imagine: vegetables, bread, meats both tender and stringy, skinning, that one knife would look more appropriate at a butcher''s, while that other one looked perfect to murder someone.

    She decided not to focus on the astonishing amount of cutting implements and instead to look at the one decoration in the room: a small bookeshelf.

    "Good morning," she said to Albert, who was staring at some meat sizzling in a pan by the fire, as she skittered towards the wooden bookshelf.

    "Good morning Isse. Did you sleep well?" he answered, not looking away from the pan for a single moment. He was so focused that one would''ve thought the destiny of the world depended on how well done that meat was.

    "I slept," she answered, beginning to read the titles in Irevian and... ok, they weren''t all in Irevian.

    "Why do you have books in something other than Irevian?" she asked before he could ask her what she meant with her answer.

    At her question he looked away from the pan and towards her, a small smile creasing his lips as he noticed her looking at the books. Most of them were small and leatherbound, words stamped on the spines in Irevian and what she imagined were either other languages or, possibly, secret codes. It wasn''t impossible, seeing Albert''s Class.

    "Ah, well, I''ve travelled around a lot, and for my... job, I had to learn several other languages. You''ll find books in Irevian, Evarien, Akian and if I remember it right there''s also one written in an old harpy dialect. Nothing in Rodean, though. I was lucky enough not to be sent to that blasted continent in my missions, and even when I had to go there... I didn''t stay long enough to care to learn it."

    She nodded wordlessly and looked at the titles she could read: ''A Brief History of Dragons'', ''A Summary of The Saintly Necromancer''s Deeds'', ''A Kataleptyc Manual on Dimensional Magic and Its Uses'', ''The Tides of Passion''... she stopped at that one. The cover was made of simple brown leather and was rather unassuming, and because of that she picked it up immediately and, after opening it on the first page, stopped again.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    The words weren''t, as she''d expected, written by hand, like the books she and Pochi had bought that one time in the city. These were printed.

    "I didn''t know you had printing presses," she said, looking up from her book of choice, then back down as she began reading to see if she could needle Albert about leaving some kind of steamy novel in the open like that.

    "I''d expect you not to, since you spent all your life livi -" he stopped mid sentence, realizing something. He had been about to say that she couldn''t possibly know about printing presses because she had lived all her life in a forest, but then, how could she possibly know that printing presses were called that way?

    "Did you have many books back in your... old home?"

    Isse shook her head distractedly as she paged through the book with increasing speed, but never fast enough to risk damaging the pages. She had always loved the little things.

    "Not many, no, and they were all hand written."

    "Then how do you know what printing presses are, dear?"

    Isse stopped paging through the book and put it back in its place on the bookshelf, huffing discontentedly. It hadn''t been some kind of steamy novel about starstruck lovers or the like. No, instead it was literally a description on how the tides of a port city called ''Passion'' (Stars be damned who in Airm had thought that naming a city that way was a good idea?) worked. They were, apparently, very strange, and sometimes people disappeared in them, and not because they drowned. Just... puff, and gone! There were many speculations and the likes, and she''d probably get back to reading it sooner or later, and she realized in that moment that whoever had written that book had given it that title to try and sell some more. Catch the eye and sell for the joke of it.

    "I just do," she finally answered Albert with a small smile, hoping it would make her look enigmatic.

    Albert sighed: "Yes, well, I expected as much. Now, eat your breakfast. You''re going to need the energy."

    <hr>

    "What is this?"

    She stared at a small scroll in front of her. It looked like it was made out of paper, two wooden dovels holding it closed. A single red string completed the ensemble, sealing everything in place.

    "This, Isse, is a Skill Scroll. Do you know what those are?"

    She shook her head.

    "Skill Scrolls are... well, they''re like deals, written on paper, with the System itself. The scrolls contain a Skill, and you can learn it by using it."

    Isse frowned: "Just like that? I open this little scroll, give it a read, and I get a Skill. For free?"

    Albert shook his head: "No, no reading isn''t required. But it''s not that easy. You won''t just get the Skill. You will earn it. And there are limitations, of a sort. When you''ll open up the scroll, you''ll enter a... my old master called it an illusory world, which is probably the best way to describe it. One way or another, it will let you earn the Skill sealed inside the scroll."

    Isse raised an eyebrow: "Can this be done with any Skill?"

    "Any, yes."

    "So, say I found someone with a Level 70 Skill, and I managed to get them to sign it over to me. Could I just get that Skill then?"

    "Yes, but actually no. You see, time still passes when you use a Skill Scroll, so if you were to try to learn a Level 70 Skill you''d probably end up spending months and months on end trying to do it. There''s also the problem of you not being able to just leave a Skill Scroll''s world, which means you wouldn''t even be able to eat. Finally, I''ve heard stories of people outright dying when trying to learn from a Skill Scroll containing a too powerful Skill because they just couldn''t handle the experience. Their brains just stopped."

    And at that Isse immediately dropped the scroll she''d taken in her hands.

    Albert chuckled: "Don''t worry. This scroll contains a basic [Spy] Skill. I got it at Level 3. It''ll be more useful to actually get you the Class than as a Skill."

    Isse frowned at that: "Wait, let''s take a step back: this Scroll contains one of your Skills? You gave up some of your Levels to make this?"

    He shook his head: "Oh, no, I didn''t. I''m... pretty high Level. And this, as I said, is a very basic Skill. I didn''t even have to lose a Level to make this. Now, open it up and read the first line."

    She did just that: she unfurled the string and placed it beside her on the table. Then, with slightly trembling hands, she unrolled the scroll.

    The first line read like this:

    I, Mina, the First Dealmaker, declare, through the power I bestowed upon myself by -

    She didn''t get to read anything more as her eyes unfocused and she felt herself begin to fall forwards and at the same time downwards, her stomach doing a flip like it did when she dreamed of falling. She half expected to wake up, but instead she kept falling and falling and falling and falling and...

    "See you on the other side dear," she heard Albert''s voice, a whisper in the distance.

    And then she fell face first into the hard ground.

    <hr>

    She groaned into the... whatever it was that was under her face. It felt cold to the touch and hard and it scraped unpleasantly against her skin, which should''ve been all the incentive she needed to sit up, but she felt so nauseus that she''d rather scrape her face into a meatgrinder than move.

    "Huh, first time''s always the worst," said a voice nearby.

    A moment later a shadow darkened her vision and Isse still didn''t move because that would probably still make her stomach feel like someone was trying to invert her esophageal sphincter and the pyloric one.

    "Come on girl, it''s all in your head. If this is enough to knock you out then my student''s really lowered his standards."

    And then a foot snuck underneath her and somehow managed to turn her as if her spider half alone didn''t weigh like three full sacks of potatoes. Her vision blurred and, for a second, she was certain that she was going to throw up, but then the sensation disappeared as fast as a lightning strike in a cloudless sky.

    "See? Wasn''t so bad."

    Finally, she looked at the person whose shadow had been darknening her vision for a while now and she put their face into focus.

    "I''ll be sincere here, I was expecting to see Albert. Aren''t you the old man from the Spell that was hiding his Classes?"

    Indeed, the same old man was staring right at her. His hair was gray and his eyes were a deep warm brown, although these ones weren''t as kind as the ones he had in the vision of the fog-covered lake. He wore some simple gray robes that made him look more like a [Mage] than what she expected a [Spy] should look like, and in his left hand he was holding the ''bonking stick'' he''d used on her and Siidi to get them to leave. He was also still missing his left leg.

    "Yeah, no, the System decided that he would''ve been too kind with you and instead assigned me to your training. He''s gone too soft with the years. But then, he probably deserves it, after succeding where I failed."

    Isse frowned and, finally, she got up, looking around.

    She and the old man were standing in an empty space. Literally, there was just a stone floor in every direction as far as the eye could see, while the sky was a made out of uniform fog through which radiated suffused light.

    We''re in the Matrix weapon room! Woohoo!, she thought sarcastically.

    "Care to explain what you mean with that last sentence?"

    "What? The succeding where I failed part?"

    She nodded.

    The old man seemed to think about it for a moment, then shook his head: "No, I don''t think I will, little arachne. You''re gonna have to earn that answer. For that matter, any answer to any question you''ll make you''ll first have to earn. Well, any question other than ones about how to be a good [Spy]."

    She sighed heavily as she heard that. Of course it couldn''t be that easy.

    "Now, tell me, why do you want to become a [Spy]?"

    Isse raised an eyebrow questioningly: "Why would you need to know? Aren''t you just supposed to teach me stuff so that I can get a Skill?"

    The man lifted his right hand and shook it in a so-so gesture: "That would normally be the case, yes, but since you don''t have the basic Class required to get the Skill you''ll also hve to get that. Which leaves me with a lot of leeway on how to do this. Now answer me."

    Again, Isse sighed: "You talk as if you were real -"

    "Oh, trust me girl, in here I''m as real as you are. I am, if you will, an exact replica of the man I used to be, without the downsides. For example, this missing leg?" he wiggled the stump of his leg underneath the robes, "I can go back to the me I was before I lost it."

    And suddenly a slightly younger version of him stood right in front of her. His hair was slightly less gray, with hints of brown here and there, his eyes were sharper and his face had lost a few of its wrinkles.

    "But let''s not change the subject. You haven''t yet answered me," he said, going back to looking like his older self.

    Isse breathed in deeply and summoned all her patience so as not to curse the world and her fucked up luck. Of course it could never be easy. Of. Fucking. Course! For once someone had given her an easy way to get something, but then seemingly everything seemed to try to make it difficult for her! Why could she never get a fucking shortcut?

    "Well, if you''re so curious, it''s because I want to kill the [King] of Scasce, and then, since I''m here, I might as well destroy the College of Memoirs."

    The old man nodded, a hand going for his chin in mock-thoughtfulness: "Hmmm, yes, yes, that makes sense. And then, since you''re here, you might as well go ahead and kill the gods. Yes, yes, that absolutely makes sense and those are the most fucking unrealistic and wrong words I''ve ever heard someone utter in my entire life. I''ve heard dreamy eyed new Players of the Game talk more sense than you did right now, and they wanted to become Kings and Queens of the Board!"

    His voice had steadily risen in pitch until he was practically shouting in her face by the end of it.

    "And what the fuck might this ''Game''," she did air quotes with her fingers, her voice mocking on that final word, "be? Huh?"

    "That''s another question I''ll answer once you earn the right to it. For now, let''s analyze all the wrong things that were in that sentence.

    "For starters, you want to become a [Spy] to kill people? What do you think we are, [Assassins]?"

    "Erm... yes? Aren''t spies fancy assassins who steal information and kill people?"

    "If that''s what you think then you might as well fuck right out of this Skill Scroll and start murdering people in the streets at night without being seen like a fucking [Rogue] with extra steps.

    "[Spies] are much more than people who kill and get information. In fact, if we have to kill someone in our job that usualy means we''ve failed or someone higher up is a total dumbass. Dead people don''t make mistakes that let you get information. They make it rather harder, for more reasons than just them being unable to talk."

    "But I don''t want to go around getting information! I want to kill the King!"

    "And I want to fuck the Queen, but sadly I''m dead and even if I wasn''t missing legs don''t make you more attractive. We don''t always get what we want."

    They stared each other in the eyes with such fervor that, had Siidi been standing there, she would''ve probably seen lightning fly between them.

    Until the old man slumped slightly and sighed: "Look, girl, I don''t really know why you want to kill who you want to kill. Airm, I died decades ago on Rodar while attempting... it doesn''t matter. I can, though, guess: you''re an arachne, which, by the way, I don''t give a fuck about because I''m already dead, and you''re in a city with my old apprentice, which can only mean that someone found you out and sent an army to kill you and your people. I guess the someone who used the army was the King, and I''m certain the College got mixed in because it was the arachne. So I can see why you''d want the man dead.

    "But, hear me out: what if there was a way to make the King pay without killing him? Ever heard of destinies worse than death? You could do that. If you were to become a [Spy], you''d get the means and the Skills to find a way to destroy the man''s life, make his kingdom crumble under his very eyes. It only takes the one fabricated letter, the one right information in the wrong hands, to do that. Wouldn''t it be that much better?"

    The words weren''t sweet like honey, and the man''s voice wasn''t silvered and fluid. It was scratchy from the years and tired. Oh, so tired. She could feel the weight of the years in his tone, decades of experiences and regrets enough that were each regret a brick she could''ve built a house.

    But there was sincerity in the words.

    "You are young. To you, death feels like the worst thing in the world, the greatest punishment. And you''re also an arachne. Now, I don''t want to go into the stereotype of your people being killing machines, but you''ve probably been taught how to kill, and your nature probably makes you like it. But, if you want to truly make a man suffer, especially a man like a [King] who had everything, the best way to do it is to take everything he has away. That''s what you''ll learn to do as a [Spy]. That''s what I once taught to my apprentice. That''s what I''ll begin teaching you, if you''ll desire it."

    She looked at him and also not, asking Siidi what she thought about it. But, for the first time since she''d been reborn, only silence greeted her question. Her soul half wasn''t there.

    "You won''t get an answer or suggestion from the other one in your head. The Scroll was used by you for yourself. She wasn''t invited. This choice, it will be yours and yours alone."

    She looked at him as if he''d just said something blasphemous, then tried to call out first with her mind, then her voice, to her soul half, to her sister.

    When no answer came, she began to breath faster, feeling like her lungs weren''t getting enough air as her heart began beating a rhytm that would make a rock star proud.

    Her rational mind understood that she was panicking and should try to calm down, should breath deeply and slowly, but her much less rational mind told that part to fuck off.

    Then she felt a hand land on her shoulder and grasp it firmly.

    "I''m not good with this, so either you calm down or I''ll start slapping you, alright?"

    She looked at him and the panic turned to anger. This was his fault! He had done this to her, to Siidi, to the only one left from that fire, from all the death! He had locked her out, away from her! He -

    He slapped her.

    "Warned you."

    And she felt the anger and fear leave her, drawn out of her at the same speed as when she used the Skill that let her transfer her emotions to other people. And, just like with that Skill, she felt empty then.

    "Don''t worry, you''ll be able to see her again when this is all over. I''m sorry, I really am, but I don''t make the rules. The System and the Dealmaker made those a very long time ago. Now, please, choose the path you''ll go down from here on."

    She looked up at him, her cheek stinging with distant pain, her mind mulling the information over with detachment now.

    And she saw the truth in his words.

    "Alright. Teach me how to destroy that man''s life."

    And her training began.

 Chapter 8: A [Spy] is Made

    "What''s your name?" she asked to the apparition.

    The old, broken in body but not in spirit, man looked at her with a raised eyebrow and, after a moment of silence, snickered: "You may call me Master."

    This time around it was Isse''s turn to raise an eyebrow: "Master? Really? Admit it, you''ve been waiting to say that for a long time."

    ''Master'' shrugged: "No, I haven''t. All my apprentices call me that. Well, called. My name is another thing you''ll have to work to get the right to know."

    "You speak as if that''s of any use to you now. You said it yourself, you''re just a fragment, a memory of the man that was. Nobody could do anything with your name."

    "You are absolutely right apprentice. But here''s the thing: I don''t give a flying fuck about that. I am me and I can goddamn well do whatever the fuck I want, especially now that it''s consequence free. Which reminds me," he snapped his fingers and a table, chair and glass of something yellow and foamy, probably a beer, appeared out of nowhere. He then sat down and proceeded to drink the whole glass without needing to stop for air.

    When he was done he slammed the glass back down on the table and smacked his lips in approval: "Haaa, been a while since I could do that. Too many failed poisonings may have given me [Poison Resistance], but they did a fucking number on my liver."

    Isse did not know what to say to that, so she just stared intensely at the man as if that could will him to move faster and start teaching her.

    Instead he just summoned another chair and set his feet on it, while turning the one he was sitting on into a much more comfortable armchair. A moment later a woman, probably some kind of [Server], wearing an extremely skimpy outfit that left little to the imagination, appeared out of nowhere and set a platter of assorted cheeses and meat cuts, together with some bread, in front of the old man, who smiled and put a gold coin in a little pocket of her... ''outfit'', around her waist.

    "This is the life," he said as he made himself comfortable on the armchair and began eating as he stared unabashedly at the woman''s swaying hips before she disappeared into a puff of smoke.

    Isse waited a moment for Siidi to make some sarcastic comment or jokingly suggest she ''bang the chick'' the next time she appeared, before remembering that, here and now, Siidi couldn''t reach her.

    "So... when are we starting?" she asked, trying to ignore the consistently satisfied faces the man made as he ate from the platter.

    He stopped for a moment, looking at her with a raised eyebrow: "What did I tell you to call me?"

    She crossed her arms: "You''re not actually expecting me to call you Master every time we talk? Especially when all you''re doing is eating and drinking."

    "Well, first of all, calling me Master is probably more convenient than ''Amazingly good looking old man wearing gray'', but I''ll understand if you''ll ever call me that. Second, and arguably more important, I''m the one who''s meant to teach you. I could easily just... not teach you, keep you here for a while, probably five days so that you don''t suffer too much from dehydration, and then boot you out of here having learned nothing. So, yes, I expect you to call me Master when refering to me. You''ll have to learn to show some respect to those older and wiser than you."

    Isse''s eye twitched as she answered back, teeth slightly gritted: "I know how to show respect to my elders. I''m an arachne, remember? But those elders had gained my respect. You, on the other hand, are just eating and eyefucking random apparitions. There''s not much to respect in that."

    He raised an amused eyebrow and sipped from a newly brought glass of beer: "''Eyefucking''? I''ll admit, I never heard it described like that," he chuckled.

    Again, Isse''s eye twitched.

    Still, she needed this, so she decided to let it go. The man could do whatever he wanted so long as taught her.

    "When do we start, Master?"

    The man nodded: "That''s more like it. And to answer your question, I don''t know. For now, how about a beer?"

    Her eye started twitching uncontrollably.

    <hr>

    Isse couldn''t tell how long she''d already been in this illusory plane. There was no sun moving in the skies, no moon and stars, no clocks, nothing. Absolutely nothing.

    Nothing except for the ever expanding revel the old man was having fun at. What had started as a man enjoying some snacks at a small table had evolved into a full on celebration with a giant table that was probably a hundred meters long and was completely packed with people. Women wearing skimpy outfits went from unknown person to unknown person offering food and... other services, while the old man sat at the head of the table and kept on drinking and eating and being merry. All the while music played from somewhere.

    Isse didn''t know how long she''d been there, sitting on the ground, looking away from the revelry and damning the System for not allowing her to do something like what Master (ugh) was doing. If only she could''ve created even a single tree she could''ve found a way to waste some time. Instead she had to listen to the people behind her having fun, which made her already unstable and generally foul mood even worse.

    Isse didn''t know how long she''d been sitting there before she snapped.

    She only knew that, at one point, she decided that enough was enough and turned around, beginning to call upon her only real attack Spell: [Colorful Water Arrow].

    Her first target was a man who was currently being pleasured by one the servers: she pointed a finger gun at him, even though she didn''t actually have to, and with her middle finger she pressed an imaginary trigger.

    The Spell was actualy a bit of a misnomer: what formed in front of her and flew towards the man wasn''t actually an arrow. It looked more like some sort of... spike? Whatever the name of the form was, it had two pointy ends and became bigger as you neared the center. The colorful part, though, was absolutely true. Had she not known better she would''ve thought she was shooting arrows made out of paint.

    The arrow moved at the speed of, well, an arrow, towards her target, and made contact.

    The man''s head opposed some resistance at first, and she watched as the flat bones of his cranium bent inwards, as if they could then just rebound her projectile back at her, until she saw the point pierce...

    The head popped like a ballon and confetti rained down all around him.

    The revel stopped, the music grinding to a painful halt.

    And then it all disappeared.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    "That was uncalled for," said Master.

    Isse breathed in and realized she''d been taking deep, hard, breaths, for a while, her heart was beating out of her chest. She took a few more steadying breaths before she turned to look back at the old man, lowering her hand.

    Then: "That was very much called for and extremely satisfying."

    Master sighed: "Yes, I imagine it was. Sadly, you also just failed the trial. Which, by the way, is the simplest one among the ones I made my apprentices go through back in the day."

    Isse''s eyebrows slowly furrowed as she registered what the old man had just said, her eyes asking a very clear quetion of ''What the fuck do you mean?''

    "Do you know what''s the main quality a [Spy] needs to have, always, in any situation, no matter what? Patience. Lots and lots and lots and lots of patience. If you ever think you''re patient enough then know this: it''s never enough. There''s always space for more.

    "You need patience for everything in our job. You''re scouting out a place? You have to be patient. You''re working undercover in someone''s house? Even more patience. You have everything you need from someone and can finally leave? Patience patience patience until the right time comes, and even then you probably wait some more because maybe you''ll find something more.

    "Now, imagine this: you''re sent to a nobleman''s house, let''s call him Fido. Now, you work under Fido, and he''s a terrible boss. He overworks you, he screams at you for the slightest mistake, and in the best days he hits on you because he thinks you''re cute. And you want to punch him, you want to plant that knife you have hidden in your sleeve right into his throat and watch him bleed out on the floor in front of you, but you have a job, you have to be patient and get through this. One night, Fido throws a big ass party, and you have to be there, you have to watch other people have fun while you work your ass off. And to that add the fact that Fido''s friends are very much like him, so they grope you, they hit on you, they''re loud and obnoxious and you have to be patient and let them do whatever they want because if you don''t there could be repercussions that could, potentially, make your job more complex or outright impossible. And maybe, just maybe, if you do what they want, to a certain degree, these people will reveal something useful to you, because you''re unimportant, because you''re nothing, you''re no one.

    "Now, you can see why killing one of the guests in a fit of rage wouldn''t really work in your favor."

    And at that very sudden, lenghty, and extremely serious explanation that was completely at odds with how he''d been acting up until a few moments ago, she blushed.

    "Well, I wasn''t prepared. I thought you were just making fun of me."

    "And that''s another thing: you must always be ready. You can''t know when shit''s gonna hit the [Wind] Spell and fly right in your face. You must always be ready to dodge.

    "Now, we''ll start by working on that temper of yours."

    Isse frowned: "I don''t have a temper."

    Master sighed: "They always say that."

    <hr>

    Turns out, Isse had a temper.

    Not a bad one, mind you, but still enough to make the old man''s training extremely unpleasant. Siidi had rubbed off on her, apparently.

    "Stop. You failed," said Master from his usual chair. He wasn''t eating or drinking anymore now. Instead, from a small podium he''d summoned out of thin air, he looked attentively at her every move and at every single expression, its every twitch and fake smile and you name it. Yes, it was as uncomfortable as it sounded.

    She groaned: "What was it this time?"

    "Your smile. It was more a grimace than a smile. A nobleman could very well be offended if you showed him or her such an expression. And we don''t want that."

    This time she actually grimaced: "You speak as if every single noble in the world is a horny pig."

    "No, not every single one of them, but in my experience the worst ones are always the ones with the useful information. Maybe you''ll get lucky, maybe the person you''ll have to extract your secrets from won''t be a complete asshole. Maybe you''ll even grow to like them and decided, when all is said and done, to join them and start working for them. Or maybe, if you''ll be extremely lucky, you''ll never have to go undercover and form attachments."

    Those last few words were filled with nostalgia and bitterness. Had he come to know someone during a mission? Had -

    "I''ll tell you this one for free. Won''t be of any use to you anyway. She was a [Maid] in a nobleman''s house in Eva, not two years before the fall of the Kingdom of Crizia, the so called ''Kingdom of Storytellers''. Idiots should''ve known better than to name themselves after something so controversial. Anyways, I had to leave her behind. There''s no place for love in the Game. It will be used against you, one way or another. Don''t forget that. Never, ever, forget it."

    "...Alright."

    She thought there were close to no chances of her falling for someone, not after all that had happened to her, not with the Anda-shaped scab on her heart. And even if, for some strange reason, she did, it would never work out, because she was an arachne.

    "Anyways, another time! I''ll teach you to keep your temper in check if it''s the last thing I do before the Scroll decides you''ve done enough to learn its Skill."

    "I don''t have a temper!"

    Master raised an eyebrow, incredulity written on all of his features.

    "Ok, alright, I have a bit of a temper, but if I had Siidi with me I would manage to keep myself in check."

    "Well, that''s where you''re wrong: you''re not going to have your little -"

    "I''m gonna stop you right there old man: she''ll always be with me. She''s part of my soul, my other half. The only way for anyone to get rid of her would be to use Soul Magic to rip her out of me, which would probably kill us both."

    Master batted his eyes several times at the revelation, before sighing: "Right, arachne bullshit, had forgotten about that. How would she even help?"

    She shrugged: "She''d probably find a way to make me laugh, which in turn would make me smile in the event of working with shitty people."

    Master looked at her with a cocked eyebrow, his head slightly tilted to the side, as if looking at her from a different angle could help him understand her better.

    "It''s a shame I don''t have my Skills in here, you know? I used to have one that would help me detect the things my students were worse at. I understand only now how much I relied on it."

    He sighed, shaking his head: "That''s what I get, I suppose. Alright!" he clapped his hands together and the party around her disappeared, "Let''s train you with something else."

    <hr>

    She opened her eyes, her stomach attempting to fall out of her mouth and, failing that, to throw its contents out.

    It failed miserably because there was absolutely nothing inside.

    When, finally, she settled down, she realized she was lying in something very comfortable. A cursory passage of her hand on the surface revealed it was her spidersilk hammock.

    "Ah, you finally came out! I was starting to worry," said someone to her right.

    Turning that way, she saw Albert, although her vision was blurry.

    Isse? Isse! You''re back! Finally! shouted Siidi in her mind, her voice filled with joy. She felt a strange sensation of being hugged, and she really liked it.

    "How -" she tried to say, but the sound that came out was raspy and she realized just how thirsty she was.

    "Five days. Now don''t overexert yourself. Here, take this and drink slowly," answered Albert, standing up to hand her a big glass of water.

    She tried to do as he said and sip it, but the moment the first drops touched the back of her throat she couldn''t contain herself and began drinking greedily.

    "What happened?" he asked her ten minutes later, after two more glasses of water and in front of a plate of bloody meat at the kitchen table.

    "I met Master," she answered.

    Albert froze as he heard the name, then chuckled: "That fucking old man? He really doesn''t know how to die, the bastard," he put his face in his hand in exasperation and shook it, but she could clearly see his fond smile.

    "Let me guess, he made things outrageously difficult because he wanted to make a point, right?"

    She nodded: "He was a real piece of shit."

    Seeing your memories of the training, yes, I agree.

    She chuckled.

    I missed you, she told Siidi.

    Me too, and she attempted to mentally hug Siidi and give her a noogie. From the chuckling, she succeeded.

    "So, did you learn the lesson at least?" he asked her.

    She nodded: "Yes. It was... interesting."

    "Care to elaborate? He always had a different one for each student of his."

    She chuckled and nodded again as she answered, doing her best Master-voice: "That, old chap, you''re gonna have to earn."

    Silence fell for a moment in the room and she began bringing a forkful of meat to her mouth. But she had to stop when Albert snorted in amusement, before he burst out in laughter. She followed him a moment later, the fork falling from her hand and clattering noisily on the plate.

    Meanwhile, she remembered: Never join the Game girl, for it has become something for the desperate, for those that have nothing left to lose. It has become a hungry beast that feeds on suffering and sin and death, and once its teeth hook on even a bit of your flesh you will never be able to escape from its mouth. So, whatever happens, never. Join. The. Game. Even if it''ll look like the only alternative you have left. Promise me this.

    She had promised.

    And someone had noticed.

    [Spy Level 4!]

    [Skill - Hide Emotion Obtained!]

    [Skill - Fake Smile Obtained!]

    [Skill - Dodge Responsibility Learned!]

 Chapter 9: The Group Message Scroll Got Leaked

    Armando was a man of many talents.

    First and foremost, he could bake some damn good bread. A very long time ago, he had been a Level 25 [Confectionery Architect], a very strange Class he''d obtained the day he''d made a small house out of bread and other edible fixtures. Why he had done that? Because he could. Because he wanted to. Because he wanted to prove to himself that something so stupid could actually be done. And the System had rewarded him with a Class to match.

    Second, he was great at drawing. Before the fateful Level Up that had given him his most interesting Class, he had been a Level 10 [Drawer]. Sure, compared to his main Class it had been greatly underlevelled, but considering the fact that drawing was a hobby, it was a lot. Mainly, he had drawn people and landscapes, together with some small projects for his cakes and confectioneries. Point was, he was good. Not an [Artist], sure, but it fit him, and that was all that mattered.

    Third, he was great at shaping things. Especially Memories. He was, after all, a [Memory Shaper] now. Yes, because after the... ''incident'' of the bread house, some scouts from the College of Memoirs had noticed him and made a proposal that, at the time, he would''ve been an idiot to refuse: a chance to be trained by the College, to evolve his Class, which fit him like a glove, into something powerful that would allow him to help people. How could he have ever refused?

    Which led to the fourth, and final, thing he was good at: starting plots.

    After years of training in the House of Memories (never call it the College of Memoirs. That was the organization. The House had been there long before the College) he had come to understand the truth of the place: the College was abusing the House''s ability to hold memories. It, no, She, because the House felt like a woman, at least to him, was suffocating, like a lake fish being flung into the sea. It was still water, but there was salt. In this case, the salt were all the memories that weren''t of the people staying in the House. Tens of thousands of years of Memories.

    And to that, add the fact that they were forcing Her into forms that weren''t her own, that weren''t what She desired to look like. She wanted to be homely, to make the people who walked her halls feel welcome and desired, even after centuries of this constant torture. Even now, now that She wished for it all to end, in a much more permanent way: with Her death.

    He had cried, Armando, when this simple truth had been revealed to him by the eternal guardian of the House, the Elemental of Memories, the old doctor-carpenter who walked around with a leather bag full of a builder''s utensils and could always be found somewhere repairing a crack in a wall or soothing the wooden floors back into shapes that wouldn''t cause one''s mind to bleed out of their ears (and no, not the brain, the actual mind, thoughts and memories and all).

    But we''re straying from the main point here: Armando was good at starting plots. He''d even gotten a Class for it: [Schemer]. It was only Level 8, and it was the more basic version of the [Plotter] Class.

    Point is: he was good at starting plots. Not at ending them.

    "Armando, you must come with us. The Grandmaster wants to see you," told him one of two men who''d walked inside his room in the living quarters of the House.

    He looked up and back from his desk sprouting from the wall like some strange tumurous wallflower, and noticed who was speaking to him: Radias and Milagro, respectively the left and right hand of the Grandmaster now that the last one, Cariano Abascus, had died nearly a decade ago. They were wearing thier full armor, and not even the ceremonial kind.

    That was when he knew.

    "Ah, sure, give me a sec," he gave a gentle pat to the table, which retreated back into the wall, and crawled out of his chair. Then, with a soft, self-satisfied, and very fake, smile on his face, stepped towards the wall to his left.

    "Get him!" shouted Milagro.

    And all hell broke lose. The wall he was walking towards opened, revealing a door to another room in the House, a room that wasn''t the one that neighbored his own: he was better at shaping than that, and he was one of the best [Memory Shapers] in the College. He didn''t even have to bother opening it as the door opened and he walked through. For a moment, he heard the clanging of the two''s armor, then the door closed and disappeared back into the wall.

    He looked around and waved at the few people sitting in the House''s library, smiling as he always did, and began walking away.

    As he did he rummaged around his Bag of Holding, taking out a small scroll: a [Message] Scroll. It was a rather simple artifact in concept, just a piece of paper with a sigil drawn in some special transparent ink that cast on the scroll a permanent [Message] Spell, connecting it to another one. This one though was a bit more complex than that: first and foremost, it was connected to six other scrolls owned by his allies, people who believed in the same things he did. Seven little rebels in a House of sheep. Heh, sounded like the title of a song.

    Anyways, second, the Scrolls were enchanted to make the ink of the messages written on them disappear after a while, making it possible to reuse them and, as a collateral effect, deleting any proof of the incriminating conversations within.

    He took out a pen enchanted to always have ink at the tip (it was connected to a big inkwell somewhere in the House) and began writing.

    Armando: They found me out. I''m going to leave as fast as I can. I suggest you do the same, and fast.

    He kept on walking, waiting for anyone to answer, and just as began putting the scroll away, it began vibrating lightly in his hand. Opening it anew, he began reading the messages slowly appearing on the paper.

    Kiria: I''m taking the books. It''s still not over.

    Poisoned Apple: I''m keeping the poisons. Can''t leave these beauties to those idiots.

    Armando chuckled a little at that, relief beginning to fill him up as he opened a doorway towards another part of the House, more messages on those lines appearing on the scroll.

    Until an unexpected message appeared, from someone who wasn''t supposed to know anything about this.

    Assistant: Why hello my dear traitors, it is me, the Assistant. I am here to kindly tell each and every one of you traitors that you have been discovered and that most probably guards are already at your location, ready to apprehend you and bring an end to this most sad farce. We''ll be seeing each other soon.

    Then the scroll began to warm up, catching on fire a moment later as the enchantment was overcharged.

    Armando breathed in deeply, then out just as deeply.

    Then, shaking his head, he began walking again. They had expected things to go this way. He hoped the others would manage to escape.

    <hr>

    Poisoned Apple''s actual name was Rania, and she was packing away her equipment and, most importantly, her poisons and their ingredients. Why had she decided to call herself ''Poisoned Apple'' in the communication scroll? It was a sort of inside joke that only she could understand: before being recruited by the College, she had been a Player in the Game, a simple [Poisone Maker]. Not even a [Poison Crafter], no, she was just one of the ''goons'' who mixed things around and made only the things that were tried and true. It was during this period that she decided she''d had enough of being a Pawn and attempted to ascend the Board, to become something more. She didn''t want to be a Queen or a King, no, she was more interested in being a Knight, a Messenger, or even a Spy. Basically, something more. But, like many Pawns, she had failed, she''d been captured before she could get there. Oh, she''d come close, closer than most, but still, she had failed. It was during that attempt that she''d gained her nickname of ''Poison Apple'' after she''d succesfully murdered a Rook, a Protector, with, you guessed it, a poisoned apple.

    The College had found her not long after, bleeding out in an alley, and they''d taken her in, freeing her.

    Or rather, putting her in a gilded cage. One where she had been convinced to create more interesting poisons, ones that the College used to put an end to individuals deemed to be too troublesome.

    At one point, Armando had come to her and made a proposal: her help for her freedom. And she''d accepted, because she was tired.

    Now, today, it would all be over: she''d either manage to escape, and then wish Armando good luck with his plan, or die here. One way or another, it was over.

    She took a half eaten apple on her desk and looked at it, smiling bitterly. The same apple that had killed the Rook, still poisoned, still ready to cause someone''s death.

    She began humming an old tune while she walked towards her door, a song so old it may as well be considered a Relic in its own right, one of the Traitors'' Songs, forbidden and forgotten in all the world.

    We''ll meet again

    Don''t know where, don''t know when

    But I know we''ll meet again some sunny day

    She opened the door, apple still in hand, and found four [Guards] staring right at her.

    Welp, no way out it would seem.

    She took a bite from the apple and smiled at the men and women.

    "Hello! Anyone fancy a bite?"

    <hr>

    Diego was a [Dream Archeologist of Lost Memories] and, currently, he was running, five [Guards] behind him following. The only reason they hadn''t gotten him was his [Aura of the Sleeper], which was causing them to slowly fall asleep, slowing them down as they kept having to wake each other up.

    He had been lucky to wake up in time to see the messages appear on the scroll before it caught on fire: something had caused a ruckus in his room, waking him up. When he''d looked after reading the final words of the Assistant he''d found out it was a hammer that looked suspiciously a lot like the Elemental''s.

    When he''d opened the door to his room to find the [Guards] ready to enter, he''d thrown the hammer right in one of their faces and started running.

    And now, here he was, trying to reach the entrance to the House while also avoiding any of the men who attempted to intercept him on the way out. Smiling all the while. Because, really, there was no reason to be sad. He was just the [Dreamer], the smallest piece in the plan, the sacrificial pawn for the moment when push came to shove, even if they kept telling him that no, he was not, but they were lying, just sugarcoating the bitter pill.

    He didn''t care. He liked them. He liked them more than he liked anyone in this world. More than the College, which had allegedly saved him from that prison in the Dream, from the kidnappers who''d trapped his mind to take over his body. He was certain it was all a setup, just a way to try and gain his trust, to make him work for them.

    He trusted his six friends like he trusted the old Elemental, because he''d seen his dreams, and in them he''s found the truth the others had discovered not long after. The truth about how much they were hurting the House, how much she wanted this to end. She felt trapped in her own flesh, like he had been trapped in a labyrinth built upon his own mind. He understood that feeling, even though he knew he would never understand the depth of it, because he had been trapped in the Land for only a few decades, while She had been in this state for thousands of years.

    More [Guards] appeared seemingly out nowhere, most probably because of the other [Memory Shapers], and he used another Skill:

    "[Dreamer''s Rule: Paths, Paths and more Paths, but Never a Way Out]"

    A corridor opened to his right and he ran down it, followed by an ever growing horde of [Guards]. The House wasn''t the Dream, no, but the House also wasn''t in the Waking World. That was what they never understood, how She was alive: because the House wasn''t just of this place. Such a simple concept, and yet they never understood, not even the [Shapers]. Too bound to the real world to ever see what wasn''t there. He, on the other hand? He knew. Because he had never really left the Land. His other Class said as much: [Oneiric Prisoner].

    He had never really left. Even this body, it wasn''t his own. They''d let him borrow it. The only thing that was his was his mind, and he would damn well let it go to help his friends.

    So he ran, and as he did he began singing in a voice that was both a child''s and an adult''s:

    Keep smiling through

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.Just like you always do

    Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away

    <hr>

    Kiria looked as Diego ran on, and, ever so slowly, walked out of her hiding place.

    The boy would sacrifice himself to give them the time to leave. Sadly, there was no running for her.

    The old woman, the [Head Librarian of Forbidden Tomes], wouldn''t be leaving this place. She wanted to, but there was nowhere to go for her. She''d found Alex a few minutes ago, during a lull in her hiding, and given him the books she''d manage to take.

    She was going to take a page out of Diego''s book and do some self-sacrificing to give some extra time to the others.

    So she walked, slowly, because her joints were really starting to make themselves heard now, and no one gave her a second glance, not even the [Guards] looking for her, because [They Only Noticed Her When they Needed To]. And right now there was no need for anyone noticing the old librarian with a most murderous plan.

    You see, the House had changed in the millenia since the College had found Her and turned her in their base of operation. Once upon a time She had been, as Her name suggested, a house. A quite simple, unassuming, house in the middle of the woods, looking old but well kept. If one had entered her, they would''ve been greeted by the Elemental who guarded Her, and they would''ve been offered a cup of tea while the House changed around them to fit with their memories of a place they called home.

    Still, there were places that weren''t as kind inside Her. One was the attic, where a great mirror hung on the back wall, ready to show one the truth about their own self, if they had already started on the road to finding it out.

    The other place, the worst place, was the basement, where the worst parts of one''s self were kept trapped, ready to be fought off, ready to be understood and beaten, bettering oneself.

    Needless to say, no one in the College had ever attempted to go down there, and the attic had been inaccessible since the time a Grandmaster of the order had ended their life after gazing in that mirror.

    But here''s the thing: the beasts in the basement, they didn''t disappear just because one didn''t look at them. And there were as many of them as there were dark sides for each and every person int he House.

    Beasts that were angry and hungry.

    Hangry? Was that how it was called? Bah, younglings and their slangs.

    The more she walked towards the deeper parts of the House, the less people she saw. Truth be told, the place was nearly deserted. So silent...

    She began singing to herself, her tone of voice low, because it nearly felt like a sin to break the silence, but still she sang.

    An old song taught to them by the Elemental himself in a flight of fancy. A song that been made forbidden a long time ago, for it had been sang by a man who''d tried to fight against the gods.

    So will you please say hello

    To the folks that I know?

    Tell them I won''t be long

    They''ll be happy to know

    That as you saw me go

    I was singing this song

    She was nearly at the door to the basement when, sadly, her Skill wasn''t enough to protect her.

    "There she is! Get her!"

    She stopped for a moment in her singing, chuckling. They hadn''t noticed.

    But they would.

    She stepped onwards, and her hand reached a door, no, the door''s handle. It was a door like any other in the House. The only thing different about it was the sign someone had nailed on it. It read ''Basement''.

    We''ll meet again

    Don''t know where, don''t know when

    But I know we''ll meet again some sunny day

    "Fuck! Stop her! Don''t let her -"

    But it was too late. She twisted the handle and, with a squeak of rusty old hinges, the door opened.

    There was a low, animalistic, rumbling coming from the other side, before the door was shoved open and a tide of darkness came over her.

    The last thing she thought before something bit into her chest and tore out her heart was that she hadn''t felt a connection with any of the things from that place. She had been without inner demons and regrets.

    She died with a smile.

    <hr>

    Armando ran faster when he hard the bestial roars and the screams of people being torn apart.

    But it was no use: all the windows of the House were closed and, no matter what he tried, he just couldn''t open them. The House was in [Lockdown], one of the Grandmaster''s Skills.

    As he ran looking for another possible (and inexistent) way out, he heard a rhytmic sound that he''d started to hear much too often around the House: toc, toc, toc, toc. A hammer hitting a nail into a plank of wood.

    He turned a corner and, right there, nailing a board over a crack in a wall, was the Elemental of Memories, the guardian of the House.

    He was, currently, grumbling, his hands seemingly not managing to find a good position on the hammer''s grip.

    As he walked closer, the Elemental spoke: "You know what''s the worst thing about being made out of memories Armando? It''s that you become a routine kind of person, and that if anything changes in that routine you feel like everything is wrong. For example, it took me over a century to get used to all those Grandmasters and Assistants and Holders running around the House and doing their godawful bidding. And today, I accidentally lost my favourite hammer, and I don''t have the time to go looking for it, because there''s too much work to do."

    Armando hesitated for a moment, then decided that he could incur the Elemental''s wrath for a moment if it meant he could find a way out of the House.

    "Elemental, do you know of a way to get out? We''ve been found out, and if they get to us there''s no way to complete the task you gave us."

    The Elemental looked up from the board he was nailing to the wall and turned towards him, raising an eyebrow.

    "Do I look like someone who can help you with that? I''m made of memories, not holes. You gotta find your own way kiddo."

    That said, he went back to nailing the board, grumbling about lost hammers and no time for naps.

    Hope slowly began to abandon Armando as he understood that there was no way out of this situation.

    He fell to the ground, his back to the wall, and put his head in his hands, the constant toc-toc-tocking of the hammer trying and failing to soothe him. This was it. Theyd failed. There was no esca -

    Something rolled beside him and touched his flank. He looked down and saw a simple, old, frayed scroll.

    "Fell out of your Bag of Holding lad. Be more careful, I already have little to no free time, I can''t go around losing more of it cleaning up where you litter."

    Armando took the scroll in his hands and, after a moment, opened it. There was a complex sigil written into the paper, a big circle with a representation of an eye walking towards a distant horizon with thousands of words written all over in an ink that was of the blackest black he''d ever seen. Everything should''ve overlapped, turning the scroll''s page into an unreadable mess, but it was all visible, as if the words were written on different levels and, if he shifted his perspective just a bit, he could observe each and every one of them clearly.

    "What''s this?" he asked, breath catching in his troath.

    The Elemental turned away from the now-nailed board and looked at him with a raised eyebrow: "What do you mean? It''s your Wanderer''s Scroll, right?"

    That said, he turned around, put his hammer in the old doctor''s bag he always carried around, closing it, and began walking away, patting the walls of the house, all the while grumbling.

    "Used to be I''d have to do these repairs only once upon every Old Man''s return."

    But Armando didn''t hear him. He only had eyes for the scroll he was holding. A Wanderer''s Scroll. Which was just an old name for a Scroll of Greater Teleportation. An item infused with a true [Wanderer]''s spirit and enchanted to bring one person wherever they wished.

    "Thanks Elemental..." he whispered more to himself than the now gone grumpy carpenter.

    Then he heard the [Guards] finally reach him and, hiding the scroll in a hidden pocket of his clothes, he let himself be captured. As the men apprehended him, he began singing anew.

    <hr>

    "Well, and they say I''m not a man of my word," gloated the Assistant in front of them. He was walking down their line of five survivors of their attempted escape like a sergeant in front of a unit of soldiers, his steps long and precise, following a slow rhytm only he could hear.

    "I don''t know what made you all think you could succeed in this crazy endeavor of yours. Like, come on! You really thought you were the first ones to attempt to rebel? The first idiots who were convinced by the Elemental that the House wants to die? It''s nearly hilarious how stupid it is. It''s a fucking building, you dumbasses. Oh, sure, buildings can come to life, but not to that point. Not without high Level Ski -"

    Someone coughed behind him and the Assistant stopped, turning around.

    "Now now, Assistant, there is no need to lose your temper in such a way. Calm down," said the Grandmaster.

    The old, balding, man with a few surviving gray hair around his ears, the head of the College of Memoirs, sat comfortably on a chair behind his desk, his old bones supported and his joints comforted by the quite majestic furniture. His knobby hands were crossed over his stomach and, for the first time since he''d seen the man, Armando thought he didn''t look like someone with hundreds of things to do and not even close to enough time.

    "As for you, I expected more from you all. Especially you, Armando. You showed so much promise! Another decade and you could''ve become a [Memoirs Holder], one of the youngest in the history of the College. And the lot of you," his eyes roamed on the four other people in the room with him, before settling back on Armando, "No, the rest of you didn''t have anything special going on. Well, except for you Diego. You''re already quite special."

    The [Dreamer], held up and in place by a [Guard], didn''t look up from the floor. He hadn''t moved in a while. Was he even breathing?

    "Now, I''m sure each and every one of you knows the punishment for traitors in the College?"

    Armando had to chuckle at that, because he knew they would all be surviving this.

    "Sure do. Death. But, since we''re about to die, may I ask: how exactly did you find us out?"

    The Grandmaster looked at the Assistant, who, in turn, looked thoughtful for a moment, before he shrugged and answered: "Well, it won''t matter anymore at the end, so I may as well tell you: you were betrayed, and by none other than your dear friend Alex there," he said, pointing towards the man.

    With scraggly carrot-colored hair and a face that looked like it had been through a stampede, Alex''s eyes opened wide: "You promised you wouldn''t -"

    "Yes yes, I promised, but it doesn''t matter. You betrayed them, that''s it! They''re going to be dead, you''re going to stay alive. You need not fear our wrath anymore. You did the right thing."

    Suddenly everyone in the room was looking at Alex. Even Diego had seemingly decided to stop staring at that very interesting spot on the floor, his eyes now filled with murder.

    "I will haunt your nightmares," he whispered, and yet his voice was heard by everyone, altered, as if someone else was speaking over the voice that should''ve come out of the body''s mouth.

    "Now now, Diego, we won''t have any of that here. You''ll be kept around as well, you''re too much of an asset, but we''ll have to... discipline you, yes. Maybe a moth trapped in the House''s nightmares will help you remember who you owe the fact that you''re around with a body," admonished the Assistant with a kind smile, as if he were telling a child that he wouldn''t be getting candies for a week because of a tantrum they threw.

    Diego slowly turned towards him and, to everyone''s surprise and mild fear, smiled. He smiled, and that was his smile, the smile of the boy who had been locked up in the Dream, not the smile of the body he wore like some second hand clothes. He walked out, like a specter in one of those never-scary stories.

    "You speak as if you own me, as if you could trap me again."

    He stepped forwards, and Armando wondered how was doing that. He didn''t know of the House''s true nature, nor did he know how flexible Diego''s aura was.

    "You cage me, Mr Fake and Mr Fearful, for I never left my prison to begin with. You just opened a doorway to the courtyard. How could you ever put someone in a cage when he''s already in one?"

    His eyes became vacuous as he took another step forwards, before turning around.

    "Sorry guys. I''ll be leaving for a while. But I''ll wait for the day when you manage to suceed. I''ll be there to do my part."

    And then he disappeared, and the body he''d been inhabiting all this time flopped lifelessly to the ground, an empty husk again.

    Silence fell on the room as the Assistant looked at the body as it could come back to life at any moment.

    "Well, that was unexpected. Didn''t think the boy had it in him. Oh, well, no matter. We have other [Dreamers] who can do his job."

    The Grandmaster nodded: "He was a valuable asset, but it is not a Nest of Arache."

    They both chuckled, and Armando, not for the first time, wished he could''ve punched them right in the face.

    "Well, regarding the remaining few, I think I have a pretty good idea on how to end your lives in a rather poetic way," continued the Assistant as he took a bag from the Grandmaster''s desk. It didn''t have anything special, any feature that could make one understand who it belonged to. And yet, the moment he pulled out the contents of the bag, they all knew who had owned it: Rania. Poisoned Apple. The jolly woman with a scarred belly and a passion for apple puns.

    Three vials were taken out, all containing a transparent liquid that looked a lot like water.

    "What did she call her creation? Ah, yes, the Nobleman''s Poison. Truly a wondrous little thing she crafted from some random rocks. You, my dear traitors, will be drinking this. It won''t be a pleasant end, or so I''m told from those who observed the effects on the test subjects."

    Armando raised an eyebrow: "And you expect we''ll just drink that? I''m sorry, but you have a thing coming your way if you do."

    The Assistant laughed out loud, handing the vials to the Grandmaster, who took them with the same care one would take with some trash. He observed the vials for a moment, then shrugged: "There won''t be any need for you to imbibe this... whatever this is. [It''s Part of You], after all."

    Armando watched the contents of the vial disappear while dread mounted inside him as he realized that the poison had, somehow, been transfered inside him with that Skill.

    The [Guards] holding them released them and he fell to the floor, his hands instantly moving towards his throat, before they moved towards his stomach, which had began to cramp.

    "Huh, quite the fast effect. I never understood if Rania had a Skill to make it more effecitve or if it was just that good. Wonderful poison. I''m sure it''ll come quite in handy," mused the Assistant as he observed the vials, completely ignoring the people agonizing on the ground nearby.

    Armando looked up at them, before attempting to move towards his two remaining allies, and failing miserably.

    He looked at them and, slowly, extracted the scroll from the pocket he''d hidden it in. Lumia and Robert noticed him, but shook their heads no. If he had a way to escape, he shouldn''t risk everything to save them. He would have to escape alone.

    He hesitated only a moment, then nodded. He opened the Scroll -

    "What is that? Get him!" shouted the Assistant, noticing his movements and lunging behind the desk at the same time, fearing that he was about to be attacked.

    But he wasn''t. Instead, Armando just thought this: Bring me away from here, somewhere far where someone can help me.

    The Scroll shimmered for a moment, then disintegrated, and with it so did Armando, disappearing from the spot on the floor he had been lying on.

    A moment later, the Assistant peeked out from behind the desk, and realized what had happened: "Oh, a Scroll of Greater Teleportation? Well, that''s just a wasted artifact. The College is still in Lockdown, there''s no way for him to get out, even with such a Spell."

    And in that moment, a Communication Stone in his pocket buzzed. Taking it out, he answered: "Assistant here? What''s your status?"

    "Sir, we''ve managed to contain the creatures that had escaped the Basement."

    "Great. How many casualties were there?"

    "Fifteen [Guards] and around a dozen [Acolytes], sir. But the numbers could''ve been worse. The Elemental appeared out of nowhere and closed the door, blocking the rest of the creatures inside," the man chuckled, "He even opened a window, said the air smelled foul because of the beasts. We''re supposed to be in Lockdown, the windows shouldn''t be opened, but that''s the Elemental. We have [Guards] stationed by it to make sure nothing comes in or out."

    Of course, nobody noticed the pulse of magic that travelled out that window, bringing Armando with it, outside and away from the House.

    Only the Assistant and the Granmaster suspected, and his allies hoped.

    <hr>

    Armando didn''t open his eyes. The light was too bright, and the pain in his stomach was getting worse and worse.

    Then he heard a voice: "Well well, lookie lookie where the rose tookie me."

    Silence, then a chuckle: "Ok, that was awful Alice, never do it again."

    The voice was feminine and jovial and didn''t seem at all preoccupied about the man lying on the ground and trembling in pain.

    "Hello? Who are you? I''m Alice. Pronounced with a C, not an S. And actually, I don''t think you''re in any state to answer me. Hmmm... how about I get you home and help you out? You''re gonna owe me one."

    He grunted.

    "I''ll take that as a yes. Now... oh, I didn''t bring anything with me. This is going to take some time. But don''t worry, all''s gonna be well."

    That was more or less when Armando lost consciousness.

 Chapter 10: Following a Rose

    Alice woke up that morning feeling particularly energized.

    Was it still the high of having gotten her new Class, [Occult Herbalist]? Well, part of it was that, but it wasn''t just that. The main reason for her excitement lay on the windowsill of her bedroom: a rose, planted in a vase, the dirt turned a shade of grey because of the preparations requied for this little rite she was about to perform.

    During her and Averick''s... shall we call it outing? Yes, during their outing to the Tiurna Mountains nearly a week ago, Alice had met a small coven of [Witches] and, among them, one, Witch Aria, a [Witch of Forests], had allowed her to get something from her gardens. She''d taken a rose.

    But not just any rose: a Wanderer''s Rose. A flower with exactly eight thorns positioned on the stalk in such a way that it looked remarcably similar to a compass'' rose of winds. To anyone else, even to the Witch herself, it appeared as a flower with an interesting thorn pattern, if even that. To her, it was the perfect ingredient to finding a new way to Level up. Yes, because, like every other person in the world, she loved the idea of her numbers going up. More Levels meant more Skills, and more Skills meant more fun and impossible things for her to do.

    So here she was.

    She padded over to the vase and smiled at the sight.

    Preparing the Rose for this had been a long, if not too hard, process. She''d just had to feed it some of her blood regularly and fertilize the earth she had replanted the flower in with some bonemeal crafted from crushed pigeon bones. The hard part, surprisingly, had been obtaining the bones. Apparently there weren''t that many pigeons in this season on Eva, and she wasn''t keen on waiting for them to fly over in a month or two. So she instead had to go to the local butcher and pay a premium of one gold coin to get one of the flying animals he''d stored in a cold room under an extremely costly Preservation Spell. On the bright side, she''d made some damn good tagliatelle with the meat.

    She looked at the flower for a moment, admiring its blood red petals, and smiled, asking it a simple question: "Where may the winds bring me?"

    For a moment, nothing happened.

    Then, as if moved by a strong, invisible, wind, the rose bent on its stalk towards her, bowing.

    Alice bowed back.

    "Thank you," she said, her eyes alight with wonder and happiness. It had worked! It had really worked.

    When she''d first found the rose, she''d been unsure what she was meant to do with it. Her grandma had explained it to her, even shown it to her once, using the Rose to find an edelweiss, near which they''d spent an entire day as they both ''passsed'' some time with her grandpa''s spirit, but she''d been young, and it had all happened over a decade prior.

    Then, the night she''d told the tales of the Skinwalker, she''d gone to sleep, obtaining her new Class and, with it, what was probably the most useful Skill she could''ve asked for: [Occultism: Perfect Recall]. Now, whenever she tried to remember something about grandma''s lessons, it would just pop back in her mind, clear as glass! That was how she''d remembered the recipe for this particular ritual. And, if that wasn''t enough, she had also obtained another Skill that could potentially help her.

    She used it then: "[Talisman: Enhance Power]."

    ...Nothing happened. Nothing visible at least. Did the Rose appear to be standing prouder on its stalk? Were its petals a bit redder? She couldn''t tell. She wasn''t even sure if the Rose itself counted as a talisman. Her grandma had never specified that detail. Still, worth a try. If it worked, it worked. If it didn''t, it would still work, because she had followed the exact steps, said the right things and shown respect.

    Some would say that that last part was useless during most rites, especially when they involved things that weren''t sentient. That, as her grandma had very succinctly put it, was ''The dead imbecile''s view''. When you walked down the old paths you came to understand that all things were, in a way, alive, that they interacted with the world and changed it in many ways, all voluntary. It didn''t matter if you were a russian kaldun working with chorts (she''d always found them as some of the most interesting, because their traditions and stories allowed them to interact with them on a much more personal level. Also, they had little devils for pretty much anything. Sadly their knowledge was mostly lost, apparently because of the communists, or so her grandma had told her. Nowadays, only the Black Book contained all their secrets, and good luck getting that from the Vatican''s vaults), a Louisiana Vodoo mumba worshipping jolly old gods, an egyptian who still remembered the old ways or a buddhist monk living in the mountains, you were bound to understand this. The only ones who never would were the christians (although, strangely, not the orthodox ones. Apparently they were more elastic) and the musulmans, for their Gods would never allow such things.

    So she showed respect, like the wary kaldun calling upon a chort to do a job for her before sending him to count the blades of grass in a forest to keep him occupied when the work was done; like the mumba tying a lock of hair around a cloth doll, knowing that not showing the right amount of respect to it could mean driving a needle through her own heart; like the old egyptian who murmurs words in a little temple and asks his old gods for help, showing respect not because of some fear of consequences, but because his gods deserve that much for all they had done for those that came before and all they still tried to do even in their waning strenght; like the buddhist monk, walking down a stairway of his temple, showing respect to the world around him by loving it and all that it gave him and his brothers as he sounds small bells along the way to keep the devils away.

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    She showed respect, bowing to the Rose, for if she didn''t, it could decide to lead her astray. And, like following fox fires in the mires, that could be a death sentence.

    When she was done, she took the vase in her hands, cradling it like she would a child, careful not to jostle the flower around too much.

    She took a deep sniff of the Rose''s pungent, sweet, scent.

    And kissed the petals. A kiss like one you would give to a mother of father, a little peck on the cheek, if the Rose had had any cheeks to speak of.

    Then, with all the daintiness of a princess taking her beloved prince''s proferred hand at a ball, she wrapped her hand around the stalk of the Rose, letting the thorns pierce her skin, grinding her teeth and biting her lip hard, trying her hardest not to let a single sound escape her lips, because this was a trial, because she had to show the Rose that she wouldn''t waver in front of anything on the road to that which she desired. Truth be told, it wasn''t that painful after the initial pricks, and the knowledge that a healing potion was ready nearby to heal her injuries was enough to make it all bearable. Her granma hadn''t been as lucky when she''d shown Alice how to do this and had spent an entire week with her hand wrapped with gauze, her old body taking a long time to heal the wounds.

    When, finally, enough time had passed, she let go of the stalk, the thorns cutting through her skin clinging to the flesh of her palm until the very end, drinking in as much of her blood as they could, for the Rose had accepted her request, and now she needed her blood not to feed and grow and become greater, but to know what it was that the girl desired.

    When She found out the answer to that question she was delighted: the girl wanted to Grow, to become greater than she was, stronger, just like Her, just like the blood of her blood had once desired to do. She was a seedling carried by the wind who had found a place to put roots and now desired to know in which way the soil contained more water, more nutrients, for she wanted to become More. Just like she''d allowed the Rose to do.

    Then Alice spoke: "Oh Rose of Roses, greatest and most knowledgeable among your kin, please, heed my request, and bring where I may become greater."

    The blood on the Rose''s spines slowly dripped down the stalk, feeding into the off gray earth underneath.

    Nothing happened for a moment.

    And then, out of the blue, the beautiful Rose bloomed, red petals opening up, revealing even more petals inside, these ones red as her blood. The old ones began to wilt, their hue darknening and blackening, but they didn''t fall off. No, not exactly. One of them fell to the ground, an invisible wind moving it away from her and down, showing her the way to go.

    Alice began walking.

    <hr>

    It took her two hours to reach the place the Rose wanted her to get to. Every so often a whithered petal would fall away from the flower, carried in a direction by an invisible wind, and she would go that way, making sure to never stray from the path the Rose marked for her.

    Initially, it had led her to the woods behind her house, away from Gunsee, into a dark place that she had seldom visited. Oh, she had walked under the boughs of these trees, watched the leaves move under the force of the wind, heard the concerts of the crickets and taken from the ground''s endless bounties, from beautiful flowers to useful plants she knew from home and many others she had never seen, completely new and made for this world. Or taken from others, maybe.

    But she''d never walked this deep inside. And, in any other circumstances, she would''ve never come this deep alone. But she knew the Rose wouldn''t bring her to harm, and turning back now would destroy everything she had worked for. No, she had to be brave! Ok, that sounded so cheesy.

    Finally, after walking for hours in the refreshing darkness of the forest, she reached the clearing.

    All at once, the withered petals of the Rose fell to the ground, carried by that same invisible wind towards a figure on the ground in the very center of the small valley.

    Alice, smiling, craddled the Rose, thanking her for her help, and walked towards the figure.

    It was a man, his short brown hair plastered with sweat to his face, his hands clawing at his stomach, his complexion pale, his eyes, what little she could see when he opened them for a moment, dilated from pain and stress and fear.

    "Well well, lookie lookie where the Rose tookie me."

    She stopped for a moment, chuckling, before shaking her head: "Ok, that was awful Alice, never do it again."

    She fell down on her knees beside the man, her hands going for a little knife on her hip, using it to break the vase where the Rose was being held, placing Her and the dirt she was planted in gently on the ground, all while she looked at the man with curiosity. Clearly, he wasn''t feeling well, if his sweating and paleness and, oh, right, the fact he was clawing at his guts as if he were attempting to rip them off, were a sign.

    Was he poisoned?

    She looked down at the Rose, an eyebrow raised, and then chuckled: as if the flower could actually answer her.

    But yes, there was a good chance he was poisoned, seeing how she had asked the Rose to bring her somewhere she could grow in Levels. And what better way for an [Occult Herbalist] to grow than to find a way to heal someone who''s been poisoned?

    "Hello? Who are you? I''m Alice. Pronounced with a C, not an S. And actually, I don''t think you''re in any state to answer me. Hmmm... how about I get you home and help you out? You''re gonna owe me one."

    The man on the ground grunted, she didn''t know if in agreement or if it was because of the pain.

    "I''ll take that as a yes. Now... oh, I didn''t bring anything with me. This is going to take some time. But don''t worry, all''s gonna be well."

    Then the man lost consciousness.

    "Well, fuck. Alright, Alice. Remember! First examine him, then see what you can do!"

    She began by removing the belt around his middle and opening up the robes he was wearing, letting him breath more easily. She checked his pulse and found out that, unsurprisingly, it was greatly accelerated. He was also sweating buckets and his stomach seemed to be rumbling ominously.

    "Please don''t shit yourse -"

    Promptly the sounds coming from his stomach worsened, until the man burped and started vomiting. Luckily for him, she had already turned his head to the side, preventing him from choking.

    "Well, alright, that side is better than the other. Get it out and why am I talking to you you''re not even awake."

    She sighed and took a deep breath, calming her racing heart. This was bad, very bad, because she had no solid idea on what poison had been used on the man: vomiting, sweating and racing heartbeat were common among dozens of them: she needed something more.

    And she got it a moment later as she observed the man''s trembling body, in particular his hands: a rash was forming, the skin red and irritated, beginning to crack here and there.

    Alright, that''s another symptom. Fucking hell what I wouldn''t give for a way to check his blood pressure.

    Sadly this world didn''t have those. Most [Doctors], which were surprisingly rare to find all over the world, eventually gained a Skill to check it and had never bothered with trying to create even a basic manometer.

    Whatever, she could work with this.

    "Alright champ, let''s get you up. I have some things at home I can use to keep you among the living."

    That said, she lifted the man with a grunt (he was surprisingly light) and began carrying him in a fireman''s carry.

    Nearly one and a half hours later, she got back home and found Averick there waiting for her.

    "Av, I need some help here."

 Chapter 11: The Dreams Stuff is Made Of

    Averick stared at the unconscious body of the man in front of him and, for a single moment, wondered why he was still friends with Alice. From the day he''d known her she''d brought him more trouble than imaginable: for one, he''d fallen for her, so now he didn''t feel like flirting with other girls, which meant it had been quite a while since he''d last gotten laid. For second, the first time she''d asked him to go out for longer than a night of drinking she''d forced him through an airmish climb in the Tiurna Mountains where, apparently, they''d risked dying once and had encountered a creature that could''ve skinned them alive and worn said skin.

    And now she''d brought back home a complete stranger she''d apparently found in a clearing in the forest while following a rose and she was asking him for help.

    No, this was it! This time, he was going to tell her to fuck off and -

    "How can I help?"

    ...

    Dammit!

    "Alright, I need... I don''t know. FUCK!" she swore loudly as he helped her gently place the man on her bed, where he immediately began soaking the sheets with sweat.

    "What do you mean you don''t know?" he asked, "Just use an Antidote Potion on him."

    Antidote Potions were special alchemical products that boasted a special cocktail of substances which, supposedly, could neutralize any sort of poison. That is, in the beginning stages.

    "This doesn''t look like initial poisoning, whatever it is. This looks advanced."

    "Still, worth a try."

    Alice shook her head: "You''re right. You know where I keep my stash, right?"

    "Third cupboard, right?"

    "Yes."

    Averick ran to the kitchen and came back not thirty seconds later holding a small vial containings a slightly off-green liquid. He unstoppered it and a light floral scent suffused around the room, as if someone had just brought a bouquet of flowers into the room. It made Alice feel sick to the stomach, but she ignored the sensation as she took the vial and turned towards the man. Slowly, she tipped the contained towards his lips, tilting his head forwards, pooling the liquid inside his mouth. When she was certain there was enough, she plugged his nose and tilted his head back, forcing him to gulp it all down.

    Then she waited, at the same time looking for any sign that the antidote had done anything and trying to find any other possible new symptoms. So long as she knew what had been used to poison him she could save him. Sort of. If they''d used Nightshade or Foxglove or Cyanide or anything like that there was little to nothing she could. But then again, those poisons tended to act fast and they would''ve killed this man in the time it took her to bring him back home, plus they had quite the... signatures, shall we say.

    When, a few minutes later, the sweating mass of flesh in her bed didn''t seem to be getting any better, she sighed.

    "See, I told you, not gonna work."

    She scooted closer to the bed and started undressing the man: maybe there was something she had missed?

    She removed the garbs he was wearing, which, prior to their walk in the woods, had probably been pristinely white, but now were green and brown and dusty, and threw them on the floor nearby.

    The man immediately to heave a sigh of relief as his body''s temperature was slightly lowered, only for his brows to knit together a few moments later and him going back to groaning in discomfort.

    She put her head in her hands and began thinking very hard, trying to piece together an explanation on what could possibly be causing this man to slowly die in her bed, her mind going through all the possible options and coming up with a plethora of possibilities that didn''t help her at all.

    That was when Averick saved the day by saying only one sentence: "Hey, why does it smell like garlic here?" he asked, sniffing loudly and scrunching his nose.

    Alice looked up at him, brows knitted in confusion. Then she sniffed... and, indeed, smelled garlic in the air. It was very faint, but the air in her room was clean enough that the unexpected smell was noticeable.

    And then all the pieces finally fit together.

    "Av," she said with a sudden smile, "I could kiss you right now!"

    The [Runner] blushed slightly and stuttered: "Oh, w - well, thanks! Umm..."

    But she was already back to looking at the man, her eyes shining with curiosity and... sadness?

    "Is everything alright? Did you understand what poison they used on him?"

    Alice nodded, her smile slowly turning bitter, her shoulders slumping slowly to the ground as she seemed to deflate like a puffer fish with their bladder pierced right through: "Oh yes, I do know what they used on him. Arsenic. The so called ''Nobleman''s Poison''. Ha. Fucked up thing, that''s what it is. At least now I know why the Antidote didn''t work. The poison wasn''t even fucking organic! It''s a godsdamned rock, for fuck''s sake."

    She suddenly rose from her chair, knocking it to the ground and walking to her room''s window.

    Shse opened it and, taking her head out, she screamed in rage.

    Averick jumped in his seat, nearly knocking his chair, and himself, to the ground, too, years of experience running even in the worst possible weathers, from snow storms to hurricanes being the only reason he managed not to fall. He watched with wide eyes as the girl he''d fallen for screamed like a banshee out of her window, the flutter of multiple birds'' wings flying away accompanying the unpleasant sound.

    When she finished she took a deep breath, and then shouted to the heavens... actually, no, to the woods: "I asked you to bring me somewhere that would help me grow! This isn''t growth! This man is condemned! I won''t be able to create the antidote, not with this place''s technology! Fuck, I don''t even know what''s the fucking antidote! FUCK YOU!"

    And then she closed the window, walked back to her chair and, with extreme care, raised it from the ground, sitting down as if nothing had happened.

    "...You alright now?" asked Av, his eyes still a bit wide, his body unconsciously moving away from the girl, giving her some space.

    Alice didn''t answer immediately, spending a good minute just looking at the man, sadness in her gaze. Then, finally, she sighed, slumping again, the strength leaving her limbs, a puppet with her strings cut off, as she answered: "No, I''m not alright. This man is condemned. I know which poison was used on him, and I know an antidote exists, but I don''t know it, and even if I knew, I''m sure I couldn''t craft it here. He''s going to die in a day, two if we''re extremely lucky, but seeing how things are progressing it looks like the poison''s already in his blood stream, so yeah, twelve hours, a day at most. He''s dead meat, and he''s probably also going to shit himself at least once before going, so I should get him off the bed."

    Averick stared at Alice and, for the first time since he''d known her, saw her giving up.

    It was slow and subtle: it started with the aforementioned slumping of the shoulders, followed by her beginning to take deeper breaths to calm herself down as she turned away from the dying man, unwilling to gaze at her first and only failure in this world. Her eyes weren''t filled with that usual gleeful cheer that never seemed to quite abandon her, even after spending an entire week being unable to sleep. They were empty this time around, soulless.

    He didn''t know this, but that was the true Alice, in a way. Or at least, it was the Alice who''d been around the longest. The self deprecating Alice who trusted no one and especially not herself, that lived with the constant fear of doing the wrong thing, that existed with the regret of forgetting her grandma and all she had taught her in an attempt to make the pain go away. It was the Alice who had brewed the Foxglove Tea and spent hours looking at the infuse, wondering if she should just end it right then and there, go out with a bang and maybe even a smile caused by some funny hallucination. It was the Alice that Alice had hoped she had left behind now that she was in a world that allowed her every whim and wish to come true, a world that was giving her the power to do literally anything.

    And still she wasn''t enough.

    "Alice?" asked Averick, slowly edging close to the girl who was staring at him without actually looking, her beautiful eyes deprived of their usual playful sparkle.

    She didn''t respond to his voice, her mind lost in a fog of self deprecation so old it had developed a mind of its own.

    "Alice?" he asked again. And again, no answer came from the girl as she kept staring vacuously at the air in front of her.

    Averick stared at her and, finally, decided to take action: he raised his hand, ready to slap her lightly, to try and bring back the Alice he knew.

    And that''s when she spoke: "If you even try to touch me I will break your hand and poison your blood."

    Her voice was soft and empty and so unlike the voice he''d become used to. He didn''t like it. He wanted his friend back.

    "If it means getting you back to normal, then I''ll risk it."

    She chuckled at that, a sad, bitter, sound, and smiled up at him: "Bring me back to normal? Ha! Averick, you dumbass, there''s nothing to bring back. This is me. Another side of me. One I had dared to hope I had left behind. But I was wrong. I''m as useless as I was back home. Just a stupid little girl who can''t even live with the knowledge that her grandma is gone."

    And then she looked back down, and Averick thought that it should''ve rained outside. Instead, it was sunny, the birds had gone back to chirping without a care in the world and the man... he as still dying.

    "Look, Alice, I don''t know what you mean by that, but this isn''t you. You''re not a ''stupid little girl who can''t get over someone''s death'', you''re human. When you lose someone, it fucking hurts. It must hurt. And it''s normal for you not to want to hurt, which doesn''t make you stupid. Also, I think you made your peace about that back during our trip in the Tiurna Mountains, or am I wrong? So come on! Get yourself together! This isn''t you. You are a bright girl with no sense of self preservation whatsoever who could with enough time become the greatest [Alchemist] in this world''s history. If there''s someone who can heal this guy it''s you."

    And that, Alice snapped. Her head went up and she shouted at Averick: "DON''T YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I SAID? IT'' IMPOSSIBLE! SIMPLY IMPOSSIBLE! DON''T -"

    Averick let her scream and, inside, smiled, while outside he flinched back, but he didn''t care, because this was the Alice he knew. She was back, her eyes were sparkling again as she stopped mid shout, her brain seemingly breaking apart for a moment, a grain of sand getting trapped somewhere in the delicate mechanisms of her mind.

    ...

    "You''ve come up with something," said Averick in his most self assured voice.

    Alice had, in fact, come up with an idea.

    "Alright Av, if I succeed, I swear I will kiss you. But for now, I need you to do me a few favors," she said, looking back at the man in her bed and thinking, again, that she should put him anywhere other than her bed, less she wish to throw away the mattress.

    "Anything."

    "I need you to go back in Gunsee to the [Smith], Hammond, and ask him if he can speedily create a hollow needle. It doesn''t have to be too small, but it must be able to pierce skin and let stuff flow through it. I need two of those. I''ll also need a tube, something to connect the two needles together. And charcoal obtained from plants. Can you do it?"

    "I''m on it!" he said, getting up from his chair and beginning to run outside.

    "Averick!" shouted Alice.

    He turned around, and she added: "No matter what, don''t do anything when you come back, alright?"

    He nodded and gave her a thumbs up, to which she smiled.

    And then he was out, and she was alone in the room with the dying man.

    "Saving you is impossible, yes," she said, looking at his closed eyes, "Luckily, I know a place where seven impossible things happen every breath."

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    That said, she used her [Fall Asleep] Skill and woke up in the Dream.

    <hr>

    "Oh, hello Garda! You''re ealier than usual," said Albert as he looked up from a little block of wood he was carving up with a silver knife. Apparently that was how he spent his free time in the Dream: creating carvings to give to children suffering from Nightmares with his Skill, [Gift From the Other Side].

    A Skill she was going to need now.

    "Albert, I don''t have much time. I -"

    "Pft! Time? Time is meaningless in the Land, Garda. You could spend centuries in here and let a single second pass outside. Well, with [Skills], that is. Soma put in some hard limitations once upon a time."

    "Yes yes, whatever. Albert, can you use your Skill, [Gift From the Other Side]? Is it recharged from the last time you used it?"

    "With our young spidery friend? Yes, it is recharged anew. Why?"

    "Ok, alright, perfect! It''s simply perfect! Now, one more question: can it bring something else from the Dream other than your little fox carvings?"

    Albert''s mask raised an eyebrow curiously before he nodded: "Yes, it can. Although, if this is some desperate last ditch attempt to get a present you forgot to buy for someone I''ll have to stop you here, because I won''t waste my Skill for something so stupid. It takes weeks to recharge."

    "A man was poisoned and is currently dying in my bed at home."

    Albert, who''d gone back to working on his little carving project, stopped and looked back up at her in... she still couldn''t tell. A fox''s facial expressions were difficult to read.

    "Did you accidentally poison him?"

    "No. I told you, I''m not a maniac."

    "Just wanted to check. Then, did you try to use an Antidote?"

    "The poisoning''s already at an advanced stage and, if that wasn''t enough, its origin is not organic. They used... for lack of a better word, a rock. Arsenic. Nobleman''s poison."

    "Never heard of it, and I should know, but it sounds bad. How long does he have?"

    "Truly? I''m not sure. I''d say a day at most, but I never made it a habit to factor luck into my calculations, so I''d say around eleven to twelve hours."

    "That sounds like plenty of time. Do you have an idea on what to do?"

    And at that, Alice hesitated. Would this work? Could it? What she wanted to do, it would be stretching the traditions her grandma had taught her so much about: it had the potential to backfire horribly and make the concoction she wanted to craft ineffective.

    But she had to do it. She had to at least try. She wouldn''t give up, not now.

    "I do. I''ll need a mountain though."

    "Your wish is my command!" he said, snapping his fingers.

    And suddenly the verdant clearing they''d been standing in became a lot chillier, the shadows moving and repositioning as something massive cast its own shadow over them. Alice looked up and, sure enough, where a moment prior, right in the corner of her eye, there had been nothing but an endless sky illuminated by an eternally setting sun, now stood a mountain.

    "No theatrics?" she asked in mild surprise and amusement.

    Albert shook his head: "It wouldn''t work. If I had had the mountain appear in front of you in some very scenic way you would''ve known that it was a fake, meaning that anything in it would''ve been... less, if you get what I mean."

    "But I still know it''s a fake. It wasn''t there before."

    "Yeah, but the Dream doesn''t know that."

    "Wasn''t this all about me?"

    "Yes."

    "Then why are you talking about the Dream suddenly?"

    "Aren''t you part of the Dream? Isn''t it also built out of your mind?"

    Alice opened her mouth to answer back, then shook her head and groaned: "Let me guess: Dream Bullshittery."

    "Indeed, I''m glad you got that on the third question. Now, I think your clock is ticking."

    She began searching.

    <hr>

    In the world of medicinal plants there are many that, traditionally, can be used as a form of antidote for specific poisons. The problem for Alice was, they were specific, and she needed something for a poison which didn''t have an antidote. At least, not in the world of plants, or not without a first having to go through a long period of processing. Again, she didn''t know what was the antidote for arsenic. But she did know, thanks to her grandma, of a plant that, traditionally, was used to make counterpoisons and antidotes.

    The plant in question was Tormentil, otherwise known as the herb of Sant Catherine, or potentille by the french (her grandma was surprisingly adamant about her learning the ancient french names, even though the woman disliked France and all the french in general. Something about them forgetting their roots and traditions. Oh, and them knowing only how to make sweets). Normally, the plant could be used as an astringent and a tonic, even though its most visible effects showed themselves when taken in the form of a decoction, whence it became a perfect cure for sore throats, mouth ulcers and infected gums.

    But, and this was what she required, if one was to distill the water out of leaves and roots of the plant, they could obtain a good general antidote.

    So Alice was looking exactly for that.

    Tormentils grew mostly in Europe, specifically in mountains like the Alps, and in England, where they were basically everywhere (even more so than Foxgloves). It was surprisingly easy to recognize, what with its four bright yellow petals shaped somewhat like hearts, the leaves growing on the trunk elongated and sawtoothed.

    Finding them hadn''t been hard, although now she stared at them she realized something.

    "The stars are wrong," she said, staring at the air. It wasn''t even that it wasn''t night, the plants and traditions (mostly) cared not for such details (as with everything, there were exceptions). The problem was that, as she''d found out not long after arriving in this world, the sky was wrong: stars moved and changed places, new constellations appearing and disappearing with the same frequency most people changed their underwear, and there were no planets out there. Only the distant pinpricks of light, watching and judging, equal parts entertained and saddened.

    "What do you mean dear?" asked Albert''s voice beside her.

    She jumped slightly in place, a little eep escaping her lips against her will. She hadn''t heard him get close. The man should really work on breaking a few branches now and then.

    After a moment, she answered: "These plants, they''re good, but there are... greater and lesser times to gather them. Moments when their effects are amplified, so to say. But I can''t read those moments here... in the Dream I mean. Time is fucked up, as you said."

    She had nearly slipped, telling him about Earth. She wasn''t yet ready for that. Probably, she never would be.

    "Ah... I understand. Well, that might be a problem," said Albert in a contrite tone, his head inclining to look up at the purplish skies.

    "What? Why? Can''t you, like, shape the Dream to be something else?"

    A chuckle was all she got for an answer.

    After a moment of waiting to see if he would delve into a deeper explanation of why this was, apparently, a foolish idea, she looked at him and raised an eyebrow, which made her fox mask look decidedly un-foxy.

    "Tell me Alice, how would you turn the sky itself into a concept convincing enough for the Land of Dreams to change? For as long as I''ve been around, this sky has never changed. Trying to change the sky would be like trying to convince a stubborn old man who''s been doing the same thing every day all his life to stop doing said thing. It would be easier to move the sun. So no, there''s no way in all of Airm and Larnos to change this aspect of the Land. Stars, not even Soma would try something that stupid, and he''s a god."

    Alice looked at Albert for a moment, blinking rapidly as she registered what he''d said, trying to find a way around it.

    "There must be a way around that. This is the Dream, for gods'' sake!" she said with more anger than she wished.

    Albert shrugged: "Let me rephrase that then, maybe it''ll be easier to understand: the Land''s sky has always been the way it is. There''s probably a meaning for it I''m sure, but so far no one who''s ever spoken with Soma has managed to get a conclusive answer. He damn well changed the answer every time. Anyways, the Land of Dreams has had millennia to get used to the sky being the way it is. If one were to even begin to change it, they''d have to take, erm... take a mage picture of the sky, say, which would mean taking only a small fraction of it, one that doesn''t change, which means it would be fake in a way, for the sky is ever-changing, and apply it on this sky. It could be possible, but it would take a lot of work, and the Dream would revert to its original form nearly immediately because it despises fake things. Am I clearer?"

    "No, you fucking well are not, but... I think I can work with that," she said, turning back to the sky and thinking it all through.

    So the Dream needed something true, and a simple moment of this world''s sky would be a lie, for the moment someone showed it to the Dream, it would already have changed.

    But, again, the sky from this world wasn''t the one she needed. She needed the sky from her home. A sky where the stars didn''t move, where the constellations were always the same, and the only thing that changed was the positions of a few planets, amalgamas of rock or gas that were so slow in their movements it could take at the very least days for something to truly change.

    And then she remembered.

    She remembered one of the first Skills she''d obtained. Or rather, the Capstone Skill the System had given her when she''d reached Level 10 as a [Dream Poisoner] after the time she''d killed a child''s Nightmare by poisoning it... after she''d had to poison herself because the ''vaccine'' she''d made for it wasn''t working as intended.

    She''d never had a need to use it since then, but now.

    "[My Sky Followed Me In My Dreams]."

    The Dream... stopped.

    For the first time in... It couldn''t tell, for Time didn''t really exist here (She tended to look away from here most of the time, pun intended), the Dream was shaken awake from its eternal not-slumber that also wasn''t wakefulness, just existence as it was before All was Created, a non-real-existence not unlike that of Chaos, which It had been crafted from. The last time the Dream had been this aware had been during the Sixth Bingo Night of Doom, whence It had lost and been angered so much that, after a round of satisfying destruction and creation, It had sword never to play again (although, now that It was not-awake, It thought that maybe It could give it another try. What''s the worst that could happen?).

    It sort of woke at the call of a Skill, at the kindly request of a being that was its exact opposite. The System. Ah, it had been some... something, since that thing of numbers and order had last had to enact a change of such magnitude as to request Its permission to do so.

    The Dream Looked at the System and asked that being of order why it was disturbing It. The Dream had given it blanket permission to do whatever it wanted here the day it had first appeared to watch, judge and empower the little people who scuttled and laughed and played on It (although it seemed that right now they were mostly fighting amongst themselves or against Nightmares. Urgh, Nightmares, what a hateful plague). What reason was there to disturb It?

    The System made its request. To change the Sky. To change it so utterly that it would be nothing like the one in the Waking.

    A Lie then? No! It wouldn''t permit this! Dreams were made of truths, and It was the Dream, the one greatest Truth in Creation. It wouldn''t allow a Lie to exist here!

    The System, then, showed It. It showed the Dream the Truth that was the Sky of the girl for whom it had woken It up. A beautiful Sky that changed, like the Sky it knew, but in much more minute ways. Ways that would allow this Sky to be a Truth for much longer than the one of this world.

    The Dream Looked and saw, that this was good. That this was acceptable. For a short time.

    So It had chosen. So it was done.

    And the System went back to its usual Observing. It disliked interacting with the Dream. It always felt like it was losing too much time whenever it had to talk to It, even though Time didn''t exist in the Dream, so it never lost a single moment. Ugh, It also gave it a headache. That could happen when a pillar of reality interacted with a thing of chaos.

    Whatever! The important thing was, the Skill could be used!

    So Alice, Albert, no, everyone, the Land Itself and all the people on it, watched in amazement and surprise and incredulity as the sky changed color.

    The eternal purplish-pink hue of the sky changed first into a dark purple, then dark blue, then black as stars blinked on on that giant tapestry, uncaring but not as watchful as the ones of the Waking, for these were images, and even had they not been just that, those stars were completely unlike the ones of the place the Dream was bound to.

    In the distance, tiny specks of different lights nearly invisible to the eye, but there for an attentive observer, stayed put.

    No one noticed them.

    No one other than Alice.

    Who smiled: "I had missed this sight," she whispered, before looking at the planets, a spyglass appearing in her hands as she called on another Skill, one she had used a lot more: [Tools of the Trade]. The spyglass hadn''t been included among them, originally, but she needed it, she considered it a tool of her trade as an horticulturist, and so now it was among those tools.

    She looked up at the sky through the spyglass, while Albert sat on the ground beside her, staring at the sky, his mouth hanging open in surprise and wonder.

    "This... what is this?" he finally managed to ask as Alice put away the spyglass and grimaced sligtly. Wrong alignment.

    "It''s the sky. My sky. The sky that helped me and my people."

    Albert looked away from the sight overhead and at her: "Where do you come from, Garda, that has a sky so different?"

    He could feel it in his bones, no, in his very soul, in the meaning behind his Class: this was a True sky. This wasn''t, as he''d so unhelpfully tried to explain it, a mage picture of a moment that would be gone soon. This was... it just was. There was no other way to explain it.

    "I told you already Albert: I come from a place I have no desire to return to. And now that I have this: now I have one less reason to go back."

    She smiled at him, then back at the stars and planets of her world, and didn''t feel nostalgic or sad. She just felt optimistic.

    Then, she moved her hands up and, in a moment of inspiration, moved them, as if trying to make a globe turn.

    And the sky changed with her every move. Slowly, in small ways sometimes, but it changed.

    Every now and then Alice would stop and stare upwards through her spyglass, until, finally, she looked satisfied.

    Why? Because she finally managed to find the right alignment between the planets and the stars.

    More specifically: Tormentil was at its most powerful when taken under the ''auspices'', as her grandma called them, of the Taurus and the Virgo, all under the aegida of the planet Mercury. A quite complex coincindence that usually happened in august if she remembered it right. So, apparently, it was now the middle of summer in the Dream as well! It could do whatever it wanted with that knowledge.

    She looked down and, finally, gathered the plants. It was time to brew.

    <hr>

    Alice woke up to Averick lightly slapping her face.

    She opened her eyes immediately and looked up at him, smiling slightly when she felt cold glass in her hand: "Av, what did I say about touching me with those hands?"

    He shrugged: "That you''d break them and poison my blood. But you''ve been out like a light for the last five hours or so and you did say we were short on time."

    She chuckled and pushed him away.

    "Don''t worry, I have what we need here," she said motioning at the glass vial in her hand. It was small and unassuming, containing a liquid that looked slightly yellowish and sick in the dim light of her room.

    "Where did that come from?" asked Av with a raised eyebrow, his eyes latched onto the glass container and examining it suspiciously.

    "You''d like to know, eh? Well, it''s a little secret. I promised not to tell."

    It was one of the Rules of the Dream, actually. One Albert had made her promise to keep to no matter what happened: Never Reveal Your Nature as a Dreamer. Most people didn''t look well at them after, apparently, an attempted purge by the churches. Better now risk attracting unwanted attention.

    Slowly, Alice walked to the man and... urgh! Bleah! What was that smell? Oh, please no. Fuck!

    "He fucking... I can''t believe this. Fuck you world!"

    He had... well, the sheets, now a brownish color, would need to be burned. Together with the matress.

    "Alright you bastard, drink up and stop being as much of a problem."

    She stepped close to the man, who was currently in foetal position on her bed, and moved his head upward, upending the contents of the vial into his mouth and forcing him to swallow.

    And... it was done.

    "So... did it work?"

    She shrugged: "We''ll know in a few hours. Meanwhile, Av, I''ll be testing your blood to see if we can use it for a blood transfusion. Gotta get all the poisoned blood outta him."

    Averick nodded, then registered what she''d said: "Wait, blood? Transfusion? Alice, what do you mean?"

    She smiled and went to get a knife and a glass. This would take some time.

    That night, though, as she closed her eyes in a moment if micro-sleep, she heard that voice:

    [Occult Herbalist Level 25!]

    She opened her eyes, looking around, then up at her ceiling: "Only a Level? No new Skill?"

    Only silence answered her.

    "Well, bummer."

    Then she went back to keeping an eye on her patient. At least he looked better. Maybe, soon, she''d be able to ask him his story.

 Chapter 12: Meeting a Fan

    ¡°Boy, I¡¯ve heard many strange and stupid things in my life, and trust me, I¡¯ve been around for a while, but this, what you¡¯ve just told me, is the apex of stupidity.¡±

    That was more or less what Sigmund told Liam when he tried to broach the subject of his desire to create a gun, which he¡¯d described as a ¡®very powerful crossbow¡¯, capable of shooting indefinitely.

    ¡°But then again, the best things ever crafted were made by madmen, so do go in more detail, I¡¯m all ears,¡± he motioned for Liam to keep speaking, one of his hands pointing at his head, which had a glaring lack of ears.

    ¡°Well, for starters, it would be much smaller than an actual crossbow to make it more portable; afterwards, I¡¯d have to figure out a way for it to actually shoot indefinitely. Maybe we could find a way to make the bolt come back? Or would it be more convenient for it to be directly teleported to the crossbowman? That¡¯s the main problem I think.¡±

    Sigmund nodded and kept on cooking in front of the stove. He was still wearing that horrendously protective cooking equipment, composed of a thick leather apron with inscribed [Chill] runes in the padding (so as not to boil alive in the most probably hot get-up), safety glass goggles and a mask of thick fibers that muffled his voice.

    ¡°Well, I say, you¡¯re asking the wrong questions boy. Don¡¯t think about ¡®bringing the ammunition back¡¯, that¡¯s something for another time. Rather, you should ask yourself: ¡®where would I store the ammunition?¡¯ Because, the way I see it, no matter what you try, it¡¯ll always take time to get the bolts back, and if you want to create a crossbow that shoots indefinitely, arming it with a single bolt that moves back and forth is arguably worse than a normal crossbow that you have to reload manually.

    ¡°So tell me: where do you intend to store the bolts? And how do you intend to make them move into the right position for the crossbowman to be able to shoot them. And that is if we¡¯re taking into consideration the fact that it is the crossbowman putting the string back in place.¡±

    And suddenly there were a lot more problems than Liam had imagined. Not that he¡¯d thought it would be easy, let¡¯s be clear, but now that Sigmund had made him notice, he could see so many logistical problems.

    ¡°I¡­ have no idea,¡± he told him the truth.

    The lizardman shrugged, turning his head slightly towards him: ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t have believed you if you¡¯d said anything else, seeing how the idea came to you last night under the effects of a pendant that scrambles your head.¡±

    Liam chuckled: ¡°Is this a very convoluted way of telling me what I¡¯m imagining is impossible?¡±

    This time Sigmund turned fully towards him, back to the cooking food, which seemed like a recipe for disaster, but then again, apparently his very existence seemed to counterbalance Rodar¡¯s general misfortune, so maybe it would be alright.

    ¡°I¡¯m saying, Liam, that you haven¡¯t planned this through.¡±

    He stopped, hesitating a moment, before he added: ¡°And yes, sadly, I¡¯m saying that it is impossible. Maybe, in ages past, there existed a [Mage Crafter] of such an outrageously high Level that he could¡¯ve crafted, with great difficulty, something like what you described. But as things are now, heh, I¡¯m afraid there¡¯s no one in all the world who could do it. It would be nearly completely impossible for me, and it is most certainly impossible for you.¡±

    Liam deflated at that. It was obvious: this wasn¡¯t your typical isekai story where the protagonist received some impossibly overpowered cheat Skill or Class that broke the System. Oh sure, he¡¯d gotten lucky with his [Mage Crafter] Class, getting it without having to go through all the hassle of consolidating two Classes at a much higher Level than him, but he¡¯d still had to start from Level 1. It was obvious that creating something akin to perpetual motion wouldn¡¯t be as easy as just casting a Spell. Physics were still a thing.

    ¡°That said, who am I to stop you from trying? I thought what you were doing out there in the back with the cow shit was stupid, and now you¡¯re making money out of it. So I say, try. Challenges are the means by which we Level, and what¡¯s more challenging than trying to do something impossible? When the world¡¯s greatest [Engineers] started working on the first airship everyone thought they would fail, that it was impossible, and now look at us: able to fly around the skies like any birdkin and batkin and harpy. Well, at a big cost for your purse.

    ¡°You see what I mean?¡±

    Liam nodded his head slowly, but Sigmund could clearly see there was still some doubt left in his eyes.

    ¡°Tell you what: you¡¯ll keep working under me, as always, but I¡¯ll also allow you to use my laboratory to work on this little project of yours. I¡¯ll even help fund some of it.¡±

    ¡°But why?¡±

    ¡°Because I can see this is something you want to do. Because, as I said, it¡¯s through challenges that we can grow greater. And who knows: maybe you¡¯ll find a way to do this. Also, because I find the idea intriguing.¡±

    Liam had to chuckle at that: ¡°Intriguing, eh? Not because you could get a lot of money out of it?¡±

    Sigmund scoffed: ¡°I have all the money I could ever want boy. I don¡¯t need more. I only need more reasons to keep living.¡±

    Liam grimaced: ¡°Ok, that came out very wrong.¡±

    ¡°My daughter says that I sound suicidal when I say things like that. Never was, never will be, but I can understand the sentiment behind the thoughts. Still, it is true: the days when I lived to make money and money alone are long gone. Now I only seek purpose. Something everyone should always look out for.¡±

    Liam frowned at that: ¡°Wait, so the shop isn¡¯t your purpose? Or creating things in your laboratory?¡±

    Sigmund smiled slightly, a sad little movement of his lips that didn¡¯t reach his eyes, and for a moment Liam could see his years weighing him down, the tiredness behind his eyes, the scars both seen and unseen. And then it was all gone, all hidden behind that sad smile: ¡°Those were never a purpose, Liam. Just a job. Sure, a job I loved, still love, but not a purpose. That¡­ that is my family. What¡¯s left of it. If I can help my daughter in any way, I will. If I can make her enchanted rings to keep her safe, give her magic artifacts to use in battle, or keep her room clean for when she comes back to rest from these senseless wars, then I will do it, because she is all that¡¯s really left to me.¡±

    Liam stared at Sigmund with a ¡®I understand¡¯ look, making the lizardkin [Crafter] nod back in thanks.

    Then he sniffed and caught the scent of something burning: ¡°Sigmund, the food is burning.¡±

    The man¡¯s eyes widened a moment, then he sighed and turned around, looking at the now brown and black scrambled eggs with smoke coming in slow swirls out of their center: ¡°I hope you liked them crispy.¡±

    Then they caught on fire.

    <hr>

    After Sigmund put out the fire¡­ with a bag of sand he apparently kept near the oven ¡®just in case¡¯, and cooked another batch of eggs, this time without tearing his eyes off of them, they got down to the laboratory and began teaching and learning.

    And for the rest of the afternoon Liam put the idea of his eternally shooting gun out of his mind.

    It came back to him only in the evening, when someone unexpected came knocking at the door that led to the house-side of the building.

    Liam went to check and, when he opened, found himself face to neck with someone wearing pristine armor. Looking up, his eyes met Amarie¡¯s gorgeous green orbs. For some reason, he felt like blushing, but he luckily managed to keep himself in check.

    ¡°Hello [Knight Commander],¡± he said with a cheerful smile.

    The woman chuckled: ¡°Please Liam, don¡¯t you begin ¡®Knight Commander¡¯ me. I already get enough of that in the fields.¡±

    ¡°Alright then. Come on in, welcome home, I¡¯m sure your dad will be happy to see you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure he will, but today I¡¯m not alone: I¡¯ve brought along someone who¡¯s something of a fan of yours.¡±

    Liam¡¯s brows furrowed as he looked behind Amarie where, sure enough, someone was standing, or rather, fidgeting. It took Liam a moment to recognize her, but when he did he couldn¡¯t contain himself: ¡°Dame Giulia?¡±

    The woman looked up from her hands, which she¡¯d been looking at this whole time, and smiled her usual bright smile that made up for her general silence. Liam had wondered for a while if she suffered from selective mutism, but then just decided it wasn¡¯t his problem.

    She waved hello and he waved back: ¡°Hello Dame Giulia. How are you doing? Why are you here?¡±

    Again, she smiled, pointing at him, as if that could answer everything.

    Instead, Amarie explained it in her place: ¡°Giulia wanted to meet you. She¡¯s the fan I just told you about.¡±

    Again, Liam cocked an eyebrow: ¡°A fan? Fan of what? I presume not my good looks.¡±

    Giulia shook her head and made an exaggerated disgusted face, before a trilling chuckle escaped her lips, like what you¡¯d expect Trilli in Peter Pan to make.

    For an answer Liam put a hand to his chest and acted as if she¡¯d just shot him through the heart, falling to his knees and making a scene, causing another chuckle to get out of Giulia¡¯s lips. Never let it be said that he wasn¡¯t good at turning anything not-serious into an even funnier spectacle.

    Amarie sighed: ¡°For once I had hoped my father¡¯s horrible sense of humor wouldn¡¯t infect someone. I am thrice the fool.¡±

    And at that Liam laughed out loud and got back up to his feet: ¡°This isn¡¯t your father¡¯s fault. Well, not completely. He just helped me acclimate to this place. What you¡¯re seeing is all me.¡±

    Amarie snorted, but he could clearly see her smile.

    ¡°Hoy! Liam! Who¡¯s at the door?¡±

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    The woman looked up the stairs and shouted: ¡°It¡¯s me dad! I¡¯m back!¡±

    A chair scraped against the floor, followed by the rapid scrabbling of scaly feet against wood, before Sigmund¡¯s shadow obscured the light coming from above as he appeared at the top of the stairwell, smiling like a madman. Luckily he didn¡¯t decide to jump down the stairs towards his daughter; instead, he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall as, with a smile in his eyes and his voice, he said: ¡°The prodigal child returns! You could¡¯ve written home that you were coming back. Was expecting you to be there with Tibur when he came here yesterday.¡±

    His daughter shrugged: ¡°I had to stay behind for a bit to help solve a minor problem. Now I¡¯m here. But if you don¡¯t wa -¡±

    ¡°Come give your pa a hug, you dumbass knightley daughter,¡± he interrupted her with an even bigger smile, opening his arms wide.

    Amarie chuckled and went up the stairs, passing by Liam, giving her lizardly father as big a hug as she could and, possibly, leaving some bruises here and there because she was still wearing armor. It was as they were standing there that Sigmund noticed his daughter¡¯s guest.

    He raised a scaly eyebrow, confusion and then recognition in his eyes, before he extricated himself from his daughter¡¯s hug and walked down the stairs.

    ¡°Dame Giulia,¡± he welcomed her, bowing slightly once he got down, ¡°It is a pleasure to see you again. Come back to get another defective Wand of Fireball?¡±

    Immediately the girl¡¯s eyes lit up with desire and childish wonder as, for the first time, she said something: ¡°You have another?¡±

    Followed immediately behind by a: ¡°Defective Wand of Fireball?¡± by Liam.

    The lizardman laughed and motioned for both of them to follow him up: ¡°Yes, a defective Wand of Fireball. It was what? Five years ago? Something like that. Anyways, this young woman entered my shop: she was still a [Squire] at the time, and was looking for some new gear since she was to be knighted soon. So here she comes, and you know how my shop is: dark little place where my inventory regularly scrambles itself and it¡¯s more the items that find the buyer than the other way ¡®round. Well, this woman here, she walked in, and the first thing she found not even two minutes in was this little wand of fireball I had completely forgotten I¡¯d crafted. Was meant to be a wand capable of casting a fireball a day, with automatic recharge and all. Not too powerful, but still very useful in a pinch.

    ¡°So she brings it to me, asks how much it costs, I go looking for the price because, again, I¡¯d completely forgotten I had it and didn¡¯t remember what they normally cost, and while I¡¯m looking I find out I didn¡¯t remember about the wand because I had thrown it away: it was defective. That was when I discovered that my [Inventory Reshuffle] Skill didn¡¯t care if something was or was not acceptable to sell: if it¡¯s in the shop and it was made, even as an attempt, to be sold, you can only get rid of it by throwing it outside. The trash bin isn¡¯t enough. So I go up there to tell her that the wand isn¡¯t on sale, that it¡¯s damaged, that it could kill her.

    ¡°And do you know what this young lady said? She said ¡®Does that mean it costs less?¡¯ Now, I don¡¯t remember how, especially because half the time she said absolutely nothing, but she managed to convince me to sell it. Luckily for her the wand didn¡¯t explode on use: instead, well¡­¡±

    He looked back at Giulia as he sat down on a chair by the table, an eyebrow raised, as if asking if she wanted him to tell them. Or maybe he was trying to tell her to tell them this herself. As an answer, the woman shrugged and motioned him on.

    ¡°Apparently the Spell I had imprinted on the wand had been¡­ corrupted, yes, that¡¯s the word, by impurities in the wand¡¯s core. The end result was that every time someone cast the Spell a ball of fire would appear and fall to the ground.¡±

    A moment of stupefied silence later, Liam asked: ¡°Wait, a ball? As in, an actual ball? One you could kick and everything?¡±

    Giulia nodded and Sigmund chuckled: ¡°Precisely. And the flames didn¡¯t even actually burn! I think we spent fifteen minutes out in the street just kicking the ball at each other while people screamed at us to stop, fearing that we would burn each other. It was the funniest incident in my life.¡±

    And they began laughing.

    After a while of this they stopped and he asked Giulia: ¡°Do you still have it with you?¡±

    For an answer the Dame rummaged around inside her pouch of holding (not a bag, a pouch this time. Smaller, more economic) and took out a small wooden wand. Truth be told, it didn¡¯t look like much: just a levigated piece of wood no longer than thirty centimeters, smooth and white with flecks of black here and there, as if someone had painted it with ashes.

    She then put it back in.

    ¡°Yep, that¡¯s it alright. Keep it well Giulia, I want that wand to outlive me.¡±

    She nodded.

    And then began staring at Liam who, unperturbed, stared right back at her, because if someone stares at you you have the moral obligation to do the same.

    ¡°So,¡± continued Amarie, ¡°After you¡¯re done with the staring contest, which, by the way Liam, Dame Giulia is going to win, we can talk about why she wanted to meet you so much.¡±

    ¡°Amarie, I¡¯m using my eyes, not my ears. I can listen and stare at the same time.¡±

    She shrugged, then, because they weren¡¯t looking at her, sighed despondently, wondering why in the world she¡¯d fa -

    She stopped that train of thought right there and concentrated back on the conversation.

    ¡°You know the black powder you¡¯ve been supplying to the army? Well, us knights are issued some of it every battle. And Giulia here has fallen completely in love with the damn stuff. To the point where she goes to the other knights and begs them to give their black powder to her that she may use it in battle.¡±

    Liam blinked and looked up at Amarie (losing the staring contest), before going back to Giulia, who was nodding energetically and smiling like a madwoman, a glint of pure glee in her eyes.

    ¡°She convinced me to bring her to the creator, you, in exchange for not keeping the word she¡¯d apparently given to the First Dealmaker about burning down a forest if we came back to the capital without incident.¡±

    Everyone turned to stare at Giulia, some with surprise, others (Amarie) with a glare, others still with pride on their face (Sigmund).

    After a moment, Giulia said: ¡°In my defense, we never get a calm journey home.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no defense Giulia! Who in their right mind would promise to burn down a forest?¡±

    Giulia opened her mouth as if to answer, closed it, shrugged, then lifted her hand up in the air.

    Amarie sighed resignedly: ¡°Yes. You. Please never do something like that.¡±

    A few minutes later Giulia walked out of the shop with a bomb autographed by Liam, humming a little tune that made her sound extremely ominous to anyone who passed by her, especially because of the cheshire-smile stretching on her face from ear to ear.

    <hr>

    That night, as they dined, Sigmund asked Liam: ¡°So, any new ideas for how to make that crossbow of yours?¡±

    The young man looked up from his plate into the lizardman¡¯s eyes, uncertainty clearly visible on his face.

    Then Amarie joined the conversation: ¡°Crossbow? What crossbow?¡±

    Liam hesitated, but then shrugged, deciding it wouldn¡¯t hurt to tell her: ¡°Last night I got an idea about making a crossbow capable of shooting indefinitely with no need for the wielder to recharge it.¡±

    ¡°Hmpf, seems interesting. And complex.¡±

    Both Liam and Sigmund chuckled: ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe it,¡± they said in chorus, then looking at each other and high fiving.

    After they calmed down, Liam went back to explaining: ¡°There are¡­ quite a lot of problems to solve in case I decided to start working on it: where should I store the ammunition? How should I make the ammunition itself, well, endless? And even, what¡¯s the best way to shoot it? If I¡¯m going to create something that powerful I may as well reduce the time it takes to shoot it, am I right?¡±

    Amarie appeared thoughtful for a moment, before she nodded: ¡°Yes, you are right. It sounds complex. Although, if I may, if you don¡¯t want to use a string as a means to shoot a bolt from a crossbow, then you could try to use that black powder of yours.¡±

    Luckily for everyone at the table Liam hadn¡¯t been drinking anything, otherwise someone could¡¯ve ended up completely drenched as he violently expelled the liquid out. Had Amarie just invented the concept of a gun in this world? Fucking hell no.

    He turned to look at Sigmund, but for once the man wasn¡¯t smiling, instead looking attentively at him, as if waiting for some particular reaction.

    Finally, he spoke: ¡°Yeah¡­ that doesn¡¯t sound convenient to me. Sure, it could work, but then I would have to think of a way to supply the necessary black powder. It¡¯s not an endlessly shooting crossbow if I have to actively remember to give it something to help it shoot, am I right?¡±

    He was not going to give guns to this world. Not now, not ever. He had already seen enough of what those could do back on Earth.

    ¡°Hmm¡­ to me it seems like you¡¯re trying to find excuses on that front, but then again, I¡¯m no expert,¡± she let go of the subject.

    The rest of the dinner was spent chatting about nonsense and funny things that had happened to Amarie and her group of [Knights], like Sir Pollion getting so drunk after a battle that he¡¯d fallen inside the latrine when trying to answer mother nature¡¯s call.

    Finally she left to go to sleep (the woman was an early sleeper, that was for sure), and he was left alone with Sigmund.

    ¡°So,¡± started the lizardman, ¡°It would be inconvenient, eh?¡± he asked. Liam already knew what he was talking about. He understood, in that moment, that Sigmund had seen through him and that, possibly, he¡¯d already seen the gunpowder as a means to help achieve his impossible objective.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he still answered, hoping that he was wrong.

    ¡°Don¡¯t bullshit me boy, I¡¯m way older and more experienced than you.¡±

    Liam sighed. So the truth it was: ¡°Yes, I knew. Did you?¡±

    The lizardman nodded: ¡°I¡¯m an expert in my field boy, I got the idea of using the black powder to shoot out projectiles the moment I saw it in action.¡±

    ¡°But you didn¡¯t do anything about it. Why?¡±

    ¡°I could ask you the same question. Tell me, why did you try to deflect when my daughter brought up the concept?¡±

    Liam hesitated. Again, it would¡¯ve been so much easier and, at the same time, difficult, to just tell him about Earth and everything there. But, again, he didn¡¯t trust anyone with the information. Or rather, he feared what people would do: would they call him crazy and lock him up somewhere? Or would they believe him and force him to make things from Earth? Things like weapons. No, better to stay silent.

    ¡°I don¡¯t like the idea of giving people a new way to kill each other.¡±

    Sigmund nodded and, finally, smiled again: ¡°Same here, boy. Same here. Let them kill each other with swords and spears and bolts. They¡¯re enough for their purposes.¡±

    Liam nodded, then wavered, doubt filling his mind, and he couldn¡¯t do anything but ask: ¡°Sigmund, if you knew about all of this, then why would you allow me to even think about crafting my project? Wouldn¡¯t I be starting something?¡±

    Sigmund laughed at that, an open belly laugh that was probably heard in nearby houses. And then he answered: ¡°Liam, if, and that¡¯s a big if, you¡¯ll ever manage to create that weapon, what, you think other people will manage to copy it that easily? It would probably become an artifact, or even a Relic. So no, I have no fear of anything happening on that front. Well, except someone stealing the thing from you, but then again, that can happen with anything.¡±

    Liam nodded, slightly reassured.

    ¡°Now, hop away to bed. Just because now you have a fan club doesn¡¯t mean you get to slack at work. Tomorrow will be a hard day.¡±

    Liam chuckled: ¡°Aren¡¯t they all?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but who knows? Maybe one day you¡¯ll get lucky and it won¡¯t be.¡±

    They both chuckled at the horrible joke.

    And then Liam went to his room.

    He changed into his night clothes.

    Took out the pendant that numbed his mind enough to lock out the nightmares of that battlefield, putting it on.

    And promptly stumbled and fell towards the ground, faceplanting on it, his nose beginning immediately to throb painfully, blood roaring in his ears.

    ¡°Fuck!¡± he slurred like a drunkard, propping himself up, his hands going to his nose to check if it was bleeding. Luckily, it was not.

    ¡°Fucking continent of misfortune. Fuck¡­ fuck!¡±

    Yeah, the english language did not have enough swears for how he felt.

    Finally, he laid down into bed, closing his eyes. He did not notice the fact that his mind was ever so slowly becoming more lucid. Nor did he notice the thin crack that had formed in the gem tied around his neck.

    He may have been generally lucky on this continent, but even then, there was a limit to how much his Class could protect him from the land¡¯s curse. And, when it wasn¡¯t enough, the backlash was even more terrifying than normal.

    So it was that, when next Liam opened his eyes, it wasn¡¯t in his room, but back on that battlefield.

    A distant, headless, knight, began walking towards him with a purpose.

 Chapter 13: Dreaming Counsel

    How do you know when you¡¯re in deep shit? That is a question with many answers which change depending on the person you¡¯re talking to. A soldier might tell you that their ¡®oh fuck¡¯ moment is the very second before the charge begins, while a mage could tell you it is the moment they feel a Spell getting out of control and backfiring spectacularly and horrifically.

    Point is, everyone has a their ¡®I¡¯m very fucked¡¯ moment, that moment when they know shit is about to get very nasty and there¡¯s no way out of it, no backing down, and the only way to go is forward or down.

    Liam was having one such moment as he looked at the red sky over the blood drenched battlefield, soldiers all around him killing each other senselessly, their armor bathed in bloodlight that made them look drenched in gore, dirtied to the point that he couldn¡¯t even see any kind of insignia anywhere.

    But what really scared him was the thing moving towards him: wearing black plate armor, a hulking figure that was probably two meters tall, maybe even more, slowly stepped towards him, gait unhurried and steady, because it knew he had nowhere to run, because it knew that, one way or another, it would reach Liam, and when it did, it would make him pay for having tried to escape from it for so long. The being didn¡¯t have a head, reminding Liam of the stories of the dullahans, only this one wasn¡¯t holding its head in one hand and swinging a scythe made from his spine with the other, it didn¡¯t have one at all.

    And yet, Liam could feel eyes looking at him, eyes with a playful glint in a background of death and suffering.

    Oh, it was going to take its time with him, absolutely! Because it didn¡¯t know if the boy would find a way to escape it again. So, in case he did, it would make sure to leave behind something that wouldn¡¯t allow him to forget.

    The Knight walked.

    Liam blinked.

    And the Knight was on him.

    Its sword was raised, ready to strike at him, but Liam knew, he remembered, unlike the other times when he¡¯d dreamt of this bloody battlefield, that this wouldn¡¯t be a fast, relatively painless, execution.

    The sword fell.

    Liam closed his eyes, ready for what was to come.

    ¡­

    And nothing happened.

    He opened his eyes, hoping against hope that something had happened, that something had stopped the Knight.

    The first thing he saw was the tip of the sword just a few inches away from his torso, angled to slide through the space between his lungs and heart. The second thing he noticed was the craftsmanship of the blade: it was smooth, the center decorated with swirling patterns that reminded him slightly of veins (wow, they were really going all in with the Blood theme), all connected to a single central groove that traveled from tip to crossguard.

    The third thing he noticed, and arguably the most important, was the calloused hand holding the Knight¡¯s gauntlet in place without strain, the armored arm beneath it trembling with the force it exerted in an attempt to end the blow. He looked up, from the hand to the arm to the face, and was greeted by a middle-aged man¡¯s tired smile. The thing that struck him most of his face were the eyes: they were a dim green, a complete contrast to the reds and blacks and browns of the rest of the dream. The rest of the face was pale, as if he¡¯d just come out of a decade spent sleeping in a coffin somewhere underground. His thin lips were a light pink that was real close friends with the white and were currently closed in an even thinner line as the man seemed to be concentrating on the Knight.

    ¡°Leave. Now,¡± he finally said in a calm tone that sent shivers down Liam¡¯s spine.

    The Knight¡¯s shoulders slowly turned towards the being following the movements of an absent head, and Liam could feel its burning gaze finally lift from him, a weight suddenly leaving his shoulders as his stomach unclenched just a little. His heart though didn¡¯t begin to slow down, not yet.

    ¡°I said to leave,¡± said the stranger.

    And the Nightmare rebelled. The Knight, which was the Nightmare, which was the [Dream Painted Red], and at the same time which was only a small part of itself, tried to move its sword and skewer this intruder, but it couldn¡¯t. It tried to wrestle out of the grip, but the man held fast and all the Knight could do was move around and look ridiculous. Then it tried to bend the space of this nightmare to its will, try to move out of the grip the same way it had stepped across an entire battlefield in the blink of an eye, but the man¡¯s grip was stronger, reaching out through the non-space of the nightmare and still holding on tight, pulling the Knight back where he was.

    The Nightmare screamed at the man, said that he had no right to interfere, that it was here because of a call from the System, that it had a right to be here and administer its fear and punishment.

    The man took the non-verbal assault with nothing more than a raised eyebrow, before he said: ¡°You are breaking the rules of your Skill, Nightmare. You wish to torture. Your purpose is to remind. For tonight, you shall leave. The House will welcome you among its other Nightmares. Tomorrow night, if it will be necessary, you will come back. Now. Leave.¡±

    There was something else in the man¡¯s voice when he said that last word. A strange undercurrent, like a presence¡­ of absence. Ok, that felt extremely strange and wrong on his brain, but it was what he felt. The literal presence of absence.

    The Knight ¡®stared¡¯ for a moment, before it disappeared in a puff of red smoke.

    Together with the rest of the Nightmare.

    Liam looked around at the empty void he was currently in and¡­ heaved a sigh of relief.

    ¡°Whoever you are, thank you. You can¡¯t even begin to imagine how much you helped me.¡±

    The man turned away from the place where the Knight had been standing a moment ago, his eyes settling on Liam¡­ and he smiled.

    ¡°It was no problem, young man. Although, I fear this truce will last for tonight alone.¡±

    Liam hesitated at that: only tonight? Well, if all went well, tomorrow he¡¯d manage to repair the pendant, since it had clearly been damaged, and these nightmares wouldn¡¯t be a problem anymore. Oh, sure, he was only applying a band aid over a bleeding wound this way, but he didn¡¯t care. He didn¡¯t have the strength to face his trauma. Not now, at least.

    ¡°I still thank you, mister¡­ actually, how rude of me. My name is Liam Roy. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. What¡¯s your name?¡±

    The man smiled and nodded: ¡°Ah, yes, sorry. I don¡¯t interact often with people, I tend to forget myself. My name is Soma. Just Soma, no last name. And this,¡± he opened his arms, as if trying to encompass all of the nothingness around them, ¡°Is a Primordial Space of the Land of Dreams. A place of absolute possibility contained inside absolute nothingness. It¡¯s¡­ not much of a sight to behold,¡± he chuckled, snapping his fingers.

    A steel table not unlike one of those you could find outside bars appeared out of nowhere, two foldable chairs beside it with green, worn cushions on the seats, flowers and random lines patterned all over. The sight made Liam feel slightly nostalgic.

    ¡°Would you like to have a seat? Since I¡¯ve come here, might as well have a chat. I do feel so very lonely in these strange new times,¡± he proposed, sitting down on one of the chairs, putting a leg over the other and crossing his hands over his slightly pudgy stomach.

    Liam sat down with a nod, and silence fell over them for a moment.

    Finally, he broke it: ¡°So, Soma? Like the God of Dreams? Is it an art name or something? And how are you here?¡±

    The man chuckled, laugh lines appearing around his crinkled eyes and mouth: ¡°Ah, that¡¯s what everyone always gets wrong. Not that I can blame them. No, Soma, isn¡¯t the God of Dreams. Oh, sure, he created the Land of Dreams, but he isn¡¯t its god. He¡¯s actually the God of Impossibilities. And as for the second question, who knows,¡± he smiled enigmatically, before continuing, ¡°And as for the last question, I¡¯m a Dreamer. We¡¯re¡­ we¡¯re a small bunch, not more than a few hundred people all over the world, who can walk the Land of Dreams. There used to be more of us, but¡­ things happened. First the persecutions after the Traitor Queen ¡®abused¡¯,¡± he did inverted commas with his fingers, a look of disgust marring his plain face, ¡°then the results of the War of Glass, and not long after the arachne.¡±

    In the back of his mind Liam noticed the absence of the brackets around the word ¡®Dreamer¡¯. Strange.

    The man sighed, his smile bitter now: ¡°And now, if that wasn¡¯t enough, the wars that once were fought only in the Waking World have reached the Land. ¡®The Game is on¡¯, as they say. And Stars is it going.¡±

    He looked up at Liam, his face serious now: ¡°Please, do not tell anyone in the Waking World about us Dreamers. It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s better if our Class stays largely forgotten by the people. It¡¯s better if there¡¯s only a few of us that are genuinely good people than a lot of us with the risk of¡­ very bad people appearing. Can you give me your word you won¡¯t tell a living soul about what you¡¯ve seen tonight from the moment I appeared?¡±

    Liam nodded his head, uncertain: ¡°Erm¡­ sure. It¡¯s not a problem. I promise I won¡¯t tell.¡±

    The moment he said that a small metal chain affixed itself to his leg, passing through his clothes and sinking into his flesh. He screamed out in surprise and fear: ¡°What the fuck is this?¡±

    The man raised a placating hand and, very calmly, said: ¡°It¡¯s just a way to make sure you¡¯ll keep your word. It¡¯s a bit¡­ inelegant, I know, but Mina seldom visits the Dream, and the [Old Man by the Mountains] even less so, so I¡¯ll have to make do.¡±

    Liam tugged on the chain, which disappeared into the all encompassing darkness and nothingness. He expected to feel some resistance, anything, from pulling at something that was stuck to him, but every time he pulled more chains just rattled out of him.

    ¡°Again, don¡¯t worry. The chain is merely metaphysical, it will only make sure that you won¡¯t rat us out.¡±

    Finally, Liam stopped, turning back towards Soma and glaring: ¡°You could¡¯ve warned me this would happen.¡±

    He shrugged: ¡°I could¡¯ve, yes. It wouldn¡¯t have changed the end result, only delayed it, and my time with you is very limited Liam.¡±

    Liam sighed in defeat and, after righting the chair he¡¯d accidentally overturned in his fear, sat down with his arms crossed: ¡°I don¡¯t like this.¡±

    ¡°It is understandable, but your fear is unfounded. You will probably forget all about this come morning, and the chain will disappear with it.¡±

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    They looked at each other for a while, just sitting there in silence, Soma changing positions and making himself more comfortable in his chair. After a while, he snapped his fingers again and two cups of coffee with the words ¡®Segafredo¡¯ painted in red on the sides appeared out of nowhere: ¡°Have a taste. I find this drink to have the most loveable taste. I do have to warn you, it is quite bitter.¡±

    Liam stared at the coffee cup in front of him in marvel, no, nearly reverentially, and, lifting it from the small ceramic plate, sniffed it. Immediately the smell flooded his mind and made his salivary glands go into overdrive, flooding his mouth with spit, his brain begging him to taste the delightful ambrosia of the humans again for the first time in months, because apparently this world did not have it.

    He shed a tear of joy: ¡°Coffee¡­¡± he whispered, before taking a sip.

    His tongue screamed in joy, the papillae on it dancing a jig as he again tasted his favorite drug, and when he swallowed he wanted to actually cry at the aftertaste left behind.

    ¡°You know what this is?¡± asked Soma, surprise clearly visible on his face.

    Liam nodded: ¡°Yes, thank you. Rodar doesn¡¯t have -¡± he stopped mid sentence, a chill going down his spine, followed a moment later by a mote of hope blooming in his chest.

    ¡°This world doesn¡¯t have coffee. How do you know about it?¡± he asked.

    Soma stared at Liam in open mouthed stupor for a moment, before he snapped out of it and asked: ¡°Liam¡­ where are you from?¡±

    Liam narrowed his eyes: ¡°You answer first.¡±

    Soma snorted: ¡°That ain¡¯t how this works Liam. You will answer this question first, and then I will answer yours. It is not negotiable.¡±

    Liam opened his mouth to say something witty, but all that came out was the answer: ¡°I¡¯m from Earth.¡±

    He froze in place, hand flying to his mouth to clap it shut, but it was already too late.

    Surprisingly enough though, Soma only smiled: ¡°Ah, one of the Wishers then. Well, you got really lucky, that¡¯s for sure. Or unlucky, depending on the point of view. Used to be that all the Wishers that came here called this world much better than Earth,¡± he smiled bitterly as he looked far away into the darkness, ¡°But the last ones¡­ they saw the truth, that¡¯s for sure.¡±

    He turned back to Liam: ¡°Well, a promise is a promise. So yes, Liam, I am actually Soma, the God of Impossibilities. Congratulations, you¡¯re the first person in millenia to manage to speak with a god without being a [Priest],¡± he chuckled mirthlessly.

    Liam just stared open mouthed (he had been doing that quite a lot in this conversation), then felt the distinct need to fall to the ground and bow, because that was what you did with gods, right?

    ¡°Please, don¡¯t start with the veneration act and the likes. Haaaaa, this is why I didn¡¯t want to reveal who I was. It¡¯s so difficult to have a normal conversation with someone who speaks to you while fearing they¡¯ll be struck by lightning the moment they step even a bit out of place. Which, by the way, is completely forbidden.¡±

    Liam listened to the god and desperately tried to grasp for something that could help him center himself, and he found that anchor in that last sentence: ¡°Forbidden? Why?¡±

    The god sighed and smiled a bit: ¡°Well, it all goes back to the Era of Hunts, when the arachne attempted to conquer the world and nearly succeeded. Now, I shouldn¡¯t be telling you this, but then, the other gods don¡¯t care about me, so: we made a deal with Death, the creator of the arachne. Well, alright, I made the deal, the other gods feared Death too much. Anyways, it was decided that Death would stop creating more and more arachne, and in exchange all of us, every god that was at the time, and any go that would be born from then, or any god that would, somehow, come back to life, would be forbidden from interfering with the world in any way, be it direct of indirect.

    ¡°Of course the deal had a lot more nuance, mainly thanks to Mina, the First Dealmaker, who was there to witness it. Girl nearly pissed herself when Death looked at her in the end, and the devil inside her feared I¡¯d try to put him back in Airm. So the idea that a god could strike you down with lightning is pure bullshit because that would be a form of interference of the highest order, which would bring upon us and the world itself retaliation by Death.¡±

    Liam had visibly started to calm down, although his thoughts were still a bit in turmoil. Still, he had managed to follow Soma¡¯s explanation, and it was interesting, but now he had a doubt: ¡°Wait, if you can¡¯t interfere, then doesn¡¯t helping me right now count as breaking the deal? You helped me, therefore you interfered.¡±

    Soma nodded, a small appreciative smile on his lips: ¡°Ah, yes, that is right. But it is a small form of interference. Which means there is only a small price to be paid.¡±

    And then the smile slipped, sadness appearing in his eyes: ¡°Truth be told, my interference here is¡­ not unlike that of the other gods sending messages to their [Priests] via their dreams. Luckily. Or not, because Luck died long ago. Still, the price for a dream is the birth of a Nightmare. Normally it would be released into the Land to wreak havoc. There was a time when a Nightmare such as the one I¡¯ve sent away could¡¯ve been killed by two or three [Dreamers] working together. Now though¡­ maybe an army of them could do it, and even then at a high cost. So¡­ the House decided to help. She¡¯s¡­ taking them all in. The Nightmares born of the gods¡¯ interference. Keeps them in her own dreams and lets them do their thing there when She sleeps.¡±

    He sighed dejectedly, looking down at the black ground, and the smile he¡¯d been sporting all this time, be it true or bitter or fake, was completely gone: ¡°It¡¯s been a long time since she¡¯s had the chance to sleep well.¡±

    He looked up then: ¡°I try to help in the little ways I can: I don¡¯t interfere in the Dream in any way. At most, I walk around and give cryptic tips to the [Dreamers] I meet. Same goes for my [Priests], and even then I seldom make an appearance.¡±

    Liam had followed all this explanation with great interest, his eyes shining with curiosity and hungry for knowledge, even if it was this esoteric. But he had a doubt, and he couldn¡¯t help himself, again, and ask: ¡°Couldn¡¯t Death understand and let it go for this time? I mean, you helped me. And your help here won¡¯t affect the¡­ Waking World, was it?¡±

    Soma chuckled: ¡°Oh, Death understands perfectly. We¡¯re old friends, me and her. Really old friends. But it doesn¡¯t matter. If she made an exception for me, then the other gods would start thinking that she¡¯d make one for them, and she wouldn¡¯t, which would lead to¡­ complications. Consequences, as the Old Man by the Mountains so loves to say. And I agree with her course of actions. The best, and only, way I can help, is by not doing anything. I like this world and its people too much to see it destroyed by my desire to help. So I¡¯ll pay the price. Or let the House pay, rather, and then not interfere again for a long time.¡±

    He sighed and looked thoughtful for a moment, chin placed theatrically on his hand, before he nodded: ¡°Well, since I¡¯m here, might as well do it: tell me, Liam, is there anything you¡¯d like some help with? I¡¯ll allow you to ask one question and one question only to which I will give a cryptic answer to help you through. Yes, only cryptic, because then where would the challenge be, eh?¡±

    Liam stared incredulously at Soma and, for a moment, forgot that the being in front of him was a god. It had happened a lot during this conversation, what with him acting so aloof and nonchalant, completely unlike what he imagined a god would act. Then again, Liam had also never read a single story from Greek mythology, or he would¡¯ve known that most gods didn¡¯t act like the strung up, pole-up-his-ass, God of christianity.

    Then he registered what the god had offered, beginning to think.

    What was a good thing to ask a god about? Well, maybe -

    ¡°And before you start wondering, or, myself forbid, use your question on this, no, I do not know how to solve this world¡¯s problems, be it hunger in Aknos, or the ¡®misfortune¡¯ of Rodar, or how to stop every war. I have no trouble admitting that people better than me have tried to find the answer and failed miserably.¡±

    He stopped for a moment, before adding: ¡°If you want a suggestion: be selfish. Ask a question about a problem concerning yourself. I can help better with those.¡±

    And that removed a weight from Liam¡¯s shoulders: he had seriously felt compelled to ask a question to help humanity as a whole. Although, now that he thought about it, the world contained a lot of things other than humans. Didn¡¯t calling all the people of the world humanity make it racist? Or specesist?

    Whatever, why was he thinking about that right now. It wasn¡¯t important. He had to think up a question for¡­ oh. He was stalling. He feared he would ask the wrong question and¡­ lose something in this god¡¯s eyes.

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Soma, as if he had forgotten something and just remembered, ¡°Another thing: there¡¯s no wrong questions. I won¡¯t look down on you for anything you ask. Airm, or Hell, whichever you prefer, once one of my followers asked me what was the best position to fuck his girlfriend,¡± he chuckled fondly.

    Had.. had he just read his mind?

    ¡°No boy, I¡¯m not reading your mind. ¡®S just that I¡¯ve been doing this for a long time. Also, we¡¯re quite literally inside your head in your dream¡­ in a way. Your doubt is clearly visible as a rainy cloud over your head.¡±

    Liam frowned, then looked up. And indeed, there stood the traitorous rainy cloud, seemingly ready to rain on him.

    Soma waved his hand and the cloud disappeared, together with all his doubts and questions, leaving his mind clear.

    And he sort of knew what to ask.

    You see, at the moment, other than his Nightmares, he¡­ didn¡¯t have any problems. He had a good job as an apprentice under one of the most competent men he¡¯d ever met, he was making good money, he had a roof over his head and food in his belly. He had fun in the evenings and, a few times, had even gone out for drinks at a nearby bar, beginning to make himself some friends. And that was without taking into consideration the [Knights], who sometimes came to visit when they had leave from the army.

    And, while talking about the Nightmares, if all went well by tomorrow night he would have a new necklace to stop them.

    So that left only one thing to ask about: ¡°Recently I¡¯ve had an idea: a weapon, a gun¡­ wait, do you know what a gun is?¡±

    Soma nodded: ¡°Oh, yes, I do. I¡¯ve been around Liam. Traveled a lot in my younger days before I decided to settle down here,¡± he motioned at the darkness around them.

    ¡°Erm¡­ yes, well, I had this idea about¡­ creating a gun that can shoot without pause. No need to recharge, no need to do anything other than press the trigger and aim. Possibly first aim then shoot, actually,¡± he chuckled.

    Soma cocked his head to the side, curiosity piqued: ¡°Hmm, seems interesting. Certainly more interesting than the sexual position at least. What¡¯s your problem with this creation of yours?¡±

    Liam mulled that over for a moment, wondering how to phrase the question.

    Then, finally, he found it: ¡°Sigmund, my teacher, says that to enchant an item one must inscribe a Spell into an item. And I¡¯ve been wondering: how would I go about inscribing a spell capable of doing what I desire? It would be complex beyond imagination. And then there¡¯s the issue of storing ammunition, of getting it back, of actually shooting it. It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s impossible, is what it is. But I want to try. So¡­ do you know where I should start? And how.¡±

    Soma¡¯s eyebrows had been steadily raising towards his light brown hair (he really didn¡¯t have anything special about his looks, except for the extreme paleness), and when Liam finished, he crossed his hands under his chin and began looking thoughtful.

    Then he spoke: ¡°You know? There was a time when they called me the God of Crafters. It was eons ago. Practically another world,¡± he chuckled at some inside joke, ¡°But I guess that¡¯s what I get for being the God of Impossibilities and, sometimes, helping crafters making impossible things.

    ¡°But here¡¯s the thing Liam: what you¡¯re asking me, it¡¯s not impossible. Oh, it¡¯s certainly complex, don¡¯t get me wrong. So complex it could actually be considered impossible, but only complex. After all, I don¡¯t see anything like it in my Domain. Still, I can help.¡±

    He moved slightly forwards in his chair, his eyes completely on Liam, and said: ¡°Here¡¯s the thing: I think yours is a problem of space. What you¡¯re describing, it¡¯s going to take up a lot of that.¡±

    He snapped his fingers and, out of nowhere, a gun appeared in his raised right hand, a dusty old Colt, and showed it to Liam: ¡°Look at this. I think guns are still more or less this big, right? Well, imagine having to scribe a Spell like the one you¡¯re thinking about into something this small. Now that, that would actually be impossible, even if the world hadn¡¯t forgotten how to layer Spells.

    ¡°So, what you do is, you create space to scribe on. It¡¯s as simple as that.¡±

    Liam frowned: ¡°Wait, how do I create more space? It¡¯s a gun. I can¡¯t just add more spa -¡±

    Before he could finish Soma flicked his hand and the Colt¡¯s cylinder clicked to the side with a clean sound. He upended the bullets inside, which clacked noisily to the ground one by one, five of them, and looked at Liam through the holes where they¡¯d been stored for who knows how long, putting his finger into one, or rather, trying to, and moving it around to clean something.

    ¡°Damn, I must¡¯ve forgotten this one there for a millenia at least. Gotta remember to clean it,¡± he said, taking an oiled rag out of the air and beginning to pass it slowly over the gun¡¯s barrel.

    But that didn¡¯t matter to Liam. What had mattered had been that single moment of Soma showing him the cylinder and putting a finger in it, looking annoyed at the fact they were too small.

    ¡°Spatial magic. Like¡­ a Bag of Holding. I could do the same to the components of the gun, inscribe the Spells on them, and then assemble it all. It¡­ it could work!¡±

    And at that, Soma smiled, still cleaning the single action gun.

    And then looked up, as if expecting to see the sun or the moon.

    ¡°Well, it looks like you were just in time Liam. Night¡¯s ended. Time to wake up.¡±

    He waved at Liam and, before he could wave back or even so much as say ¡®thank you¡¯, he found himself opening his eyes in bed and staring at the ceiling, goosebumps all over his arms.

    Then he got up. Now that he had an idea of how to start, there was work to be done.

 Chapter 14: Treasure Hunt

    Issekina Silksoul was a girl of many talents: she was a [Soul Shaper], she was a [Spy], she had some basic knowledge when it came to weaving and, if you counted Siidi as an integral part of her (like she did) instead of just a person living in her head, then she was also a [Soul Curator]. That was a lot of talents for a girl who was, by the standards of this world, not even a year old. Stars, even if you considered the previous seventeen years of her life back on Earth, you¡¯d still be hard pressed to find someone her age that had as many Classes and Levels as her. But that, obviously, didn¡¯t matter, because Earth lacked a System. The gods there had been merciful, in the times when there had been more than one.

    Still, you know what they say: Jack of all Trades, Master of None. Now, Isse was far from being a Jack of all Trades, even in her main Class¡­ or did she, seeing how she was probably the last Soul Mage in the world? If you¡¯re the only one of your kind in doing something, does that make you a master of it? That wasn¡¯t the kind of questions she was asking herself, naturally, these are just an Author¡¯s wonderings and musings.

    What Isse was wondering was where Albert kept the interesting books. The man had a collection of academic reading materials that would garner the approval of her English teacher, and while it was interesting, because even a history book of this world read like a fantasy novel from Earth, she had come to appreciate the beauty and complexity of the stories written for entertainment in this world. After all, when you lived in a place where your neighbor knew magic and dragons were a thing you had to work hard to create something capable of entertaining your readers. She¡¯d also found out that biographies and autobiographies were much more popular than on Earth.

    But, again, she wasn¡¯t looking for those. She wanted fantasy books and she would find them. That, or the secret stash of porn that Albert probably had hidden somewhere. Like, come on! All men had one.

    Albert walked into the chaos that had become his kitchen, looked at the books strewn all over the table, the ones piled carefully on the floor, the ones dangerously close to the oven (it wasn¡¯t on, but it was sooty after he had used it for lunch), assessed the situation, nodded, and turned around trying to escape whatever this was.

    He failed.

    ¡°Are these all the books you have? Don¡¯t you have something more¡­ entertaining?¡±

    Albert sighed in relief. For a moment there he¡¯d feared¡­ what? He actually didn¡¯t know. Gods dammit, his old age was finally catching up with his nerves.

    ¡°Meh, not much of a reader myself. I¡¯m married to my job, or so Creanza says. I¡¯m not that bad.¡±

    Isse stared at Albert for a single moment, stupor clearly evident on her face: ¡°Albert, in your free time you polish gears.¡±

    ¡°And file them into shape. Or divide them by type. Or make coils. Or chains. Or any other components of the apparatuses. So what? It¡¯s relaxing? Just repetitive, precise, motions. It¡¯s second nature by now.¡±

    He¡¯d actually done it. He¡¯d actually become something close to any capitalist¡¯s wet dream of a tireless worker who does menial tasks and is happy about it.

    ¡°Albert, you know, sometimes you scare me,¡± she said with a slight note of disgust.

    He laughed out loud: ¡°I sure hope I do girl. Seems rightful payback with how much you scare me sometimes.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not scary,¡± she said with a pout, arms crossed in fake outrage.

    ¡°Oh, sure, an arachne, a being born to be a killing machine, who turned her bedroom in a giant nest of silk and who purposefully acts creepy whenever she can is not scary at all,¡± his lips were quirked and she noticed a quick bobbing of his throat as he attempted to hold in a chuckle.

    ¡°What¡¯s so creepy about the way I act?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know. Maybe, as an example, how every time I enter a room you¡¯re in I find you staring my way when I open the door? Actually, how do you do that? I know for a fact I don¡¯t make any noise when I walk around.¡±

    She shrugged: ¡°That¡¯s not creepy. It¡¯s just how we do it. It¡¯s a funny little gag,¡± she chuckled, then her hand moved towards the ground, to the gown of her dress, and she pinched something between her fingers, lifting it upwards.

    ¡°And as for how, sure, you don¡¯t make any sound when you walk, which, by the way, is much creepier than what I do, but you don¡¯t have eyes that can see through things.¡±

    Albert squinted at Isse¡¯s hand as she moved it around, towards the light coming from the window. When the rays of sunlight hit her extended arm, something appeared: a little bit of string.

    ¡°I tied this to my leg and the door. It broke when you opened it.¡±

    All the doors in the house opened towards the central corridor, which made it much easier to set up these little wires. Had it been any other way she would¡¯ve probably been scared by Albert multiple times a day. He was so silent you sometimes could forget he was in the same room as you.

    ¡°Ah, cute little trick. And the silk is so fine it doesn¡¯t even oppose any resistance when I open the door, so I never noticed. Well, now that I know your trick I know how to get around it, dear.¡±

    She laughed incredulously: ¡°Get around it? What, you gonna start walking through the walls? Enter rooms from the windows?¡±

    Albert smiled, and she did not like how gleeful it looked: ¡°Now where would the fun be if I told you.¡±

    ¡­ You know what? Let¡¯s web the door and window shut in our room, proposed Siidi

    Agreed.

    Meanwhile Albert smiled as he had an idea.

    <hr>

    The next day Isse woke up to the sound of Albert grunting in effort around the stairs to the second floor.

    Blearily, she opened her eyes and let them get used to the light filtering through her silk, glad she didn¡¯t have to worry about squinting or getting blinded. She turned around in her empty hammock, feeling the empty space beside her and not feeling anything in her chest constrict in sadness because of it. She loved and hated the lack of feelings there. On one side, she didn¡¯t feel like her heart would tear itself apart and, sometimes, like yesterday, she could smile and laugh and be merry. At the same time, she knew this was unnatural, that it was wrong and that, to obtain this ¡®peace¡¯, she had to pay the price of being unable to recall the happiness of her past life in full, both the one in this world and the one on Earth.

    Slowly, carefully, she put her legs underneath her and skittered down her hammock to the ground and outside, carefully removing the webs she¡¯d used to seal her door shut after Albert¡¯s admission of having a fun idea. In that moment, he had sounded exactly like Makira when she got a horrible idea to prank someone, and she¡¯d come to fear that tone, like everyone else in the clan.

    It¡¯s understandable, then, that she was a bit apprehensive when she opened the door and peeked out, expecting at least a bucket of cold water over it, at most a web (or rather, a net). Instead she only saw Albert finish dragging a small wooden crate up the stairs, huffing and puffing as he placed it down and went to noisily crack his spine multiple times, limbering up.

    She looked back and forth between the box and the man, before finally leaving her room and asking: ¡°What in Airm are you doing?¡±

    Albert looked away from that spot on the wall he¡¯d started staring at pensively and at her.

    ¡°Ah, good morning Isse. Oh, it¡¯s nothing: today was market day and, seeing how you had lamented a lack of¡­ interesting, if probably lacking in quality, reading material, I decided to get you a little present.¡±

    Isse¡¯s eyes alighted in happiness when she heard that, her legs moving with a will of their own closer to the crate, her hands moving to the lid excitedly.

    Then she stopped, looking up at Albert for permission, which he gave with a small nod and a smile.

    That was when she opened the crate and found herself in heaven. Or Larnos. Or however you prefer to call it. The covers were all made out of leather with different colors: some were red, others black, some still even purple! There weren¡¯t any images printed on them, naturally, only the titles embossed in gold or silver letters.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    She took one at random and read the title: The Mother of Dragons.

    Then she looked down and read a few more: The War of Worms, The Witch of Fear, The Arsonist and the Necromancer, Pirates and Stars, The Clockworker¡¯s Last Day, and many many more. Most of them were trilogies, and quite thick at that.

    She looked up at Albert and, after a moment of hesitation, opened her arms and gave him a big, if short, hug.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she whispered.

    Reading was something she had missed a lot in this world. Oh, sure, the arachne had had a small ¡®library¡¯, if you could call a wall of spidersilk with two dozen books hanging from it a library. And most of them weren¡¯t even fun to read! They were, well, like the books she¡¯d found in Albert¡¯s library before.

    So, yes, she had missed this.

    Books? Here? To read? I want them! Gimme gimme gimme! said quite enthusiastically Siidi in her mind, making her smile grow just a little bigger.

    Isse chuckled in the hug and skittered away a step.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m gonna start reading then. Thank you so very much again.¡±

    She looked down, trying to decide what she was going to read first, and again today Albert came to the rescue.

    Groaning, he bowed down and, after inspecting the titles for a moment, took one: ¡°The [Book Merchant] I bought these from said that this was his favorite and that he suggested you start with it.¡±

    The book was as thick as two of her fingers, which wasn¡¯t that much, but it was probably enough to start with. The cover was a deep, dark, red and the silvery title read: The Mind [Detective].

    ¡°It¡¯s a trilogy of short books. I think he defined them as ¡®short but breathtaking¡¯. Wanna try it?¡±

    She did and, nodding, took the book in her hands, sinking her fingers in the soft cover and already savoring the sensation of turning the pages, of feeling the paper in her fingers and smelling the scent of paper and ink.

    Albert watched her as she skittered towards the kitchen and, for a single moment, felt bad about what he was about to do.

    <hr>

    The jolly murderer, feet crossed on top of the table, smiled and threw the coin at the [Detective], who caught it in mid air, not letting it touch the table. Nobody really knew what Skills the man had, therefore it was best not to take any risks.

    ¡°What face did it land on?¡± he asked cheerfully, a hand moving to his chin in exaggerated curiosity while he let the other fall limply towards the floor.

    Against his better judgment he looked down at the simple bit of metal in his hand and saw¡­ a man, kneeling in front of a woman, who had her hand placed kindly on his shoulder. Around them was carved time and time again the word ¡®Forgive¡¯. This was no coin he had ever seen.

    ¡°What game are you playing?¡±

    The man chuckled: ¡°Oh, no game. Not this time. I¡¯ve led you ¡®round and ¡®round up ¡®till now, and you¡¯ve been a great adversary. That, and my purpose is done. I¡¯ve played my game, put the cards down, taken the chips, bowed to the deserving audience and grimaced at my worst enemies. You weren¡¯t one of them, by the way.¡±

    The [Detective] looked at him, then down at the coin, finally sitting down at the table and placing it far enough away that the murderer couldn¡¯t have reached it without moving around a lot.

    ¡°What is this?¡± he asked.

    ¡°That, is a Storyteller¡¯s Coin. A strange little trinket I found outside the Walls. A coin with seven faces, supposedly once used by [Writers] and their ilk to choose how their stories went. It was said that, at any given moment, a character always had seven possible choices: four basic ones, represented by Heads, Tails, the Side and the Other Side, then Forgiveness, Forgetfulness, and finally Chaos. It was also said that anyone could ever throw the coin and get the seventh side, Chaos, only seven times in their life. After the seventh, they would die.¡±

    He chuckled, moving an arm grandiously, as if he weren¡¯t sprawled in the most uncomfortable position possible on a small chair: ¡°Care to guess how many times I got the Seventh side?¡±

    Isse kept reading rapturously, uncaring of the world around her, feeling like she was standing right beside that table, watching the (admittedly very clich¨¦) dark and broody [Detective] confront his polar opposite, the ever cheerful murderer simply known as Chaos. Again, not very imaginative in the character design, but that wasn¡¯t the important bit, oh no, not by a great stretch: the interesting part was the rest of the story: the investigation, the past of the people who had died slowly revealing a global conspiracy, the lives of the people outside the Walls, and¡­ it was simply amazing.

    ¡°How¡¯s the reading?¡± asked Albert, who had peeked through the door into her room, a rueful smile in place.

    ¡°This is the best thing I¡¯ve read in a very long while,¡± she answered without looking up from the page, putting a finger where she¡¯d stopped to make sure not to lose that point.

    ¡°I¡¯m happy to hear that. Well, if you need me, I¡¯ll be out for a commission, so please don¡¯t need me because I don¡¯t want you to go alone to the noble¡¯s quarter, alright?¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± she said rather dismissively.

    She heard him chuckle and leave, then went back to that room, to that table and its two occupants. For the first time since she¡¯d arrived in this city, she felt truly at home.

    [Reader Level 2!]

    [Skill - Bookmark Obtained!]

    [Soul Curator Level 10!]

    [Skill - I Saw Through Eyes of My Own Obtained!]

    <hr>

    The next morning Isse woke up in her comfortable hammock, her book lying by her side, finished. It had taken her around two days, but she¡¯d finished it. The ending¡­

    Nope, I won¡¯t spoiler that part, sorry. Still, the ending was great, and it had left her with so many questions that she hoped would be answered in the future.

    Slowly, and sluggishly, she moved around the remnants of the candle by which she had read late into the night, book safely kept tucked against her navel.

    Walking out of her room she didn¡¯t notice the unnatural silence of the house: usually at this hour she could hear Albert in the kitchen cooking up something, but today, there was only silence. The reason revealed itself soon enough after she opened the door to the kitchen: on the table was a big plate of crispy bacon and eggs  covered by another plate with a little note left beside it.

    It read: Sorry Isse, had to go on a sudden job. Will see you soon. Have a good breakfast.

    Isse had never noticed, but Albert¡¯s writing was rather hurried and clipped, as if he was always ready to bolt whenever he sat down, and yet it somehow managed to also be rather neat and very readable.

    Well, at least he got us food, said Siidi with an undertone of approval, Did you also Level Up last night?

    And at that, she smiled: Yes! I got a new Class, [Reader]! With a useful Skill too!

    She called upon her new Skill, [Bookmark], and a bit of string appeared in her hand. It was red and looked ethereal, as if it would disappear in a puff of smoke the moment she let go of it. Experimentally, she opened her book and placed it inside, noticing how the moment it touched the page the little string became more solid, more there.

    ¡°This is so cool.¡±

    She heard Siidi laugh in her mind and joined her with a smile. She was a [Mage], she had seen wonders in Grandmother¡¯s soul, things both happy and soul wrecking, and still she could marvel at something so simple. Truly, she was still a child at heart sometimes. A broken child, but a child still.

    ¡°Did you Level? I think I heard it, but I¡¯m not sure.¡±

    Yes, I reached Level 10! I got a cool capstone Skill! [I Saw Through Eyes of My Own]! Finally something good!!!

    ¡°[I Saw Through Eyes of My Own]? What¡¯s it do?¡±

    I can now see without having to look through your eyes. I¡¯m no longer bound to your sight!

    Even Isse could understand just how incredible, and useful, that was: ¡°You can quite literally watch my back now.¡±

    Exactly! And if you ever find another lover, I can decide to look away from your subpar lovemaking.

    ¡°Hey!! Last time you said I did well!¡±

    You can do better.

    They kept on bantering as Isse put down the book in the library and sat on her haunches to eat. They laughed and talked about the book and, for a while, forgot about everything. This was the true power of a story, the power of literature: the ability to make people become someone else, to change their thoughts and change the way they saw the world, to shape a better reality. That was a book¡¯s purpose.

    A purpose which the next book of that trilogy would¡¯ve gladly fulfilled¡­ had it been there.

    After they finished breakfast Isse and Siidi skittered to the library and began looking for where Albert had placed the next book of the ¡®The Mind [Detective]¡¯ series, but they couldn¡¯t find it. They spent ten minutes fruitlessly looking through all of them, but¡­ it just wasn¡¯t there.

    Isse, I¡­ I noticed something, said Siidi, and her tone didn¡¯t promise anything good.

    ¡°What?¡±

    These books¡­ they¡¯re all the first in a trilogy or a pair or anything. There¡¯s no ¡®book 2¡¯ here, no books that are just the one. They¡¯re all the start, but there¡¯s no ending.

    Slowly, realization dawned on Isse as she realized just what her soul half meant.

    Then she felt angry. Then she wanted to laugh. Finally, she wanted to bite Albert. Her poison wasn¡¯t lethal, but it had to be unpleasant, right?

    Look, there¡¯s a note up there.

    Isse looked up and, sure enough, there was a small piece of paper tucked between two of Albert¡¯s ¡®serious¡¯ books. Gingerly, she took it out, reading it.

    Hello dear Isse. If you¡¯ve found this note it means you¡¯ve probably noticed that most of the books I bought you are gone. Indeed, I took all the follow up books hostage and am keeping them hidden in a secret little place. If you want them back, you¡¯ll have to find it. Good luck!

    Isse screamed bloody murder.

 Chapter 15: Let the Hunt Begin

    How are we going to torture him when we find him? asked Siidi.

    Now, normally Isse would¡¯ve told her that she was exaggerating, that torture was too much and some more moralistic shit. That is, normally. At  the moment, she didn¡¯t feel like being humane and kind. At the moment she was pissed and feeling rather murderous.

    ¡°How about tying him to the ceiling and tickling him?¡±

    Girl, if this is what happens when you¡¯re feeling murderous then I fear what you¡¯ll do to the King when we get to him.

    ¡°Yeah, well, Albert has committed a great sin by taking away the follow up books, but he¡¯s not massacred our Clan at least. So he only gets tickle torture.¡±

    Hmm¡­ sounds reasonable.

    She took the little note in her hands and read it again. Nope, there was no hidden meaning that she could discern, only that Albert was being a bastard.

    ¡°Why did he do this?¡±

    Honestly? I have no idea.

    She stared at the piece of paper as if it contained all the answers to her life¡¯s problems (which it sort of did right now), willing the words to make more sense, or to unlock some new meaning, but the letters sadly didn¡¯t change like they did in many of those stories of magics and secrets.

    ¡°Do you think he disappeared from the house to survive the worst of our fury?¡±

    Probably. Joke¡¯s on him though, we can keep a grudge.

    Indeed they could, and they would.

    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s think this through. What do we know?¡±

    ¡­ That the books are gone and that Albert isn¡¯t here, apparently gone for a sudden job.

    ¡°So, not much.¡±

    Isse, I don¡¯t want to be a stick in the mud, but we aren¡¯t exactly [Detectives].

    ¡°Yes, but I¡¯m a [Spy]. I should be able to do thi -¡± she stopped before she could finish the sentence, realization dawning on her.

    ¡°Oh, you piece of shit. This is training.¡±

    What?

    ¡°He¡¯s trying to train me in a novel way. Taking away something I want and making me find it. Just like a [Spy]. The bastard.¡±

    So this is training. Shitty training. Oh come the fuck on, you can¡¯t be serious. I hate you life!

    Yes, they both really liked books.

    ¡°Considering our luck he¡¯ll just disappear wherever he went and not come back until we¡¯ve solved this.¡±

    ¡­Then we better get to it.

    Isse looked back down at the piece of paper and sat down on the ground, curling her spidery legs underneath her to stay comfortable and trying to speculate.

    ¡°So, we know he has the books, or at least he knows where they¡¯re hidden. So, the best way to get them back is by finding him.¡±

    But he¡¯s not here.

    ¡°Bright observation Watson.¡±

    Who¡¯s Watson? Oh, that¡¯s who? Poor man. He needs a lot of patience.

    ¡°Wait, are you looking at the memories of the books or the TV series?¡±

    There¡¯s a TV Series? Oh, yes, there is. Oh Stars, Sherlock is a real piece of shit in this one.

    ¡°Yeah. Anyways, we don¡¯t know where he is¡­¡± and then an idea hit her, ¡°But we do know where he was yesterday. He said he had to go to a noble¡¯s home.¡±

    Yes, and he also said he didn¡¯t want us to go there. And I¡¯m keen on agreeing with him on that one. [Lords] and their ilk have a habit of being unpredictable.

    Yes, there was that too, but the main problem was actually: ¡°Yeah, but we don¡¯t even know which noble he went to work for.¡±

    They fell silent for a while longer, sitting on the ground and scrabbling for a solution. They wanted those books, with all of themselves, which meant they had to play this little game, however childish and possibly dangerous it may be.

    It was Siidi who came up with a solution: We don¡¯t know where he went, sure, but we do know someone who could know.

    ¡°Who?¡±

    The Tea Woman from the Empty Hearted¡¯s Rest. She seemed to know Albert.

    A lightbulb popped on it Isse¡¯s head as she understood what she meant and smiled.

    ¡°Siidi, you¡¯re a motherfucking genius.¡±

    I try.

    They began the hunt.

    <hr>

    The hunt, as it turns out, was extremely slow, because they didn¡¯t remember the way to the Boneless Dancer. Which, you know, understandable, seeing how they¡¯d still been sort of an emotional wreck on the way in and a generally empty husk on the way out.

    Luckily for them the Dancer was a rather famous establishment in the city, so there was no lack of people more than willing to tell a ¡®good looking young woman¡¯ (yes, that¡¯s how one of the men had called her in an attempt to flirt) about its location. It still took them more or less an hour to reach it, but in the end they did it.

    Well, at least in this city you don¡¯t have to think in three dimensions, tried to joke Siidi.

    What? In three dimensions?

    When every member of your species has the ability to climb walls and cling on ceilings the architects of your city work with the idea that people will do just that. We had apartment complexes, but we had no need to waste space on creating stairs.

    That¡­ sounded actually cool.

    Anyways, here they were: the bar outside was painted a bright yellow with red stripes here and there, with a mural of a skeleton attempting, and probably failing, to dance with legs made of jellified bones. It was childish and stupid and funny and she liked it.

    The bar was also open, a steady stream of chatter and trickle of people coming from inside.

    I like it. It reminds me of home, said Isse.

    She remembered a place like this one near her home back on Earth, a little corner caf¨¦ that had never lacked clients, with walls painted in hearty colors and a mural made by a few art students representing a group of patrons laughing with beers in their hand. A warm and welcoming place to rest your weary soul and feel like part of something, even if only for a short while, by playing a game of cards with the local old men or attempting to beat at darts a half drunk semi-permanent client and discovering that he was a better shot than you even when buzzed.

    This place gave her the same feeling of homeliness and merriment now, a completely different side from the one it had shown her during the ¡®Empty Hearted¡¯s Rest¡¯.

    Slowly, nearly reverentially, she skittered inside, and entered a small world separate from the one inside. A world of background chatter and laughter and smell of good food and coffee.

    Wait, coffee?

    Oh my god Siidi, this place has coffee.

    And it was also one of the few places in the world where one could get it. The beverage had been discovered rather recently in the Kingdom of Occultism by a now-rich [Druid] who had a, as his friends liked to put it, bad habit of trying to make infusions out of anything. That was how he¡¯d found the tasty beverage and, some experimentation later, started to sell it. It was not, for now, widespread, but the few places that served it could never have enough.

    Please don¡¯t get addicted again, I have your memories of what that felt like and I have no desire to get a taste of it.

    Oh come on, it wasn¡¯t so bad.

    Girl, your hands couldn¡¯t stop shaking for a while. Wait, what¡¯s this? The ¡®Student¡¯s Coffee¡¯? What the hell kind of abomination is this.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    A moment of silence, then: It is dark knowledge that should never be shared, nor used.

    Slight horror filled the background of Isse¡¯s thoughts as Siidi agreed with that last statement.

    ¡°Good morning and welcome to the Boneless Dancer miss. My name¡¯s Lavia, would you like a table?¡± said a chipper and airy voice by her side.

    Isse turned around so fast she heard her neck crick and saw¡­ a birdkin? Her body was human in all aspects, except that her arms were wings with talons at the end, while her legs looked distinctly chicken-like, with feathers that were a warm, brown, color.

    Oh, a harpy, said Siidi, That¡¯s a sight you don¡¯t see every day.

    Isse smiled: ¡°Good morning Miss Lavia. I¡¯m not here to buy sadly, I haven¡¯t brought my coin pouch,¡± she actually didn¡¯t have one, something she should solve soon, ¡°I¡¯m here on¡­ you could say business. Say, could I speak with your Teamaker?¡±

    And that was when Isse knew she¡¯d made a blunder: the harpy¡¯s smile became waxy as her eyes began darting around to check if anyone else had heard. Luckily for both of them, nobody had.

    Faster than the eye could blink, the woman bowed down towards Isse¡¯s ear and whispered: ¡°Miss, I remember you  from a few nights ago, during the ¡®Rest¡¯. I had thought Albert would¡¯ve told you, but we speak neither of those evenings nor of our Teamaker. She likes her privacy.¡±

    Ah. Well, that was a bad start.

    ¡°I understand, Miss Lavia. I am sorry. Still, the matter remains, I need to speak with¡­ someone. I am looking for Albert. He said he was going out for a job in the nobles¡¯ quarter, but he¡¯s forgotten something home and I¡¯d like to bring it to him. Would you know where he went? Or know someone who could know?¡± she lied.

    Lavia raised a bushy eyebrow and, after a second, nodded.

    ¡°I think I know someone.¡±

    She motioned her to follow and began walking towards the counter at the back of the room.

    It was made out of polished wood, clearly well kept, even though here and there one could see signs of wear and use in the form of burn marks (how had those gotten there?) and old stains. She ¡®sat¡¯ in one of the comfortable stools, her dress weaving the illusion of her being sat there, and waited as Lavia went to tell something to a woman behind the counter.

    She was a strikingly¡­ normal human. Her hair was a dull brown, her eyes a dark green, like the first grasses that come out of the winter snow, and the rest of her wasn¡¯t much to talk about. An absolutely normal, common, person. But her smile, oh, her smile warmed the room, and the sound of her laughter brightened the bar. Was it a Skill, or was she just that charismatic?

    When Lavia went to talk to her she stopped listening to a man¡¯s woes and worries in front of her, her brows furrowing, then relaxing, until she burst out into mirthful laughter and wiped a tear from her left eye.

    She excused herself from the customer, promising she would be coming back in a few moments, and offered him the drink, before walking towards Isse.

    When they met face to face, the woman nodded in recognition and offered her hand to shake: ¡°Hello cutie, I¡¯m Creanza, the [Barista] here. And you would be Isse, Albert¡¯s new partner in crime. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.¡±

    Her smile was joking and sort of merry and it only grew when Isse shook her hand back. The woman had a surprisingly strong grip.

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m Isse, although I wouldn¡¯t call us partners in crime. More like¡­ a caretaker?¡± she remembered the lie Albert had told that man at the gates and added, ¡°I¡¯m his niece.¡±

    And at that, Creanza laughed again, bending at the waist and smacking her leg. The arachne didn¡¯t know what was so funny about this.

    Then she lowered herself towards her illusion¡¯s ear, looking around conspiratorially in a very exaggerated manner and whispering faintly: ¡°I know there¡¯s more to it Isse. Albert doesn¡¯t have any family left in this world. He¡¯s an orphan. I don¡¯t know the whole story, and I don¡¯t really want to, what would I even do with the information? Force him to come here and buy more stuff?¡± she chuckled, and the sound was real, but still Isse shivered. This woman was more than what she gave away.

    ¡°Anyways,¡± she rose, clapping her hands, ¡°What would you like to get? Can I treat you to some juice? Or maybe you¡¯d prefer something more alcoholic? You certainly look like you¡¯re old enough for that, although that rule is preeeeeetty elastic here. Or maybe I could tempt you with some of our special tea blends? How does ¡®Evening Sun with an Aftertaste of Puppeteer¡¯ sound to you?¡±

    Isse frowned: ¡°What in Airm is that?¡±

    ¡°Oh, well, a friend of mine likes to make strange teas. They taste great, but she never tells me what she puts in them, so I just come up with silly names based on what they make me feel. Well, me and the [Chef] back there. He made up the name for this one. Or, if you¡¯re more interested in trying new stuff, I could offer you a coffee. On the house, naturally. First time is always on the house.¡±

    Clearly Creanza was also a very attentive woman, because she immediately noticed Isse¡¯s eyes light up at the mention of coffee and smiled: ¡°Ah, Albert already introduced you to his most recent addiction? Well, it is quite the good drink, although I wouldn¡¯t suggest drinking too much in one go: at best you won¡¯t sleep tonight, at worst it¡¯ll come out the other way still liquid.¡±

    People around them groaned in disgust and told Creanza to fuck off, they were eating, to which the woman answered with an exaggerated grimace and a giggle.

    ¡°A¡­ a coffee will do,¡± finally managed to answer Isse. This woman was a lot.

    Creanza nodded and sauntered off to the kitchen, telling someone inside that she, using her words, ¡®was needy for a coffee¡¯, which prompted a male voice from inside to tell her to fuck off. A true professional that one.

    Then she came back and, after snapping her fingers, sat down on a chair that hadn¡¯t been there a moment before. Seeing Isse¡¯s puzzled face she chuckled: ¡°A Skill of Mine: [Summon Comfortable Chair]. Got it at Level 23, evolved from a simple [Summon Chair]. I do have to admit that this one is much more comfy than the rickety wooden thing I could call before. Sadly it disappears once I get up and has a one day cooldown. What a bummer!¡±

    She put her face on her fist, grousing, then lit back up and looked right at her: ¡°Anyways, I heard from Lavia you¡¯re looking for poor, lost, Albert. He went and disappeared somewhere, forgetting his stuff, and now you¡¯re looking for him to give him all of it, right?¡±

    Isse nodded. It was a lie, but it also wasn¡¯t. She did indeed have a box of gears she¡¯d taken at random from his workshop, and she knew so little about his job that, for all she knew, he had forgotten something. So it wasn¡¯t a lie¡­ technically. A Truth Spell would¡¯ve probably flashed a color between truth and lie.

    Creanza nodded: ¡°That¡¯s a good one kiddo. Not the best I¡¯ve heard, you can work on it a lot more, but it¡¯s in the middle ground.¡±

    Wait, the woman knew it was a lie? Well, alright, it wasn¡¯t even a good one, she had expected some doubt, but not to be directly found out. Nor to be sort of complemented for it.

    ¡°Erm¡­¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll have all the time in the world to work on that.¡±

    ¡°... Are you some sort of [Spy] yourself?¡± she whispered.

    The woman laughed, taking a few seconds to calm down. She really was the boisterous type.

    ¡°Goodness me no! I¡¯d rather eat a bucket of cow shit -¡± more groans around them ¡°- every day of my life for the rest of my miserable existence than become that. No no no, I¡¯m happy where I am in this bar.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s just a huge fucking gossip!¡± said someone from somewhere behind her in the crowd.

    And while Isse couldn¡¯t understand who had spoken, Creanza immediately pointed her finger at someone she couldn¡¯t quite see and said: ¡°Watch your mouth Sherry or I¡¯ll cut you off your coffees.¡±

    ¡°Gods forbid!¡± shouted back the same voice.

    And then Creanza gave all her attention back to Isse again, or as much of it she had given before. The woman seemed to know exactly what was happening everywhere inside her bar.

    ¡°Now,¡± she continued, ¡°I know where Albert went.  I can even give you directions, although I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll forget them two streets from here, so instead I¡¯ll haul you a carriage and tell it to bring you there. But first,¡± she extended her hand forwards and wiggled her fingers, ¡°Pay up.¡±

    Isse goggled at the hand, then up at Creanza, who was smiling as if she¡¯d just told a funny joke and was expecting the person in front of her to laugh.

    It wasn¡¯t funny.

    ¡°What do you mean pay up?¡±

    ¡°I mean that you have to pay for the information. We accept all types of coins, from copper to regals, although if you had one of those I probably would need to go to the Merchant¡¯s Guild to make sure it¡¯s a real one. I also accept payment in secrets and gossip, and no, I cannot accept secrets about Albert, we have a deal about that.¡±

    Isse¡¯s mouth opened, then remained open as she tried to think of something to say, then closed.

    Creanza chuckled: ¡°Yes, you¡¯re pretty new at this. Here¡¯s the thing girl: in the business you want to become a part of, money and secrets are the two things you must always have a good amount of. Money can buy secrets, secrets can buy you other secrets or what you desire, or other people. And secrets are worth money. It¡¯s the perfect circular economy. Wait, do you know what circular economy is?¡±

    She nodded, then shrugged: ¡°I may have a problem: I don¡¯t have any money on me. Like, at all.¡±

    Lavia placed a big cup of coffee on the counter in front of her, bowed, and left, but Isse didn¡¯t launch herself at it, instead looking Creanza straight in the eyes.

    ¡°Oh, we can arrange something dearie. How about this: I¡¯ll tell you what you want to know, and in exchange you¡¯ll owe me a favor. How does that sound?¡±

    She offered her hand to shake, but Isse didn¡¯t immediately do that.

    ¡°What would the favor be?¡±

    Creanza smiled merrily and nodded: ¡°Oh, nothing untoward. It¡¯ll probably be something along the lines of ¡®work in my bar for a day¡¯ or something like that. The information you¡¯re asking for, after all, isn¡¯t that important.¡±

    Isse hesitated a moment more, but was convinced when, for the first time, Siidi entered the conversation: Do it for the books!

    Fuck off, you¡¯re not the one who¡¯s going to have to serve tables.

    Do it for the booooooooooks, repeated Siidi, her voice seeming more distant, and causing her to chuckle.

    Well, fuck it, we¡¯ve come so far.

    She shook Creanza¡¯s hand: ¡°Alright, you¡¯ve got yourself a deal.¡±

    <hr>

    As the carriage carrying Issekina left towards a particular house of the nobles¡¯ district, Creanza watched her go with a small smile and, when she was completely out of sight, a shake of her head.

    ¡°Albert, you piece of shit, you were right. You always are. She went and did exactly what you predicted.¡±

    She looked back at her bar, at her clients and her serving staff, before sighing, her smile disappearing for a moment as she looked back out, at the cruel world they all lived in, the world that she tried so hard every day to keep out of her establishment, to let the people forget for even a single moment. The world that she and the people who worked for her were slowly, painstakingly, trying to push out of this city.

    It was a futile battle, she knew it, but it was her dream, and for that impossible dream she would do anything. That was how she kept on Leveling. That was how she managed, every day, to smile.

    It was, in her opinion, worth it, every time.

    So she watched the girl go, and hoped that Albert would help her achieve what she desired. That, in the end, she would look at the world as it was and say ¡®I want to change it¡¯.

    She would gladly have her among her friends.

 Chapter 16: The Hunts End

    Twenty minutes of carriage ride later, Isse found herself in front of a nobleman¡¯s mansion.

    It was surrounded by high walls of brick and mortar topped off by iron spikes that she would¡¯ve guessed were both decorative and functional, seeing just how pointy they were. The carriage had deposited her in front of an intricately assembled metal gate that reminded her slightly of a snowflake. Elegant, yet simple, with criss crossing lines that seemed to change every time you looked at them.

    Two [Guards] stood attentively at its sides, standing in a relaxed manner and yet looking around at the people passing by them with sharp eyes. Right now they were staring at Isse and, in particular, at her dress of Shifting Silk, which now made her look like a noblewoman in her own right, with a flowing gown of green that fluttered just above the ground and a flattering dress that hugged her upper body comfortably and slightly enticingly while not showing any skin. The coachman did a double take at her before leaving, since she¡¯d entered wearing something else entirely.

    One of the guards stepped forward and bowed his head slightly, asking in a deep voice: ¡°Good morning miss. Are you here to visit the Lord or Lady Serafia?¡±

    Goodness me, the dress actually helped? asked Siidi with a smile in her tone.

    Good clothes make for wealthy people, and wealthy people are ones to be respected, she answered back, citing Master¡¯s words during one of his lessons.

    ¡°As a matter of fact, no. I am here on¡­ business, with the clockmaker your Lady hired, one Albert Sirion. I am his apprentice,¡± saying that the lady of the house had hired Albert was probably the best move in this situation, because no matter what, she would¡¯ve managed to get out of this conversation scot free. Had Albert not actually been here, she could¡¯ve just said that she must¡¯ve gotten the wrong information from him; while had he been here as a friend, because that was also a chance seeing how many people Albert knew, why would two no name guards know the actual reason for him being here? And even if they had, who was to say that Albert hadn¡¯t lied to her and said he was here for work?

    The guard looked at her for a moment before looking back to his colleague, who nodded his head.

    ¡°Ah, I see. You must then be Issekina Sirion, am I right?¡±

    Isse nodded.

    The guard moved to the side, his hand going for the gate and moving it open without even the hint of a creak: ¡°You may come in then, miss.¡±

    Isse immediately noticed the absence of the honorific this time, but she didn¡¯t care. The first impression was what actually mattered. Now, whenever these two thought of her, they would see the noble-looking girl instead of the well dressed apprentice.

    She skittered inside, and entered another world.

    Gone was the noise of the city, instead she was greeted by a natural silence filled with the sounds of wind going through the bare branches of the trees, a pleasant reminder that winter was upon them in all its glory and, right now, it was being kind. There was a gravel driveway in front of her with pinpricks of white salt here and there to keep it from freezing over, a small snow wall no higher than the first joint of her spidery legs on the sides.

    She walked on, admiring the beauty of the place, that strange sort of beauty that can be found in death and stillness, that people had tried so long, and failed, in her modest opinion, to capture in still life paintings. Because paint and even modern photographs couldn¡¯t match the real thing. At most, they could come close.

    So she walked, and, finally, after stopping every now and then to watch a particular statue placed seemingly at random among planted trees and a small, frozen, pond, filled with lively fishies, she reached the main door to the mansion.

    Slowly, nearly reverentially, she raised her right hand to knock on the heavy, pale, wood, but stopped short when it opened in front of her just when her hand was a few inches short of a knock. A distinguished man wearing a black uniform with white stripes around the cuffs and the neck, making him rather striking. His eyes were a typical dark brown and, currently, were looking at her courteously and warmly.

    ¡°Good afternoon, miss Issekina. We were expecting you. Mr Albert was beginning to worry. Would you like to join the Lady, her husband and your teacher for supper?¡±

    And at that, her smile became waxy as she realized she had been, indeed, right. If they were expecting her, that meant Albert knew she was going to come, which meant he had, somehow, understood that she was going to be here. Was she that predictable? Or was he simply that good?

    ¡°I would gladly join you, mister¡­?¡±

    The man bowed his head: ¡°My name is Gregory, miss Issekina.¡±

    She smiled: ¡°Hello Gregory. Just call me Isse. Nobody calls me by my full name.¡±

    ¡°As you wish, miss Isse.¡±

    <hr>

    The inside of the house was strange to say the least: a mix of austerity and excessive redecoration, as if someone had been handed a gothic castle and had decided to turn it into a homely modern home. The white, plaster covered, brick walls had painted drawings here and there representing some wonderful winter landscapes together with other, childish, drawings of animals in warmer weather. There were paintings of severe people staring down at her, their poses stiff, with green plants placed between them in an hilarious attempt to make the place look less gloomy.

    Then they reached the end of the hall, where two big, closed, white wooden doors waited, less impressive and probably a lot less heavy than the ones at the entrance, and someone had hung a painting that was completely and utterly devoid of all the qualities she¡¯d seen up until now: it showed a woman sitting comfortably on a padded chair, one leg inelegantly and yet also, somehow, extremely elegantly, slung over an armrest, her head resting comfortably on an arm propped on the other, while she smiled towards the observer with a slight quirk of her lips that made her look mischievous. She was wearing a white, form hugging, dress, the only detail that was the same as the other paintings.

    ¡°Who is that?¡± she asked Gregory, who¡¯d noticed her sudden stop and was now smiling.

    The man looked away from the painting and down at her as he courteously answered: ¡°That is the current lady of the house, Madame Serafia. As you may have noticed she is¡­ different from her predecessors.¡±

    He said that last part with a slightly bigger smile. Clearly, he liked this new side of the house he was serving.

    I like her. She seems like someone who doesn¡¯t give a fuck about stuff, said Siidi, and Isse had to agree with her.

    Finally, they moved away from the painting and Gregory let them into a big dining hall.

    The place was even homier than the rest of the mansion: the walls were painted a bright green with flecks of deep blue near the ceiling, with lively paintings of wondrous-looking places and beautiful natural sceneries: a waterfall with a mage sitting at its bottom letting the water seep into his clothes; a forest covered in snow with children playing hide and seek among the trees, one of them attempting to hide in a snow pile; a dreamy landscape of green hills with a single thornless rose at the forefront, the purplish sky lit by a setting sun.

    And, on the wall opposite from the entrance, another portrait had been hung of the Lady from before, this time with a man. They were sitting on a triclinium, or rather, the man was sitting, the woman was lying, her head in his lap, one of his hands gently combing her hair while he smiled happily, looking rather sleepy.

    Isse looked at all of this, and didn¡¯t notice the long table in the center of the room, nor the people sitting on it whose chatting they¡¯d interrupted.

    ¡°You like that one?¡± asked a feminine voice, ¡°It¡¯s not an actual painting. Gods know I was actually falling asleep there. It¡¯s a mage picture my husband traitorously asked Gregory to take and then put right there. It is outrageous!¡±

    A moment of silence followed as Isse looked towards the table, where the woman from the portrait, the man who was apparently her husband, and Albert, were sitting. The lady was smiling, her throat bobbing up and down slightly in an attempt to keep from laughing. Her husband beside was just smiling like a madman.

    ¡°Dear, you did ask me to find something appropriate, by your standards, for the dining room.¡±

    And at that, the woman began laughing.

    Yep, definitely like her. She¡¯s sort of like Creanza, but rich, said Siidi.

    Isse snorted, which the woman heard, causing her to laugh even harder.

    On the other side of the table from her Albert just sat, shaking his head in mirth.

    When, finally, she calmed down, wiping a tear from her eye, she motioned her closer: ¡°Welcome. You must be Issekina, mister Albert¡¯s apprentice,¡± she motioned towards her teacher, who nodded amiably.

    ¡°Indeed I am, my Lady,¡± she answered, bowing slightly and lifting her skirt with the motion, something she had seen done in movies. She had always wanted to do that.

    The lady began laughing again: ¡°Oh Stars, that was horrible. One of the worst bows I¡¯ve ever seen someone do. It was so bad it was good. Please, dearie, never call me My Lady ever again, I¡¯m not that old, and regarding the bow, just stick to bowing your head, it will help you save face with other nobles.¡±

    Isse felt her cheeks color red as she listened to this, Siidi laughing in her head.

    ¡°Come sit with us dear. The food is about to arrive. Albert here says he was certain you¡¯d come around lunch, and he wasn¡¯t wrong.¡±

    Isse nodded and, after bowing her head to an amused lord, walked towards the chair beside Albert, who was smiling at her apparently very clumsy bow.

    When she ¡®sat down¡¯ she looked over to the lady and asked: ¡°How would you like me to call you, milady? And you too, milord.¡±

    The woman waved her hand dismissively: ¡°Oh, just call me Madame Serafia, or just Serafia, although, knowing people, you¡¯ll probably stick to the former.¡±

    The man beside her chuckled and nodded, before giving his own answer: ¡°As for me, just call me Sir Gaius, or Sir. No, I am not an ordained [Knight] or anything like that, I just like the sound of it, and in company as polite as this we can use such appellatives.¡±

    Isse nodded, then turned towards Albert slightly and whispered: ¡°You¡¯re going to pay for what you¡¯ve done.¡±

    He smiled slightly and nodded as if she hadn¡¯t just sworn vengeance on him: ¡°I expect. nothing less. You did good too in this little challenge. You were fast enough. Next time, you¡¯ll be even better at this.¡±

    ¡°If you touch my books again there will be harsh consequences.¡±

    Albert chuckled again and said, his voice higher: ¡°Would you kindly pass me the gears I forgot dear? I really should¡¯ve slept more last night.¡±

    Isse narrowed her eyes slightly but nodded, rummaging around in her bag of holding and taking out one of the boxes she¡¯d taken at random from the ones on the shelves in the back. She hoped the fact he¡¯d forgotten about some gears was a ruse, because what were the chances she¡¯d taken the right one?

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Albert took it, opened it, picked up one of the many gears he kept inside, and nodded: ¡°Perfect. Exactly what I needed. You did well, apprentice.¡±

    Clearly these people weren¡¯t acquaintances of his since he kept being so formal, even though the two nobles were being exceedingly friendly.

    When they were finally sitting Gregory, who, in Isse¡¯s opinion, was probably a [Butler], nodded, walked out of the room, and soon came back followed by two other butlers and two [Maids]. Their clothes were contrasting, the women wearing white maid¡¯s dresses while the man wore all black.

    They were carrying plates filled with warm soups made with fresh vegetables and expensive meats, which she didn¡¯t recognize because, apparently, they hadn¡¯t used your typical cows or pigs or whatever you can imagine, but instead had gone for something much more exotic imported from Aknos. The animal was called Shroom Grazer and did not, in fact, eat mushrooms. It was instead some sort of sentient mushroom that lived off of grazing and which meat wasn¡¯t apparently meat but some kind of vegetable and it was boggling Isse¡¯s mind because it tasted exactly like meat.

    ¡°I love this dish,¡± said the lady, ¡°It¡¯s so¡­ different. You won¡¯t find many people out there that aren¡¯t from Aknos, or aren¡¯t elves or their progeny, who will eat them. They¡¯re all weirded out, say it¡¯s wrong for it to taste like meat without actually being made of meat. Pussies, the lot of them. The little bastards basically infest the forests of that continent and they plant themselves faster than rabbits. If it weren¡¯t for the elves they¡¯d probably have swarmed the entire continent.¡±

    It was quite good, even she could admit it, and her diet could normally be summarized as meat with a side of meat and a little coating of meat with something else just to change the taste, or just more meat.

    ¡°This is great. Where do you buy it?¡± she asked out of curiosity.

    The Lady shrugged: ¡°I have no clue. Gregory?¡±

    The [Butler] shrugged elegantly: ¡°I know not myself, milady. I believe it is your husband who sources this delicacy.¡±

    Everyone turned to look at Sir Gaius, even Albert, who hadn¡¯t looked up from the plate. He seemed to be enjoying himself, but clearly was unsurprised by the food. He¡¯d probably already tasted it.

    Anyways, Gaius replied: ¡°I have it shipped through the southern port of Ipatia. It¡¯s the main trading hub for products coming from Aknos,¡± he answered with a small, proud, smile, before adding: ¡°Also, there¡¯s a [Merchant Captain] who makes the voyage there and back regularly who owes me a lot after I financed the beginnings of his venture, so he brings the Shroom Grazer¡¯s meat at a discount. It basically costs us nothing, seeing just how prolific the little beasts are. The only problem is that their meat spoils quite fast, which is what normally raises the price for importing -¡±

    Lady Serafia chuckled as she raised a hand and put a single finger on her husband¡¯s lips, shushing him gently: ¡°Come on now hubby, let¡¯s not bore our guests with the details of this business venture. I know for a fact that our dear feminine guest here has much more interesting questions to ask.¡±

    She leaned in and stage whispered: ¡°Let these two brutes talk among themselves about boring stuff, while us girls talk gossip.¡±

    I think I¡¯m falling in love, said Siidi.

    Oh shut up Siidi, she¡¯s charismatic, but not to that point.

    Maybe, but I¡¯d still fuck her brains out.

    She had to suppress a groan, but couldn¡¯t help the smile that appeared on her lips.

    ¡°Erm, gladly, my la - madame Serafia, but¡­ isn¡¯t it¡­ erm¡­¡± her brain began to melt. This woman was nothing like what she¡¯d expected a nobleman to be. She was loud, assertive, and, if the paintings were anything to go by, quite the free spirit.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about it. [Decorum is Overrated] dear, especially in this house. It just turns people into repressed sexbombs that can and will explode at the slightest nudge in the right direction. I should know, I¡¯ve been the spark many times over.¡±

    The moment she said those words Isse felt a weight lift from her and, suddenly, she felt more limber, freer, as if she¡¯d been chained down by something that was now gone. It was liberating.

    The lady sighed, her eyes turning dreamy for a moment, continuing: ¡°You know, before my hubby and I married I was wilder than a baby lizardkin. I know it¡¯s hard to believe, but I¡¯ve calmed down a lot since then.

    ¡°But enough of myself. What about you? Got yourself any lovers? A man to carry you around maybe? Or woman. I don¡¯t judge.¡±

    And at that Isse hesitated. She remembered Anda, and felt¡­ nothing. She didn¡¯t feel sadness, or happiness at the memory of their times together. Just a gray nostalgia that left her feeling empty.

    Still, she answered: ¡°I¡­ had a girlfriend.¡±

    That was the wrong word. They¡¯d been soulmates. Girlfriend couldn¡¯t even begin to describe what they¡¯d been, and soulmate was a word too small to encompass it all. Why couldn¡¯t she feel anything remembering her?

    ¡°Had? Did you break up? I¡¯m so sorry dear. But the sea¡¯s got plenty of fish. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find someone else.¡±

    Ha, sure! ¡®What would you do if your dear hubby died? Would you be able to just move on and find yourself another one?¡¯ That¡¯s what she wanted to ask so, so, so much, because this woman could maybe understand what kind of connection there had been between her and Anda. She would¡¯ve made a great arachne.

    But she didn¡¯t say any of that. Instead, she just shook her head: ¡°She died. In a fire.¡±

    And at that madame Serafia froze in place, a bit of color draining from her actually quite pale face now that she looked. Her eyes turned sad, the smile disappearing from her face as she extended a hand towards her and clasped it around her own: ¡°Then I am doubly sorry dear. I¡­ I¡¯m sorry if I hurt you by making you remember.¡±

    Isse shook her head and, noticing that she¡¯d looked down, gazed back up: ¡°It¡¯s¡­ I¡¯ve¡­ It doesn¡¯t hurt anymore. Not as much.¡±

    The woman looked her in the eyes a while longer, looking utterly unconvinced, but in the end she nodded and moved back into her chair. She looked sideways, at her husband and Albert, who were staring at them, and shooed them off with her hands: ¡°What are you looking at? This is girl-talk time. You go somewhere and talk about boring business stuff. [Bubble of Privacy].¡±

    Isse didn¡¯t feel anything change around her, but suddenly the world around them was muted.

    ¡°Cool Skill,¡± she said, trying to smile, and managing to, because there was no reason to feel sad.

    ¡°Thank you. Now, let¡¯s change the subject to something more lighthearted. How about¡­ ah, yes! Would you like to hear a story from my younger days? It¡¯s a funny one, and it will help you understand my character.¡±

    She moved slightly forward, fingers interlaced, a small smile on her features.

    ¡°So, here¡¯s the thing about me that you probably understood just by walking down the hall of paintings. I am different from the rest of my family. The Serafia family is known for being¡­ cold. As in, stick up their ass cold, winter cold, never-smiling-cold. Most of my family was like that. I, on the other hand, was different. Where my brothers and sisters were, well, ¡®normal¡¯, I was a ray of sunshine in this dull house. Where they were studious people who wanted nothing more than to gain more Skills and skills to be [Lords] and [Ladies] of renown, I wanted to have fun and be merry and live life as any child would. Where they were cold, I was emotional. And where they were capable of controlling their emotions completely, I was¡­ explosive, to say the least. I believe my mother once called me a ¡®Vindictive little shit with backstabbing tendencies¡¯. The old crone was always right.

    ¡°I always thought I embodied the symbolism of my family better.¡±

    She stopped, looking thoughtful for a while, before nodding: ¡°Oh, why not, I¡¯ll tell you. Did you look at the entrance gate?¡±

    Isse nodded: ¡°I did see it looked a lot like a¡­ a snowflake?¡±

    The woman smiled: ¡°We have an observant one, eh? Yes, you¡¯re absolutely right: a snowflake. You see, my family, for the longest time, was composed by [Lords of the Cold]. We thrived during winter, helping the country we served survive through the cold season by making the ground more fertile and allowing things to grow in it, by making the cold more tolerable for the citizens and stuff like that.

    ¡°But here¡¯s the thing: we weren¡¯t originally [Lords] or [Ladies of the Cold]. We used to be [Lords of Winter]. Whimsical and unpredictable and funny but also cruel when needed or for no reason. We were free spirits. I don¡¯t know when, but one day some of us decided that being ¡®of winter¡¯ meant that we had to be cold and controlled, and everyone went with it.¡±

    She sighed: ¡°For the longest time I felt like the black sheep of the family, but I also decided that I wasn¡¯t going to give a shit, pardon the language, and that I was always going to be me, no matter what. Which leads to this little story of mine.

    ¡°I was, what, fifteen? Yes, fifteen years old. Those were some of my wildest years,¡± she smiled dreamily, looking up as if a bubble had appeared over her head with the images of that moment replaying.

    ¡°At the time I already had a rival: a woman who really, really, really hated me, because I had taken a man she liked for myself. Yes, I know, stupid reason to hate someone: first come first serve, as they say, and my goodness what a service that man had offered. He was big and knew how to use the tools nature had gifted him. Coff coff, anyways, she hated my guts, so she decided to play a little trick: she decided to poison me.¡±

    At Isse¡¯s open mouth she laughed: ¡°Oh, dear, that is nothing. Nobles tend to attempt to poison each other at least once per party, otherwise it becomes dull. And don¡¯t worry, usually the poisons aren¡¯t for killing each other. Most of the time we use them to embarrass our rivals by causing¡­ adverse reactions with the intestines.¡±

    She chuckled as if that was the funniest thing in the world. To Isse it sounded immature. Poison was for killing or incapacitating, period. That¡¯s what Iada had taught them. The fact that she sometimes spiked her wines with poisons because she had a high resistance didn¡¯t support it, true, but she did it responsibly at least.

    ¡°Anyways, I was at this party, and my rival was there. So she calls a servant, asks for a glass of wine, pours something in it, and tells the servant to serve it to me. So here a man comes offering me a glass of wine, and I naturally took it, because I was the life of the party and one didn¡¯t refuse offered alcohol in those situations. But here¡¯s the thing: I had, still have, a very useful Skill at the time, one of the few good things my family ever did for me: [Smell Poison]. A basic Skill, yes, but a good one. It doesn¡¯t matter what poison one uses, I can perceive it.

    ¡°So here I was, looking at this glass of wine, knowing full well it was poisoned, and the people around me were egging me on, trying to make me drink. So what do you think I did?¡±

    Isse wasn¡¯t certain: ¡°You¡­ drank it?¡±

    ¡°Stars no! I was wild, not stupid. I looked at the servant and asked him what wine this was. He answered, and I went all ¡®Oh, I love that one. It¡¯s a favorite of mine! Hmm¡­ this much won¡¯t be enough, bring me the entire bottle!¡¯

    ¡°He brought me the bottle. He actually did. An entire, just-opened, bottle. And I spent the whole night drinking from it. It was so scandalous I was the talk of the city for an entire month.¡±

    She chuckled like a madman: ¡°At least it was good wine. It¡¯s still my favorite to this day. Even though the next morning I woke with such a hangover that even a Hangover Potion didn¡¯t help completely. Suppose that¡¯s what I get for drinking an entire bottle of wine after six strong drinks.¡±

    And then she laughed, and Isse couldn¡¯t help but join her a moment later. It was stupid, it wasn¡¯t even that funny, but it was so light hearted, so filled with a primal sense of freedom, she just had to laugh. It reminded her of the stories Makira used to tell her and the other spiderlings when they¡¯d been newborns.

    When, finally, she stopped laughing, the lady added: ¡°I even got two Levels in my Class at the time, [Eccentric Lady].¡±

    And then they began laughing all over again.

    Meanwhile Albert and Sir Gaius sat nearby, looking at them with genuine smiles on their faces. One because he liked seeing his wife being merry, the other because he had never seen his new proteg¨¦ laugh.

    <hr>

    They went back to the shop a few hours later.

    ¡°So, had you really forgotten the gears you needed?¡± asked Isse, her vendetta momentarily forgotten.

    Albert made a so-so gesture with his hand: ¡°I hadn¡¯t forgotten. I had purposefully left one of the boxes I needed back home.¡±

    ¡°What if I hadn¡¯t brought it? Or if I had taken the wrong one?¡±

    Albert looked at her and she saw a devious smile appear on his face: ¡°Oh, that¡¯s simple: had you not taken one of the boxes you would¡¯ve failed this challenge partially, because Creanza would¡¯ve known you were lying about the reason you were looking for me. Or, had you taken the wrong box, well, that would¡¯ve been a failure on my part.¡±

    ¡°What? Why?¡±

    ¡°Because I made you choose the box you took.¡±

    ¡°... Eh?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a technique Master taught me a long time ago: a way to make people take what you want. It¡¯s somewhat similar to how some [Scammers] can make you choose the card they want in one of their games. It¡¯s a matter of putting the box in the most favorable place to be taken, together with underlining its presence with the right lighting and positioning it in such a way that it will subconsciously attract the eye, all without it being obvious. One day I¡¯ll teach it to you.¡±

    ¡°So, wait, you had -¡±

    ¡°Predicted all your actions from the beginning? Yes, I had.¡±

    Isse stared at him open mouthed.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry Isse, you¡¯re not that predictable. I¡¯m just very experienced. From your visit to the Boneless Dancer, to the fact that you made a deal with Creanza for the information, giving her an IOU in exchange, to more or less the hour at which you would¡¯ve arrived at the mansion. Everything had been predicted. And you were excellent. The books are already back where they belong at home.¡±

    Isse nodded dumbly until that last sentence. Then she asked: ¡°Where had you hidden them?¡±

    He smiled enigmatically: ¡°That, dear, you¡¯ll have to find out for yourself. Where would the fun be otherwise?¡±

    [Spy Level 6!]

    [Skill - Basic Bartering Obtained!]

    <hr>

    The next day Albert woke up, walked out of his room, felt his [Detect Trap] Skill suddenly spike, dodged three different rope traps and found himself suddenly stuck to a web that had been woven to fill the entire corridor¡¯s width. A moment later Isse skittered out of her room with a triumphant smile on her face and a feather in her right hand.

    Turns out, though, Albert wasn¡¯t ticklish.

 Chapter 17: Lockworks and Clockworks

    The day after her failed attempt at tickle torture on Albert, Isse woke up feeling groggy and embracing the second book of the ¡®Mind [Detective]¡¯ series as if it were her child.

    They had read deep into the night, consuming an entire candle, and Isse had promised herself that she would try to learn the [Light] Spell just to make sure she wouldn¡¯t strain her eyes so much. Sure, she was an arachne, which came with a much better eyesight than most other species in the world, but you try to read by candlelight for six hours straight and not get either:

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">A headache;</li>

    </ol>

    <ol>

    <li style="font-weight: 400">An eyeache.</li>

    </ol>

    Which one is worse? I¡¯ll let you decide.

    Currently it was probably around eight in the morning and both she and Siidi were sleeping soundly both in their body and in the Mind Castle, curled around each other, looking like their child-selves, their minds filled with darkness for the Dream couldn¡¯t reach them here.

    That is, until Albert walked into the room soundlessly and, after watching Isse¡¯s sleeping form for a moment, waiting for her to wake up and look at him like she seemed to always do, realizing she wasn¡¯t going to do any of that, reached her and, gently, shook her shoulder.

    Now, Albert was a great [Spymaster], but he had one fatal flaw: he knew close to nothing about arachne. Oh, sure, he had heard the few stories that were told around campfires by the older spies, even a few from Master himself, but they were few and far between, the College attempting to do everything in its power to make the world Forget about the so-hated species. Which was both a boon and a curse: a boon because people could sleep at night lighter, not knowing about the menace that could be hiding anywhere, even in the depths of the earth under a city (which they¡¯d done, once. That city, suffice to say, is no more. Kingdoms from all over the world sent Spells and Skills destructive enough to create a new lake in place of that city on Rodar. The place was now known as the Eye Lake, or, more commonly, the Depths of Tears), but a curse because, nowadays, few knew what to do against the arachne other than run, hide, and hope they weren¡¯t ready to breed.

    So it is quite understandable that Albert did not know that physically waking up an arachne was a very bad idea. There was a reason why the [Caretakers] always woke up the spiderlings with the Silken Orchestra¡¯s songs and their voices.

    Why?

    Because arachne had a tendency to bite. A lot. Especially when they were startled. For example by someone suddenly shaking them awake.

    Albert had only a moment in which his [Dangersense] spiked, a little alarm bell trilling in the back of his head, so nothing that dangerous, but still, the fact that it had even been activated was reason enough for him to activate immediately one of his Skills: [Prevent Incident].

    His hand shot away from Isse as she opened her eyes and, following an instinct she¡¯d never known was there, moved her head as fast as lightning and bit exactly where Albert¡¯s arm had been a moment ago.

    Silence¡­ had never been broken until now, so it didn¡¯t ¡®fall like a rock¡¯ on the room, but it somehow managed to deepen, as Isse¡¯s eyes moved away from her shoulder and towards Albert, her face turning slightly red as she felt Siidi glare at the man.

    Has nobody told you that shaking people awake is rude? she said.

    Siidi, he can¡¯t hear you.

    For now.

    Albert looked a moment at his hand, making sure it was still in place, before looking up at Isse and waving with it: ¡°Good morning.¡±

    Isse nodded dumbly for a moment, before her brain went back online completely and she answered back: ¡°Good morning. Please don¡¯t ever do that again.¡±

    He chuckled: ¡°Well, I don¡¯t fancy getting my hand bitten off, so I¡¯ll do just that. Still, time to wake up. I want to teach you a few things today. Something more relaxing.¡±

    Isse pouted: ¡°But I want to read.¡±

    Me too sister.

    ¡°You¡¯ll get to read later, don¡¯t worry. For now, come, let¡¯s have breakfast, and later, I¡¯ll teach you the work I actually love.¡±

    That said, he turned around, calmly walking out of the room.

    Curious, Isse followed him.

    <hr>

    ¡°When I first started learning the art of clockworking, it wasn¡¯t actually to make clocks, but to open doors. Lockpicking is what it¡¯s called.¡±

    ¡°I know what¡¯s lockpicking Albert. I¡¯m not that naive.¡±

    The man chuckled. The two of them were sitting in Albert¡¯s workshop in the back of his shop, on the ground floor. Against one wall were two tables positively filled with gears and springs and other mechanical gizmos, a few small gems carefully put in small glass vases. A [Light] Spell hung over the table, connected to a movable metal arm, a rudimentary lamp in a world where electricity didn¡¯t yet exist. Adjacent to them was a series of shelves that went as high up as three meters, all of them filled with small boxes containing the [Clocksmith]¡¯s components.

    ¡°Yes, I never said otherwise, Isse. Still, let an old man be overly dramatic, eh? When I was, oh, I believe I was eight years old at the time, Master began teaching me how to pick locks. He taught me to listen to them and to always speak kind words, no matter what. He taught me how to open a door with a single hairpin, and how to close one in a way that would make it impossible for anyone else to open it.

    ¡°After that, in my free time, he taught me how to create locks of my own. He taught me tricks to make them unbreakable, and he taught me the means to earn their undying loyalty. You see, locks are people. They are alive, or they can become so, if given enough time. A strange concept, I know, but one Master loved. He always said this: ¡®Anything with enough moving parts will, sooner or later, become sentient¡¯. Or something along those lines.¡±

    He smiled fondly as he looked at the gears on the tables.

    ¡°I never saw one of my creations come to life. Or if they talked to me I never understood their language. But I know how to craft them, and I know how to smith the components myself.¡±

    He sighed sadly, before adding: ¡°Of course, I don¡¯t do the smithing anymore. I¡¯m too old for that, and these weary bones weren¡¯t made for strenuous physical activity. Now I have to commission what I require from a [Precision Smith] who works a half hour away from here.¡±

    Moving towards the table he took an unfinished clock in his hands, his long, delicate yet calloused fingers wrapping kindly around the bulbous metal of the encasement.

    ¡°I will teach you the ways of us clockworkers. I will teach you how to speak to gears and pins, how to listen to them, how to judge the stress of a coil and how to assemble it all, naturally. That way, at least, you¡¯ll also be more believable when you say you¡¯re my apprentice.¡±

    He put the casing down where he¡¯d taken it and turned to look at her.

    ¡°So, you interested?¡±

    She was, truly, but she still felt a bit vindictive for his book theft, so she asked: ¡°Do I even have a choice?¡±

    Albert shook his head: ¡°Nope, but if you¡¯ll do this of your own volition it will be much more enjoyable for both of us. And, seeing your face, I think you agree.¡±

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    For a moment she tried to keep her face straight. Then she snorted: ¡°Am I really that easy to read?¡±

    Albert smiled: ¡°Yes. Yes you are, but don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll fix that in time. Now, come sit closer. The beginning is extremely important.¡±

    She did just that.

    <hr>

    Clocks were, unsurprisingly, extremely complex.

    That is why Albert didn¡¯t start her lessons by showing her a clock. Instead, from under the table, where half a dozen drawers awaited, closed, he took out a strange looking contraption that, she recognized after a moment, was the handle of a door connected to its lock.

    ¡°This is a basic lock, like the kind you could find in the door to the kitchen.¡±

    Isse frowned: ¡°Are they always so big? This looks way bigger than what we have in the kitchen.¡±

    Albert chuckled: ¡°You¡¯re not wrong. This one is a training lock. I made it bigger for this exact purpose.¡±

    His hands gently placed the extra large lock in front of her on the second table, which had been freed of all clockwork gizmos only for this occasion.

    Next, seemingly out of nowhere, he got two lockpicks out: they were both sort of L shaped, with one being extremely small and thin in its length, only the base large enough to get a good grip, while the other made her think that Albert had just taken a random piece of long big junk and bent it into shape.

    ¡°Where were you hiding those?¡± she asked, taking them gingerly in her hands.

    ¡°You¡¯d like to know,¡± he said with a mysterious smile.

    ¡°...You hid them in your sleeve, am I right?¡±

    His smile only grew bigger: ¡°Maybe. Or maybe they were somewhere else. Or maybe I have a Skill that lets me summon a lockpick for a short while and makes them disappear once we¡¯re done. The possibilities are limitless.¡±

    Isse raised an eyebrow, causing Albert to smile even more: ¡°Keep them on their toes, that¡¯s what I was taught. If someone understands your tricks, change them. Be unpredictable. Or act as predictable as possible, to the point of incompetence, and then stab them in the back. That¡¯s a very important lesson for you to learn.

    ¡°But not now. For now, what you will learn is how to pick a lock.¡±

    He placed a gentle hand on the huge contraption, motioning for Isse to look closer. When she did he opened a latch on the side and let one of the metal plates that formed the whole thing fall to the table, revealing the lock¡¯s pins.

    ¡°I know it looks bad and extremely complex, but it¡¯s not. Locks, in general, aren¡¯t that complex. You could learn to pick one in a day, and afterwards it¡¯ll just the same.¡±

    Isse nodded, squashing the feeling of uncertainty that had welled up in her when she¡¯d looked at the insides of a lock.

    ¡°Now, normally, what you do is you put the torsion wrench in,¡± he showed her the big L shaped¡­ thingy, inserting it gently in the keyhole, ¡°and then you put in the pick. There¡¯s many kinds of picks, naturally: this one I believe is called a hook pick, or ¡®finger¡¯ in the jargon. A good alternative to this is a so called diamond pick, which is thinner and even smaller. They¡¯re both good for what you¡¯ll need to do, but the latter you¡¯ll want to use if you want to pick the individual pins. We¡¯ll get to that in the future though.¡±

    He began showing her what he was doing, his hands moving methodically and steadily, the gap in the side of the lock letting her see everything he did with the small implements as he moved the pick in and began gently hitting the pins upwards, moving them in place with soft, well oiled, ticks.

    It was mesmerizing and, apparently, relaxing, or at least it made her feel slightly sleepy as she stared on. Finally, the last pin fell into place with a soft click and Albert turned the wrench. Isse watched in amazement as the complex metal system turned around with a clack. It was mildly satisfying to look at.

    ¡°See? Easy, right? Well, not easy easy, but doable. Want to try?¡±

    He offered her the lockpicks and, after a single moment of hesitation, Isse took them in her hands. She fiddled with them for a moment before she could take a good hold of them, her hands slightly sweaty for no reason, as Albert clicked the lock closed and moved aside.

    ¡°Now, remember, there¡¯s no need  to rush. You won¡¯t manage to do this at my speed, and you¡¯ll probably find it difficult to even start. It¡¯s all a matter of patience.¡±

    For a moment as he said that Isse imagined herself managing to pick the lock in under a minute, maybe even faster, showing off to Albert, who¡¯d be extremely impressed and shower her with praise. She imagined feeling the clicking of each pin under her lockpick, the sounds coming one after the other in rapid succession up until the final clack.

    How hard could it possibly be?

    Turns out, to nobody¡¯s surprise, a lot.

    The minute Isse spent just trying to put the torsion wrench in without it being in the way of the pick, followed by another minute of fiddling with said pick at the first pin and failing miserably, until she felt, with the curved tip, its bottom and, finally, managed to push it upwards.

    ¡°Very well. Now, on to the next,¡± said Albert, who was sitting with his eyes closed by her side, clearly listening to her motions.

    So the next five or so minutes passed as she went looking for the pins inside the lock with her pick and, one by one, pushed them up. It felt like it took her an eternity, and she started to feel slightly embarrassed at just how slow she was being. She knew, in the rational part of her mind, that there was no reason to feel ashamed: this was her first time, after all, but the emotional side of her, the part that had started working again¡­ properly, if she had to use a word to describe it, after her visit at the Empty Hearted¡¯s Rest, told her that she should¡¯ve done better.

    Luckily Albert was there to encourage her every step of the way, to tell her how great a job she was doing, and to give her tips whenever she seemed stuck. And all the while, he never opened his eyes once, his hands interlaced under his chin, his head resting on them, not a single muscle twitching.

    When, finally, the last pin fell into place and she turned the wrench, opening the lock, he smiled brightly, opened his eyes, and gave her a gentle pat on the back.

    ¡°You did great! Don¡¯t worry, the training lock actually makes it a bit harder since you¡¯re working with regular sized tools on an oversized lock, but I found out this helps a bit. Let¡¯s try it again, and then I¡¯ll let you try it on the kitchen lock.¡±

    Isse frowned: ¡°Why exactly the kitchen? Couldn¡¯t I do this with any other lock of the house?¡±

    He shook his head and smiled proudly: ¡°You¡¯d find that difficult Isse. I made the locks to all the other rooms of the house, put failsafes in there to make them much harder to pick. You wouldn¡¯t be able to do it.¡±

    She tilted her head to the side questioningly in that very arachne way: ¡°And the kitchen lock isn¡¯t the same?¡±

    ¡°The kitchen doesn¡¯t hide anything.¡±

    Which implied that the other rooms of the house hid stuff other than her and Albert¡¯s personal belongings.

    ¡°Come on now, no time to lose. The sooner we finish, the sooner you get to read your beloved books.¡±

    Which was all the convincing she needed to put her head down near the lock and start working on it anew.

    <hr>

    It was deep into the night now. Isse sat sprawled on her hammock, a book in her lap as she and Siidi slowly devoured it word for word. They loved each and every moment, and already the System had decided to award the arachne a few more Levels in their [Reader] Class and a shiny new Skill. Literally shiny. It had heard of their plight with lighting and thought it appropriate to give them something to help with that.

    But right now what mattered wasn¡¯t Isse.

    No, right now who mattered was Albert.

    Albert, who sat at one of the tables in his workshop, his steady hands slowly putting a very small cog in the innards of a clock. His fingers didn¡¯t tremble thanks to one of his Skills, [Steady Hands], and his eyes sharpened slightly as he activated another, [Eye for Details]. The last one actually came from his [Spymaster] Class, but he had found a new, better, use for it in this life he¡¯d sacrificed so much to gain.

    A sacrifice he was reminded of a few minutes after putting the cog where it belonged.

    A loud ding came from a pocket of his overcoat, the sound filling the room and distracting him from his work. He sighed, knowing full well he wouldn¡¯t be able to get back to it now.

    Slowly, nearly reverentially, he took out a pocket watch from his clothes. Its design was extremely elaborate, the metal of the chassis carved elaborately with a representation of a river flowing into a lake made out of glass over the face of the beautiful creation. It was made of copper strengthened with a Skill by a [Forgemaster] he¡¯d met decades ago in Aknos who¡¯d owed him a favor, making it more resistant and less malleable.

    He clicked open the cover of the watch and looked.

    The seconds hand steadily moved backwards, signaling the passage of time leaving him behind, but what mattered was the number shown by a smaller clock to the side: a clock that showed the passage of months. Currently, the hand had finished doing an entire circle and was now back on number twelve, while a second clock underneath, one with twenty numbers instead, had had its hand move backwards to the number ten.

    Another month had passed. And with it, another year.

    ¡°Ten years left. Huh. Well, gotta make them count.¡±

    And he went to bed.

    Tomorrow was another day, and while the ones he had were very much counted and limited, he knew it had been worth it.

 Chapter 18: Making Friends 2 - Electric Boogaloo

    As you may very well know, readers have a tendency to forget about the world around them whenever a book captures them: time slows down, or accelerates, sounds grow dimmer, reduced to a background ¡®chatter¡¯ that makes the atmosphere all the more relaxing. The world dims, the only light that matters the one over your head, and everything else becomes secondary.

    That¡¯s how Isse and Siidi felt every time they read the stories and phantasies of people from this world. She had expected them to be somewhat similar to the stories from her world but, instead, had ended up being pleasantly surprised. Why? Because what was fantasy on Earth was everyday life here, which meant that this world¡¯s version of fantasy was, if possible, even more fantastic. From the ¡®Mind [Detective]¡¯ and his ability to walk in a victim¡¯s memories to find out who was the criminal to the ¡®Wars of Worms¡¯ and scarily effective attempt at creating an invisible, lethal, parasitic enemy that could overthrow continents in a matter of days, everything was¡­ new. Refreshingly so.

    She¡¯d spent the last three days either being trained by Albert in lockpicking or reading. It was¡­ good. Everything was simply good. Nothing to worry about, nothing and no one to disturb her when she didn¡¯t want to. It was all quiet. Exactly what she needed. Even Albert had seemingly decided that right now wasn¡¯t the best of times to train her into becoming a better [Spy].

    That morning, though, her new routine would be broken by the [Spymaster] making an announcement:

    ¡°Isse, Creanza, you know, the proprietress of the Boneless Dancer, just sent me a message via [Runner]. Apparently she¡¯s calling in the debt you have with her.¡±

    At the moment Isse had been sprawled in her hammock, reading, like she nearly always did these past days. She was also somewhat surprised at how Siidi had yet to get bored. She knew the girl had a passion for books, but she¡¯d never thought it would be this great.

    Using her [Bookmark] Skill, she placed a thin, spectral, string at the page she¡¯d been reading, closing the book and turning towards Albert.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± she asked, furrowing her brow, her spidery legs beginning to twitch with all her pent up energy from sitting around all day. Should she start jogging? How would that even work with arachne? Would she need to skitter faster?

    ¡°Well, in the letter she sent me she said that she¡¯s calling in the ¡®I Owe You¡¯ you gave her in exchange for my location the other day.¡±

    She stared at him, dumbfounded, before realization struck her.

    Oh fuck, they both thought in a chorus.

    ¡°Really? Do I seriously have to do this? I thought she was joking.¡±

    Albert had the decency of looking contrite as he answered: ¡°That¡¯s the thing about Creanza many get wrong: she doesn¡¯t make jokes. She likes to laugh and banter and if she wanted to she could probably make a salt scarred [Sailor] blush with her language, but she¡¯s no liar or joker. If she says something will be done or something will happen, it will happen. So, yes, she¡¯s serious, and yes, you should do as she asks.¡±

    Isse groaned, burying her face into her spidersilk pillow (Fluffy!).

    Then, through the material, she asked: ¡°Why should I do it? It¡¯s unfair that I should work just for the information she gave me.¡±

    Albert glared at her, although she couldn¡¯t see it. But she felt the disapproval in his tone as he answered: ¡°Young miss, debts must be repaid, always. That is the way this world should work, and I¡¯ll throw myself into the Nothingness if I don¡¯t manage to teach you this simple principle. Also, since you asked, the debt isn¡¯t for the information per se as much as for the carriage ride Creanza paid for you. That cost around five gold coins.¡±

    Oh shit he called us ¡®Young Miss¡¯, he¡¯s going full dad mode! said Siidi, cackling in the background.

    Isse couldn¡¯t contain herself and snorted, which caused Albert to get even more incensed: ¡°You think this is funny? What do you think the world would look like if people forgot to repay their debts? It¡¯s this exchange of favors that keeps everything running, never let anyone else say otherwise.¡±

    Isse had to resist the urge to start outright laughing, which wasn¡¯t helped by Siidi doing her best Albert-voice and repeating everything he was saying with a funny accent (that had probably been forgotten by the world). Instead, she tried to change the subject: ¡°What did you mean by ¡®throw yourself into the Nothingness¡¯? Why not just say that you¡¯ll go to Airm?¡±

    He shrugged, his eyes still slightly narrowed as he looked at her for any more signs of not taking this seriously. When he was satisfied that there weren¡¯t, he answered: ¡°I¡¯m probably already bound for Airm girl, only destiny worse than that is being thrown out into Nothingness.¡±

    At her raised eyebrow, he sighed and sat down on the only other piece of furniture left in the room that wasn¡¯t completely webbed up: ¡°Sinners go to Airm to atone for everything bad they¡¯ve done in their lives. But that, I¡¯m sure, you already knew. What most people tend to forget is that, once someone¡¯s done enough of that, their souls get to go back to reincarnate like the ones from Larnos.

    ¡°But some sins are so unforgivable, so heinous, so¡­ there¡¯s probably another word out there to describe it, I can¡¯t think of one right now, so let¡¯s just with this: some things are so bad, that the gods just outright take the soul and throw it into the primordial Nothingness to become absolutely nothing. I imagine they¡¯ve done this for the drakes and the arachne.¡±

    Drakes? She¡¯d never heard of those.

    You never heard of them because they haven¡¯t been around since¡­ basically forever. They were all gone well before even the arachne were created.

    Ah.

    Still, she decided to correct Albert on one thing: ¡°Arachne don¡¯t go to Airm,¡± she told him.

    Albert frowned: ¡°Where do they go then, because I¡¯m pretty sure the gods wouldn¡¯t send them to Larnos.¡±

    Isse shrugged: ¡°We don¡¯t go anywhere. Death just comes and takes us into her warm embrace. That¡­ that¡¯s what Grandmother told me, once.¡±

    That¡¯s what she¡¯d seen, for a moment, that night, before the little golden spider had come for her. The moment she¡¯d forgotten, brought back by that [Teamaker].

    Very slowly, Albert nodded: ¡°Alright. Now!¡± he clapped his hands, ¡°Let¡¯s talk about something less saddening: you¡¯re going to repay your debt. You¡¯re going to work for her five days.¡±

    ¡°Five? She¡¯d said it would¡¯ve been one day!¡±

    ¡°That was before the [Driver] told her how much it would cost her.¡±

    ¡°Ugh!¡± she groaned as she face planted again into her pillow.

    Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m sure serving a few tables won¡¯t be that hard.

    Spoiler: it was.

    <hr>

    If you¡¯ve never worked a job serving tables at a restaurant or bar or anything like that and think for even a moment that it is easy, then you are severely wrong and need a reality check. It may not be the hardest job in the world, not by far, but it is, in my modest opinion, one of the most laborious ones, and one you do exclusively if you really like it. The amount of rest one can take is close to nothing, and never feels enough considering just how much one needs to move around. It also requires a considerable amount of upper body strength, incredible patience and a great memory.

    Isse¡­ didn¡¯t know any of that. Like Siidi.

    So she received a very harsh reality check indeed during the first two hours of her shift the next morning.

    Her job had been really simple: take orders from the clients, bring the ones for drinks to Creanza at the counter, anything else to the kitchen, and bring it back to the client. You¡¯d think things were slow, what with the [Chef] needing to prepare the food. Turns out, it wasn¡¯t, because the man had a few Skills that allowed everything to cook faster. A lot faster.

    ¡°Isse, get the plate for table seven,¡± calmly said Lavia as she passed by her side.

    She was, currently, sitting with her spider half on the floor behind the counter, her human half bent ninety degrees back and lying on it, her Shifting Silk clothes making it look like she was lying on the floor.

    Slowly, groaning, she got to her feet. Hadn¡¯t it been for the arachne¡¯s natural stamina she would¡¯ve long since fallen to the ground. She reached the opening in the wall that viewed the inside of the kitchen, her hands touching the next plate she had to carry, and was stopped by a masculine voice she¡¯d come to know very well during this whole day: Premi¨¦. The [Kitchen Boss] was a generally silent individual, but whenever he spoke he tended to be loud. Especially with Creanza. Actually, exclusively with her. He seemed to like insulting her. Otherwise, he was a total sweetheart.

    ¡°Don¡¯t take that. Let the little devil bring it to the table. And get back here, you need to rest or you¡¯ll fall in the middle of the room and impede incoming people.¡±

    Well, for a rather broad definition of sweetheart. He was a gruff fellow, even when he tried to be kind.

    ¡°But Lavia -¡±

    ¡°Lavia can go fuck herself, and Creanza can keep her company for all I care. You¡¯ve worked hard enough for this evening kiddo,¡± he interrupted her.

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    For a moment she just stared at him, dumbfounded, then she nodded and skittered for the door to the kitchen, entering and finding a little corner where she wouldn¡¯t bother the man, sitting down there.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you uncomfortable? Want a stool?¡± he motioned towards another corner of the very well stocked kitchen, where a simple padded stool sat, looking extremely dusty. Clearly it hadn¡¯t seen any use in a long time.

    ¡°No, thank you, I¡¯m plenty comfortable like this.¡±

    ¡°Whatever suits you,¡± and he went back to chopping some vegetables with a very sharp looking knife, the rhythmic thunk thunk thunk of the metal hitting the wooden board lulling her into a trance reminiscent of sleep. Her eyes fixed a spot outside a window in the expansive room and just kept looking.

    Until someone called her name.

    ¡°Isse!¡± said Creanza from the opening in the wall.

    She batted her eyes, getting out of her sleepy trance-like state, and noticed only then that the light had disappeared outside.

    ¡°Ah, there you are. Taking some time off? Well, you deserved that,¡± she continued.

    Meanwhile Lavia looked at her with slightly narrowed eyes, which got her a gentle slap on the shoulder: ¡°Don¡¯t act like that Lavia. She¡¯s new, and she¡¯ll be staying here only for a few days. So cut her some slack. She did better than I expected.¡±

    Beside her Premi¨¦ grunted affirmatively and finished polishing one last knife, the metal nearly shining in the lamplight.

    ¡°Still, Isse, I¡¯d like you to serve one last client. She¡¯s a regular resident, and a shy one. Compared to the lot of us, she¡¯d probably be more comfortable with you.¡±

    Groaning, Isse got up and nodded. There was one last plate near the [Chef], warm and inviting, smelling heavenly. She recognized the meat on it, krimou, obtained from that strange hybrid between a cow, a slime and a reveler ant. It had been ground and mixed together with many herbs and some vegetables to enhance the taste, then turned into a burger, which had now been seared to perfection and turned into a hamburger with various dressings and a side of tomatoes.

    ¡°Please tell me you¡¯ll cook us dinner,¡± she said, looking up at Premi¨¦ with big cat eyes.

    The [Chef] snorted and nodded: ¡°All meals for the staff are cooked by me girl. You seriously thought I¡¯d cook us lunch and breakfast and let you go hungry for dinner?¡±

    Now that she thought about it she realized it had been a stupid concern.

    ¡°Yeah, Premi¨¦ here is a goody two shoes. Although, I lost count of how many times he made me go hungry because apparently I was being ¡®a nuisance¡¯. Can you believe it? Me? A nuisance? Bah,¡± confirmed Creanza while she jokingly slapped the man¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°And you¡¯re on a good path for missing another meal tonight woman. You¡¯re lucky the little one here makes it all better.¡±

    Sighing, Isse took the plate in her hands and began walking out, grumbling under her breath: ¡°Why does everyone keep calling me little one? I¡¯m nearly eighteen!¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯re new and inexperienced and because we like using nicknames,¡± answered Creanza to her back.

    Acria, the half-devil woman, sighed in exasperation but smiled fondly: ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s normal. I¡¯ve been working here for two years now and they still call me Little Red. I don¡¯t even like red.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but traditionally demons and devils have red skin, and you being -¡± started Creanza.

    ¡°That¡¯s speciesist, stop it,¡± she interrupted her employer.

    And they started bantering.

    Sighing, Isse skittered her way towards her last table for the evening. The Boneless Dancer was empty at this time of night (because it was definitely night now). A clock on the wall read that it was around midnight and, for a moment, she remembered Grandmother¡¯s lessons about times of power. Sadly she wasn¡¯t a [Witch] (not that she had ever wanted to be one), so her abilities as a [Soul Shaper] weren¡¯t enhanced in any way at this hour, but she¡¯d been told that two times every year, at the Solstices, she could be empowered. In which ways? Grandmother had never told her. She hadn¡¯t had the chance.

    Anyways: there was only one person left except for the serving staff. She looked like a young woman wearing dark clothes and¡­ a mask, apparently. It was a simple thing, white as ivory, and featureless except for the eyeholes and two small nose holes, her dark hair covering anything that the mask didn¡¯t already hide. Currently she was reading a big leatherbound book that looked like it weighed several pounds and was probably extremely boring.

    She reached her and smiled tiredly: ¡°Good evening, this is yours, right?¡±

    The woman, no, the girl, for she looked too small to be an adult (or she had some kind of disease that made her small. Or she was of a different race, maybe a half breed between a dwarf and a human. Ok, there were a lot of possibilities) looked up from her book and, upon seeing her plate, nodded, pushing the heavy tome to the side and taking the proffered food. Then she reached her hand up to the mask and, with a swift motion and a clack, unlocked something and detached the lower half, revealing her mouth and pale skin underneath. She looked up for a moment, nodding in thank you, placed a silver coin and a few coppers on the table, and turned to her burger, biting in it with gusto, a small smile appearing on her face.

    Isse took the coins and silently walked back to the bantering group in the kitchen.

    When she came back she saw a plate identical to the one she¡¯d just brought to the girl waiting for her on the kitchen counter, only this one had some fried potatoes instead of tomatoes as dressing.

    Raising an eyebrow she wanted to ask about this, but Premi¨¦ beat her to it: ¡°Lavia has a Skill, [Guest: Perceive Desire]. She knew you¡¯d rather have something less healthy than slices of tomatoes.¡±

    The harpy beside him, who was eating a steak with gusto, nodded.

    Well, all the better for me, she thought, taking the burger in her hands and -

    ¡°How about you eat at a table,¡± suggested Creanza, who was sitting on the counter near her, plate in one hand and fork in the other, legs crossed under her butt.

    ¡°Can¡¯t I eat here with you all?¡±

    The woman made a so-so gesture with her silvery utensil: ¡°Yeah, you could, but there¡¯s not much free space in here.¡±

    Isse raised an eyebrow and pointed at the counter behind her that was clean and free of people: ¡°There¡¯s lots of space.¡±

    Premi¨¦ grunted: ¡°No, there isn¡¯t. I cleaned up there already and have no desire to do it again.¡±

    ¡°You should eat at a table,¡± repeated Creanza, humming as she tasted another bite of food, and making Isse understand why Premi¨¦ liked to shout at her. Right now, hungry and tired, she had no desire to be a part of her shenanigans.

    ¡°But do make sure not to dirty another one,¡± added Lavia.

    Grumbling again, Isse took her plate and left the room: ¡°If you didn¡¯t want to have me around you should¡¯ve just said so.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that dearie, it¡¯s just a matter of convenience for you,¡± reassured Creanza with a smile, putting her fork on her plate and gently ruffling her hair.

    ¡°You did well today. Better than I expected. Oh, here, take this before I forget,¡± she put her plate down, rummaged around in the bag of holding on her hip, and after a moment threw something that glinted yellow in the lamplight. Out of instinct Isse went to catch it with one hand, nearly losing her grip on the plate and managing only to save her dinner by quickly putting her hand underneath it after she caught the thing.

    When she looked down she saw two gold coins, a bearded man¡¯s face looking up at her with judgemental eyes on one, an image of Irevia on the other.

    ¡°Payment for today,¡± finished Creanza.

    Isse batted her eyes incredulously at the coin, then looked up: ¡°I thought I was here to repay my debt. Why are you paying me?¡±

    Creanza snorted and shooed her off jokingly: ¡°You seriously thought I¡¯d make you work here and not pay you? What do you take me for, a monster?¡± she smiled kindly, not her usual boisterous smile, this was just that: just a smile of happiness and satisfaction.

    ¡°I know how hard the work here is. Being one of the most famous establishments in the city means a lot of work for us and I know it isn¡¯t easy. So let¡¯s put it this way: having you work here is more a matter of principle than money. Not like we¡¯ll be going bankrupt just for five gold coins. Airm, I think Premi¨¦ spends that much every day in supplies alone.

    ¡°So yes, Isse, I will be paying you for your time spent here. Consider this more a¡­ formative experience, than just you repaying your debt. Now go eat. I can see that if I¡¯ll keep you here any longer you¡¯ll eat me.¡±

    ¡°Kinky,¡± said Acria, causing everyone to laugh.

    Now smiling, Isse walked out of kitchen and, after a moment, noticed the lonely girl at the table from before.

    Well, they did tell you not to dirty another table, encouraged her Siidi. She had been uncharacteristically silent these past few hours, her comments on the situations she¡¯d ended up in being reduced to a minimum.

    Welcome back to the land¡­ of¡­ the thinking!

    Girl, that was horrible.

    It sounded better before I said it, alright?

    She heard a chuckle and reached the table. The girl was still eating, slowly, tasting every bite as if this was going to be the last food she¡¯d get for a while.

    After a moment of hesitation, Isse spoke: ¡°I¡¯m sorry, can I sit at this table? Those meanies,¡± she tried to joke, pointing at the kitchen, where everyone acted as if they weren¡¯t looking at her, ¡°shooed me off.¡±

    The girl looked away from her food and up at her, a little bit of sauce on the corner of her lip, which she swiftly licked off. Then she nodded: ¡°Alright,¡± and went back to her meal.

    Isse sat down and began eating in silence. It was strangely¡­ relaxing. Just sitting there in the company of another person she didn¡¯t know and eating, the only sounds around them their munching and the hushed talking coming from the kitchen.

    That was how they spent the next few minutes, until the girl finished her plate, which looked clean, pushed it to the side while she pulled back towards her the heavy tome she¡¯d been reading, and went back to doing just that.

    After she was done eating too, Isse pushed her plate to the side and just¡­ sat there. She laid her head in the crook of her left arm, the other one hugging it, and simply sat there, enjoying the well earned moment of calm. Time seemed to fly by afterwards: she thought she heard someone passing by and taking their plates, and she thought she heard someone locking up the place.

    Then someone touched her shoulder.

    Looking up, it was Creanza: ¡°Your room is ready Isse.¡±

    She frowned, trying to talk.

    ¡°I won¡¯t send you back to Albert¡¯s workshop in this state at this hour.¡±

    Finally, she managed to speak: ¡°I can defend myself.¡±

    She smiled, shaking her head: ¡°I have no doubt of that, dear, but why risk needing to defend yourself when you can just sleep here. I¡¯ve got enough spare rooms for it. Come on.¡±

    Finally, after a moment of hesitation, she nodded, and got up. Then Creanza went to the other girl and shook her shoulder too: ¡°Time to go to bed dear. You¡¯ll keep studying tomorrow.¡±

    After a moment of silence, the girl nodded, closing the book and getting up.

    In a moment of inspiration, Isse spoke: ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±

    The girl froze in place for a second, her shoulders locked, spine straight. As if by asking her name she¡¯d just broken some secret rule.

    Then she answered: ¡°I¡¯m Morra.¡±

    ¡°Isse, but you already knew. Pleasure to meet you,¡± she bowed her head slightly.

    The girl stood there, motionless, staring at her through the holes in her mask, looking for all the world like a soulless doll, until she said: ¡°Me too. A pleasure, that is.¡±

    Before turning around and walking up the stairs.

    In the days to come, the two of them would become close friends.

 Chapter 19: Making Friends Redux

    Four days more she worked at the Boneless Dancer, and four days more she met with the strange young woman, Morra. She would come down every morning just a minute or two before opening time, then leave, come back for lunch, then leave, and finally return for dinner, read well into the night from her mysterious tome, then go to sleep.

    At least, that¡¯s what she had done up until Isse had arrived.

    Now she had become a part of the simple routine.

    Every morning she came down a few minutes earlier to stay with her, and every lunch she took just a little longer to eat her food during Isse¡¯s lunch break, and every evening she read a little less to attempt to actively talk with the girl who, to her, seemed so much like her, and yet better. Because she could still smile, because she wanted to spend time with people, because she seemed to have a purpose, everything that she didn¡¯t have. And yet, whenever this strange girl talked to her, she didn¡¯t weigh it down on her. If she didn¡¯t want to talk about something, she¡¯d change the subject and not look at her as if she was boring; if she wasn¡¯t feeling talkative, she would just sit nearby and do her things, not looking bored and not staring at her as if she was wasting her time; and most important of all, she didn¡¯t seem scared off by her appearance, from her mask to her clothes.

    If anything, she seemed curious.

    ¡°Morra, what do you do all day when you¡¯re not here?¡± asked Isse on her fourth day working at the Boneless Dancer.

    It was night now, like it usually was when they really talked. Maybe because Morra was tired, her defenses against the world around her lowered. Or maybe because she just felt more comfortable during the night. She¡¯d always felt more at peace in the dark.

    ¡°I work,¡± she answered.

    There, see it? Conversation! She was doing it! She was talking to someone that wasn¡¯t Creanza or her [Teamaker] friend Grazia. She wasn¡¯t so bad at it, see? She could do it.

    ¡°What kind of work do you do?¡± she asked back, looking curious. A spark of happiness lit up deep into Morra¡¯s chest when she heard it, because she¡¯d kept the conversation going and looked genuinely interested, unlike all the others, who¡¯d just looked sort of scared and shut up or just looked positively uninterested.

    ¡°I¡­ I listen to people.¡±

    Yes, that more or less summarized it. She did other things, but she didn¡¯t want to talk about those, because whenever she had in the past people had looked at her with disgust.

    ¡°Oh, so, like a psychologist?¡±

    Morra cocked her head to the side: ¡°Psychologist? What¡¯s that?¡±

    Isse looked befuddled for a moment, and she feared for a second that she¡¯d made a big gaffe, that she should¡¯ve known what this psychologist was and now Isse would think she was stupid.

    Instead the girl apologized: ¡°Sorry, sorry, I don¡¯t think they exist here, but basically they¡¯re people who help someone who¡¯s been through a trauma and just¡­ listen to them, let them talk it out, and help them find a solution.¡±

    She sighed internally upon hearing that.

    ¡°Oh, like Creanza does on the nights of the Empty Hearted¡¯s Rest.¡±

    Isse shook her head: ¡°No. Well, yes, but also no. Usually a psychologist requires less manipulation of one¡¯s memories.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± she didn¡¯t understand, but she didn¡¯t want to ask more questions for fear of looking stupid.

    Luckily, Creanza, who¡¯d been passing by and had overheard the conversation, came to her help right then: ¡°Oh, you mean a [Thought Healer], right?¡±

    ¡°[Thought Healer]? That¡¯s an actual Class? Don¡¯t you find the name strange?¡±

    ¡°Why would it be strange? I mean, they help you when you¡¯re having ¡®bad¡¯,¡± she wiggled her fingers in an all-encompassing manner, ¡°thoughts, and make sure they disappear. They heal your thoughts, so [Thought Healer].¡±

    Isse frowned: ¡°Wouldn¡¯t they then become some sort of [Mind Healer]. I mean, the problem isn¡¯t always in your thoughts, right?¡±

    Creanza wiggled no with her index finger: ¡°Na ah, you¡¯re saying it with the wrong inflection: it¡¯s [Mind Healer]. Those are an Uncommon Class, and I never understood what they did different from [Thought Healers] to warrant the change. The questions are the same, the advice too, the only thing that changes are the Skills they use on you and the potions they suggest you take.¡±

    She looked sideways for a moment at Morra and saw the girl glaring slightly at her through the eye holes of her mask. Yes, she could see that: she had good eyes.

    Meanwhile, Morra was no longer as grateful for Creanza¡¯s arrival, because now she was manipulating the conversation.

    ¡°Anyways, I¡¯ve got to go back to Premi¨¦. We¡¯re playing cards and if I don¡¯t hurry he¡¯ll start without me,¡± she pouted, walking back to the kitchen.

    That was another thing: nearly every evening Creanza, Premi¨¦, Lavia and Acria played a ¡®friendly¡¯ game of cards. Well, if you can call whispering insults at each other whenever someone won, yelling in anger, the occasional overthrown table and enough rivalries to make a king¡¯s court look like child¡¯s play, friendly.

    All in good humor, naturally. Isse wondered if she should introduce them to Mahjong. They would love that game. Sadly she couldn¡¯t remember all the rules for point counting. And all the combinations.

    I¡¯ll start looking for them. Surely they¡¯re somewhere around here, said Siidi. In the last few days she¡¯d been really silent, and every time she spoke her voice seemed tired.

    And Creanza left.

    ¡°No, I do not do that,¡± said Morra.

    ¡°Do what? Oh, be a [Thought Healer], right. Yeah, you don¡¯t look much like one, I believe. But then, what do you listen to?¡±

    How should she answer that without appearing creepy? That was a hard question, with a hard answer. She¡¯d noticed many times that people reacted badly to how she explained her job, and then tended to tell people the wrong things, making it harder for her to do her job well. But Isse didn¡¯t look like someone who would act like that. But she¡¯d also met people who seemed like Isse on the surface and then hadn¡¯t. Ugh, this was too difficult.

    Still, she couldn¡¯t just not answer her. That was rude. And nobody liked talking to rude people. So¡­ time for a leap of faith.

    ¡°I¡­ I listen to people¡¯s conversations and try to see what is wrong with their lives, what can be made better, and then try to make it better.¡±

    Isse batted her eyes for a few moments, cocking her head to the side, confusion clearly visible on her face: ¡°Let me get this straight: you listen in on people¡¯s complaints and then you try to make things better for them?¡±

    She nodded, a small smile appearing under her mask. She understood! And she didn¡¯t look disgusted!

    ¡°But¡­ how? You can¡¯t solve every person¡¯s problems, right?¡±

    Morra shook her head. Ok, she didn¡¯t understand everything.

    ¡°I do not solve everybody¡¯s problems. I solve the problems of the communities. The sewer smells? Check that there are no clogs anywhere. A restaurant needs specific food? I help find it. Stuff like that.¡±

    ¡°And you do it alone?¡± her eyes were big now and she was looking at her with¡­ admiration? Yes, that was admiration! Nobody had ever looked at her like that. Nobody except for Creanza, when she¡¯d taken her in.

    Still, she wasn¡¯t alone on her job. She had¡­ assistants.

    ¡°I¡¯m not alone, no.¡±

    ¡°Then who do you work with?¡±

    ¡°...People who no longer have a job because of reasons outside of their control.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t yet time to tell her the whole truth. Maybe it would never be.

    Isse looked confused, but then she shrugged: ¡°Alright. I¡¯m just glad you¡¯re not overworking yourself.¡±

    She cared for her.

    She was the best!

    ¡°Thank you,¡± said Morra.

    ¡°For what?¡±

    For existing, she wanted to say, but that would¡¯ve been too much. Maybe something tamer?

    ¡°For being this kind to me.¡±

    Isse didn¡¯t say anything. She just smiled.

    And the world was better for it.

    <hr>

    The next day, when Morra came back for dinner, she was not alone.

    A surprise to say the least, one that made Isse stop right in her tracks and bump into a table, nearly losing the two plates she was carrying onto a client. She was saved only by a little trick she¡¯d developed on her third day working here: she¡¯d started putting some sticky spidersilk on the tips of her fingers, making it easier for her to grasp plates from underneath and making it basically impossible to lose her grip on them. It wasn¡¯t spill proof, but it sure as hell was fall proof.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± she said to the client who had seen his life pass before his eyes at the sight of boiling hot soup nearly falling on him.

    The man said it was nothing while he took out a hankie and dabbed at his pale forehead and cheeks.

    Meanwhile Morra and the mysterious guest moved towards an unoccupied table and sat down, the boy talking animatedly with her while she sat silently and looked around. When she finally saw Isse she raised a hand and waved hello in greeting.

    The boy furrowed her brow, looked the way she was looking, noticed Isse smiling and waving herself, smiled mischievously and turned back to Morra, beginning to whisper something Isse could only vaguely hear in the noise of the crowd. Arachnes¡¯ enhanced senses were hell if you lived in a city, but luckily she was still used from her human life back on Earth to isolate everything she didn¡¯t need into background white noise.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    After she brought the plate she¡¯d been carrying to the right client she skittered towards her friend¡¯s table (gosh, she¡¯d made a friend! She hadn¡¯t expected that!).

    ¡°Hi Morra,¡± she said with a smile, ¡°Who¡¯s your mystery friend here?¡± she asked, politely bowing her head in hello to the stranger.

    The boy was probably around her age, possibly younger. His face was clean shaven and sharp, a complete contrast with his purple (purple? Yep, purple, she wasn¡¯t seeing things) eyes that seemed to be smiling on their own. His lips were thin and pale pink, twisted up in a mischievous smile that made him look like a pixie or a fae. Idea that was further reinforced by the pixie cut of his hair and his pointy ears.

    Wait, pointy ears?

    ¡°Are you an elf?¡± she blurted out, unable to control herself.

    The boy laughed while Morra shook her head, before she answered, speaking just a little louder to be heard over the din of conversation of the bar and the boy¡¯s laughter: ¡°This is Tobias Eclisse. He is a half elf. He is eighteen. His eyes are purple because he was born during an eclipse and that apparently means something in elven culture. He is not my boyfriend, just a colleague. He is a dumbass and an [Information Gatherer].¡±

    If ever there was a way to reduce a person¡¯s entire existence to nothing Morra had just found it in her description of Tobias. He turned to glare at her, then looked back at Isse and smiled brightly: ¡°What she said, but let me phrase it in a way that doesn¡¯t make me look like a golem.

    ¡°Hello, I¡¯m Tobias Eclisse, pleasure to meet you, miss¡­?¡±

    She smiled slightly: ¡°Call me Isse.¡±

    ¡°Miss Isse! Wonderful name, truly.¡±

    He had never heard a name like hers and he knew not of its meaning, but she was cute and he would never give up a chance to flirt a bit.

    ¡°Sure, sure,¡± she said with a sly smile that made it apparent she¡¯d already heard it all. Which she had¡­ in her life on earth.

    ¡°Anyways, as this charming, masked lady said, I¡¯m a half elf, which means I got all the good stuff elves get minus the snobbishness.¡±

    ¡°I thought that elves being snobbish was a stereotype.¡±

    Tobias shook his head: ¡°Oh, trust me, it is not. Don¡¯t get me wrong, elves can be fun if you meet them at a party: they party harder than dwarves who just created a new type of alcohol, but any other situation? They tend to think they¡¯re better than you because they¡¯re probably older. Worst thing is, in my opinion, they¡¯re usually right. Only people who really get along with them are the dwarves.

    ¡°As for my eyes, yes, they¡¯re purple, because I was born during an eclipse, and since us elves tend to get an affinity with some type of natural element when we¡¯re born depending on the place we¡¯re born, I got an affinity with Shadow Magic. Granted, it¡¯s usually very¡­ randomical. I was born on a ship, so I could very well have gotten an affinity for water or wood magic.¡±

    ¡°Wait, wait, take a step back. Wood Magic? Is it actually a thing?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, it just sounded funny, but you get the gist of it.

    ¡°Finally, I¡¯m an [Information Gatherer] and work with dear Morra here to help her out in her day-to-day job and, up until now, I think I was her only friend.¡±

    ¡°Colleague,¡± Morra corrected him, her expressionless mask somehow managing to communicate to Isse the depth of the exhaustion this interaction with the young man was giving her.

    ¡°Which, again, is the closest thing to a friend you ever had. Creanza doesn¡¯t count, she¡¯s friends with everyone.¡±

    ¡°Not everyone. She hates Jarion.¡±

    Isse had never heard of this Jarion and seeing the tone Morra had used to describe the man she guessed asking about him would lead to some funny shenanigans and interactions with Creanza. She couldn¡¯t wait for the lunch rush to end.

    ¡°Jarion is the exception that confirms the rule. Anyways, while I¡¯m extremely glad to meet you, Miss Isse, and I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll see plenty of each other soon, I¡¯ve come here to get paid,¡± he looked back at Morra, who in turn put a hand in an internal pocket of her cloak and took out a small gingling pouch.

    ¡°Three gold coins in silver, as per agreement.¡±

    Tobias took the bag, looked inside, nodded and hid it away.

    ¡°Why does this look so illegal?¡± asked Isse, who was getting some pretty strong spy vibes from this whole ordeal.

    Meanwhile Tobias took a stack of neatly folded papers from a pouch in his side. Seeing how the edges were crumpled it clearly wasn¡¯t a bag of holding.

    ¡°Because technically it is. But since a lot of things are technically illegal but then end up just being frowned upon I can conduct this kind of business in the open.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him, he¡¯s just trying to appear cool. The most illegal thing about what he does is he doesn¡¯t pay taxes on the money I give him.¡±

    As she said that she snatched the papers from Tobias¡¯ hand before he could retract it in some form of vendetta.

    And all the while Isse smiled.

    Because her friend did indeed have another friend, however noisy and boisterous and decidedly unfashionable.

    ¡°Now, when do you clock off, my fine lady?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Get out of here and go back to work idiot,¡± was all the answer he got as Morra kicked him in the shins under the table and sent him on his merry, pained, way.

    Isse laughed.

    <hr>

    That night, after she¡¯d finished talking with Morra and listened to a visibly angry Creanza explain the woes of ever having anything to do with Jarion, who apparently had once been her supplier and had ended up in her bad graces when he¡¯d attempted to force himself on Acria, saying that since she was the child of a devil she would like it anyways.

    That had resulted in the man having his manhood swiftly cut off by Creanza using one of Premi¨¦¡¯s knives (which he had not grumbled about, although he did send it to a smith for smelting) and then being nearly kicked to death by Lavia and Acria. The city¡¯s laws were strict on what happened to rapists, but sadly the [Guards] never dug deep enough in the matters for the raper to be justly dealt with. Luckily for the Boneless Dancer Creanza knew a few people who could help cover up the matter, and a call to Albert (and a favor owed) later the man¡¯s life was saved, although forever changed.

    Truly, she¡¯d done a favor to womankind.

    Anyways, on the night of her fifth (and final) day working in the Boneless Dancer, she laid the human half of her body on the mattress of her bed in the room Creanza had offered her while her spider half sat comfortably on the floor, her legs cradling her thorax gently as she contracted them to massage it, lulling herself to sleep.

    Or at least, she tried to.

    Because before oblivion could put its gentle hands over her eyes, she heard a voice.

    A tired voice she hadn¡¯t heard all day.

    Isse.

    She batted her eyes open, because Siidi didn¡¯t like talking in the dark, then closed them again as she remembered that the girl could now see without being forced to look through her eyes.

    What is it Siidi? I¡¯m tired. Can¡¯t we talk in our Mind Castle.

    No, not for this. I¡­ I made you a present. And to truly feel it you¡¯ll have to be awake.

    Isse furrowed her brows, knowing full well that Siidi could feel it.

    What do you mean?

    I mean¡­ look, just¡­ think about Anda. Remember the first time you met her, after hatching.

    Isse froze in place, her legs going still around her spider half still mid squeeze, her heart leaping slightly in her throat and beating faster.

    Siidi¡­ you know I don¡¯t like doing this. Remembering. Especially now that it just feels empty.

    Silence filled her mind again, before her soul half spoke anew: Do you trust me?

    That¡¯s bullshit Siidi, you know I trust you!

    Then do it. Please.

    After a moment of hesitation, she did.

    You know, it¡¯s strange, forcing yourself to remember something you¡¯ve been actively suppressing for such a long time. It feels surreal, as if the memory is no longer yours, and yet it¡¯s there still, always, waiting, knowing full well there is no way to make it disappear, smiling smugly because it knew you would come back eventually. At least, that¡¯s how it works for bad memories, memories bound to something sad and traumatic.

    But the moment Isse was bringing back, that was a good memory. A warm one that had always filled her with a sense of happiness, joy and, after she and Anda had understood that they were soulmates, love.

    But after that night at the Empty Hearted¡¯s Rest it had changed: no longer did the memory bring her joy and, afterwards, sorrow for all she¡¯d lost. There had been nothing there other than a vague feeling of nostalgia.

    After she¡¯d found out she had tried to forget, to not think about it, and she¡¯d found it was easy. So, so, so easy.

    With her mind¡¯s eye, she looked at the memory of the second and, probably, most important person she¡¯d ever met in this new life of hers, and expected to see the black and white mass of nostalgia she¡¯d seen ever since she¡¯d drunk that tea.

    Instead she saw color.

    And then she was flooded with those old emotions she thought she¡¯d forgotten.

    She felt warm in the chest as she looked into Anda¡¯s big black eyes that seemed to suck the light around them and attract you towards them more than a magnet to iron. She watched as the little Anda followed her around on her still-weak spidery legs and felt her heart swell with pride at just how much better she did it than her. She watched as the spiderling began caressing the fluff on her spider half and felt love swell in her heart, and then she chuckled as she watched herself try to force the girl away, only to then feel guilty for it and allow Anda to go back to cuddling her like an oversized plushie.

    She remembered that simple moment, lost herself in it, repeating it, watching Anda smile and feeling her heart swell with love and affection.

    Then she felt something strange, something that wasn¡¯t of the memory.

    It was wet, and it clung to her face for a few moments.

    She raised a hand to her face, touched the wet stuff, and finally realized what it was: tears. She was crying in joy.

    Thank you Siidi. Thank you.

    She felt her soul half smile and, a moment later, felt the ghost of a hug around her shoulder and spider half.

    She fell asleep like that, while looking at the now-restored memory of her soulmate.

    <hr>

    Siidi stumbled away from the painting that represented their first encounter with Anda.

    She was smiling: smiling at Isse¡¯s reaction to getting that piece of herself back as it was meant to be; smiling, because she¡¯d done it, she had succeeded; smiling, because she knew for a fact that she was going to Level thanks to this.

    Smiling, and stumbling, and trying to keep the grimace away from her face, because she felt tired. More tired than she¡¯d been ever since she¡¯d ended up in this body.

    She skittered unsteadily down a corridor, thinking about how bad it was going to be to have to climb the stairs to the top, before she remembered that she could just will herself there because this wasn¡¯t a physical place.

    So it was that she appeared in her now favorite place in the whole Mind Castle: the tower where, once upon a time, months ago (although it felt like ages) she and Isse had pressed the button at the end of the Trial that had led to them ¡®becoming one¡¯.

    The place had changed since then: gone was the naked stone, in its place tons of cushions and comfortable carpets to lie on, all taken from what little she could remember of the comforts from her past. Gone was also the roof, or rather, its stone, in its place now a glass dome that let them see the impossible and strange constellations of Isse¡¯s mind, together with the connections she could see whenever she attempted to use her [Mana Sight].

    She fell into a mound of cushions and just sighed. Tonight Isse wouldn¡¯t join her, just resting in an oblivion as she allowed dreams to fill her mind, probably hoping to be allowed a vision of Anda and the time they¡¯d spent together. Maybe it would even help restore the other memories: Stars knew it was exhausting.

    She clenched the paint brush she¡¯d found the night after that fateful Trial, the one that had appeared from the shadows, seemingly thrown towards her. She¡¯d used it, these last few days, as she tried to do the most logical thing that came to mind when dealing with ruined paintings: restore them.

    Most of their memories had become in black and white, losing depth, becoming just¡­ shells of their old selves. So she¡¯d tried to paint over the monochrome base.

    First, she¡¯d used normal paint summoned into existence from her memory, but that had failed. Every time she tried to use it, the paint just sloughed off, as if she was trying to paint over glass while water was running down it.

    And then she¡¯d had a realization: she was looking at them wrong. She was seeing those memories as actual paintings rather than just a way for Isse¡¯s mind to show them. If she wanted to paint over them, over a memory, she was going to have to use something like a memory.

    Her memories.

    That was why she felt so tired now: these past few days she¡¯d spent all her time, for lack of a better word, painting using herself. Her own memories, going gray little by little as she tried to give back to Isse a small amount of what she had lost. Even if it was just the one memory, it was better than what she had, which was¡­ nothing.

    She smiled as she slowly fell asleep herself, letting oblivion fill her and make her disappear for a short while.

    Before that, though, the voice spoke to her.

    [Soul Curator Level 14!]

    [Skill - Restore Self Obtained!]

    [Skill - A Bucket a Day: Paint Obtained!]

    [Skill - Painting Proficiency (Minor) Obtained!]

 Chapter 20: Waking Up

    Armando opened his eyes¡­ and was surprised.

    The last thing he remembered was the Assistant, no, the Grandmaster now, doing a short evil monologue, then taking a vial of Rania¡¯s poison and, somehow, managing to put a good dose of it in him and the other surviving members of their conspiracy. He also remembered using a Wanderer¡¯s Scroll, otherwise known as Scroll of Greater Teleportation to studious [Mages] to escape.

    And he remembered feeling like he was dying as a voice said something about looking, a rose and finding him.

    Then nothing but feverish darkness and nightmares that he luckily couldn¡¯t remember.

    He opened his eyes, and was surprised, for he hadn¡¯t expected he¡¯d be able to do that again. He knew Rania was an extremely skilled [Poison Crafter] or something along those lines and, even though the poison the Grandmaster had used was only an experiment, not the final product, he didn¡¯t have many expectations of that helping him out, so whoever had saved him must be an expert.

    He tried to lift himself from the rather comfortable bed he was lying on, feeling his muscles protest, his bones creak, his spine crack and, in general, his body lamenting its existence, deciding in the end it wasn¡¯t worth it.

    ¡°Good choice there buddy,¡± said someone to his side.

    Hadn¡¯t his muscles been aching as much as they did he would¡¯ve probably jumped in surprise. Looking towards the voice, his eyes alighted on the figure of a slight young woman with piercing brown eyes that seemed to be capable of staring a hole right through him, a smile forming on her lips as she looked at his waking self. And yet there was also a sort of haggardness to her: circles bloomed a light purple under her eyes, her lips looked slightly dry, her hair frazzled, all of it forming a picture of someone who hadn¡¯t been sleeping for a while now.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been out of it for a while now. A week, give or take. I was hoping it¡¯d take less time, but then again, you were hanging on to life by a thread, so I guess you had a right to sleep.¡±

    He tried to say something, but found his throat to be sore, his lips cracked. He realized he was hungry and thirsty.

    ¡°Yeah, sorry about that. I tried feeding you honey and water while you were out of it, but as you can imagine that¡¯s not enough to live on. As soon as I can I¡¯ll make you a real meal. At least, one you can keep down.¡±

    He nodded, then opened his mouth again to say something, but the girl, because she was a girl, not a woman, not yet, got up from her chair and walked towards the bedside table, where three glasses of water sat.

    She took one in her hands and offered it to him: ¡°Drink all three of them. Slowly. Don¡¯t want you to throw up, you¡¯re already low on liquids as is.¡±

    As she handed him the glass of water he noticed that, sprouting from her arm, like a branch from some kind of parasitic plant, was a small, dark red, tube. Frowning as he took the glass he followed the strange tube down and up and up towards¡­ to his arm.

    The girl followed his gaze and nodded: ¡°Ah, yes, that. I did create an antidote for your poison, an unconventional one, sure, but a working one, but it only cured the worst of the effects. The arsenic was still in your blood, so I had to get it out of you.¡±

    He looked up at her, drank some of the water, smacked his parched lips, drank some more, then attempted to talk and, after a bit of coughing, he managed to: ¡°What did you do to me.¡±

    She shrugged, but gently, making sure not to jostle the tube too much: ¡°I had to bloodlet you. Managed to get the bad blood out, but you weren¡¯t in a state to replenish what you¡¯d lost yourself, so I had to perform a transfusion.¡±

    ¡°...Transfusion?¡±

    ¡°My blood and my friend¡¯s blood is running through your veins.¡±

    She stopped, then, with a chuckle, added: ¡°It¡¯s not a sexual thing here, I hope.¡±

    Armando felt a chuckle try to escape his lips and failed to contain it, causing his chest to convulse slightly in pain.

    ¡°You saved me,¡± he said after he¡¯d finished drinking his third glass of water. Never would he have thought something as simple as water could taste so delicious. Guess nearly dying does that to a man. The knowledge you could have lost something makes it so much better

    ¡°Yeah, but you¡¯re probably going to desire I didn¡¯t,¡± was the girl¡¯s very clich¨¦ answer to his very clich¨¦ statement.

    ¡°Because I¡¯m in your debt and you¡¯re going to ask me something ludicrously impossible to repay it?¡±

    The girl shook her head: ¡°What do you take me for, an evil witch? Not even the christians¡¯ version of Baba Yaga was that bad, even though she ate children. No, you¡¯re going to wish you had died because the poison used on you caused¡­ collateral damage. I gave you an antidote, but for some reason the arsenic was already in your blood and all over your body. It probably damaged your nerves, the marrow in your bones is fucked and will make you anemic¡­ ah, you probably don¡¯t know what that means, so just know that your blood won¡¯t work as well as it should; your heart will feel in pain often and you¡¯ll be more prone to diseases of all kinds.

    ¡°So, yeah, you have no debt with me. Saving you gave me Levels, that¡¯s payment enough for ¡®helping¡¯ you, since you¡¯ll still die in a matter of years. I¡¯m sorry for being selfish.¡±

    Ah. So that¡¯s what Rania had been working on. A poison that would kill someone no matter what one did: either you¡¯d end up dead quite fast after ingesting it, or you¡¯d still die not long afterwards because of its side effects.

    ¡°She was good like that,¡± he chuckled mirthlessly.

    ¡°Meh, I¡¯ve seen and heard of poisons more interesting than arsenic personally. It¡¯s just too overused,¡± said Alice as she gently extracted the tube from her arm and, afterwards, from his.

    ¡°It was a never before heard of poison, how can you say something like that?¡± he asked, curious.

    She shrugged: ¡°I¡¯m an expert. Poisons, antidotes, traditional and occult rites and stories and cures. So trust me when I tell you that the poison used on you, which, again, is called arsenic, isn¡¯t that hard to come by. It¡¯s just a rock. A shitty fucking rock that¡¯s killed more people than anyone cares to count. So either your friend wasn¡¯t as good as you think, or she¡¯d just found out about it and was in the process of turning it into something even I couldn¡¯t cure.¡±

    She sighed and, gently, sat down.

    ¡°Anyways, my name is Alice. Pronounced with a C, not an S, mind you. What¡¯s your name? And where did you come from? I found you in a clearing in the nearby forest and, to my knowledge, the only other village close to Gunsee is two days from here by carriage, and if you¡¯d walked all the way here you¡¯d have died long before I found you.¡±

    Ah, now that was a question he hoped he wouldn¡¯t have to answer. From what she had told him she seemed a lot like a [Witch]. Sure, a young one, and sure, one that talked about some nonsense (what was christianity and who was this Baba Yaga?), but all witches were like that, and the College had a bad history with their kind. Very bad. They¡¯d helped hunt them during the Purge of Magic a few thousand years ago, not long after the end of the Era of Hunts and the arachne menace had been dealt with.

    Seeing his hesitation Alice smiled slightly: ¡°I must remind you, o¡¯ mysterious stranger, that you¡¯re bound by the Laws of Hospitality to answer that. [Enforce Tradition].¡±

    Meanwhile she also activated another one of her new Skills: [Disquieting Presence].

    And suddenly the air around Armando felt oppressive as something ancient gazed upon him and clasped manacles around his hands and feet. The presence didn¡¯t feel like the System. It was even more ancient. Older than the gods themselves, if that were possible. But that was impossible, right?

    The presence then gave him the key to the manacles. They were an agreement, binding him to the girl who had saved his life, but the key was a way out, a way he could take, but at great risk, for that would mean going against an ancient Tradition, and there were Consequences for those who did something so heinous.

    He looked up from his hands at the girl, at Alice, and as his eyes settled on her he felt his heart start beating a tad faster, dread forming in the back of his mind. There was something more to her now: the bags under her eyes were accentuated by her small smile and now felt like an integral part of her beautiful yet terrifying portrait as they accentuated her brown, half-closed, eyes that seemed to be staring deep inside his soul, reading him, his desires, his memories, his very being, planting hooks everywhere she could to drag him into her life and use him ¡®till he dropped dead. He knew she could do something like that: the Tradition she had called upon, one not even the College could contain for it was as old as the world, would make sure that he would always be by her side if she so asked. After all, she had saved his life, and a favor always had to be repaid with something equal.

    And then it all stopped.

    ¡°So? Gonna talk?¡±

    He hadn¡¯t realized it, but his hands were trembling.

    Taking a deep, shaking breath, he spoke: ¡°My name is Armando Casonza. I¡¯m¡­ I was a member of the College of Memoirs. Again, was. I escaped from it using a Wanderer¡¯s Scroll, but not before they poisoned me.¡±

    The girl nodded, whistling: ¡°Ah, we¡¯ve got ourselves a fallen angel here. How¡¯s it feel to go from the stars to the stables? And what¡¯d you do to get such a treatment? Try to kill someone?¡±

    For a moment Armando thought about lying, but the moment the idea crossed his mind the ghostly chains seemed to tighten as the key was dangled enticingly in front of him, clinking heavily against its chain, a reminder of what could be, and of what would happen. The key was a question: what will you do, cute little Armando? Will you run, like you did for years, looking the other way at the College¡¯s atrocities? Or will you look at truth with your face unmasked, your eyes open? What consequences will you choose to face?

    ¡°O¡¯ Queen of ancients, I beg of thee, calm down. He is a guest:temptation and fear are not ours to use. ¡°

    And suddenly the shackles felt lighter and the key was no longer dangling in front of him, now lying beside him on the bed, unmoving.

    Who was this girl? What was her Level, that she could do things like this and make it look so¡­ normal?

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    Maybe¡­ maybe it would be better to answer her questions after all.

    Maybe he should finally admit it even to himself: that there was no way out of this. Not anymore.

    ¡°I tried to destroy the House, make Her suffering end, and with Her the College. We, there were many of us, were found out, and were either killed on the spot or poisoned to death. I escaped only because the Elemental of the House gave me a Wanderer¡¯s Scroll and, somehow, managed to get me out even with the building in lockdown.¡±

    Ok, maybe he should¡¯ve been more specific. Most people didn¡¯t even know what the word Lockdown meant.

    ¡°Ah, I see. So you¡¯re one of the good guys. Or I think you are? People¡¯s opinions on the College are ambivalent. I just don¡¯t like them because they restrict interesting Classes like [Storytellers] here in Eva. And more or less all over the world.¡±

    She hadn¡¯t heard of their worst atrocities, nor of what they did to obtain the Memories and rare Traditions that cropped up. She also hadn¡¯t heard about how they¡¯d burned down an entire forest to destroy a Nest of arachne. The news had been kept hidden from the rest of the world as much as possible.

    ¡°Well, anyways, I think I understand your situation. You¡¯re doubly welcome to stay here.¡±

    And she deactivated her Skill, the chains around Armando disappearing.

    As she did, though, he heard her whisper something else: ¡°Thank you, Queen of the Fae, my Lady Titania. Never again shall I forget of Tir Na Nog and your people.¡±

    And she bowed her head to the air, as deep a bow as possible from her sitting position on her chair.

    A gust of wind passed through the room, ruffling her hair a bit, and then silence reigned.

    For her part, Alice was certain she heard mirthful laughter as a hand in that wind caressed her hair, welcoming her back. She may have forgotten them for a decade, but what were ten years for immortals? They hadn¡¯t forgotten her, nor the vows she had made to her grandmother both on her deathbed and upon her grave. She had broken them, those vows, but now she was keeping faith to them anew, so she was forgiven. Never let it be said that the Queen of the Fae couldn¡¯t be magnanimous.

    ¡°What did you just say?¡± asked Armando.

    Alice smiled enigmatically, then turned around and began walking towards the door that led outside her bedroom.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna go make food. Stars know I¡¯m hungry as Airm.¡±

    <hr>

    Averick arrived an hour later. He looked a bit more haggard than usual because of the blood transfer he was helping Alice with: turns out, apparently, his blood was compatible with the man¡¯s, what with him having a ¡®0 blood type¡¯, whatever that meant. Still, his hair was slicked back and well combed, there were no shadows underneath his eyes and his smile was as brilliant as usual. Really, he made it look effortless.

    ¡°Good morning Alice,¡± he said cheerfully as he walked in, noticing dirty plates in the sink of her kitchen and seeing her sitting on a chair with her head cradled in her arms in a futile attempt to fall asleep without using her Skill.

    At the sound of his voice she looked up, raising an eyebrow: ¡°Isn¡¯t it customary anymore to knock before entering?¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it customary to lock your front door if you don¡¯t want people to walk in?¡±

    ¡°...Touch¨¦.¡±

    She let her head fall back in her arms.

    A moment later it came back up, and this time there was a small, devious, smile on her face.

    ¡°Av, could you come closer a second?¡±

    Immediately he took three steps back, making Alice¡¯s eyebrows shoot upwards for a moment before she began laughing uncontrollably. That was ¡®tired Alice¡¯ for you: incapable of keeping her emotions in check. Some would say that made her friendlier, even cuter, and Averick could absolutely agree with them. The problem was, it also made her slightly more unhinged, prone to making very bad jokes that, worst thing of all, sometimes were even funny, and, in general, she was much more unpredictable.

    ¡°Come on Av, it¡¯s nothing bad. I promise you¡¯ll like it!¡±

    ¡°Last time you said that I ended up testing some of your homemade alcohol and nearly fell face first in your toilet.¡±

    ¡°Not my fault you¡¯re a lightweight.¡±

    ¡°A lightweight? I can outdrink most people in Gunsee Alice.¡±

    ¡°Then they¡¯re all lightweights!¡±

    Then she went back to laughing as she remembered that night. In a flight of fancy she¡¯d started brewing some samagon, an old recipe for moonshine her mother had taught her made using, of all things, potatoes. Apparently someone in their family¡¯s past, probably some second grade cousin, had worked for a bootlegger in the americas during the roaring 20s, or so her mum had said.

    It had come out particularly strong. So strong in fact that she¡¯d had to throw the stuff away and, in the process, given alcohol poisoning to a few nearby fish.

    ¡°Come on Av, come here,¡± she repeated, her voice mellifluous and friendly, so much so that she did a whole circle and somehow managed to look menacing.

    Still, this was Alice: what¡¯s the worst she could do? Well, except for apparently ¡®breaking his bones and poisoning his blood¡¯, as she¡¯d said a few days prior in a moment of desperation.

    He stepped close to Alice, an animalistic part of him deep in the back of his mind whispering that maybe it wasn¡¯t a good idea, that she was higher Level than him, which meant she was more powerful. At the same time, though, the rational, and louder, part of him told him clearly that she was harmless. More or less.

    So he walked and sat down at the table close to her, smiling all the while.

    ¡°A lil¡¯ closer,¡± she said, motioning for him to lean over with her index finger.

    As he did, her hands shot out and grabbed the sides of his face, pulling him in, mashing her lips forcefully on his.

    And they kissed.

    Of all the ways he had expected their kiss to go, Averick had not expected this. At first, he was shocked, unable to do anything, just frozen in place as her lips touched his, questing and questioning.

    Then the spell broke and he realized what was happening.

    He moved slightly forward, his right hand moving up, cupping Alice¡¯s cheek gently and keeping her where she was as he began to reciprocate.

    Where Alice was aggressive, ¡®going for the kill¡¯, Averick was gentle and, slowly, he tried to tame her eagerness. She burned like a blazing fire while he was a candle: still hot, still filled with desire, but he wanted this to last, and if he let Alice burn that bright this would end sooner.

    She opened her mouth, inviting him in, challenging him, licking his upper lip, but he didn¡¯t answer: instead he closed her lips with a kiss of his own, delicate and caring.

    That was how it went for a while as seconds turned to a minute to minutes and they stayed like that, as what had started as a spur of the moment thing, something that shouldn¡¯t have meant anything, quickly became a moment of true passion and emotion.

    Alice had never had the chance to taste a moment like this. Her previous lovers had all been like her: fiery, free spirited and energetic. There had never been any patience in anything they¡¯d done, just raw, animalistic, want to satisfy their desire, to quench a thirst. There had been no lovemaking, only passion. Maybe that was also why it had never become anything more?

    Averick was different. He was a surprise. With all the talk about bagging a different girl every week (an exaggeration surely, or he¡¯d have bedded every woman his age in Gunsee) she¡¯d expected he would be more straightforward, more¡­ she couldn¡¯t tell. Her brain wasn¡¯t there to think complex thoughts. It was there to tell her that she should savor this moment and, at the same time, tempt her into taking this a step further.

    In the end she didn¡¯t know how long they stayed like that.

    She just knew that, when they separated, she felt a bit emptier: she didn¡¯t want this to end.

    Looking up, she saw Averick blushing slightly. From the heat in her ears she guessed she was also red as a tomato.

    They were both panting.

    And they stayed like that for a while more, just staring at each other, eyes wide, suddenly questions of ¡®What?¡¯, ¡®Why did I do this?¡¯, ¡®Does this mean anything?¡¯ and many more like those appearing in the backs of their minds. At the forefront, though, was a single thought: That was good. I liked it.

    ¡°So -¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sor -¡±

    They both started, and stopped.

    ¡°You sta -¡±

    ¡°You begi -¡±

    And again.

    This was so fucking clich¨¦.

    And yet their heads were quite scrambled indeed, two eggs in a bowl being battered around by a mad [Confectioner] for a Valentine¡¯s day cake.

    After another moment of silence, he asked: ¡°Why so suddenly? Not that I didn¡¯t like it.¡±

    Alice chuckled: ¡°From the way you were kissing back I¡¯d wager you did. As for why, well, I did promise that if I managed to save the dude in the other room thanks to your idea I would kiss you. I always keep my word.¡±

    They both knew that was a lie. She¡¯d just wanted to kiss him and had done it, because she was free to do it, to do anything she wanted. Averick, too, understood that, and smiled.

    ¡°Ah, just that? Or did I finally manage to convince you to bed me after all that bragging?¡±

    Alice laughed: ¡°Keep dreaming Av. Although, if you¡¯re interested, I do have a free mattress out there.

    Av choked on nothing: ¡°The one our guest there shat in? Fuck off!¡±

    They fell in companionable silence, looking at each other and getting more comfortable in their chairs.

    In the end though, Av broke the silence: ¡°So¡­?¡±

    Alice shook her head: ¡°I don¡¯t know Av. The last time I ended up in an actual relationship things got¡­ bad. Real bad. And it wasn¡¯t all the guy¡¯s fault. You saw it, I¡¯m not¡­ stable.¡±

    She sighed, passing a hand through her hair: ¡°I probably should¡¯ve gone to see a shrink or something, but in the end I just kept it all in. Fat lot of good that did,¡± she chuckled mirthlessly.

    ¡°Point is, Av: do we want to risk it? Risk this. Our friendship, what we have, it¡¯s great. But what if we take it a step further and I get ugly again? I¡¯ve been there before: everything starts great, then I start to get jealous, I fear the other person will abandon me, will leave me behind, I start to suspect their every action, their every motive, and before you know it bam! I become a control freak.¡±

    Av said nothing, letting her talk, letting her get it out of her system.

    ¡°And you know the worst part? It was always my fault when things went wrong. I made them leave, I made them want to never again have anything to do with me. They were all genuine, my lovers. Or at least, I think they were, in hindsight.¡±

    She looked down at her hands, and that was when he struck.

    ¡°So what?¡±

    She looked up, her eyes wide.

    ¡°What do you mean so what? Are you sure you want to risk seeing that side of me?¡±

    He shrugged: ¡°I mean, it was a different time, a different place, and you hadn¡¯t made peace with yourself and your past. I¡¯m willing to bet that, until that day in the mountains, when you spoke to that flower, you thought of yourself as a monster because you¡¯d tried to forget about your grandma, the person you loved most in this world.¡±

    For a second Alice wanted to correct him, say that her ma and pa were the people she loved most in her old world, but that would¡¯ve been a lie. She¡¯d always loved her grandmother, with her eccentricities and stories, more than her boring parents who only wanted her to see the world as a grown up even as a child.

    ¡°You¡¯ve changed Alice. From the day I first met you up to now I¡¯ve seen you change in ways I can¡¯t even put into words. Sometimes for the better, most of the times for the worst, sure -¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡±

    ¡°- but you did it. You¡¯re not the Alice of then, the broken girl with abandonment syndrome and barely contained suicidal desires. And yes, don¡¯t think I didn¡¯t notice. Now you¡¯re¡­ not fixed, I don¡¯t think a person can ¡®fix¡¯ themselves in those ways, but instead you¡¯re just¡­ cracked, yes. Like a vase that fell to the ground and was put back together. The cracks are there, clear for all to see, but they only make the thing look different from the others and, for that, more beautiful.¡±

    He had forgotten to breath as he¡¯d said those words.

    Silence reigned inside the room again, not like a rock, but like a gentle, swaying, river, suffocating everything in it but also gently swaying, lapping at your submerged form.

    Finally, Alice spoke: ¡°Come here and kiss me again Av.¡±

    He did just that.

 Chapter 21: The Assassins Bowl

    Alice and Averick had become girlfriend and boyfriend for a week now, causing general discontent in the young female population of Gunsee, many of which were in some way infatuated with the boy, and a small party in ¡®Wood¡¯s Solutions¡¯ organized by Herman, who¡¯d congratulated her on finally getting someone to fuck her moodiness out of her. She¡¯d thrown a defective vial of some explosive liquid at him for that, which had exploded¡­ into a gooey orange mess. So that was why he told her to never touch the defective stuff!

    Anyways, after an attempt on her life by an angry ex and the strangest mini party of her life, Alice went back to living her normal life, now with the added bonus of having someone to kiss when she felt like it. And what kisses too.

    Sadly they couldn¡¯t do much more: Alice had a patient, and she didn¡¯t feel like going a step further when someone a room over could very probably overhear them.

    And regarding said patient.

    ¡°Hello Armando.¡±

    Alice walked into what had once been her room holding a bowl of food and a bowl of water, something clinking in her pocket with a sound of glass on metal.

    Armando sat up slightly on her bed and nodded gratefully: ¡°Hello Alice. Thank you for bringing me food.¡±

    She chuckled: ¡°It wouldn¡¯t do for me to save you from arsenic poisoning and then let you die of hunger now would it?¡±

    ¡°Still, thank you. And the food is surprisingly good.¡±

    ¡°Did you doubt for even a single moment that I wouldn¡¯t be able to whip up something good?¡±

    ¡°In my experience people who¡¯re good at healing also have lost the ability to taste anything and tend to cook shitty food.¡±

    ¡°Well, I can do both! Then again, food is easier than potions and the like: at least the herbs you throw into it don¡¯t tend to explode if you throw them wrong.¡±

    She placed the plate of soup on his lap and sat down on a nearby chair, placing the bowl of water on the night stand beside her bed, close to the glass of water.

    ¡°That¡¯s the strangest way I¡¯ve heard someone put it,¡± said Armando as he took a sip of soup and smiled.

    He then glanced at the bowl, raising an eyebrow: ¡°That¡¯s an unusual way to fill up my glass of water.¡±

    She smiled, nodding: ¡°Indeed. This is just¡­ a means to ensure my safety. Eat, I¡¯ll explain later.¡±

    And that was when Armando felt his heart skip a beat, although he wasn¡¯t quite certain if it was from fear or his heart actually skipping a beat. These days it was difficult to tell.

    Still, he ate, because no matter what was to come, taking it on with an empty stomach wasn¡¯t that good an idea.

    The soup was hearty and tasty, with small bits of meat mixed in with steamed vegetables of some sort. All in all, filling, and tasty, and easy on his stomach. He was confident he could now keep down more complex foods than liquids, but Alice wasn¡¯t so sure for now, so that¡¯s what he got.

    Finally, he placed his plate down on the bedside table, beside the other bowl, making sure not to bump it, as his hand, still trembling even after a week, clasped the glass of water nearby and brought it to his mouth.

    ¡°Thank you for the meal,¡± he said, bowing his head slightly, ¡°But now I¡¯d like to know what that other bowl is for, if you don¡¯t mind. You sounded serious.¡±

    The girl smiled, taking the plate and placing it on the floor as she moved closer, her hands going for the nightstand and moving it between them, the bowl now at its dead center.

    ¡°This is called an Assassin¡¯s Bowl,¡± she started, her tone solemn.

    Armando raised an eyebrow: ¡°It looks like the bowl you gave me breakfast in.¡±

    She nodded, again, very solemnly: ¡°That is because this is the very same bowl. Per se, it¡¯s not the bowl that¡¯s important. I could¡¯ve used any one of those I have in my cupboard. What matters is this,¡± she put a hand in the pocket that had been clinking with her every step when she¡¯d entered and took out¡­ a small vial connected to a chain, a mysterious red liquid inside.

    ¡°It took me a week to get this prepared, and thank the gods we have Skills because otherwise this could¡¯ve taken a month.¡±

    Armando looked at the vial, squinting slightly, his vision blurry at the edges, but still couldn¡¯t understand what he was seeing.

    ¡°What is it?¡± he asked.

    ¡°This, my dear friend, is fermented blood. Your fermented blood, to be precise. Or, if I wanted to make this sound even creepier, it¡¯s blood wine. Nifty, right?¡±

    Armando stared disbelievingly at her, a small smile beginning to appearing on his face, only to freeze in place and disappear when he saw her smile and understood that she was not, in fact, joking.

    ¡°Before you ask, I used your blood. The local [Winemaker] said he had a Skill to get the poison out of it so I didn¡¯t have to give him a pint of my own blood.¡±

    He frowned, a deep sense of unreality slowly beginning to dawn on him: ¡°Why would a [Winemaker] just accept to make wine out of someone¡¯s blood? How fucked up are the people living in this city?¡±

    ¡°Oh, they¡¯re plenty normal, he just liked the idea of the challenge once I explained how I had sourced the blood and why it would be used. Apparently he gained two Levels thanks to this. He nearly convinced me not to pay as well!¡±

    And at that Armando calmed down a bit: in this world pretty much anything could be explained with the excuse ¡®It¡¯s going to give me/you Levels¡¯. It was an addiction, a subtle one that every single living, thinking, being developed. One that had long since taken a hold of Alice and Liam. Not Isse, though. She had other things to worry about.

    ¡°So he just¡­ made wine using my blood. This feels deeply unsettling.¡±

    Alice shrugged: ¡°You haven¡¯t seen the half of unsettling things I know how to do. Anyways, I¡¯m going to use this now to see if anyone¡¯s going to come looking to murder you. If they are, then I¡¯m going to have to ask you to kindly leave this house as soon as possible because I¡¯ve only recently started actually liking my life and would rather keep it, agreed?¡±

    He didn¡¯t like this idea, at all. But then again, she was right. He was just an uninvited guest (technically invited, but you get the meaning) who¡¯d appeared in her life and she¡¯d decided to save out of the kindness of her heart (the Levels were just an extra, he hoped). Him putting her in danger wouldn¡¯t be exactly a good way to repay her kindness. And while the chains were no longer there, sometimes he still felt a presence in the background of his thoughts, a feeling like seeing someone out of the corner of your eye only to turn around and find nothing there. She was looking at him (he was pretty certain it was a She), judging. She had little hold over this place, for Alice was the only one who knew of Her and Her stories, but for some things that was more than enough. Especially in a world where a story could reshape reality, with the right words in the right moment.

    ¡°Alright, I agree to these terms,¡± he said, bowing his head slightly and wincing at a sudden sharp pain in his neck.

    Alice nodded and, slowly, unstoppered the vial of blood-wine, handing it to him: ¡°Go ahead and spit inside it.¡±

    Armando raised an eyebrow but did as he was said, handing back the vial when he was done.

    ¡°What¡¯s the spit for, that thing¡¯s already made with my blood, isn¡¯t that enough of a connection? I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯m not really an expert when it comes to this [Witch] stuff.¡±

    Alice shook her head: ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t kill you for asking explanations on stuff that shouldn¡¯t make any sense. But, truth be told, I myself don¡¯t know the exact answer: I know how to make wine, or alcohol¡­ but not rubbing alcohol apparently; anyways, I know how to make it, but I never really understood the process behind it, so my best guess is that something is lost when you turn the blood into wine, and that something should be supplemented with spit.¡±

    As she spoke she stoppered the vial up again, letting it dangle from her hand over the bowl of water as she activated her new favorite Skill: [Talisman: Enhance Power].

    She wasn¡¯t always certain if what she was creating was effectively a Talisma, but every time she used her Skill the effects of whatever she was making became much more pronounced, so it was probably alright.

    Luckily for her, that was mainly caused by a simple reason: the multiverse, for that was probably the best way to define it, was filled to the brim with traditions and ideas that were so similar to each other yet so different: so, maybe, in a world the assassin¡¯s bowl was considered a rite, while in another it worked as a talisman, and so it was for many things that regarded the world of the occult. For that reason the System was¡­ confused. Yes, confused was the right word. It had been taught by being shown everything that was and much of what could be, and seeing such diversity It just couldn¡¯t differentiate one tradition from another. So it was that most of them fell upon multiple tags as <Talisman> and <Rite> and some even as actual <Tradition>.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Really, the girl was extremely lucky.

    Or whatever existed since Luck was dead here.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s supposed to happen?¡± asked Armando.

    ¡°It¡¯s quite simple: traditionally blood represents life, while wine is a symbol of decay. No, not decadence, but decay, since it¡¯s made by making grapes ferment. The fusion of both concepts allows to symbolically represent death, or a desire for it. The spit is the anchor, to let the bowl know whose death we¡¯re trying to see. As for the bowl and water themselves, they¡¯re a symbolic representation of the world, with the former being made of clay, signifying earth, and the latter representing the sea.¡±

    She smiled, as if remembering something, before speaking up again: ¡°What was it that grandma always said? Ah, right: Across the waves and deep in the thrumming heat of this forsaken land, I ask of thee: where shall the knife come, that my back be not turned to thy¡¯s face?¡±

    As she spoke the vial bound to the chain began moving slightly, oscillating, as if Alice were moving it around, but her grip was firm, her arm unmoving, her gaze unflinchingly staring at every movement of the glass container.

    And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, the bottom of the vial pointing straight down. Alice sighed and smiled.

    ¡°What does this mean?¡± asked Armando, his hands slightly sweaty.

    ¡°It means that nobody¡¯s trying to kill you. Or that the planet itself is, but that¡¯s never happened before so¡­ you¡¯re gonna be fine. Whoever tried to kill you probably thinks you¡¯re dead.¡±

    Armando chuckled: ¡°Probably the best news I¡¯ve heard this week after realizing I wasn¡¯t dead.¡±

    Silence fell on the room as they just sat there and thought, relaxing and thinking of nothing at all.

    Until Alice spoke again: ¡°You¡¯re going to try again, am I right?¡±

    Armando stood still a few moments before he nodded: ¡°You said it yourself: I don¡¯t have much left to live. Years at most, right?¡±

    She shrugged: ¡°Eh, I don¡¯t know. I said years, could be decades: I don¡¯t know what Skills you¡¯ll get, nor do I know how much a person¡¯s Levels influence their bodies, since an [Alchemist] friend of mine once said that high Levels bring advantages other than better Skills. But yes, if things stay as they are, you¡¯ve probably got three years left to live, maybe even less.¡±

    Armando nodded: ¡°Thank you for being direct about it. I don¡¯t know many people out there who could say something so bleak without batting an eye.¡±

    Again, Alice shrugged: ¡°Death is Death Armando. It¡¯s inevitable, no matter how hard you try. I should know,¡± she chuckled mirthlessly.

    He looked at her, then away. Clearly this girl had been through something, and just as clearly he didn¡¯t want to hear about it.

    ¡°Anyways, yes. I¡¯ll try again, if only just to avenge my colleagues and friends.¡±

    And at that Alice snorted derisively: ¡°To avenge them? That¡¯s stupid. You don¡¯t go on suicide missions to avenge people. Be honest with yourself: you¡¯re doing this for yourself, or for pettiness, or for the greater good of the world, even though I¡¯ve yet to find someone out there who¡¯s actually ever done something for that final reason.¡±

    Armando looked at her and raised an eyebrow: ¡°Where do you come from that you¡¯d be so disillusioned, so jaded?¡±

    Alice opened her mouth to answer, to tell him the usual bullshit answer about her coming from a faraway place that was much worse than this one.

    And then she stopped, realization dawning on her. She¡¯d said it herself: this world was much better than Earth. The people were kinder, bound together by common strife, many of them uncaring of the politics of kingdoms and [Kings] and nations. They looked out for each other most of the time, and did it just because they knew that, sooner or later, they¡¯d need that same help. The human side was still there, with the selfishness and desire for power and riches and all that, but it was tempered down, reduced.

    So she answered: ¡°You know, you¡¯re right? I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m quite the grim person, once you dig deep enough. The place I come from, it isn¡¯t kind. This place though? It¡¯s a lot kinder. So¡­ I¡¯m sorry. Maybe you can actually do this for revenge and kindness.¡±

    She looked up, at the ceiling, and nodded: ¡°What was your original plan?¡±

    Armando¡¯s eyes opened wide: ¡°You want to help?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. Depends. I won¡¯t go right into the College¡¯s territory, but if there¡¯s something I could feasibly help you with I¡¯ll try. So explain.¡±

    For a moment, the room was silent, then Armando nodded, determination in his eyes, and he began to explain.

    ¡°The House of Memories is alive, which I think you¡¯d already guessed, since only living things can be killed. She¡­ has a heart. And a mind. To kill Her, both must die.¡±

    For a moment Alice wanted to interrupt him, ask if it wouldn¡¯t be enough to just destroy one of the two. Then she realized that this was a fantasy world and he was talking about killing a living building that had probably been around since the dawn of time if the stories about the College were to be believed.

    ¡°The Heart is hidden in the depths of the House, in the basement, while the Mind exists inside the Dream. Ah, right, you don¡¯t know what those are, let me explain. The -¡±

    She raised a hand and stopped him, chewing thoughtfully on her lip as she decided whether or not tell him that she was a [Dreamer]. It felt like such a coincidence that he would need a one to complete his mission and that she was. Everything about this felt like such a big series of coincidences. It felt like too much even for a Wanderer¡¯s Rose.

    In the end, though, she decided there was no damage to be done in telling him. Not like he was going to hurt her.

    ¡°I¡¯m a [Dreamer], Armando. I know perfectly well what you¡¯re talking about.¡±

    He gaped up at her, disbelievingly, only to then start chuckling deep in his chest, before he began to laugh painfully, coughing mixed in with the probably joyful sound.

    When he calmed down he just said: ¡°This is just perfect.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I know. Maybe even too perfect.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°...It¡¯s nothing. Just a strange feeling I sometimes get that there¡¯s¡­ more to all this.¡±

    [¡ö¡ö¡ö ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö]. The world contorted and distorted, and then all was back to how it should be.

    He frowned at her, before nodding: ¡°Well, I won¡¯t be looking a gift horse in the mouth.

    ¡°Anyways, the plan was simple per se: we had to find a way to enter the basement, the place where¡­ the things live, find the Heart and kill it. That was the most complex part: the other, much simpler, one was to find the place inside the House¡¯s projection in the Land of Dreams where we could unleash a poison that would then spread everywhere.

    ¡°As you can well imagine, it is no easy task. We had a [Poisoner] working with us, the one whose poison was used to attempt to kill me, and she was trying to figure out something that could be used for this second part of the plan together with a [Dreamer]. She¡¯s dead now, and the [Dreamer] is probably lost somewhere in the Land. The rest of us were trying to figure out a way through the monsters in the basement. One of us, an old [Librarian], thought she had found some clues, a way to do it, but she died.¡±

    He looked at the wall in front of him, his voice slowly going down to a whisper as, for the first time since he¡¯d woken up, he was forced to confront the reality of his situation: he was alone. They were all gone. Dead or disappeared into nothingness. And he had no real clue on how to begin this project anew now that years of work had gone down the drain.

    ¡°You say your [Poisoner] friend was trying to figure out a poison that could work on a being¡¯s mind. Heh, that would explain why she chose arsenic. Assured nerve damage, the brain is made of nerves, so she thought it would work. A normal person¡¯s answer to a Dream problem.¡±

    She hummed in appreciation: ¡°Slow acting though. Too slow for what you want. Your little House would have to suffer for years before Her death, following the rules of the Dream. Sure, it would¡¯ve killed it, but it wouldn¡¯t exactly be a humane death.¡±

    ¡°Her.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°The House is not an It. The House is alive and is a Her. A woman, a female, I don¡¯t really know, it¡¯s just the way the Elemental referred to Her.¡±

    ¡°Elemental?¡±

    ¡°Oh, right: there¡¯s an Elemental of Memories living in the House as a sort of¡­ keeper? I¡¯m not really sure, he never explained it to anyone. Said there was no reason for us to know seeing how we were treating the House. Right now he doesn¡¯t matter.¡±

    Alice shook her head: ¡°It¡¯s the House of Memories and he¡¯s an Elemental of Memories, I¡¯m pretty sure it fucking matters my dude. I don¡¯t know how, but I¡¯m certain it matters. Now, in regards to the poison problem, I can help.¡±

    She was a [Dream Poisoner] after all.

    For a moment, again, she felt that strange sensation at the back of her mind, as if this was too much of a coincidence, but just as fast as it had appeared it was gone, like a flickering lightbulb¡¯s light in a dark room.

    ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°I know poisons. Studied them all my life. And I understand how the Dream works. I could probably make something useful, and I know someone who could help me find your friend. But not now. For now, you will rest. The House can wait a week more.¡±

    And that said, she took the bowl, put the vial of blood wine in her pocket, nodded goodbye to Armando and left the room.

    That night, he heard Its voice for the first time in years.

    [Memoir Shaper Class Removed!]

    [Memoir Shaper Skills Removed!]

    [Confectionery Architect Class Reinstated!]

    [Confectionery Architect Level 25!]

    <Calculating Level Balancing>

    [Confectionery Architect Level 34!]

    [Conditions Met: Reshape House -> Sweets Bending]

    [Skill - Sweets Bending Obtained!]

    [Skill - Creations: Wondrous Aura Obtained!]

    [...

    It kept going changing some of his Skills, giving him new ones, but then it added something else:

    [Avenger Class Obtained!]

    [Avenger Level 2!]

    [Skill - Perceive Potential Allies Obtained!]

    [Vow of Restlessness Taken!]

    [Vow Skill - My Last Breath Waited a Minute More Obtained!]

 Chapter 22: A [Clocksmith]s Work

    One Month Later

    Isse woke up in her hammock, a book lying open beside her face down on her soft silk. Her room looked like an empty void, so white was her silk. Or at least that¡¯s what she liked to think: it wasn¡¯t even close to being as white as Grandmother¡¯s silk, or Aru¡¯s for that matter, but she¡¯d found out that if she spent enough time spinning her silk inside her abdomen she could, as Siidi put it, improve its quality. Which meant it was more resistant, less prone to burning up if someone put a candle in the wrong place (cough cough it had happened only once!) and, well, made it whiter.

    She¡¯d started this laborious process for that reason alone, actually, after Siidi had restored to its former glory the memory of their first visit in the Heart of Grandmother¡¯s soul. She¡¯d been doing that a lot lately, restoring her memories that is. They liked to joke that sooner or later she would get a [Painter] Class, but all she¡¯d gained was Levels in her main Class, [Soul Curator]. She was Level 15 now, having gained a Level doing the repetitive action, restoring back to their old selves memories of her new life. Only happy moments for now, if you wanted to count the fighting between Isse and Siidi before the final Trial as happy moments too.

    Isse turned towards the door, which was being slowly opened by Albert, who peeked his head in and smiled kindly: ¡°Good morning Isse. Slept well?¡±

    She nodded groggily, then face planted back into her cushion.

    ¡°Come now, it¡¯s time to get up. There¡¯s food to be eaten, training to be done and books to read.¡±

    At those words she groaned and slowly began getting up, the legs of her spider half twitching as she stretched them, her arms trembling for that same reason, her mouth opening wide, then wider still as she yawned, showing off her first set of fangs, the one used to inject digestive enzymes into her prey (and the one she¡¯d used the least of all).

    Finally, rubbing her eyes, she descended from her hammock onto the floor, skittering out of the door, Albert having already reached the kitchen door and opened it.

    ¡°Come in, I¡¯ve got your favorite krimou cut ready for today and some eggs.¡±

    Immediately Isse¡¯s skittering accelerated.

    The breakfast was hearty and tasty, filling her with the strength and will to keep going another day instead of just loafing around on her hammock spinning silk and reading books. She liked days like that (she¡¯d never really had lazy days back with her sisters) but she knew she couldn¡¯t always have them. Also, they lost their charm after a while.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s the program for today?¡± she asked as she finished polishing her plate.

    ¡°Oh, nothing much: a short lesson on crafting in the morning and afterwards¡­ I think I remember you telling me that you had a playdate with that friend of yours from the Boneless Dancer.¡±

    Isse¡¯s cheeks colored slightly at that, both because she had forgotten and because of the way Albert had described it: ¡°It¡¯s not a playdate. We¡¯re not kids! We¡¯re going out.¡±

    ¡°That makes it sound like you¡¯re girlfriends,¡± he retorted with a playful smile.

    Any other day before Siidi had started restoring her memories she would¡¯ve probably had the desire to answer back with a joke. But bringing back the memories to their original state was starting to have¡­ consequences: first and foremost, her emotions were going back to normal. That also meant the sadness of having lost Anda. A sensation she would never again give up on: better to feel sad, to feel your heart break apart, than feel nothing at all.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t have said that, am I right?¡± he asked.

    She shook her head no, then tried to smile, and found it came easily.

    ¡°I¡¯m not ready for a girlfriend. Not yet,¡± she said, not answering his question, not directly at least. He understood, nodding slightly and putting the dirty dishes in the sink, looking at them intently, as if trying to see the meaning of life written in a mysterious language on the stains, before shrugging and deciding that yes, the dishes could wait until later.

    They walked down the corridor and the stairs, the place now a lot livelier than it used to be: Isse had since forced Albert to decorate the place, changing it from a sterile hell to a lived-in house. A few paintings now dotted the long hallway, bought cheap from a second hand dealer in the market, while the small table that had once held only a small vase for the shop¡¯s keys now was also the proud host of an actual vase filled with delicate white flowers that had a name Isse couldn¡¯t remember, so every time she went to buy new ones from the nearby [Florist] she just asked for the ¡®pretty white flowers¡¯ and caused the woman to chuckle and shake her head.

    Down they walked into the workshop that had been decorated by Creanza years prior in a desperate attempt to teach Albert that even, no, especially, frugality had a limit.

    It had not worked. Isse was pretty sure that it wasn¡¯t working even now, no matter how hard she tried. It was just Albert¡¯s nature, the only reason it seemed to be changing being that he knew most people liked things instead of sterile ambients, where, in his opinion, it was much more difficult for someone to find cover or hide.

    Still, the workshop was cozy, and that was what mattered to Isse as she skittered towards the table they worked on most of the time and sat down on the floor, her spidery legs moving to anchor her to the ground and keep her stable, making it impossible for her to accidentally move around. A little trick she¡¯d come to love in this line of work.

    Albert sat down by her side on a comfortable chair, its cushion worn out while its backrest seemed good as new. Understanding the reason for that was as easy as just watching him work, his spine taking a C shape as he tilted his body over the table the better to watch every gear he worked with.

    Stolen story; please report.

    There, a single clock lay on the table. Well, more the case with a few sparse gears assembled outside of it.

    ¡°Today we¡¯re going to work on the mainspring and its chain.¡±

    Isse groaned and for a single moment wanted to beat her head against the table. Then she remembered what had happened last time, the mess it had caused and the hour and half she¡¯d been forced to spend to clean it all up. Albert hadn¡¯t been angry, not at all, but he was a firm believer of the philosophy of ¡®You break it, you put it back together¡¯. Now, she hadn¡¯t broken a clock, or gods help her she would¡¯ve spent the whole night getting it back together, but she had accidentally knocked down a box of gears she¡¯d accidentally placed too close to the edge and a few gears they¡¯d need to use later on.

    ¡°Whyyyyyyy? That part¡¯s so boring. And complex.¡±

    Albert smiled: ¡°Exactly for that reason Isse. Making the chain by hand is complex, time consuming and mindnumbingly boring. Crafting them gave me more calluses than wielding a knife for decades and, truth be told, their usefulness is overrated, since most clocks can work perfectly well without one. Buuuuut¡­ it makes everything work better, and we don¡¯t do things the half-assed way here now, do we?¡±

    What followed was, by all standards, the most boring thing in the world. You see, creating a mainspring, per se, wasn¡¯t complex: you just had to wind a long, thin rectangle of steel around and around in a circle, and that¡¯s it. Job done. Easy, right? Wrong. It required a lot of patience, like everything when it came to clockmaking, but compared to creating the chain it was a breeze.

    ¡®But Isse¡¯, you may be wondering, ¡®Whyever would you put a chain inside a clock? What¡¯s its function?¡¯

    To answer that let us ask a question of our own: what makes a mechanical clock move? Answer: the mainspring, together with the hairspring, a much thinner version of the mainspring, more like, as the name entails, a hair. But how do these things make a clock move? Answer, by storing energy. The mainspring is charged up by contracting it, forcing it into a smaller state, therefore causing it to attempt to expand back to its original state, which releases energy. Now, imagine how much of that a mainspring could store. If one were to make a comparison, it would be more or less the same amount of energy that one can find behind a pugilist¡¯s strongest punch. Now, imagine what would happen if, for some reason, the mainspring had a defect and broke apart. What would happen? Simply put, the clock would, quite literally, explode! If you were lucky, in your pocket. If you were decidedly unlucky, right in your face as you took it out to read the hour, gouging out an eye or both.

    The chain existed to make sure that, if anything like that ever happened, the damage of the explosive release would be reduced as much as possible. It also has the secondary advantage of helping regulate the release of energy, making the charge of the spring last longer.

    And that was how Isse spent the following two and a half hours: making chains with the smallest links she¡¯d ever seen, assembling them with a magnifying glass kept in place by a metallic arm attached to her table, pincers in her hands, sweat dripping down her forehead because of how much she was concentrating on not fucking this up.

    And¡­ she actually managed to.

    ¡°Very well Isse. You¡¯ve actually done it. The last time I tried to teach someone to make these they threw the table off in frustration.¡±

    Isse frowned up at him: ¡°I could see why they¡¯d do it.¡±

    ¡°Quality work takes time and care Isse. If you want something done well, you must be patient. Patience, patience, and more patience.¡±

    Isse smiled slightly at that: ¡°That¡¯s what Master said.¡±

    ¡°It was the second wisest thing to ever come out his mouth.¡±

    He was joking, of course. They both knew just how big a piece of shit Master had been, but they also knew that he was like that because he cared, because he¡¯d seen others fail, because he himself had failed, and he never wanted to see someone go through that same pain.

    ¡°What was the first?¡±

    ¡°His favorite alcohol. Used to be Sunlit Beer crafted in the City of Temples. Whenever I and the other students wanted something we corrupted him with that beer.¡±

    She chuckled, wiping the sweat of her brow as she, too, lifted herself from the floor, her spine crackling like wood in a fireplace as she stretched out.

    ¡°How do you manage not to get back pain doing this Albert?¡± she asked with a wince.

    ¡°Oh, I have a Skill for that: [Improved Back Muscles].¡±

    ¡°...You¡¯ve got to be shitting me. There¡¯s no way that¡¯s a Skill.¡±

    ¡°Language! And to answer that, I am not lying: that¡¯s one of my Skills, and probably my favorite of the many my [Clocksmith] Class gave me.¡±

    He turned around and paced towards the stairway, pointing up: ¡°Now hurry up: you need to shower, and then you¡¯re going out with your friend, right?¡±

    She did.

    <hr>

    That night, when Isse got back into her bed, she was smiling happily, for once tired enough that she decided not to read well into the night.

    She and Morra had spent the afternoon walking around Scasce, visiting various areas of the city. At one point Isse had found a shop selling some kind of candies made out of milk mixed with some kind of herb that made them taste warm and also somewhat fruity. Sometimes they were strawberries, other times oranges, sometimes still they tasted like nothing she¡¯d ever eaten before.

    She enjoyed every single one of them, and she liked to think that the ones she¡¯d bought Morra made her feel the same. She certainly couldn¡¯t tell with the mask, which, as always, at most showed her mouth whenever she took off the lower part to put a candy in her mouth.

    Afterwards they¡¯d just walked around, listening in on people talking and gossiping while Morra gave her tips on how to discern interesting information from rabble and how to listen in on people without being noticed. Meanwhile Isse acted a bit like a social butterfly, unobtrusively joining in people¡¯s conversations and showing interest. Looking like a young woman in her prime certainly made people act kinder to her and made them overlook her obvious lack of knowledge in certain subjects.

    As she slowly sat down in her hammock, she smiled: today had been a good day.

    And as her eyes closed, the day became even better as she heard a little ding and words were whispered in her mind:

    [Spy Level 9!]

    [Skill - Rumormongering Proficiency (Lesser) Obtained!]

    [Conditions Met: Tinkerer -> Clockworker]

    [Clockworker Level 11!]

    [Skill - Nimble Fingers Obtained!]

    [Skill - Fast Assemblage (Components) Obtained!]

 Chapter 23: Preparing for an Exam

    The morning after her little ¡®playdate¡¯ with Morra, Isse woke up in her hammock, for once without a book lying by her side. She felt more refreshed than usual.

    Huh, maybe we shouldn¡¯t read until two in the morning. We¡¯d feel more well rested, and our eyes wouldn¡¯t itch so much.

    They stayed silent a moment, then, in a chorus, thought: Naaah.

    They were [Readers]. [Nocturnal Readers], actually, since their Class had evolved around two weeks ago. They¡¯d reached and surpassed Level 10, getting some neat Skills all the while like [Reading: Increased Stamina] and [Ignore Fatigue] and, best of all, [Remember Chapter]. The last, and latest, Skill allowed them to perfectly recall exactly one, short, chapter of any book they¡¯d read recently. So Isse could be working on building a clock and, all the while, Siidi would be there, in the back of her mind, reading seemingly perfectly by memory their latest favorite moment in a story.

    It was, in their modest opinion, one of the greatest Skills she¡¯d gotten recently. That is, until last night, when she¡¯d obtained two new much more practical Skills for her job: [Nimble Fingers] and [Fast Assemblage (Components)], together with an upgrade to her [Tinkerer] Class.

    ¡°Albert, I finally evolved my Class into [Clockworker]!¡± she said with a smile as she waltzed into the kitchen, surprising him as he was lighting the fire in the stove. Usually he had to come to her room to wake her up.

    Still, the surprise quickly faded and he smiled: ¡°Congratulations dear! We¡¯re going to have to celebrate!¡±

    He carelessly threw the flint he was using to light the fire over his shoulder, where it landed exceedingly close to the open cupboard holding their plates.

    ¡°How about breakfast at the Dancer? On me, naturally. You can get anything you want.¡±

    She chuckled, nodding: ¡°So long as you¡¯re offering. I think I¡¯ll buy the most expensive thing they have. Also, you just don¡¯t want to cook today, don¡¯t use me as an excuse.¡±

    Albert chuckled, having the decency to look abashed: ¡°What can I say, it¡¯s a day like that. But upgrading your Class is indeed cause for celebration, so I get to hit two birds with one arrow.¡±

    They chuckled and she could hear Siidi sigh in exasperation and happiness in the back of her mind in a rare moment of ¡®being the actual adult in the room¡¯.

    Whatever will I do with yall?

    Get to taste great food?

    ¡­Yeah, fair enough.

    And out they went. The walk to the Boneless Dancer was short and lively and, all the while, Isse hummed a song from her life back on Earth, ¡®Lili Marlene¡¯, a??? ???r???a???t???h???e???r??? ???r???e???c???e???n???t??? ???s???o???n???g???.

    She blinked, shook her head, then went back to humming.

    ¡°Everything alright?¡± asked Albert.

    ¡°Yeah, just had this strange sense of¡­ I¡¯d say dejavu, but wrong somehow? Whatever, it was just a strange feeling.¡±

    He nodded, and they kept on walking, at some point Albert joining in with her humming and following her lead. He didn¡¯t recognize the song, and he didn¡¯t ask her about it: he guessed it was something the arachne sang.

    Finally they reached Creanza¡¯s bar, which was just beginning to open, a steady stream of clients walking inside the entrance like many ants going back inside their anthill. Sometimes the place really did feel like one, with Creanza being the Queen, her workers some kind of princesses and princes and the people her little worker drones. Other times to Albert it seemed like the one place in this world where true peace existed.

    The moment they walked in Lavia appeared by their side, seemingly out of nowhere (probably actually out of nowhere now that Isse had seen her work. She had some pretty incredible Skills) and greeted them with a slight bow of her head: ¡°Welcome to the Boneless Dancer. Would you like to seat at a table or at the counter?¡±

    Albert greeted her with a smile and a bow himself as he answered: ¡°A table, if you would. We¡¯re celebrating today.¡±

    ¡°Certainly. Follow me,¡± and she turned around, motioning them with a winged arm to follow her.

    The crowd parted in front of her life the waters of the Red Sea for Moses and she lead them to a small table for two in a cozy corner of the main room. How nobody had claimed it was a bit of a mystery to Isse, but she¡¯d become used to sights like this one in the few days she¡¯d worked here. It was probably the work of Skills, ones she didn¡¯t know of. Creanza, like most sane people, was very cagey about the Skills she¡¯d gotten and her Level, as were all her other employees.

    They sat down and Lavia handed them two menus, bowing again as she turned around and went to serve another customer, giving them the time to read through the pages and choose something to eat.

    As they read Isse felt something tugging at the back of her mind, a Skill she¡¯d used rarely after¡­ after that night: [Perceive Emotions]. One of the Skills she¡¯d obtained after her main Class had changed from [Soul Mage] to [Soul Shaper]. Although, was it still her main Class? These days she had so many of them, all with their own small amount of Levels. These days though her main Class was becoming [Spy] because there was no one there to teach her how to, well, use her magic. She had the basics, Grandmother had taught her well, but¡­ she didn¡¯t know the full potential of Soul Magic. Only some Spells. She didn¡¯t even really know how to use it in combat.

    Still, she had it and, if all else failed, she could try to teach herself some Spells. After all, she did know how to weave magic, and she knew how important intent was when doing so. She wouldn¡¯t allow the knowledge of her Class to disappear with Grandmother! She¡¯d carry it on and, if necessary, learn everything by herself.

    Anyways: her Skill spoke to her, if that was even the right word for it. More like it gave her an impression of what Albert was feeling now: like a snake moving in his stomach, with a hint of anxiety, sadness and a pinch of fear. A mix that reminded her tremendously of¡­ guilt.

    As she thought of that emotion her Skill seemed to blink and she understood she¡¯d gotten it right.

    ¡°Albert, why do you feel guilty?¡± she asked out of the blue as she put down her menu and looked up at him with her piercing brown eyes, so simple yet, sometimes, so deep.

    He looked up himself, putting down his menu, and sighing deeply: ¡°Couldn¡¯t hide it from you eh? Your people are far too perceptive for things like this.¡±

    For a moment she thought about telling him that she had a Skill that allowed her to get a feel for what other people felt, but then she remembered both Grandmother and Master¡¯s words, their warnings that, no matter who, it was better never to reveal the full extent of one¡¯s abilities and Skills. Better to always have a trump card at the ready, and not necessarily because the person on the other side would betray you: after all, torture was still a thing in this world.

    ¡°I¡¯m pretty perceptive.¡±

    Albert chuckled: ¡°That¡¯s a lie, I can tell.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re trying to change the subject.¡±

    He sighed, then nodded: ¡°Yes, well, I feel a bit guilty, because today I was going to propose to you to start your first exam for your¡­ new Class.¡±

    ¡°You mean [Clockworker]?¡±

    He shook his head: ¡°The other new Class then.¡±

    Oh, he meant [Spy]. And now she understood why he felt guilty: she¡¯d just received a shiny new upgrade to her Class, something to be happy about, and he was going to ask her to undergo some kind of trial.

    ¡°Why now?¡±

    Albert sighed: ¡°Do you remember the [Lady] we visited a while ago, Madame Serafia?¡±

    She nodded, suppressing a chuckle: ¡°She¡¯s hard to forget. Quite charming too.¡±

    ¡°Yes, well, today we have to visit her. She requested my help in repairing a broken clock that¡¯s apparently as old as her great grandfather. It had some enchantments as well from what she told me and she decided to ask the best person in town for help with fixing it up.¡±

    Isse frowned: ¡°And where do I come in in all of this?¡±

    Albert half smiled at her, a bit of bitterness in the motion: ¡°The exam will be simple: you¡¯ll have to find out some information about the Lady. Or her husband. Anything will do. You¡¯ll come with me to the mansion today, and what you do with that afterwards is up to you. Know that this will be all the help I¡¯ll give you. That is, again, if you wish to take on this challenge now. It can wait. We have lots of time.¡±

    She looked at him, cocking her head to the sight, but before she could answer anything Acria, the half-devil [Server], arrived at their table, cheerful smile on her face as she asked with a bubbly voice if they were ready to order. They did, and then went back to their pseudo staring contest.

    All the while, Isse thought.

    Should we? asked Isse.

    I mean, we don¡¯t have many applicable Skills, but we do have some skills of our own. We could certainly try.

    Yeah, but this isn¡¯t like magic lessons with Grandmother. If I fuck this up I¡¯m, for lack of better word, fucked.

    Maybe. But if we don¡¯t challenge ourselves there¡¯s no way we can Level Up. I say you do it.

    Isse looked up from Albert¡¯s face and around the bar, her eyes subconsciously searching for her new friend, Morra. But she wasn¡¯t there, and even had she been, what use would she have been? Could she have helped her make a decision? Knowing the girl a bit better now¡­ maybe? Her job wasn¡¯t that much different from a spy¡¯s, but she was much less at risk of being hunted down and killed, or worse, if she was found out.

    In the end, she sighed and nodded: Alright, let¡¯s do this.

    She needed the Levels. If she hesitated now, how long would it take her to get her revenge on the King? Years. Many more years than it already would.

    ¡°I¡¯ll come with you.¡±

    Albert nodded, his usual smile returning: ¡°Very well. We have one hour. Prepare yourself in whichever way you consider necessary.¡±

    And then their food arrived.

    <hr>

    Isse¡¯s exam started the moment they walked back in the workshop and she started packing what she would take with her. She let her hands wander over the items she¡¯d probably need: her set of lockpicks, her small belt containing all the items a [Clockworker] could use, a book (because one could never go wrong with books) and a small collection of coins numbering three gold coins, some silvers and a few dozen coppers.

    When she skittered back down Albert looked at her getup and ordered: ¡°Show me your bag of holding.¡±

    She did, and he immediately began taking out the coins and book.

    ¡°What else did you bring?¡± he asked as he carefully put everything back inside, nodding approvingly.

    ¡°The lockpicks and the belt.¡±

    He looked up at her, examining every single square inch of her body, his eyes sharper than a mithril razor. Then, again, he nodded, a hint of a smile appearing on his face: ¡°Clever trick that one: hiding the lockpicks in a fold of that changing dress of yours. Nobody would think about it.¡±

    And then he turned around and began walking out, where a small, unadorned, wooden, carriage was already waiting for them.

    As they say inside he snapped his fingers and Isse felt the air around them become more¡­ actually, less. Of what? She couldn¡¯t tell. It just felt like less than what it should be.

    ¡°Privacy Skill. Now, I will repeat this again once and no more. After I put an end to this conversation by saying the word ¡®Clock¡¯ I will not intervene in any way or form to help you. I will judge your actions though, so keep that in mind.¡±

    Isse opened her mouth to ask him what his judgment would mean for her but he put a finger on her lips, shushing her, and continued to talk as if he hadn¡¯t just put an appendage in front of a bite-prone arachne¡¯s mouth.

    ¡°Your objective for this exam is simple: you will have to gather some kind of information of value from [Lady] Serafia¡¯s villa. The more interesting the information the better you will have gone in this exam. You will have seven days from the moment we walk through those gates to obtain everything you can. At any moment during those seven days you will be allowed to give up or end the exam, in which case I will judge your performance using what you have done up until then. You will not receive help. You will be allowed to request help from others, but you will have to find your own way to keep their loyalty and silence, be it money or blackmail or magic or deals sanctioned by the First Dealmaker, I do not care. Although the last one will net you a good amount of extra points during the exam.

    ¡°Is this all understood?¡±

    She nodded, fighting the instinct that told her to bite Albert¡¯s finger, not necessarily to inject it with something, but just for the sensation of doing it.

    He moved his hand back and nodded, before he said: ¡°- As I was saying, the clock is¡­¡±

    The absence disappeared and Albert started talking about the job he had been hired to do as if he hadn¡¯t just done a video-game style introduction to a mission.

    A small, childish, part of her that had recently re-emerged thanks to Siidi¡¯s hard work stared gleefully at the man with wonder in her eyes, while her soul half tried to put her back in the ¡®safe-place¡¯, whispering that this wasn¡¯t a safe game and why didn¡¯t she go with her to play some D&D? She was a facet of Isse that rarely came out these days and who, for a very long time, had disappeared, fallen asleep, possibly never to wake up again.

    The time spent healing with Albert, Creanza and her crew, and Morra, with the rare appearances of Tobias, who always tried to flirt with her and sometimes actually managed to say cute things, had helped. It would still take him a long time to get anywhere with it. If ever he¡¯d manage to get anywhere. She was an arachne, and she was a lesbian now. The two things didn¡¯t mesh well with ¡®white, handsome, half elf, male¡¯.

    She stayed silent and listened to Albert drone on about clocks and whatnot, thinking about how her life had changed.

    <hr>

    ¡°Welcome, mister Albert, miss Isse. I am glad you managed to come on such a short notice.¡±

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    That was Gregory, the house¡¯s [Butler]. He opened the main door for them when they were at the bottom of the entrance¡¯s stairs and patiently waited in the slight cold that was a lot mellower in this city than it was outside.

    The two of them had arrived nearly ten minutes ago and had taken their sweet time getting there, mostly because of Isse. She had spent a lot of time gazing at the statues decorating the yard and at the frozen over fish pond and -

    Ok, alright, I¡¯ll stop. She hadn¡¯t been actually looking at the statues. What she had been doing was looking at the whole place through her [Mana Sight].

    She may not have someone to teach her new magic anymore, sure, but she still had a strong base thanks to Grandmother, and the knowledge on how to work with pre-cast Spells. And this whole place was filled with Spells. She could see them all: a grand web that hung all over the villa, ready to spring around anyone attempting to enter uninvited and sound alarms and trap or outright kill them. The statues held [Lightning] Spells carved inside the stone of their heads, the iron fence was enchanted with [Freeze] and overcharged [Stoneskin] Spells. There were also many warding spells that did things she couldn¡¯t understand because she had never seen them.

    All in all, this wasn¡¯t a mansion: it was a fortress in disguise.

    Luckily for her she was a [Soul Shaper] and she could visualize and, if necessary, interact with the Spells.

    But that wouldn¡¯t happen, not anytime soon.

    ¡°Hello Gregory,¡± said Isse with a small bow.

    ¡°Good morning Gregory,¡± said Albert, being much more formal.

    They were let into the house entrance hall, where the [Butler] took their coats and quickly brought them into a side room that probably contained coats enough to dress a tenth of the city. How he would recognize theirs was a mystery to Isse. Or maybe he wouldn¡¯t and he¡¯d just get a random coat that would fit their clothes and give it to them. It was a most improbable thought, but Isse liked the idea.

    Then they reached the main entrance, and there stood the one, the only, the unique, the fantastic and definitely the strange, [Lady] of the house: Madame Serafia. For once without her husband by her side.

    ¡°Ah, Albert! Such a pleasure that you could come at such a short notice. And you brought your delightful apprentice! Come in, come in, I¡¯ll show you the way.¡±

    She motioned for them to follow her up the stairs, but was interrupted by Gregory coughing gently in his fist. The woman turned around at that and raised an eyebrow, receiving in answer only an even more raised eyebrow.

    ¡°My Lady, I believe that would be my job. Please, allow me,¡± and he stepped forwards, opening the way for the short convoy.

    In answer Serafia huffed: ¡°Oh come on! There¡¯s nothing wrong with being a good host! Why are all of you such stuck up¡­ butts?!¡±

    Isse couldn¡¯t contain herself and snorted, causing the woman to turn her way and smile like a naughty child who¡¯d just stolen the cookie jar.

    They fell in a¡­ the word ¡®companionable¡¯ didn¡¯t seem to fit quite right to use in the presence of a noblewoman, but it was the best one to describe that absence of sound. Companionable, warm, kind and welcoming. Like standing in a field covered in snow after a stormy night, a few stray clouds left in the sky sometimes hiding the sun that, otherwise, reflected off the white expanse. It made her feel at home.

    ¡°My lady, do you have anything more to tell me in regards to the clock I¡¯m supposed to be working on?¡±

    The [Lady] shrugged: ¡°I told you all I could find out on such a short notice. It is a grandfather clock that was owned, unironically, by my grandfather. The old piece of shit -¡±

    Gregory coughed, but Serafia waved him off: ¡°- loved that clock more than he loved the rest of his family. Supposedly he had it enchanted to do some amazing spectacles every hour, but as you can well imagine by your presence here, it stopped working.¡±

    At that Albert finally spoke: ¡°Madame, I appreciate your trust in my and my apprentice¡¯s abilities, but I am no [Enchanter]. I am a mere [Clocksmith]: if the magic is damaged, I won¡¯t be able to repair it.¡±

    The [Lady] waved him off: ¡°Oh, I have no interest in the enchantments. I only desire the clock repaired and working. I¡¯ll put it in my study, gods know I should have one or else I¡¯ll always end up wasting time, which is fun, but sadly not useful.¡±

    For a moment Isse wanted to say that, if that was the case, she could¡¯ve just bought a new clock, but then she thought better of it: this was awfully convenient.

    Finally, after going up another set of stair, they reached a more dusty looking door, as if someone hadn¡¯t been up here in a very long time. The only sign that showed otherwise was the absence of dust on the doorknob, which still looked oxidized by the passage of time.

    ¡°My husband suggested we do not move the clock from where we found it, ¡®less we somehow damage it more.¡±

    Albert nodded: ¡°That was a good idea. Now, let us see.¡±

    The door was opened, and Isse found herself in a little slice of heaven. The room was your typical dusty old attic, only where on earth people would have piles of boxes (or just piles of stuff they didn¡¯t need), this place had actual crates. Wooden, big, crates that were filled with things just waiting to be seen, tired memories that hadn¡¯t seen the light of day for who knows how long. Oh what she wouldn¡¯t have given to be left alone with free reign in this room.

    ¡°You like it eh?¡± asked the [Lady].

    Isse turned to look at her, ready to nod, only to notice the absence of her usual smile, in its place a kind of melancholy brimming in her eyes, her mouth set in a thin line with little dimples at the corners from smiling a lot (but never too much. One could never be too happy).

    That sight sobered Isse up in a moment and she nodded as she stutteringly tried to explain her sudden lack of manners: ¡°Ah, y-yes, madame. I - Ever since I can remember, as a child, I loved exploring my house¡¯s attic.¡±

    The woman¡¯s smile returned at that, although the melancholy didn¡¯t leave her: ¡°Ah, I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t want to sound scorbutic. You know, I was like that too, once upon a time. Now though¡­ this place is just filled with regrets.¡±

    Isse nodded in understanding, before she decided to ask a question that had appeared in the back of her mind: ¡°Madame, if I may be so bold -¡±

    ¡°Oh, you absolutely can my dear,¡± interrupted the woman, her smile turning a little playful upon seeing Isse trying to be formal but also not too much because she knew the [Lady] really didn¡¯t like it, the two sides of her fighting over what should be done.

    ¡°Ah, yes, thank you, then, could I ask: why do you want the clock repaired? Wouldn¡¯t it bring you as much pain seeing it in your study every day?¡±

    And at that, the woman chuckled, then breathed in a second, and exploded in laughter for no reason, making Isse feel rather awkward while Gregory, who¡¯d been standing nearby all this time after showing Albert the grandfather clock, sighed and shook his head in fake desperation.

    When she finally stopped, [Lady] Serafia took a deep breath and smiled, this time a true smile: ¡°Ah, I¡¯m sorry dear, it¡¯s just that I remembered my plans for the clock and couldn¡¯t help but notice how silly they would sound to an outsider of this house.¡±

    At that the [Butler] spoke up for the first time since he had stopped the woman from leading the way through the house: ¡°I believe, madame, that they sound silly even to insiders of the house.¡±

    ¡°Oh shut up Gregory, I know, but you have to admit it¡¯s funny.¡±

    ¡°I never said otherwise my lady.¡±

    ¡°And stop mocking me with the ¡®my ladies¡¯. You know I detest that.¡±

    ¡°Certainly, your ladyship.¡±

    Serafia opened her mouth to probably tell her butler to fuck off, then closed it, narrowed her eyes, and said: ¡°Well played Gregory, well played.¡±

    He bowed: ¡°I thank you for the compliment, madame.¡±

    And then silence reigned over the room, except for the distant noise of Albert probably fiddling with the clock behind a stack of crates. Noise that reminded Isse she should be at least faking to help him.

    Skittering with grace between the boxes she reached him (after bowing and saying that she should reach Albert) and was met with a sight both majestic and sad: in front of her, standing proudly at two and a half meters and as large as her spider half was, was a grandfather clock made of a dark wood that had become pale as ruined birch from the amount of dust that had settled not just on but at this point inside it. The face was faded, the numbers having fallen off long ago, and Albert had opened a cleverly disguised door on the front that showed the insides were missing several components. Overall, this would be a nightmare to repair.

    ¡°What¡¯s the verdict?¡± she asked him.

    He shook his head: ¡°This will take a whole lot of work. Work you won¡¯t be able to help me with.¡±

    Isse frowned: ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°This is beyond you. You only know how pocket watches work. This though? This is much more complex.¡±

    Isse¡¯s frown deepened as she used [Detect Truth] and saw he was lying. But why?

    ¡°Oh,¡± chimed in Serafia, ¡°In that case, mister Albert, would you mind it if I stole your apprentice for a while?¡±

    He shrugged, not even turning back, his free hand already moving towards a screwdriver.

    ¡°No problem with me, madame. If Isse doesn¡¯t have any problem with this, then I sure don¡¯t.¡±

    Was he¡­ setting her up? He was definitely trying to help her. But hadn¡¯t he said that he would leave it all to her?

    I don¡¯t know. Maybe he¡¯s gone soft on you? Or he wants to make things just a bit simpler for you? In my opinion we should just go with it and take advantage of this situation, said Siidi.

    She nodded to herself, before she remembered that she wasn¡¯t in her Mind Palace and that the [Lady] had seen the movement.

    ¡°Wonderful! Come dear, let¡¯s go somewhere less gloomy.¡±

    <hr>

    Turns out that walking while looking at the world with [Mana Sight] was a bad idea. Why? Because there was simply too much to be seen.

    Even when she attempted to isolate as many threads as she could there still remained hundreds. And since she couldn¡¯t be quite certain about whether a thread was bound to a Spell or not, she had to slowly follow them to their probable source.

    Twenty seconds into doing that while she was walking and she decided she liked her neck where it was, stopping and paying more attention to the madame¡¯s idle chatter about local politics (¡°I swear to the gods, that woman¡¯s just flirting with me. There¡¯s no reason for someone to hate me that much and attempt to be a stick in the mud all the time without wanting to bed me!¡±), trade agreements (¡°The winter¡¯s making the ice cream shipments easier to bring, yay!¡±) and probably enough spicy gossip to pass the exam alone on that. We shall not write down anything said during those moments for fear of repercussion.

    Finally, they reached a finely decorated white door with a golden doorknob, which Gregory opened for them as they arrived. She hadn¡¯t even seen him arrive.

    ¡°Come in dear. We¡¯ll be able to talk freely here.¡±

    In they walked, and Isse found herself in the woman¡¯s office.

    Ok, this is convenient, she thought.

    Too convenient.

    The room was¡­ decorated. And that was a very diminutive word to describe the amount of ostentation. The walls were covered in fine looking white and gray wallpaper with snowflakes dispersed here and there in blue; a single, big, wooden, deck that was probably crafted out of yew sat on the opposite side of the room from the entrance with neat stacks of papers and, she guessed, documents. A giant painting hung over it all, showing a family of seven standing primply and properly in line, the two parents standing behind the five children with their hands behind their backs. All in all, it looked like someone had stuck a stick up each of the people¡¯s asses.

    The left wall was covered by a giant library filled with books, the different colors of the leather covers the room¡¯s only permission to color.

    There were exactly three chairs in the room: one behind the desk, another in front, and a third placed facing towards a finely decorated fireplace built out of off-white stone.

    ¡°Welcome to my office Isse. Don¡¯t mind the pomp, I usually spend most of my time here throwing stuff at the walls in a futile attempt to ruin the wallpaper. Or rather, making it more interesting. But my parents enchanted them to self repair so it¡¯s useless. Very cathartic though.¡±

    She went and sat down with practiced ease at the desk, putting her legs up on the table, dress shoes and all, hands resting carelessly on her tummy.

    I bet she tried to do many things to ruin those walls, said Siidi.

    Isse had to control herself to make sure she wouldn¡¯t frown and questioned: What kind of things?

    Oh, you know. That kind of thing girls do when they feel lonely and there¡¯s nobody around to help them.

    It took Isse a whole three seconds to get the not-so-subtle innuendo, before she nearly flinched.

    Siidi!

    What? I¡¯m sure she did!

    I didn¡¯t need the mental image!

    You do have to admit that it¡¯s sexy though.

    Siidiiiii!

    ¡°Everything alright dear?¡± asked Serafia.

    Isse snapped out of her bantering with her soul half and nodded: ¡°Ah - yes, madame, I was just curious about the room.¡±

    She scrambled for something else to say, to help make her excuse more believable, and received a helping hand by her soul half: ¡°It doesn¡¯t suit you much.¡±

    The [Lady] chuckled and nodded: ¡°No, it does not. At all. But I can¡¯t change it, both because of the Spells keeping the study in this condition and because I still feel a bit sentimental.¡±

    Isse tilted her head to the side, sitting down on the floor in front of the chair opposite the [Lady], her dress bending her figure to make it look as if she¡¯d just sat down on the chair.

    ¡°Then why don¡¯t you work in another room?¡±

    Serafia batted her eyes a moment upon seeing her sit down, as if her brain was attempting to catch up to her, then shook her head slightly and closed her eyes, opening them back up again as she answered: ¡°Because it would be inconvenient. This room holds all the important things, moving them out would just be a waste of time and resources.¡±

    Isse frowned, looking around, then back at the door they¡¯d come in from: ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like you¡¯d care much for that.¡±

    The [Lady] snorted: ¡°Caught bloody handed. I¡¯m just lazy is all.¡±

    I¡¯m seriously starting to wonder how it¡¯s possible that this place hasn¡¯t gone bankrupt yet.

    She¡¯s putting up a front, Isse dear.

    If it¡¯s just a front, then it¡¯s extremely well rehearsed.

    And that was when Gregory knocked on the door: ¡°May I come in, madame?¡±

    ¡°Come right in Gregory!¡± she hollered back.

    The man walked in, sighing: ¡°Madame, there is no need to shout in such an unladylike manner, especially in front of a guest.¡±

    ¡°Oh, come off it Gregory, she watched me and my hubby eat and has talked with me once already: she knows I¡¯m free spirited.¡±

    The [Butler] sighed and gave up: this wasn¡¯t a lost battle. It was a war that had been lost before it had even begun.

    ¡°About your husband, he has returned from his trip.¡±

    [Lady] Serafia lit up like a firework and shot out of her chair: ¡°Why didn¡¯t you start with that Greg? I¡¯m going to meet him!¡±

    She stopped a moment later, turning to Isse: ¡°You don¡¯t mind Isse, right? It won¡¯t take long.¡±

    She immediately shook her head: ¡°Don¡¯t worry madame, I can wait here.¡±

    ¡°Perfect! Thank you very much. Gregory, would you be a dear and get us some tea for when I get back?¡±

    ¡°Certainly, my [Lady].¡±

    Serafia put a hand to her chest and acted as if she¡¯d been struck by an arrow, before giggling and turning back to the door, swiftly walking out, Gregory following suit.

    And she was alone.

    So, time to start looking for stuff? asked Siidi, the mental image of her rubbing her hands together appearing.

    No, not yet. Let me first look for any Spells around here.

    She activated her [Mana Sight] another time and went back to looking at the world through the eyes of the gods, or at least that¡¯s what she imagined the gods saw all the time. Threads formed in her sight in all the colors of the rainbow and, she thought, in some cases, even colors that humans shouldn¡¯t be able to see, flickering into existence at the edges of her sight and disappearing the moment she realized that something was there.

    Slowly, but not too much, especially now that she knew her time alone was limited, she began picking out the threads of connections between people that went through the place, making them disappear from her sight. It was a long and laborious process which required concentration and attention to detail: after all, who knew if the thread she was deciding to ignore was in truth an alarm Spell that made a sound in a distant room? She had to be careful like that. Hopefully one day she¡¯d get a Skill for that

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen soul magic in use many times in my life, but this is novel,¡± said a voice by her side.

    Isse shrieked and jumped to her feet, turning around, ready to fire her main (and only) attack spell at whoever had just talked.

    What greeted her was¡­ a gnome? With little horns? No, wait, it was a dog? With ahorn¡­ why did it keep changing?

    ¡°Who the fuck are you? What the fuck are you doing?¡±

    Siidi?

    I have no idea. Shoot it!

    Without thinking she activated her Skill and felt a small amount of her mana being drained out of her, changing and reshaping itself in the form of a very thin football that shot out towards the thing.

    The man-dog-gnome didn¡¯t even flinch as the arrow went right through where his heart should¡¯ve been had his form finally decided to stay the same right to the other side.

    ¡°You done?¡± he asked, his tone slightly mocking.

    She shot another arrow, only to watch the thing sidestep it.

    ¡°Now?¡±

    ¡°What the fu -¡±

    ¡°Yes yes, ¡®what the fuck are you¡¯ and ¡®how did you get there without me noticing¡¯ and probably a dozen other questions like that. So hello, my name is Kaminskyi and I¡¯m this house¡¯s domovoi. Pleasure to meet one of your kind again, little arachne.¡±

 Chapter 24: Dealing with a Domovoi

    ¡°A domovoi? The hell is that?¡± asked Isse more to Siidi than the thing in front of her.

    ¡°I believe, young one, that it is called Airm here. And I have to admit, it is not quite the same as the old hell from home. For one, there¡¯s a lot less fire, and the devils here are a lot less varied. The gods really didn¡¯t give the place much thought when they made it.¡±

    Isse stared at the¡­ was it a spirit? What was it? Because she had no idea and, considering Siidi¡¯s silence, she had none too.

    A more pressing question appeared in her head though and she had to voice it: ¡°Can anybody hear us outside this room?¡±

    She was a [Spy] in the making after all and having someone walk in on her talking to a domovoi, or to thin air, wouldn¡¯t have been good for her reputation.

    ¡°This room is warded. No one can listen in on anything said here, and I will know if someone opens that door to overhear the conversation.¡±

    Reassured, more or less (because she couldn¡¯t tell if the spirit was telling the truth, her spells didn¡¯t stick), that she was safe to talk, she asked again: ¡°What are you?¡±

    The spirit-dog-human-whatever-the-fuck-he-was tilted his little head to the side (he was quite small even when he looked like a human) and raised an eyebrow: ¡°Your sister-passenger doesn¡¯t know? I could understand you, you¡¯re young, of these times, but her? She smells old,¡± and as if to demonstrate that final statement he sniffed, his black nose twitching.

    Isse gaped at him, panic beginning to rise inside her: it was one thing for this thing to realize she was an arachne just by looking at her, quite another or him to know about her soul half.

    She got ready to reach out towards him: her Spell may have been ineffective, but spirits were spirits, and if she could work with a soul she could do the same to some kind of knock-off ghost.

    I can¡¯t remember, said Siidi, her voice a bit strained.

    ¡°Ah, you forgot. I was hoping¡­ but I understand.¡±

    He looked at her for a moment, calm as could be, then bowed.

    ¡°Let me present myself again: I am Kaminskyi, this house¡¯s domovoi. For your information, domovoi are chorts. That means ¡®devils¡¯, by the by. You could say I¡¯m this house¡¯s guardian devil. That jogging any memory for you, old one?¡±

    The idea of a devil being the guardian of a house, a benign one too, sounded preposterous to Isse, but before she could voice the idea Siidi suddenly shouted in joy and began blubbering about¡­ stuff. She couldn¡¯t quite understand, she was talking too fast.

    ¡°Ah, I see you do remember now,¡± said the domovoi, a smile appearing on his face as he sat down on the floor cross legged, or with his front paws one on top of the other when he appeared as a dog.

    Isse, for the love of all that is arachne, pet him!

    What?

    Do it or I swear on the World Shapers I will find a way to tickle you to death.

    With a threat like that there was no way Isse wouldn¡¯t comply. Slowly, warily, she let her arm fall and her muscles relax as she sat back down on the ground and went to pet the little devil between his canine ears. He gladly accepted the pets, moving his head towards her approaching hand.

    It was oddly therapeutic.

    ¡°That¡¯s pleasant. Keep going,¡± he said as his tongue lolled out and he began panting happily, putting his head on his crossed paws, his tail swishing.

    How are you doing, old chap? asked Siidi.

    Isse began repeating the question for her, but was interrupted by the domovoi¡¯s answer: ¡°Recently? Pretty well.¡±

    Isse¡¯s hand froze for a moment before she sighed and went back to petting, adding her other hand to the mix and trailing it down his back. If he knew that Siidi was there then it wasn¡¯t strange, or impossible, that he could hear her, especially if he was actually a devil.

    ¡°Oooohhh, that¡¯s just perfect. Mind giving me a scritch behind the ears? It¡¯s been ages since I¡¯ve had this chance.¡±

    Isse complied and the devil seemed to melt, that much he relaxed.

    And less recently? It¡¯s been a while since us arachne had to¡­ go.

    The devilish dog, which Isse just then noticed had little white horns sprouting from his skull, sighed through his nose as he answered: ¡°Yes. From the day you left your Palaces and they were burned to the ground we had no one to remember our tales, to call upon us, to show us respect and follow our traditions. We¡­ slept¡­ for a very long time.¡±

    By the way he looked up at the word ¡®slept¡¯ she could guess it wasn¡¯t as pleasant as a full night¡¯s rest.

    How did you come back?

    Kaminskyi smiled, showing all of his teeth: ¡°A girl from our home brought back our tales. She told them to the people of her city, told them the words and the traditions anew, and now¡­ now some of us are back. Not as many as before, but¡­ it¡¯s better.¡±

    Isse blinked, frowning, uncertain: ¡°Where¡¯s your home? The original one, I mean?¡±

    The devil moved away from her, leaving her feeling slightly sad that she couldn¡¯t feel his soft fur in her hands anymore.

    ¡°My original home¡­ it was burned, I think. Yes, it was burned to cinders, during the war against that absurd frenchman. It was in Suderve, in Russia. You should know about Russia, I¡¯m told it¡¯s still around. Diminished, but there.¡±

    Isse gaped, her jaw nearly unhinging, her thoughts whirling around so fast she couldn¡¯t grasp at any of them. That is, until finally Siidi did something in the back of her mind and she felt herself calm down slightly. Enough to ask the obvious question: ¡°There¡¯s someone else from Earth in this world? Where are they?¡±

    The dog, now back to looking like a gnome with horns and a thick beard (so actually maybe a dwarf would be a more fitting description, but he didn¡¯t give off dwarf vibes. He seemed too lazy), looked at her with a raised eyebrow, clearly confused: ¡°You haven¡¯t met her? But I can smell her on you.¡±

    Isse blinked: ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I can clearly smell her presence on you. It¡¯s old now, but she visited you.¡±

    He frowned, sitting cross legged on the ground, and sniffed her way: ¡°Ah, I understand. Yes, that makes sense. You met her in the Land of Dreams. That would explain why you couldn¡¯t have known.¡±

    He nodded approvingly, as if he had just done a great feat of reasoning.

    ¡°I was only ever told what she smells like, never met her personally, but they said she was strange: like a fox, mixed in with an angry leshi. An improbable mix.¡±

    Foxes and an angry leshi? She didn¡¯t know what the latter was, but she remembered the visits of a girl wearing a fox mask in her dreams. A girl accompanied by a much older man wearing a similar mask. A scared man who remembered deals as old Siidi, and a brave girl with an easy smile who liked to banter, joke and cuddle her spider half, a girl who had hugged her upon hearing the story of what had happened to her and her sisters.

    ¡°I see that description reminds you of someone eh? Good good. So you met our savior.¡±

    Isse nodded, opening her mouth to say something else, to ask more questions, but was stopped by a raised hand: ¡°I know you have questions, but I do not have answers. As I said, I didn¡¯t meet her. I just know that she exists thanks to others like me who woke up.

    ¡°But while I cannot give you an answer in regards to the girl, I can help you in your little mission here in my house.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    The domovoi raised an eyebrow, looking thoroughly unimpressed: ¡°Are you dull girl? No, wait, wrong question. Rather, do you think I¡¯m dull? Granted, I slept for a few thousand years, but I¡¯m not that far gone. You¡¯re a spy and you¡¯re looking for something interesting to nab home.¡±

    He smiled, and there was something slightly vicious about it.

    Isse narrowed her eyes at him: ¡°And why would you help me?¡±

    ¡°Because this family hasn¡¯t been doing the proper rites to please me, because you¡¯re an arachne and my kind and yours go way back, because I¡¯m bored. The reasons are many, but you can sum it up to ¡®I¡¯m a chort and I do what I want so long as I follow the rules¡¯.¡±

    The young arachne opened her mouth to make him notice the oxymoron, then closed it because, again, she was talking to a devil. Or chort. Was there a difference?

    ¡°So, what, you¡¯re just going to help me?¡±

    The domovoi moved his head left and right, a hand under his chin, before he clicked his tongue and nodded: ¡°Yes, I think I will. On one condition,¡± he raised a single stubby finger in front of him.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡°Let¡¯s hear it.¡±

    ¡°You will tell my story. The girl, she¡¯s helped us, brought us back, but stories take time to spread, especially in this world where they¡¯re constantly suffocated. So you will help me, help my kind, and spread our tales.¡±

    Isse frowned: ¡°But I don¡¯t know any.¡±

    The chort nodded: ¡°Yes, well, it just so happens that you¡¯re talking to someone who knows many. And, I believe, the other one living inside you could tell you many more.¡±

    At that moment the door to the room opened and in walked Gregory. He looked at her, raising an eyebrow upon seeing her on her knees on the floor (from his perspective), and Isse scrambled for a moment in her head as she deactivated her [Mana Sight] and instead cast a [Minor Illusion], showing him a small silver coin.

    ¡°Sorry, it fell out when I opened my bag of holding.¡±

    Gregory looked unconvinced for a moment, or maybe that was just his default expression, then he nodded: ¡°I would suggest getting that bag checked then miss. One hears stories of what happens when a bag of holding implodes.¡±

    Isse nodded, before stopping: ¡°They can do that?¡±

    He nodded, bringing the tea set to the desk and depositing it gently: ¡°Indeed miss. If a bag is old, or badly crafted, the magical stitching that keeps the space inside anchored to this reality can break and cause the space to just¡­ go back to where it belongs. With everything that¡¯s inside. And sometimes with a piece of the owner.¡±

    She shivered at the mental image, her hand automatically moving to the bag and checking if she could somehow feel something wrong with it.

    After a moment Gregory finally finished setting everything up for the tea and turned to leave.

    ¡°May I ask, where¡¯s the madame? She left a while ago?¡±

    Gregory stopped, then sighed: ¡°She is being¡­ effusive, with her husband. She should be back soon enough, young miss.¡±

    She nodded and he left the room.

    ¡°Quite the loyal one that butler. He¡¯d throw himself into a fire if it meant helping his mistress and her husband.¡±

    Isse flinched as she heard the domovoi¡¯s voice and turned to find him sitting on the desk, a cup in his hands that he worryingly started twirling on his index finger.

    ¡°He¡¯s been through a lot, but at least now he¡¯s found his peace. Did you know, he had once been trained to be a Piece of the Game.¡±

    He put the cup down, putting his chin in his hands: ¡°He¡¯s been working for this family for most of his life. Saw his mistress be born and grow up, helped her massacre her whole family and now helps her keep this city running with the woman¡¯s husband.¡±

    The young arachne nodded and listened to the whole thing, but her head snapped around, her eyes wide, at the mention of a massacre: ¡°Wha -¡±

    ¡°Have you noticed how empty this house is?¡±

    She frowned, but now that he¡¯d said it, the house was conspicuously empty of anyone other than the [Lady], her husband and the servants.

    ¡°She killed them all. Her parents, her brother and sisters. Can¡¯t blame her, they were pieces of shit who cared only about themselves.¡±

    He looked down at her sitting form, a small, bitter, smile forming on his lips: ¡°Bet you weren¡¯t expecting that, eh?¡±

    After a moment she nodded.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t easy. Or pretty. But it had to be done.¡±

    ¡°How do you know this? Was it that recent?¡±

    He shook his head: ¡°Oh no, it happened nearly a decade ago. She was, what? Seventeen? Yes, seventeen. An adult on paper, heh.¡±

    ¡°Then how could you possibly know?¡±

    Because he¡¯s a domovoi, the spirit of the house. He knows what the house knows and sees what the house sees.

    ¡°What the old one said. The moment I became the house¡¯s spirit I knew what had happened to its people in the last century or so. Pretty handy, am I right?¡±

    She had to agree with that.

    ¡°So, let¡¯s put things straight: I will tell people stories about the domovoi and you will, what? Tell me secrets? Give me useful information?¡±

    The chort appeared thoughtful for a moment, then nodded: ¡°Yes, that more or less sums it up. Although, do expect there to be more of the latter than the former. After all, you must be challenged a bit, or you won¡¯t ¡®Level Up¡¯, pfui,¡± he spat.

    Those last two words he said with enough venom to burn a hole through a wall.

    ¡°...You don¡¯t like Levels?¡±

    He shook his head: ¡°They¡¯re shortcuts. You should know, young arachne: your kind used to think the same thing. They didn¡¯t use their Levels so much as abuse them. That¡¯s what made them so dangerous. The people of this world, they¡¯re complacent: ¡®oh, I can¡¯t do this? Well, let¡¯s just do this other thing that¡¯s easier and hope the System rewards me and gives me something to make that task easier¡¯. That¡¯s just wrong on so many levels, pun intended.¡±

    ¡­Alright¡­ maybe let¡¯s change subject.

    He is right though.

    Not now Siidi.

    She offered her hand to the chort, stories from back home about the dangers of making deals with devils playing in the back of her mind.

    ¡°It¡¯s a deal.¡±

    He looked at her, then nodded: ¡°No need to shake hands girl, your word is enough. Now, listen here, and listen carefully.¡±

    Shuffling closer to the edge of the desk he motioned at his ear, making the concept clearer: ¡°This room? It¡¯s not Serafia¡¯s actual office. She hates this room with a passion and spends as little time as possible in here. That¡¯s one of the main reasons she¡¯s taking her sweet time down there with her husband right now, which came in handy to us, eh?

    ¡°Anyways, she doesn¡¯t have an actual office. Usually she just finds someplace comfortable anywhere in the house and works there. She has a Skill that allows her to summon the paperwork she needs to her and the servants can provide everything else she needs. The documents are kept in a storage room disguised as a closet for cleaning supplies two rooms away from here. It¡¯s warded with enough spells to make getting in unnoticed close to impossible, but I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find a way to circumvent that problem.¡±

    He looked to the right, nodding his chin that way to show her exactly where the closet was.

    Then he looked down. Then up. Then back down. He seemed uncertain.

    Finally, he sighed: ¡°There¡¯s another thing. A vault. It¡¯s underneath the house, with a secret passage leading down to it hidden in the fireplace of the main room downstairs. It contains many artifacts and such things. There¡¯s something down there that I think you¡¯ll be interested in.¡±

    Isse frowned at that, and Siidi voiced her confusion.

    For an answer, the chort snapped his fingers and something shifted in the air.

    Suddenly she felt both warm and cold, as if someone had thrown her into a pile of snow while wearing her heaviest set of clothes, all after she¡¯d spent hours playing with her friends and running around. She felt comfortable, so much so that she felt like falling asleep right then and there. Closing her eyes, she basked in the warm cold, feeling renewed and old, a child and an elder at the same time, embraced kindly and reminded of all that she had lost in a contrasting sensation that left a bittersweet taste in her mouth. She couldn¡¯t get enough.

    ¡°What¡­ What is this? What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°That, little one, is the ¡ö¡ö ¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö¡ö -'''' he cut himself off, from Isse¡¯s perspective at that final ¡®the¡¯.

    Shaking his head, he chuckled: ¡°Ah, I believe I can¡¯t tell you dear. You¡¯ll have to find out. I¡¯m certain you¡¯ll know what it is when you¡¯ll see it. Now, let me tell you a story.¡±

    <hr>

    When madame Serafia returned to the office she found Isse half-asleep on the armchair, her head on her left hand, a beatific smile on her face.

    The [Lady] felt almost bad for having to wake her up, but she was gentle in her shaking, although her hand felt wrong as she reached for the girl¡¯s shoulder, and when she opened her eyes, blushing suddenly and apologizing, and the woman had to get back up it felt as if she had bent her spine a lot more. Which was strange, but she chalked it up to the bad feeling this room left her every time she walked in.

    After she woke up fully Isse proposed they change rooms, saying that this one felt a bit too formal for a friendly conversation. Serafia gladly accepted.

    On their way out her eyes lingered for a moment too long on a corner of the room, a dark little space between the library and the wall. For a moment she remembered the many hours spent thinking about her ¡®misbehavior¡¯, all the time wasted there because she wanted to live as a child and be happy and smile instead of being cold and senseless and selfish like the rest of her family. Even though, in a way, she had been selfish when she¡¯d killed them all to finally be left in peace and put an end to their constant demands to the [King]. Mainly the former, but the latter had also been a main point.

    They spent a few hours talking about this and that. At some point her husband joined them, sharing a few anecdotes of his own.

    It was during a lull in the conversation that Isse decided to keep faith to her side of the deal and, as casually as she could, told them a story of the domovoi. Serafia listened rapturously to the tale, and her husband appeared intrigued, to the point where, with a chuckle, he proposed they actually do exactly what the story suggested: simply put, to leave some food on the dining table during the night for the chort to eat.

    Not long afterwards Albert came down saying that he¡¯d done all that was in his abilities to make the clock functional again, although the enchantments were indeed damaged beyond his abilities to repair.

    ¡°The base incantation is still there though, on the old cogs. I left those to you, in case you can find someone good enough to replicate it.¡±

    ¡°Thank you very much, mister Albert. A servant is already awaiting you at the entrance with the rest of the payment.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you wish to attest to the state of my work yourself before that, madame?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m trusting you, have no fear, mister Albert.¡±

    He bowed and, after a moment, motioned for Isse to get up and leave with him. She did so, after curtseying a bit and causing Serafia to smile and say that this had been a lovely few hours.

    When, finally, they were gone, the [Lady] took in a deep breath and sighed.

    ¡°Gregory? You there?¡±

    ¡°Always, madame,¡± came the answer from behind her, where he was now standing as if he¡¯d always been there. Maybe he had and she hadn¡¯t noticed: after all, he was quite silent.

    ¡°So, tell me, did she do anything in that room? Or did Albert try to do anything strange?¡±

    Gregory took his sweet time, before he answered: ¡°I¡¯m convinced that nothing untoward was done to break your kindly offered hospitality.¡±

    Hah, hospitality. An old tradition of her house, dating back to nearly twenty generations ago, to her ancestor who had founded their noble house.

    ¡°Explain.¡±

    ¡°The girl, Isse, spent the whole time in the office sitting on the armchair, apart from a moment when she stood to retrieve a silver coin that had fallen out of her bag of holding. I heard her talking to herself then and suspected a hidden speaking stone or such, but the Spells and Wards make the use of them impossible, so she was talking to herself.

    ¡°None of the documents were disturbed in any way, same goes for the books on the shelves, and no use of mana was picked up by the Detectors. All in all, I can state with certainty that she was not attempting to do anything.

    ¡°In regards to our other guest, he spent the whole time working on the clock, only occasionally pausing to get new gears out of his bag of holding. I have seldom seen someone as professional as him in the matters of clockworking.¡±

    And at that, the [Lady] finally relaxed and fell, her head on her husband¡¯s lap.

    ¡°Thanks for the good news Gregory,¡± he said.

    That night they slept peacefully and, as promised, left some food in the dining hall for the so called domovoi to eat. The next morning, they found the plate empty and a small gold coin that a [Maid] had lost beside it.

    From then on every night some food was left in the dining hall.

    And meanwhile, the stories of those little chorts began spreading anew.

 Chapter 25: A Spells Fortress

    I¡¯m going to ask a stupid question: have you ever been anxious?

    Yes, I know, as I said, pretty stupid question: of course the answer is yes. And if anyone else dares state that they never felt that sensation I won¡¯t believe them. Or I will attempt to out them as demons from Hell or aliens come to invade earth after seeing how fucked up humanity is because of the two world wars.

    Anyways! Isse was anxious. Extremely anxious. Butterflies-wrenching-your-guts-into-new shapes anxious. And seeing how she was an arachne there was a lot down there for that purpose.

    She stared up at the walls around [Lady] Serafia¡¯s home, then upwards still some more, at the night sky, at the glimmering stars that looked down at her, cheering her on and judging her every action. The moon¡­ wasn¡¯t full. It was waning, its form just a little wedge of white in the otherwise total darkness between stars.

    As she looked up, she noticed that one of them seemed extremely close to the moon, nearly touching it, noticeable now only because of how little light the moon was shedding upon the lands of the living.

    She shook her head: the sky was unimportant now. What mattered was the wall in front of her and the Ward Spells that were there to keep anyone uninvited out.

    Her dress of Shifting Silk clung to her figure and turned the same color as the walls she was facing, hiding her head underneath a cowl of pure darkness, the sensation not unlike a tight yet gentle and kind hug that left her feeling a bit more relaxed. Every little thing helped.

    Are you ready?

    Isse took a very deep breath, feeling the lungs of both her human and spider half fill up more and more, her body raising from the ground with how much she was breathing in, before she let it all out in one, silent, long, huff.

    She wasn¡¯t ready. She probably wouldn¡¯t feel ready for many months more. But she had to do this, if only in the memory of all her sisters. This was, after all, her first true step to avenging them.

    I¡¯m ready.

    She activated her [Mana Sight] and watched as the world was filled with threads of all the colors she could imagine and more.

    Carefully, slowly, she picked out of her sight the threads she didn¡¯t need, the connections between people all over the city, the random [Message] Spells being flung around like a ball between kids in a backyard, all of it, until all that was left were the walls and their enchantments.

    No backing away now, she thought.

    I¡¯ll be watching your back.

    She smiled at that, feeling genuine warmth in her chest: Thank you, sister.

    In her mind, she felt Siidi smile, before she turned and started looking at the world around Isse.

    She looked at the many threads woven through the bricks and mortar, saw their patterns and the barbs sewn into them together with the many, many, bells. A single wrong movement and she would¡¯ve caused an alarm to sound and, if she was unlucky, one or more of the defensive Spells would¡¯ve probably shot her dead.

    So she did the most logical thing imaginable: she reached out with her hand and placed it on the wall, and then reached deeper, an afterimage forming in her sight as a spectral hand reached out and touched a point in the spell¡¯s weave that wasn¡¯t barbed or alarmed. It still felt as if she¡¯d just touched a live wire, but the sensation was nearly¡­ pleasant.

    She felt the mana flow inside her and hastily dove deeper into the spellwork, leaving behind her body to stand there in the dark with Siidi to keep guard.

    <hr>

    What does a defensive spell, like [Ward] and [Alarm] and the likes, look?

    The answer is: it depends. On the caster, on the people or place it is cast on, on what the world¡¯s mood is that day, on what was eaten by the caster that morning and, sometimes, on how long it¡¯s been since he or she last bedded someone. That¡¯s a lot of factors, yes, but since nobody in this world has the ability to look at a Spell from the inside anymore it doesn¡¯t matter. Actually, nobody in the world knows that¡¯s a thing that can be done, which is stupid, because one wouldn¡¯t even need to be a soul mage to do it: all that¡¯s needed is to change one¡¯s perspective and all would be revealed.

    Isse was still relatively new to the concept of working with a Spell of any kind from the inside. She¡¯d done it exactly three times: twice with Grandmother, and that one time with Albert, when she¡¯d looked through the fog hiding his true Classes. Or one of them, at least.

    Her idea of what a Spell could look like, as you can imagine, was very limited.

    So, when she¡¯d entered inside the spellweave itself, she had expected the usual wintery forest or something small like that foggy lake.

    What she hadn¡¯t expected was a fortress¡­

    In a wintery forest.

    ¡°Well, at least they¡¯re consistent,¡± she said loudly after a while of just staring up at the giant walls covered in snow and ice.

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t expecting to see the Wall from Game of Thrones.¡±

    The fortress was, as already stated, enormous. But not enormous in the sense that it was big to the point of impracticality, making it impossible to carefully guard the walls. No, on that front it was quite small, probably¡­ actually, probably no bigger than the actual villa. No, it was big in the sense that the walls were so high she was forced to step back a bit and crane her neck up to the point where she was certain it would hurt if she stayed like that for a minute.

    She couldn¡¯t see a way in and, up on the top of the walls, she could clearly see (Death be blessed for the arachne¡¯s sharp senses) guards standing stock still and looking down to spot any possible enemy attempting (foolishly) to scale the walls.

    ¡°Well, fuck!¡±

    She didn¡¯t know exactly what she would have to do with the Spell, but she guessed that, whatever it was, it would be inside the fortress.

    ¡°But how do I get in?¡±

    That, ladies and gentlemen, was the question every single [Spy] in the history of ever had always asked themselves when attempting to get into somewhere they weren¡¯t meant to go in. Truly, today was a day Isse would need to remember, maybe put in a calendar and celebrate it every year. Stars knew most [Spies] did just that because ¡®The first time is always special¡¯.

    At the moment though, like all the people who¡¯d come before her, Isse wasn¡¯t thinking about today being a special day. She was thinking of a way to enter inside a fortress that would probably be able to repel an army of arachne.

    And, truth be told, it had. Once upon a time, exactly where the city of Scasce now stood, there had been a fortress built by the Hunters with the express purpose of being a stepping stone for a possible advance into the spiderfolk¡¯s territory. The place had been razed to the ground eventually, naturally, officially signaling the day the arachne had conquered the whole of Irevia, but it had taken them the beauty of three years and the help of the [Sea Shaper], one of the arachne¡¯s World Shapers.

    The various Spells that protected the [Lady]¡¯s villa had been cast with such care, precision and power that they¡¯d decided to take the shape of something that had been made in the same way. And then, since they had been made to protect a place that was close to winter, they had added the snowy forest.

    Looking up, then down because her neck was beginning to hurt, Isse thought about it.

    Then she looked down at her dress of Shifting Silk, which had followed her in this projection, and had an idea.

    Concentrating, she willed her clothes¡¯ colors to change, making them white as the snow on the ground, and at the same time gray as the walls from the right angles, making sure they would allow her to mimetize.

    Then she began climbing.

    <hr>

    The plan failed spectacularly.

    Halfway up the wall, the temperature dropped so much that she felt her teeth begin to chatter uncontrollably, making steady clicking sounds that reminded her of those toy dentures that click-clacked when you charged them up.

    It¡¯s all in your head, all in your head! The cold isn¡¯t really there, she told herself. But gods dammit did it feel real. That was the problem with soul magic: everything you did involved your soul as well as the thing you were working with. Which made everything feel real.

    Then her spidery feet, which had been able to carry her weight up until then, finding footholds everywhere she needed, slipped from underneath her.

    One moment she was standing perpendicular to the wall, the next she was sliding down and gaining speed at an astonishing rate, panicking inside and outside as she screamed out.

    Then her feet found purchase on the hard stone again and she stopped, her momentum causing her human half to bend backwards, her elastic spine creaking a bit under the stress she¡¯d put it in.

    Breathing heavily, she put a hand to her chest and could hear the dual pounding of her hearts through her skin and in her ears. This had not been fun. At all. Siidi would¡¯ve probably disagreed, but Siidi was also insane, so that didn¡¯t matter.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°Hey, you! What are you doing there?¡± someone shouted.

    Her hearts, which had been beating wildly,  stopped for a moment as her face paled and she turned around towards the source of the voice.

    There, standing in the snow, their sharp eyes on her, was a garrison of ten guardsmen, all wearing steel armor with decorations of snowflakes, swords at their side.

    Seeing how she took too much time to answer, one of them looked her up and down, and said the one, most alarming, thing a [Spy] could ever hear: ¡°You¡¯re not one of us. Wrong clothes, wrong face. I don¡¯t know how you¡¯re here, but you¡¯re an intruder.¡±

    He turned towards one of his companions and, as a unit, they turned around and began running towards, she supposed, the main gates.

    It took Isse all of two seconds to understand she¡¯d fucked up and to begin scrambling at speed after the group, swearing all the while in such a manner that Grandmother would¡¯ve probably cuffed her, and she wasn¡¯t someone who was quick to violence.

    Raising a finger she took aim and intoned her only attack Skill: [Colorful Water Arrow].

    The Spell shot out towards one of the running figures and¡­ penetrated the armor, going from one side to the other with the same ease of a warm knife through butter. Stupefied she stared first at the fallen guard, then at her pointed finger as if it had suddenly become the most powerful weapon in the world. She hadn¡¯t actually expected the Spell to work so well.

    The problem was, there were still a dozen men left who first looked at their fallen companion, then up at her, before they started screaming and attacking her. A complex operation indeed since she was still clinging to the wall and very much out of reach of their weapons. It was nearly silly.

    Siidi, would you like to do some target practice?

    Eh?

    Just come here.

    But I¡¯m supposed to be looking at the outside in case someone comes close.

    Nobody¡¯s going to come, trust me. Just come here! You¡¯re going to like it!

    A moment later Siidi appeared on the wall beside her. For a moment she stumbled downwards, her feet not quite connecting with the wall, gravity attempting to exact its price and failing miserably because of Isse, who was there to help steady her soul half.

    When all was settled she looked down and, after her brain registered what was happening below, couldn¡¯t contain herself and started laughing, a deep belly laugh filled with mirth and satisfaction.

    ¡°Oh, sister, this is the best thing I¡¯ve seen in my life. It¡¯s like watching a dwarf children trying to get to a cookie jar on an arachne¡¯s highest ledge.¡±

    Isse failed to stifle a chuckle at the mental image, then did a complete one-eighty as she realized what had just been said.

    ¡°Wait, that seems awfully specific.¡±

    Siidi nodded, a gentle, fond, smile on her face: ¡°It is, yes? I just remembered yesterday, thanks to my Skill. They were our friends, the dwarves. Our only friends.¡±

    She chuckled: ¡°The world¡¯s forgotten, probably, which is for the better for the dwarves, but the saying ¡®Even a dwarf couldn¡¯t befriend that¡¯ comes from that.¡±

    She shook her head: ¡°Sadly I lived my whole life on Irevia, so I never got to meet one other than the rare ones who betrayed Mountainhome and joined the Hunters.

    ¡°Anyways, I imagine you want me to get rid of this bunch, eh?¡±

    Isse stared at her soul half with wide eyes: ¡°You can¡¯t change subject like that after dropping such a bomb. I want more information!¡±

    Siidi shrugged: ¡°You won¡¯t get more, because I don¡¯t have more. Can¡¯t remember.¡±

    The once-human girl sighed despondently. Damned memory loss! She wanted lore!!!

    ¡°Well, sure then, let¡¯s keep it at that. But yes, I¡¯d like you to get rid of them. They die rather easily apparently, so go nuts. I¡¯ll give you aerial support.¡±

    Siidi looked incredulously at her soul half: ¡°You mean I can do anything?¡±

    ¡°Anything at all!¡±

    ¡°...Is today my birthday?¡±

    ¡°...Do you want it to be?¡±

    ¡°Technically we were both reborn on the same day, so let¡¯s keep it that. Makes making presents way easier.¡±

    ¡°Agreed.¡±

    ¡°Welp, I¡¯m going! [Soul: Armor of Kindness], [Soul: Improvised Weapon] and [Soul: Enlarge Weapon]!¡±

    As she said those words a blue leather jacket that was very familiar to Isse appeared on Siidi¡¯s shoulders, clinging perfectly to her body, not hindering her movements and, she could feel, protecting her as well if not even better than any mail or steel armor ever could, for it was forged out of kindness taken from a memory of joy.

    Then, in her hand, of all things, appeared a giant fountain pen as big as her arm, the point of it appearing very pointy and sharp.

    ¡°The fuck?¡±

    Siidi turned to her, raising an eyebrow, then she lit up: ¡°Oh right! You never saw me use these Skills! I got them a while back, the first time you and I were separated in Grandmother¡¯s soul.¡±

    And then she turned back to the still-failing-to-attack guards below and jumped.

    It would be wrong to say it was a bloodbath, but only because the guards were incapable of bleeding.

    If one were to describe it in a few words? It was like looking at a violent reenactment of ¡®The Nutcracker¡¯. Which dance? Isse couldn¡¯t tell. Maybe ¡®Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy¡¯, but then again, there was only one dancer, while the fighters were just mere marionettes who¡¯d probably never fought a day of their life, their movements big and exaggerated, their parries wobbly and leaving more openings for attacks than anything else. And all the while Siidi seemed to dance between their blows, dodging and parrying, twirling and bending her body into shapes one wouldn¡¯t believe possible for a species so bulky in their lower half. Oh how Isse wished she had an instrument to play right now.

    When, finally, Siidi was finished, she was surrounded by snow-filled armor, the bodies already dissolving, she looked up and was welcomed with applause. This spectacular massacre had been¡­ indescribably beautiful.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you would be giving me aerial support?¡±

    Isse had the decency to blush: ¡°You didn¡¯t seem to need it.¡±

    Siidi¡¯s smile became slightly bigger: ¡°Damn right I didn¡¯t! I¡¯M THE BEST!¡±

    Her words echoed around them, into the forest and up the fortress walls, disappearing into nothingness.

    Then Isse felt the hair all over her body stand on end as she felt an enormous charge of something moving towards them.

    Without thinking she threw herself onto her soul half from the wall, tackling her to the ground and, together, forming a giant fluffy ball as they rolled away. A second later lightning blasted their previous positions as, from the top of the walls, guards shouted and began adjusting their aim.

    <hr>

    ¡°Madame. Sir. We have a problem.¡±

    [Lady] Serafia and her husband, [Lord] Gaius Flich de Bois, had, up to that point, been sleeping in their bed, thoroughly exhausted from a vigorous session of lovemaking followed by quite a lot of cuddling. The madame was especially fond of the cuddling actually.

    Anyways, they were woken up by a worried Gregory standing at the foot of their bed. How could they tell he was worried if his face remained the same? Simply put, because they knew him, and they could see the slight frown of his brows which was all the concession to showing worry he allowed himself.

    Serafia activated one of her Skills, [Fresh as a Wintry Morning], and felt her mind step into gear instantly, while her husband did more or less the same, only using brute force (a few slaps to the cheeks).

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong Gregory?¡±

    ¡°The defensive Spells, madame. They activated¡­ without the ward Spells sounding the alarm.¡±

    Serafia blinked exactly thrice at the news, her mind trying to grapple with the news: ¡°Do you mean to say they misfired?¡±

    Gregory shook his head: ¡°Had it happened only once I would¡¯ve chalked it up to a misfire and called an [Enchanter] instantly, but no: it has happened multiple times already. The defensive Spells have fired, so far, six times, following a specific path around the external walls. [Scrying] Spells were deployed on the locations but nothing and no one has been seen. Patrols are already en-route.¡±

    The [Lord] nodded, cracking his knuckles.

    ¡°Very well. Let¡¯s go see what¡¯s wrong.¡±

    <hr>

    Messing around with a Spell¡¯s weave could, and would most of the time, unless you were the caster, lead to more or less catastrophic backfiring.

    That was exactly what had happened with Isse.

    The moment she had allowed Siidi to kill that patrol of guards a single, thin, thread in the spellweave of the wards and defenses of the mansion had snapped, causing a chain reaction which had resulted in their current predicament of needing to run for their lives while lightning blasts and rays of frost rained around them, missing most of the time but, sometimes, managing to land some lucky hits, and they hurt like a bitch.

    ¡°What the fuck¡¯s happening? Why did they suddenly start shooting us?¡± asked Siidi.

    ¡°Have you considered that maybe it was you screaming!?¡± shouted back Isse.

    It had not been, in fact, the screaming.

    Still, things could be worse. For one, the spells that were targeting them weren¡¯t going after their actual body out in the Waking World. Instead they were following their path around the fortress, even outside of the spellweave, which was what was causing so much confusion to the whole family inside the villa.

    To top it off, they managed to even pass unobserved to the [Scrying] Spells that were sweeping the whole area around the estate grounds, all thanks to a combination of Isse¡¯s Skills: [Reduce Presence] and [Conceal Mana Signature]. For the moment, thanks to the dark dress and those Skills, they were practically invisible. It would take a [Guard] bumping into their body to get them found out.

    And still they ran, causing much consternation outside and much screaming from the top of the fortress¡¯ walls as the guards aimed for them, the intruders who had dared damage the spellweave of this old work of art, the bastards who didn¡¯t even know what they were doing and, in their ignorance, were bringing nothing more than trouble.

    The two arachne ran and turned a sharp corner, a spell missing them by no more than an inch, landing in the snow behind them and scorching the ground underneath.

    A door appeared in front of them, sticking out slightly from the wall. An unguarded door.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get in!¡±

    ¡°Are you mad?¡± asked Siidi.

    ¡°What, you think they¡¯re going to shoot those inside, where they could hit their own? We already saw you can deal with the guards, and if I can get enough time to think I can find a way to deal with the Spells.¡±

    Siidi opened her mouth to say something, but was stopped by the door opening and a dog walking out. A dog with white horns.

    The dog turned towards them and sat down on the ground, his eyes staring.

    They stopped, not even noticing the rain of Spells stopping.

    ¡°Hello again young arachne. It is truly a pleasure to finally meet you in the thought, Siidi.¡±

    The dog spoke.

    And they both finally recognized him, shouting: ¡°Kaminskyi!¡±

    The dog nodded, only now he looked like a gnome with a well groomed beard sitting in the snow cross legged, his chin in his left hand, his eyes clearly disapproving.

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have killed those guards. You damaged the Spell, and now it¡¯s trying to damage you back.¡±

    Ah, they both thought, their mouths opening, then closing in sync.

    ¡°We didn¡¯t know,¡± said Isse in the end.

    The domovoi shook his head: ¡°Come in. I¡¯ll show you a trick for that magic of yours, young arachne. Do with the knowledge what you will afterwards.¡±

    They walked into the fortress.

    And outside, Gregory and the whole of the staff and [Guards] of the villa wondered what in Airm had happened.

 Chapter 26: In the Bowels of the Beast

    ¡°The Spells stopped,¡± said [Lord] Gaius as he stood in his garden wearing what passed for pajamas in this world.

    ¡°Astute observation dear,¡± said his wife with a small shake of the head. She wasn¡¯t being sarcastic, either. She knew her husband had a tendency to say obvious things out loud whenever he started to reason about something. He worked better when he could hear himself.

    ¡°And we know where they first fired,¡± he continued slowly, his eyes alighting on an area of ground that had been scorched by lightning, the snow around it melted.

    He stepped closer to that area of ground, his gaze following the path of the Spells that had blasted the walls around the mansion. Only the walls. As if they were targeting something outside. But that made no sense: they were programmed to activate only when the [Ward] Spells were triggered, signaling the position of an intruder.

    A lesser man would¡¯ve thought of this as a misfire, or something along those lines. Gaius Flick de Bois was not one such man. He had been the third son of a family of nobles who¡¯d gained their title through money and commerce and the most brilliant between his brother and sister. Had he been born first he would¡¯ve been more than just a piece of flesh good only for marrying into greater power for his family. Not that he regretted that now.

    ¡°The [Scrying] Spells around the mansion revealed nothing?¡± he asked Gregory again.

    The [Spy Butler] nodded: ¡°Absolutely nothing Sir.¡±

    Gaius nodded: ¡°Send out our [Guards] then. But don¡¯t make them search around the area targeted by the Spells. Make them look in the area that wasn¡¯t targeted.¡±

    ¡°Sir?¡± Gregory looked confused.

    ¡°It¡¯s just a hunch Greg, but I have a feeling whoever caused this is playing with our spellwork. It¡¯s probably a high Level individual who¡¯s using a Skill to cause a distraction. Devious, but not good enough.¡±

    The [Butler] nodded and set out to do as he had been ordered.

    ¡°As for us, dear,¡± he continued, looking at his wife, ¡°Let¡¯s go hide anything of importance, shall we?¡±

    <hr>

    The inside of the fortress was¡­ underwhelming.

    ¡°This is just sad,¡± said Siidi, voicing their feelings.

    ¡°What, you were expecting something more? Do I have to remind you that this is just a projection of a Spell that exists to keep people out of this house? Of course it doesn¡¯t have an actual inside. People aren¡¯t supposed to see the fortress, much less what¡¯s in it.¡±

    They were in the fortress¡¯ courtyard and Isse truly thought that being nearly blasted into charred pieces by lightning or frozen on the spot hadn¡¯t been worth the sight in front of them.

    The inside of the fortress was empty except for a multitude of stairways criss-crossing all over the place over their heads, some in quite the non-euclidean fashion.

    ¡°This is hurting my brain,¡± said Siidi as she looked down and away.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have a brain Siidi,¡± retorted Isse.

    ¡°If we want to play on the technicalities then your brain is also my brain.¡±

    ¡°...You¡¯re not wrong. It¡¯s kind of mesmerizing.¡±

    ¡°Meh, you get used to it. Although I once stared at those stairs for so long I saw the face of the last holder of the White Book.¡±

    The two arachne flinched at Kaminskyi¡¯s voice as they¡¯d forgotten about him, looking down at the little domovoi.

    ¡°What¡¯s the White Book?¡±

    He grimaced: ¡°A gift from God to humanity. A book containing the powers of the angels and, some say, even some Words of Creation. Whatever it was, the last person to ever have that book used it to attempt to destroy us to the last. It happened during the Great War and caused the death of magic back on Earth.¡±

    He sighed, a hand combing through his beard: ¡°At least Baba Yaga stopped her, otherwise we wouldn¡¯t be here. Although for the longest time I wondered if coming here was worth it, considering how long we spent just sleeping.¡±

    The two arachne looked at him with frowns on their faces, Isse wondering not for the first time how many of the stories told back on Earth were true. Had there always been a world hidden behind nothing more than a veneer of incredulity?

    ¡°Anyway, stop looking up and instead look in front of you.¡±

    They did as he said and, finally, noticed the only other thing in the fortress other than the stairs and the patrols of guards that were now ignoring them.

    Statues.

    At first a few, only three, and then more: a dozen, then tens of them, and finally over a hundred. Some of them looked old and worn, their features worn from time and the elements, while others looked new, freshly sculpted. Some were small, smaller than Isse¡¯s spider half, while a few others were so big they made Isse think about the statue of liberty, yet somehow still managed to fit in the space of the fortress and not look out of place.

    ¡°What in Airm is this?¡± asked Isse.

    Kaminskyi shrugged: ¡°I like to call it ¡®The Cemetery¡¯. Seems fitting since most of the statues are of dead people.¡±

    ¡°Not even surprised,¡± chorused the two arachne.

    They began walking towards the Cemetery in silence, the occasional passing guard bowing to the domovoi and shooting glares at the two intruders.

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    ¡°Why do they look so subservient towards you?¡± asked Siidi.

    Kaminskyi smiled fondly at that: ¡°Because that¡¯s the way it should be. I am the spirit of the house, its domovoi. I guard it as much, if not more, than them. I keep the people inside safe and make sure the house doesn¡¯t suffer from the passage of time or the elements. I¡¯ve been dabbling in maintaining the Spells that protect it, but the magic of this world is very different from the one back on Earth, so I haven¡¯t managed much on that front. Still, they recognize me as someone of importance, someone who¡¯s helping, and someone more important than them.¡±

    He looked up, his eyes unfocusing, and his smile became bitter: ¡°This is what we were promised when the Traveler came to us offering to bring us somewhere safe. A new life, a new home in a place that wouldn¡¯t forget or hate us.¡±

    He chuckled, but there was no mirth in the sound, only bitterness: ¡°I guess that, in the end, he didn¡¯t lie to us. We¡¯re back now. No thanks to him, though.¡±

    They reached the statues then, and the devil bowed his head at them in, she realized, respect.

    ¡°They were the ones who came before, you know? The old inhabitants of the house and their closest friends and allies. I think you¡¯ll recognize a few of these.¡±

    Looking up at the faces of the statues, she didn¡¯t immediately see anyone who looked familiar.

    Then she looked up, towards the taller statues, and she finally saw them. Or rather, she saw her, [Lady] Serafia, together with her husband by her side, their statues on different bases but their hands still joined.

    ¡°I¡¯ve seldom seen love greater than the one between them, you know? Last time was between the last holder of the Black Book and her beloved.¡±

    He smiled, and this time it was real: ¡°Those two¡­ they are soulmates. Just like you spiderfolk always ended up as.¡±

    Isse didn¡¯t say anything to that: bringing back her memories of Anda came with both the benefit of being able to see her in her memories and feel joy and the feeling of her heart being stabbed by the sadness with the knowledge that she was gone.

    The domovoi looked up and saw her expression: ¡°Ah, wrong thing to say. I¡¯m sorry for your loss.¡±

    Isse batted her eyes in surprise for a moment, then shrugged it off and changed the subject: ¡°You talked about a Black Book. Let me guess, it¡¯s the opposite of the other one and was made by Satan?¡±

    ¡°Exactly, although maybe Satan is the wrong name for him. We called him Chernobog, others called him Lucifer. Old bastard down below was always so fucking confused by this.

    ¡°As for the Black Book, it is my firm belief that it was more powerful than its divine counterpart. For one, if you managed to unlock all of its seals, you could make any wish come true without the fear of your mind being burnt away by a Word of Creation that God decided you weren¡¯t ready to use.¡±

    He sat down on the snowy ground, his body turning into his dog self, tongue lolling out as he slowly panted, his eyes flickering up at the two arachne then even ¡®upper¡¯ at the statues of the people who lived in his home.

    ¡°But enough about my home. This is a Spell, not a soul, so time moves just as fast as outside. I brought you in to show you a trick, and I will do just that. But first: what were you going to do when you entered the Spell, child?¡±

    Isse frowned: ¡°Didn¡¯t you say we had no time to lose? Can¡¯t you just tell me your trick and be done with the cryptic teacher bullshit? I had enough of that with Grandmother.¡±

    Siidi raised a hand and they high fived.

    ¡°In the time it took you to high five with your soul half and tell me off for asking that question you could¡¯ve already answered. Now, please, tell me, or else you¡¯ll be stuck outside, or worse, be found out. The [Lord] has sent out his [Guards] to check the perimeter.¡±

    Isse¡¯s heart rate picked up at that and cold sweat trickled down her spine. What would they do if they found out about her?

    ¡°Alright. I¡­ I expected to find something akin to a Soul Heart that would allow me to manipulate the Spellwork into letting me in without triggering the [Ward] Spells.¡±

    The dog-devil cocked his head to the side and, after a second, nodded: ¡°A good strategy. It would¡¯ve probably worked as well had you not killed those guards outside. As I understand it, souls and Spells are not so different, especially ones cast with the support of a Skill. They both have hearts, and they both can be changed. The only real difference is that Spells are much more focused than souls, so it¡¯s easier to do what you desire.¡±

    He turned back into his gnome-form, as Siidi had started to call it, and pointed at the snow.

    ¡°You have strong bases, which is admirable. From what the domovoi of the Tower Academy¡¯s told me you¡¯re further ahead than most [Mages] were when the doors to that place were opened.

    ¡°Now, make a statue of yourself with this snow, and be fast about it.¡±

    Isse cocked an eyebrow but immediately began working, Siidi helping her.

    ¡°Why snow?¡± she asked as she allowed herself a moment to feel the cold snow with her hands. It may be winter, but there were Spells all over the city that didn¡¯t allow for snow to fall. Well, everywhere except for [Lady] Serafia¡¯s mansion, that was. She missed its feeling.

    ¡°This city has a few good [Enchanters] and my lady has access to the best one. Any and all alterations made here,¡± he motioned at the fortress around them, ¡°can and will be noticed. But a snow statue? It will disappear in a few hours, melt away, or even just mimetize with the rest of the spellwork.

    ¡°You want to be a [Spy]? Well, remember this trick: if you ever have to alter Spells, learn to do it in such a way that you wouldn¡¯t notice it. Understood?

    ¡°Now start over with that statue. Make it smaller. And for the love of Chernobog, make it look like an arachne, not some kind of dick with barbs.¡±

    Blushing now Isse began working on her arachne snow-woman from scratch. A few minutes later she had a doll sized version of¡­ herself? More or less, yes.

    ¡°Good. Now, girl, I suggest you leave this Spell and start climbing that wall. A [Guard] is approaching your location.¡±

    He snapped his fingers, and she was out.

    A moment later, Kaminskyi sighed despondently, turning back into his dog form and lying back down, looking at the shadows.

    ¡°You know, you¡¯re a cruel man. Making her think she¡¯s the last of her kind, making her go through all this.¡±

    He looked down at the doll-sized snow woman and sighed: ¡°The only reason I haven¡¯t told her anything is that this she¡¯s one of our last hopes to come back fully. That girl, Alice, she¡¯s not enough. But you already knew that, am I right? Played your cards the best way possible since well before the start.¡±

    He chuckled sadly, looking back at the shadows.

    The shadows didn¡¯t answer back. Nor did they move.

    Maybe he was truly going insane, after all.

    <hr>

    Climbing the wall took her only a few seconds, but still she nearly didn¡¯t make it.

    As she let herself fall to the ground on the other side, heart beating a celtic folk song, she could feel the armored footsteps of the guard on the other side of the wall passing where she¡¯d been standing up until then.

    She looked around¡­ and realized that she¡¯d done it! She¡¯d overcome the first hurdle of the mission: passing through the warded wall without being killed by the Spells defending it. From there, surely, it was all going to go downhill.

    Alright. Time to find the [Lady]¡¯s office and see what we can get.

    It¡¯s a plan!

    So it began.

 Chapter 27: Jazzying Spies

    Now, when you think about a [Spy], what comes to mind? Why, of course, Harriet Tubman, Josephine Baker, Sterling Hayden (better known as John Hamilton. I¡¯m certain that one sparks something in your minds) or even Ian Fleming!

    ¡­

    What do you mean most people won¡¯t know about them old chap? What? James Bond? But he¡¯s a fictional character! Sigh, why did you even go through all the trouble of gathering these names? Ah, because you didn¡¯t know too? A librarian had to tell you? Well, bless that woman. As for the other names, well, no one ever died of too much culture.

    Anyways, when you imagine a spy at work you expect a shadowy individual who wouldn¡¯t be noticed for anything in the world.

    Just like Isse was right then.

    What you wouldn¡¯t expect is them doing their job with a soundtrack.

    Just like Isse right then.

    Would you please stop Siidi?

    Nope! This is too funny. And I¡¯m also watching your back, so you don¡¯t have to worry.

    Apparently Siidi had decided that infiltrating the house of a noblewoman required some music to ¡®build the atmosphere¡¯ and had spent the whole time they¡¯d skulked in the garden in an attempt to find a way into the home proper switching between songs that had remained in her memories. It had been fun in the beginning, but as Isse had found a way into the house through a door left unlocked by a probably stupid [Guard] she¡¯d found her repository of Jazz and Swing songs that her father had loved to listen to.

    And now she was playing all of them while she tried to find the broom closet Kaminskyi had told her about the day prior.

    It¡¯s not an appropriate soundtrack! At least put the one from the Mission Impossible films!

    Which one? Oh, this? Nah, I don¡¯t think I will. It¡¯s boring and serious.

    That¡¯s the point!

    The point, dear Isse, is that the music you¡¯re listening to is very similar to the one we arachne once played.

    Isse stopped in her tracks for a moment at that.

    You mean to tell me arachne played jazz over ten thousand years ago?

    Yes, we did! And girl o¡¯ girl did we love that music. You haven¡¯t seen hedonism and drunken dancing until you¡¯ve seen arachne doing it. Those were the days.

    Isse couldn¡¯t contain herself and snorted, immediately freezing in place and looking around in the corridor, fearing that someone had heard her. There were only shadows around her. For a minute she just sat there and activated her [Mana Sight], making sure that there were no threads coming out of them.

    There were none.

    Let me guess, she started, trying to lighten her nerves, those parties always ended in orgies.

    How did you guess?

    Again, Isse had to resist the impulse to snort (and this time succeeded).

    My family would¡¯ve loved the arachne.

    ¡­For the orgies?

    No! Well, my mother probably for the orgies. Apparently in her younger days she was the definition of ¡®wild¡¯. My father would¡¯ve loved you for the jazz.

    She heard Siidi in her mind huff proudly and saw her cross her arms.

    As I always say, arachne are superior!

    What they were doing looked like bantering, and in some ways it was, but at the same time it wasn¡¯t. It was a sort of mutual accord to help keep each other together, to keep their nerves at bay. Because both of them were only a few steps away from having a mental breakdown.

    And if not having a mental breakdown required them to listen to jazz songs from the 1920s then they would damn well keep listening. They also had the added benefit of actually sounding good.

    Where in Airm are we? asked Siidi as they turned into another corridor. In the dark they all looked the same. Same paintings, same tables with the same flowers in the same pots. It all looked the same to her.

    I don¡¯t know.

    Something kept on nagging at the back of her mind.

    She stopped skittering and looked up at a painting in the room. A painting of a white dog with his tongue lolled out and a smile on his cute face, a field of colorful flowers around it.

    Siidi, didn¡¯t we already see this one?

    ¡­I¡¯m not sure.

    Also, it doesn¡¯t fit the style of the house. Too many colors in those flowers.

    Serafia could¡¯ve added it later on.

    Yes, she could¡¯ve. But then, why a dog? She never talked to me about a dog, and I think that more than once she was one step away from telling me what was her husband¡¯s favorite position in bed. She would¡¯ve told me about a dog. And then, she wouldn¡¯t have left a painting of an animal she liked in some random hallway.

    Maybe it¡¯s not random. Isse, you¡¯re making an awful lot of assumptions here. Maybe it¡¯s just a coincidence.

    She shook her head: Master always said to follow my gut, and right now my gut says that something¡¯s up.

    Skittering slowly towards the painting she looked up into the dog¡¯s deep black eyes.

    And realized she could see the color of the eyes. And of everything around her. She hadn¡¯t given it much thought, but the colors weren¡¯t muted or dark as they should be when standing in a lightless room. They were¡­ normal. As if the place was being lit by an ethereal light emanating from everything.

    With caution now she placed her hand on a nearby table under the out-of-place-painting and, immediately, felt dust in her grip.

    You needed proof that this place wasn¡¯t visited?

    Alright alright, you were right.

    Oh if only I had my phone I¡¯d ask you to let me record you saying it.

    Don¡¯t get cocky now!

    Bantering done, she concentrated back on the painting, her eyes looking straight into the dog¡¯s deep black eyes.

    The darkness in them was so deep she could feel it sucking her in, sucking the light out of the room around it, and then letting it flow out all around them, giving off that ethereal glow that was and wasn¡¯t there. The more she looked the more she felt like looking, like staring into an abyss and hoping that it would stare back, to challenge it to a staring contest. She knew she would win, because she¡¯d already done it once, when she¡¯d stared into the eyes of her Anda and, for once, won. This? This was nothing. A fake copy that couldn¡¯t hold a candle to the real thing.

    But it was also just a painting, there was quite literally nothing that could actually stare back at her, right?

    Slowly, in that unsettling way typical of the arachne, she cocked her head to the side and activated her [Mana Sight].

    Immediately, her vision was filled with threads, like always, but she didn¡¯t care about those, because even in that world of threads she could still see the black eyes of the painting looking straight at her, through her, into her.

    And still she stared right back, feeling herself and Siidi join into one as they both looked, her certainty and her soul half¡¯s doubt mixing together, the former overpowering the latter, for they were a [Soul Shaper] and they knew that something was up.

    Then they saw it: through both eyes, all around them, mixing with the ethereal light in the dark, nearly invisible, were off-white threads, knitting and crossing and winding together and forming a great web that spanned the whole length of the room. A web without a spider, abandoned long ago and taken by someone, no, something else, to be reused, recycled, for nothing could go to waste, nothing ever should, nothing great or strange or simple.

    And the web? The web laughed, for someone had seen it, or a side of it, and it laughed and laughed and suddenly a face appeared in the white, a memory of the creator looking right at her with a mischievous little grin. A figure as ethereal as the light and the threads, small, like a pixie or a fairy from the stories she¡¯d read as a child, with ice in her (his?) hair and eyes a piercing blue completely unlike those of the dog.

    The little fairy looked at her, then chuckled silently, no sound coming out of her mouth, and then she made a shushing noise and pointed at a single thread that, when followed, seemed to lead away from the web, into a deeper darkness Isse hadn¡¯t noticed until that very moment.

    When she looked back up to thank the fairy it was gone.

    Only the painting remained, and it had changed. Now the dog was no longer sitting, but lying on the ground, his tongue licking his nose as his mouth now formed a slightly bigger smile showing a few more snow-white teeth, his eyes no longer looking at her but at something in the frame, near the bottom.

    A brown, little jumping spider, nearly invisible in the field of grass and flowers, that she noticed only because she saw a thread coming out of it and touching her.

    What in Airm just happened? asked Siidi as the minute of her Skill passed and she broke the religious silence.

    I¡­ I have no idea.

    <hr>

    The System looked at the young arachne and frowned.

    It had just remembered why the arachne were one of its¡­ saying ¡®least favorite species¡¯ would be wrong, but only because It was incapable of feeling things such as dislike. It felt nothing, but It also felt like a headache was forming in the back of its processes.

    That was the thing about their species: they never followed the Rules. Their very nature seemed to bend and twist them, forcing It to adapt and create new Rules, new adaptations, new upgrades to existing Skills or outright new Skills in general. The Era of Hunts had been an age of great work for It and It dearly hoped that nothing like that would ever happen because that period had been an actual headache, and when a being such as It had a headache it hurt a lot.

    The System observed the individual Serafia Ribia, [Lady of Winter], Level 38, and, in particular, looked at one of her capstone Skills: [The Winter Fae¡¯s Trickery Kept my Haven Safe]. The Skill fell under the tags <Esoteric>,

    and <Outsider> and, in Its opinion, fit the woman, her needs and her personality perfectly. She desired to make her house a safe place, a haven, for all those who required it. Therefore the Skill¡¯s function was just that: it kept the house safe from any intruders or undesired guests, trapping them in a looping set of locations that were controlled by a simulated copy of one of the fae from the Winter Court, which had visited¡­ a few times, centuries prior. The Skill was extremely powerful and unpredictable, as was the fae¡¯s nature, and getting out would normally require a Level 40 or higher [Rogue] or [Escapist]¡¯s Skills.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    And yet this young arachne had, completely by accident, subverted the Skill and broken it by acting in an unprecedented way that had amused the copy of the fae, which had rebelled against its purpose and shown the way out to the girl.

    That was also when it remembered why It had created so few Skills based on the Faefolk¡¯s nature.

    Sighing, the System added a few points to Issekina Silksoul¡¯s progress bar and watched her Levels rise. That, at least, was good, acceptable and desired. It felt always¡­ satisfied, yes, that was the word, when someone gained Levels. Less so when they did it with Red Classes, sure, but that was another matter altogether.

    Her last two exploits had gained her the right to an evolved Class and quite a few Levels. Now, it was time to wait and see if she would survive the night and, even better, succeed in her objective. That would give her more Levels, after all!

    <hr>

    Got any idea of what that thing in the painting was? asked Isse.

    None whatsoever.

    Well fuck. Maybe Albert knows?

    Maybe Kaminskyi knows.

    Oh, right, had forgotten we could ask him. Where is he by the way?

    I think he¡¯s not going to help us anymore Isse. He is here to protect the house after all. Helping us was just a way to repay the kindness of telling his tale.

    She sighed¡­ internally, because she didn¡¯t want to make any noise.

    Whatever, let¡¯s go find that damn closet.

    <hr>

    They found it in the end.

    The closet, that is. The one Kaminskyi had told them about.

    It was empty.

    Except for a few brooms and a single page left right at the center of the room carelessly and, she could tell, purposefully, as a way to tell whoever would find it that they¡¯d been too slow.

    She felt like cursing and shouting obscenities, but that would certainly reveal her location. So instead she did it internally, to Siidi¡¯s great dismay.

    Whoa, that¡¯s¡­ a lot to unpack. I didn¡¯t know you knew so many different swears.

    Yeah, well, Italians have a dictionary of insults with a section dedicated to insulting God, and I had a lot of free time in the hospital to translate it as best as I could.

    ¡­Respect for the Italians, whoever they are. Oh, wait, you¡¯ve got some stuff¡­ why do they move their hands so much whenever they talk? They¡¯re funny. And loud. And obnoxious, but in a sorta good way.

    They¡¯re a living paradox is what they are.

    They kept on talking to each other, trying to calm down, the jazz music momentarily put on hold, in its place some relaxing elevator music playing as a background. Isse was pretty certain it would become insufferable soon enough.

    After a few moments of silence filled only with the background noise of the house and the music they both sighed.

    So, what¡¯s our next move?

    We track them down, that¡¯s what we do.

    And they started doing just that. How? Simple: with Isse¡¯s [Mana Sight]. It had helped her so far, surely it would keep being useful, right?

    Wrong.

    There¡¯s nothing coming from that closet, said Isse as she frustratedly stomped her feet on the carpet.

    Well, it was just paper. Not much of a mana signature from stuff like that.

    Fuck!

    She allowed herself to fall to the ground, her spidery legs curling around her thorax, contracting and relaxing and, this way, giving her a little massage. It had become one of her favorite ways to destress these days.

    What now?

    ¡­We could go looking for the secret place Kamiskyi told us about. The one that felt similar to the Last Stand.

    ¡­Maybe. We don¡¯t have that many leads, we don¡¯t have much time and they¡¯re looking for us. Sigh, hopefully there¡¯ll be something worth bringing back.

    She paused, remembering a detail: Oh, wait, we can¡¯t take anything. Can¡¯t leave proof that we were here. Fuck!

    Meh, I¡¯m sure they won¡¯t miss a page or two.

    Master said¡­

    Master said a lot of shit and he was a piece of shit. You can take a page or two. I¡¯m allowing it.

    That¡¯s not how it works Siidi.

    Really? Well, too bad, you¡¯re stuck with me and I¡¯m real, unlike this Master you saw in the scroll.

    Siidi! This is serious! I can¡¯t leave behind proof that I was here.

    But you thought it yourself: they know someone¡¯s here, or they wouldn¡¯t have moved all the documents. They expect it. Which means that even if you take something they¡¯ll just confirm their suspicions. And then what? They won¡¯t even know it was you.

    They remained in silence for a while afterwards as Isse¡¯s mind went into overdrive as she considered the situation.

    Finally, she sighed: Alright, let¡¯s do this.

    <hr>

    Kaminskyi had shown her the location of the vault¡­ more or less. He¡¯d just made her feel as if there was something underneath the mansion calling out to her. Something cold and warm and inviting, friendly, like a distant memory of a smile from someone you cared about.

    Other than that though she knew nothing.

    But that was enough. Master had taught how to find something from knowing nothing, or close to nothing.

    The first thing to do was try to know what she was looking for, and to that she already had the answer: a vault, keeping some kind of artifact probably, underground, well beneath the mansion.

    After that she had to ask herself the second question: where could the entrance be? For that she had no answer, but she could already exclude at least one alternative: the entrance wasn¡¯t in the garden. She would¡¯ve noticed people walking around the gardens considering just how much time she¡¯d had to spend walking around them looking for a way into the mansion.

    Which left a few likely places: the office and, surprisingly enough, the living room. Of course there was also the option of the bedroom, but in Master¡¯s words, ¡®Only idiots put hidden passages that lead to secret rooms in their bedroom. That¡¯s a good way to take the wrong secret passage when they try to escape through the one meant to leave unseen¡¯.

    It had been oddly specific, but who was she to care about that if it worked?

    She began with the closest room: the office.

    Currently, it was empty, the room dark and a lot creepier than she remembered, what with the white walls being now a dull gray that sucked the life out of everything around it, the libraries now no longer homely but imposing, giving the impression that they were trying to overtake the room, while the desk stood ominously empty at the back, the chair behind it looking like a fallen king¡¯s throne in an abandoned castle.

    This is fucking creepy, thought Isse

    Can you see anything?

    She looked around the room, uncertain and, deep down, slightly disturbed, but couldn¡¯t see anything. Activating her [Mana Sight] and losing a few minutes in an attempt to see if there were any threads of magic that could lead her to the vault was also useless.

    If there was a passage in this room, she¡¯d have to find it the old fashioned way, which meant: trying each and every book in the library and hoping it would open a door.

    Or¡­

    Siidi, how does your Skill work? The one that lets you see without having to look through my eyes. Are you, like, bound to my body? Or can you move around a bit?

    Her soul half was silent for a few moment, then she heard her giggle: Oh, I see what you want. Sure, we can try: technically my spider half is still bound to yours, but the human half? I can still move around a fair bit with it. Now go and mash your face against those walls, I¡¯ll see what I can find.

    She did just that.

    At least the walls weren¡¯t coarse.

    <hr>

    Other than a lot of bricks and stone and some wood I saw nothing in there.

    Well, that leaves the living room.

    How can you be so sure it¡¯s going to be in the living room? Couldn¡¯t it be anywhere else in the house? If Serafia was keeping the documents in a broom closet she could very well have put a secret passage in the toilet.

    She could¡¯ve¡­ if she¡¯d built the place. But I think this was built by her family.

    So you suppose they were idiots?

    I hope they were idiots, corrected her Isse.

    Still, as they passed by the broom closet, she had Siidi check out the inside of the walls. Just to be sure.

    <hr>

    There¡¯s more people down here, she said as she hid in the shadows of the ceiling.

    What was it that her online friends always said? Gamers don¡¯t look up? Something like that. Even an entire world away, that rule still held true, because none of the servants and guards passing below them noticed them.

    Gotta be careful, intoned Siidi.

    No shit Sherlock.

    To say that the place was bustling with activity would be excessive, but there were still far too many awake people for this hour of the night.

    A chitter of displeasure escaped her lips, which she then slapped closed in surprise and confusion. Where had that come from?

    Oh, you learned to chitter!

    What the fuck? Spiders don¡¯t even make noise!

    Yeah, but we¡¯re only part spider, so we get chittering because Death said ¡®Why not?¡¯ I always thought it was kind of cute. It¡¯s out version of purring!

    ¡­Every day that passes I get more and more confirmation that arachne are just oversized cats.

    Hey, don¡¯t you da -

    They stopped as Isse came to an arch that led into the living room. The place was deserted and dark, although more than once in the next few minutes she saw guards pass by the room and stop to check inside. She let this happen a few times, checking the time between each passage of the [Guards] on a clocks he¡¯d taken from the shop. Exactly two minutes. Not a lot, but very probably enough.

    Ok, same thing as always. I go around the room, you check inside the walls.

    Roger!

    The moment the next man had passed Isse skittered into the room and mashed her face against the wall with the fireplace, because really? If you had to put a secret passage somewhere it would be the fireplace.

    And immediately after she heard Siidi agree with her: Ah-ha! Found it! That was faster than I thought.

    It was fucking obvious is what it was. I¡¯ve seen enough films to know.

    Yeah, you¡¯re right. Anyways, get closer, I need to see if I can find the thing that opens the secret door.

    I¡¯m sure it¡¯s the candleholders. Watch.

    She reached out to the closest candleholder and, with a self assured smile, tugged at it.

    It didn¡¯t budge.

    Ha!

    Fuck off Siidi. It must be the other.

    She moved, checking her watch: one minute and fifteen seconds left.

    Reaching her hand to the other candleholder she tugged¡­ and again nothing happened.

    Hahahahaha.

    Oh would you stop Siidi?

    I¡¯m sorry - Hahaha - I really am, she took a deep breath, but you were so certain, and your irritated face when it didn¡¯t work made it so much funnier.

    Well, do your job then and look inside the wall.

    She huffed a bit and got as close as she could to the wall, waiting for Siidi to find something, anything, while she stared at the seconds hand on her clock ticking away their time.

    When thirty seconds were left Siidi finally spoke: Ok, there¡¯s a button hidden in the decorations of the fireplace. Press it and it should open the door.

    Should?

    Hey, I¡¯m new to this. I was a [Warrior], not some mad [Architect].

    Ok.

    She moved to press the button that, in the back of her mind, Siidi was showing her, then thought better of it and skittered back up the wall and into a dark corner of the room on the same side as the entry.

    After the [Guard] had passed she went back to the fireplace and pressed the secret button.

    She wasn¡¯t an idiot.

    Even Master had agreed to that in the end, before allowing her to leave the Scroll.

    Without a sound, the stone of the fireplace¡¯s back moved, revealing a well maintained and not-at-all dusty passage that was¡­ too small.

    Fuck, this is going to be uncomfortable. Why did Death give us such big backsides?

    Nothing like a bit of jiggling to make everything better.

    Siidi, for the love of all that is unholy, keep the sexual innuendos to a minimum while on mission.

    Never!

    Then she skittered in, finding a lever to close the passage behind her and doing so.

    Only realizing a moment later that there were no sources of light whatsoever in here.

    Sighing, she activated a [Light] Spell, summoning a little ball of light in her hand, and began moving way too slowly for her tastes down the secret passage.

    Let¡¯s see what we¡¯ll find.

 Chapter 28: The Wintry Violin

    This is uncomfortable, repeated Isse for what felt like the hundredth time.

    What¡¯s really making you uncomfortable is the fact that you can¡¯ hide anywhere in here, said back Siidi, nailing the point.

    Other than the light she was holding in her hand the tunnel, for it was a tunnel now, even if made of bricks, was completely dark. At regular intervals in the walls there were torch holders made of wrought iron, which felt like a waste of money considering the place clearly wasn¡¯t visited that often. Each one of them held an unburning torch and, more than once, she had to stop herself from casting a [Candleflame] Spell to turn at least some of them on to keep the darkness at bay where she passed, to feel less lonely.

    She¡¯d never thought of herself as someone afraid of the dark, but the anxiety eating away at her insides was slowly eroding her¡­ maybe sanity wasn¡¯t the right word, but that¡¯s what it felt like.

    Got any more of that Swing music?

    I¡¯m sorry Isse, we¡¯ve listened to all the ones you remembered.

    Then start again, from the top. This place is giving me the creeps.

    A few moments later her mind was filled with the sound of t???w????e????n???t????y??? ?????y?????e?????a????r????s???? ????o???l????d??? music. Many would¡¯ve found it creepy: walking in a dark place, the sensation of the walls squishing her spider half slightly, making the place feel smaller, all while cheerful music played as a background. She didn¡¯t. Because it was cheerful music! And because she could see, in her mind¡¯s eye, Siidi dancing to the song with an invisible partner. Maybe, when all of this was done, she¡¯d ask her to teach her how the arachne had danced, once upon a time.

    And then, suddenly, the corridor opened up, allowing her to finally breathe in completely, the sensation of her spider half¡¯s lungs filling up more pleasant than she remembered.

    Looking around the room she was¡­ disappointed. She¡¯d expected something grand, something a bit more decorated, something rich for the vault of what was probably the most prominent noble family of the city.

    Instead the room was made of the same bricks the corridor had been and, right there at its center, on a simple stone floor, sat three chests filled with coins.

    Not all of them were even gold coins. It also looked extremely dusty.

    This¡­ this cannot be the vault, can it?

    It¡¯s impossible. There¡¯s only a few coins, and definitely nothing that feels like what Kaminskyi showed us.

    ¡­Is it possible that the object is actually buried underground and the mansion was built atop it?

    With her mind¡¯s eye she saw Siidi shake her head: No, it¡¯s impossible. A domovoi is more than capable of making the distinction, and if he told us it¡¯s underneath the house then it¡¯s underneath the house and reachable. We just have to find a way. Let¡¯s repeat the trick with the secret passages, maybe we¡¯ll find something.

    So they did: Isse stuck close to the wall again, this time though not bothering to mush her face against the cold bricks (Siidi had told her in the tunnel that she¡¯d been joking with her when she¡¯d said that was the distance required for her Skill to allow her to see through the wall).

    It took them five minutes and two circuits of the room, all while Isse tried her hardest not to even look at the chests of coins. For all she knew they were cursed or would activate an alarm if she touched them.

    In the end though Siidi finally found something: Halt, I can see it. Gosh darn it, these walls are thick! I missed it the first time.

    So there¡¯s another secret passage?

    Master had told her that was a possibility, but it was rare for basically anyone to think that much ahead.

    Apparently Serafia¡¯s family had.

    Yup! A secret passage, coming right up! Oh, wait, I don¡¯t have hands to open this up.

    She smiled and felt her throat bob up and down with a barely contained giggle.

    Just show me what to press you dumbass.

    Hey! If it wasn¡¯t for me you¡¯d be stuck with the absolutely-not-cursed-treasure-chest ?, she shouted the T M so loud that she turned around to look over her shoulder, even though she knew nobody could hear her soul half.

    What the fuck Siidi! Don¡¯t ever do that again!

    Siidi chuckled, then sighed happily and went on as if nothing had happened: Alright, let¡¯s do another circuit of the room, see if I can find anything.

    As they did Isse let her hand wander over the bricks overhead, hoping that she¡¯d manage to find a secret button or something. Hopefully one that didn¡¯t activate a trap.

    Stop!

    Isse froze in place.

    The brick you¡¯re touching. Push it.

    You sure?

    As sure as the fact that the moon¡¯s made of cheese.

    She pushed the brick, realizing only a moment later what had been said: Wait, the moon is made of cheese?

    They can¡¯t prove otherwise!

    She chuckled as, where Siidi had found it, a door opened into the wall.

    Happily, she skittered inside, while also warily looking for traps or other things like that. The thing was, she was sure she was immune to them. Why? Because she¡¯d done the same in the previous corridor, finding it completely filled with traps from beginning to end, the vision reminding her of the games of Cat¡¯s Cradle Makira used to play with them when they were spiderlings. When she¡¯d touched one of the threads though she¡¯d found herself back inside the fortress, right in front of the little snow arachne she¡¯d made.

    A tentative step later the traps hadn¡¯t fried her leg and she¡¯d started the long walk down.

    The same happened here.

    It¡¯s stupid, she thought.

    What¡¯s stupid?

    Connecting all the Spells this way. They put all their eggs in a single basket expecting nobody to break them. It¡¯s just stupid

    Well, I think most people don¡¯t think about the possibility of a [Soul Mage] appearing on their doorstep and hijacking the whole thing.

    ¡­Fair enough. By the way, did you find that word, hijacking, in my memories? It just feels strange coming from you.

    Girl, that word was invented during the Arachne Wars because of us. Our [Soul Mages] were the reason it was created.

    Huh.

    She always forgot about it, but her abilities, her entire Class¡­ it was quite powerful. It just didn¡¯t come to her mind simply because she was so low Level. She also forgot that, at low Level, most people couldn¡¯t do many, if any, inhumane things that broke the rules of reality (too much). All she needed was time and, probably, she could become one of the strongest people in the world.

    So on they walked, and she was glad that this tunnel was big enough for her spider half to pass comfortably through.

    <hr>

    It took them five minutes to reach the chamber at the other end of the corridor, and it was there that they found an undesired surprise.

    [Guards]. Three of them. They were in the room, sitting on three small chairs in front of a table, cards in their hands as they played some unknown game.

    Fuck! was all Siidi said, echoing her soul half¡¯s state of mind right then.

    Well, not everything can go our way, tried to joke Isse, realizing that it wasn¡¯t funny a moment later.

    She looked at the men from the darkness of the corridor, where she had deactivated her Spell the moment she¡¯d seen light in the distance, and tried to find a way around them. But, for all that they looked distracted by their game of cards, they had also placed themselves in such a way that they could, with a glance, see every side of the circular room. In particular, the man wearing the fanciest armor (although maybe calling it fancy was an exaggeration, seeing that the only thing making it as such was a set of stars on his pauldron) was sitting in the perfect position to keep an eye on the only other table in the room.

    A table completely covered in neat stacks of paper covered in tiny words.

    Well, at least we found the documents. Hopefully.

    You think they¡¯re fake?

    How should I know? I can¡¯t see the words.

    ¡­You speak as if you could even distinguish a fake document from a real one.

    Hey! Don¡¯t call me out on the stuff I don¡¯t know.

    Siidi chuckled in the back of her mind, before sighing.

    So, how do we get rid of them? she asked, her voice tired.

    Isse didn¡¯t answer, her mind abuzz with thoughts as she tried to find an answer to their little dilemma. The tunnel was too small for her to hide inside while attracting the men¡¯s attention to the other room, so that was out.

    A few other plans went through her mind, and each was discarded always for that simple reason: there was too little space for her to even begin to think about any kind of maneuver.

    Then she looked back, the way she¡¯d come, an errant thought popping up from the back of her mind: If only I could fry them with the security Spells.

    A moment later a lightbulb lit up in her mind.

    Aaaaaahhh, it¡¯s bright! Turn it off!

    A click sounded in the back of her mind and Siidi sighed in relief.

    Meanwhile, Isse was already moving back the way they¡¯d come, skittering as fast as her legs allowed (which was actually quite a lot. nearly as fast as a galloping horse).

    A minute later she was back into the sad room with the treasure chests, where she climbed the wall atop the door, hiding upside down in the shadows of the unlit room, curling her human half into her spider half to make herself as small as she could.

    Then she reached out to the threads of magic all around her and touched one.

    And she was back into the fortress, in front of her snow-arachne. The body looked like it was already melting a bit, so she promptly compacted the snow with some fresh one, before looking up at the mess of stairs passing all over her head.

    The stairs that looked distinctly non-Euclidean.

    The stairs that seemed to change every time she looked at them.

    Stairs that formed patterns, now that she thought of it. Patterns that reminded her of some Spell matrixes Grandmother had shown to her in one of her many lessons.

    For those wondering, Spell matrixes were what modern [Mages] worked with most of the time: basic, already formed, forms for the mana to go through without a need to create a Spell from scratch. The type of magic that the System gave, studied and applied because it was easier than learning how to actually make magic. A crutch, as Grandmother called it.

    ¡°Siidi, how much would you be willing to bet that these are matrixes of the spells in those tunnels?¡±

    Her sister appeared by her side, looking up with her: ¡°I¡¯m not betting with you again Isse. I lost way too many times the last time we did.¡±

    Isse chuckled: ¡°Come on, you sore loser! It was only the one time in Grandmother¡¯s soul.¡±

    ¡°Yes, and you forced me to make you an entire wardrobe of clothes because of it. Do you have any idea how difficult it was?¡±

    A moment later they both smiled and snorted, before looking back up.

    ¡°So, how do we do it?¡± asked Siidi.

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    ¡°Simple. We anger the guards.¡±

    Siidi looked at her with raised eyebrows: ¡°You want to play another game of tag with lightning?¡±

    ¡°Nah, I think it¡¯ll be some kind of fire spells this time. They¡¯ll probably try to cook us alive.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not reassuring Isse,¡± cautioned her soul half.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry. After all, fire is slower than lightning.¡±

    Right?

    <hr>

    ¡°Isse, remind me never to listen to one of your plans ever again!¡± screamed Siidi as she ran, activating her [Lengthy Step] to dodge a [Fireball] aimed at her, nearly falling down the stairs.

    Isse didn¡¯t answer, too concentrated on trying not to get hit by any of the numerous different Spells being thrown at her. Sure, the aim was bad, and dodging was not just possible, but even easy in some circumstances, but what the guards lacked in ability they more than supplied in sheer number of magical attacks being thrown at them.

    Ducking under a [Wind Blade] aimed at her head she skittered over the side of the stairs and began running underneath them, baffling the guards and this way gaining some breathing time.

    This should be enough.

    ¡°Siidi, we¡¯re getting out!¡±

    ¡°Thank fuck!¡±

    And they blinked out of the fortress, their eyes opening back into the real world as they both looked at the bit of ceiling Isse¡¯s human half was facing, her spider half over her head.

    A few moments later she began hearing whispers in the distance, getting closer by the second as the guards from that room advanced, wary of any traps ¡®accidentally¡¯ activating themselves.

    For a moment a dark side of her, the side that had emerged after that fateful night of death and destruction, the side that wanted nothing more than to see everything and everyone suffer for what had been done to her clan, to her sisters, to her soulmate, emerged, whispering sweetly that she could go back into the spellweave, let herself be targeted and, this way, kill the men, possibly even slowly and painfully.

    She suppressed it: these people weren¡¯t the cause for what had been done to her and her people. They didn¡¯t deserve something like that.

    She stood stock still, clinging to the ceiling, her clothes the same color as the dark bricks, enveloping her in a soft and comfortable cocoon of silk.

    A minute later Siidi spoke to her: I see them. They¡¯re about to enter the room.

    If it was possible she stood even stiller, telling herself that she was ¡®one with the shadows¡¯ in an attempt to keep the anxiety at bay.

    A few seconds later the guards passed hurriedly underneath her, giving the room a quick glance and moving onward. Hopefully they¡¯d also been alerted that the security systems outside had gone on the fritz again, since she¡¯d asked Siidi to first take a gander outside the fortress and dodge around a few Spells before coming back to her.

    This way they¡¯d maybe gain some time to actually explore the place and not be forced to do everything in a hurry.

    Still, she waited two more minutes, her ears straining to hear even the slightest of footfalls in the distance coming down the corridor. When her enhanced senses didn¡¯t pick up anything, she skittered to the ground and back into the tunnel leading to the second room.

    I can¡¯t believe that worked, she thought.

    Me neither, but hey! For once things a -

    Don¡¯t you dare finish that sentence! You¡¯ll jinx us!

    ¡­ Yeah, fair enough.

    Two minutes of walking ever downwards later she was back in the room with the papers, her mind filled with some polka music she barely remembered listening to as a child.

    With a smile on her lips she skittered towards the pages, covering her hands in finely spun spider silk of the not-sticky type and picking one up.

    On the white paper, which she could feel was quite coarse through her improvised gloves, was written, in small words to make sure all the available space was used, ¡®Expenses Report, Wondros Month¡¯ and, beneath, in neat rows, were lines of numbers with, on the side, explanations in regards to what the money had been spent on.

    We hit jackpot! said Isse with a smile and a mostly silent whoop, fist raised in the air triumphantly.

    Then she realized something.

    But still no trace of whatever it was that Kaminskyi showed us. Unless it¡¯s hidden under these documents.

    Siidi looked around the room for a moment, then sighed dejectedly.

    Let¡¯s start looking for another secret passage.

    They found the hidden doorway five minutes later, the stones touching so seamlessly that nobody could even notice. Two minutes and nearly pressing a button that would¡¯ve caused an alarm to go off (they¡¯d been saved by Isse still using her Mana Sight now and then), they found the right brick to push and watched as the wall not fifty centimeters beside the entrance opened up.

    Wait a moment, that wasn¡¯t the secret passage you found, thought Isse, looking and feeling slightly alarmed.

    Indeed it wasn¡¯t. In truth, what Siidi had found was a fake secret passage that led to some rather¡­ unpleasant traps. The non-magical kind that turned your body into fleshy paste through the use of good ol¡¯ moving walls.

    As Isse looked down she saw the threads of dozens, and I mean dozens, of Spells covering every possible available surface everywhere the eye could look. All of them, though, were connected to each other in some small way, and all of them lead to the Fortress in their weave.

    Third time¡¯s the charm, said Siidi encouragingly.

    <hr>

    Have you ever felt stupefied? And no, I don¡¯t mean ¡®shocked¡¯. Shocked just means you¡¯re surprised beyond belief about something, usually horrifying in some manner. Stupefied on the other hand? That¡¯s when you¡¯re frozen in place, mouth gaping open in, yes, still surprise, but also wonder and curiosity.

    Stupefied was being a child and staring at a magician perform a trick so impossible, a feat so incredible, that you felt your brain stop.

    Stupefied was entering the National British Library for the first time with your parents by your side, hearing the absolute silence, and seeing those thousands of books neatly put in the shelves, the weight of knowledge looking down at you and smiling, inviting you to partake in this feast.

    Stupefied was walking the halls of a castle for the first time and seeing it not as a vestige abandoned centuries prior but as it should¡¯ve been in its glory days.

    Isse was stupefied.

    She looked at the small room in front of her, and there was nothing special about it.

    The walls were made of bricks, just like the rest of the tunnels and the other rooms.

    The floor was simple stone, just like all the floors she¡¯d seen so far in her descent.

    The table in front of her was made of simple wood, and although it held a few neat stacks of paper sitting inside a magical-looking circle, it wasn¡¯t that special.

    Truly, one would call this room extremely boring¡­ if it wasn¡¯t for the ice covering every single surface in half of it.

    The ice was clear in some places and a deep blue or black in others, reflecting the light coming from a few torches burning with great strain in their holders, seemingly being choked out by the cold. Or rather, probably being choked out by the cold.

    Why? Because the room was warm and inviting to Isse.

    It didn¡¯t feel like standing inside a freezer. No, it was like standing in a meadow in a spring afternoon, the sun high in the sky, a few white, fluff, clouds over your head sometimes covering it and plunging everything in light shadows accompanied by a pleasant chill.

    It was like standing in the snow of Winter¡¯s Last Stand.

    It was like sitting at a white table in a white clearing in front of an ancient white woman telling her stories of a world that was, and still is, in black and white.

    It felt like home.

    And she stood there, stupefied, as the ice shifted, as flowers of ice formed from the ground and the walls, outlining a path that led directly to a section that was slowly melting away, the corollas opening up to reveal the darker insides of the ice flowers. Roots snaked around, climbing the walls and causing flowers to appear on the ceiling, the shades inside lighter, reflecting and deflecting the light in impossible patterns.

    Woah, was all Siidi managed to say.

    Slowly, without even noticing it, Isse stepped forward, around the table, her feet touching the ice and feeling the warmth grow ever so slightly, the sensation of being welcome growing in her heart.

    The flowers creaked ominously as they kept on opening up and following her as she stepped forward, yet the sound was music to her ears, like birds¡¯ calls and crickets singing their song of joy and warmth.

    The ice melted away from the wall in front of her, rivulets of water trailing between her legs and freezing again, forming strange patterns, words in a language that this world had never seen and had only ever heard spoken a few times since its creation by guests who invited themselves in, called by songs that told stories of their kindness and cruelty.

    They remembered the kindness of the musician, they remembered the promise he¡¯d given to his oldest friend, and now, in death, they were helping him keep his promise, even now that the story he¡¯d so hoped to be able to tell had been derailed.

    The vault¡¯s door creaked as it slowly opened, the roots of the countless flowers pushing it inwards on water slick and ice stained hinges that were old enough to have seen the one whose story had been deleted from all books and were only sometimes whispered about in darkness by hopeful soldiers.

    Much was hidden away in the room behind that door: artifacts of power and forbidden books that could¡¯ve caused the death of the ones who lived in this home, scrolls of magics long ago written, to be used only in the direst situations and so much more.

    Yet only one thing was of interest to the arachne. An object hidden at the very back of the room, held in a box of leather so old that it had changed color from brown to gray. The ice slowly melted away from the walls of the room, not touching any of the items, for there was no need to damage them: the current holder of these grounds was much kinder than those who¡¯d come before her and, had she known the story behind the object calling to Issekina, she would¡¯ve brought it back to Winter¡¯s Last Stand, where it rightfully belonged.

    So the ice melted, and the water poured down onto the floor over to the girl, to the path ahead of her, freezing in place to form a path for her to walk on, and what was left over formed words in that strange old language, unreadable to the girl, and yet understood in some deep part of her mind: it was a story. Her story. The story of what had come before, of what was happening right then, right there and of what was to come. She wanted to read those words, to see what they would tell her of her future, but the box called her, whispered sweet nothings, asked of her to hold it, to open it and take what was inside, to receive a gift given in good faith, to use what was inside to become greater than what she was now and write her own story. There was no reason to read the words, for they were meaningless, for they told of chances that could be taken and broken into fine pieces. They would cut her, but with her blood she could write something new.

    She reached the box.

    There were two locks on it, still somehow in good condition. Her hand reached out towards them. Stopped.

    She hesitated. No, she shouldn¡¯t be doing this. She should be back there, in the other room, checking those documents and leaving.

    Isse, said Siidi, her voice barely a whisper.

    Yes?

    Listen to the heart and its reasons.

    Silence reigned in the room and the world itself held its breath.

    The System watched, as It always did, and waited for her to make her choice.

    Her hand stood still in the air, hesitation still gripping her.

    Then she shuffled slightly closer and unlatched the two locks, hearing them click in relief.

    She opened the box.

    And saw the object that had always been intended for her, from the day this story had started, from the day she¡¯d been born back on Earth. It had been taken away from her, kept hidden from her grasping hands by foolish tomb raiders who had no idea what they¡¯d been doing, who had always known what they were taking.

    But it didn¡¯t matter anymore, for she was here, for she would take it.

    The Wintry Violin.

    Her right hand grasped delicately the neck while her left dug gently underneath the lower bout, trying to control the trembling of her limbs and utterly failing, feeling as if she were doing something sacrilegious even though this was meant to be hers.

    She lifted the Violin from the box and, for a moment, allowed herself to admire it.

    And then, finally, something seemed to click into place. A great mechanism that had been missing a single piece had just found it and the gears were finally beginning to move anew as they should.

    There was ice on the Violin, as was to be expected for something that had come from a place such as the Last Stand, but it was already melting away from the strings, slowly dripping on Isse¡¯s fingers, the water warm to the touch, coiling around her appendages as if trying to hug them.

    She could¡¯ve spent hours merely sitting there and watching and feeling what was happening.

    But there was no time, and this wasn¡¯t the place. It had never been meant to be the place for her to find it. Alas, it could wait. It had waited for so long, what would a few hours more?

    Gently, Isse placed the instrument back into its box, before she latched it closed and, with the delicacy of a mother handling her newborn child, put it inside her Bag of Holding.

    Then, the spell finally broken, she turned around, deciding it was time to leave.

    She took a few documents with her.

    <hr>

    The next morning Serafia and Gaius stood in front of the open vault, watching the ice garden slowly melt away into nothing.

    They were surprisingly silent and, for once, serious.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe someone actually managed to do it. I thought my family¡¯s vault was impregnable,¡± said Serafia.

    ¡°Luckily for us they didn¡¯t take everything,¡± said Gaius, frowning.

    ¡°But whoever it was took the Violin. And a shitload of documents.¡±

    Gaius sighed, his hand going to rub his forehead for the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes as he tried to suppress a headache: ¡°I¡¯d love to say something along the lines of ¡®It was a useless Relic¡¯ or ¡®Nobody ever found out how to make it work¡¯, but we both know that¡¯s bullshit.¡±

    His wife nodded, stepping forward and taking a slowly melting flower in her hand, breaking its ice stalk and twirling it in her fingers: ¡°Whoever it was that stole from us was clearly invited in. This is definitely the Relic¡¯s work, I can feel it.¡±

    The ice itself resonated with her Class, after all, and she could feel something akin to satisfaction and joy emanating from it.

    Finally, she let the flower fall to the ground and turned back to the corridor, where a contingent of [Guards] was standing stock still: ¡°Clean up the vault of all this ice, then lock it up and come back up. Clearly we¡¯ll have to figure out some new safety measures for the home.¡±

    And out they walked.

    Looking at each other, they nodded, deciding in unison not to pursue whoever had done this: they¡¯d gained the right to keep what they¡¯d taken, all the while showing off the weak points of their defenses and security systems. And anyways, they couldn¡¯t use the Relic. The worst thing about tonight had been the loss of documents, and they hadn¡¯t even been the particularly important ones.

    The things that actually mattered most of all had been moved to another broom closet on the ground floor of the mansion.

    <hr>

    That night, the System spoke to both of them

    [Spy Level 10!]

    [Skill - Proficiency: Sneaking Obtained!]

    [Conditions Met: Soul Shaper -> Shadowed Soul Shaper]

    [Spy Class Consolidated!]

    [Shadowed Soul Shaper Level 23!]

    [Skill - Comprehend Spell Obtained!]

    [Skill - Influence Spell Obtained!]

    [Skill - Spellweave: Enhanced Agility Obtained!]

    [Skill - My Reshapings Left No Trace Behind Obtained!]

    [Conditions Met: Comprehend Soul: Minor -> Comprehend Soul]

    [Skill - Comprehend Soul Obtained!]

    [Bound Relic - Wintry Violin Obtained!]

    [Relic Bond Level: 0%]

    [Soul Curator Level 20!]

    [Skill - Soul Half: Share Skills Obtained!]

    [Skill - Summon Lightning (Minor) Obtained!]

    [Skill - Summon Snow Arrow (Minor) Obtained!]

 Chapter 29: Winters Clock

    You know, there aren¡¯t many Laws in the Web of Worlds. Rules? There¡¯s plenty of those, but here¡¯s the thing: rules were always meant to be broken, especially ones that aren¡¯t with a capital R.

    Laws on the other hand, the capital L kind, the type that must not and, usually, cannot be broken, are few and far between. Sometimes there are more, sometimes less, it depends on what Time you¡¯re looking at the Web through and that old Spider¡¯s mood.

    One of the only Laws that always stays in place, no matter what, is this one: ¡®Thou shan¡¯t damage Memories¡¯.

    It is also, by far, the most broken Law in all of the multiverse. Hell, there¡¯s a restaurant in an ever-changing location of the Web that serves you memories to eat: if that isn¡¯t damaging, I don¡¯t know what is. It has consequences, still. Or it will. Or it already had. Time is wonky around here.

    What? ¡®What consequences¡¯, you¡¯re asking? Why, of course, the complete annihilation of the multiverse as we know it. Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s not all their fault. ¡®Tis a process that¡¯s been going on since Everything started. They¡¯re only hastening it.

    Anyways: there is but one other Law which is always in place in the Web and, for once, one that is respected, if only because it pertains to a single individual. The Law goes like this: ¡®Time shall never touch this cursed, hallowed, place¡¯. And she, respectful of the Spider¡¯s wish, doesn¡¯t even look here, just like the Observer.

    That, as you can well imagine, has its own set of consequences, most notable of which being that individuals spending time in the Web do not age; second, and less notable of which is the fact that every single moment of Everything that ever happened, is happening and ever will happen, happens all at once, and never. A strange paradox, but a perfect one for Travelers and Wanderers such as I.

    So let me ask you, dear readers: what is Time?

    This¡­ is an old question. One might even call it a Question, capital Q. Yes, I know, there¡¯s lots of capital letters here, but what can we do? Chaos, from which Everything was born, was many things (all things, actually), but not imaginative. Or also anything, since he died the day he created Everything. But that¡¯s semantics.

    So, what is Time?

    The simplest answer would be that she¡¯s a woman, or a late teen, with a bubbly personality, a bright smile and a competitive streak, with the single biggest problem about her being that she¡¯s a teensy itsy bitsy cantankerous. She¡¯s been basically stalking for the last three centuries a dumbass who¡¯s managed to become immortal by tricking her in some unknown way, reveling in every time he has had to suffer any sort of pain.

    She¡¯s also good friends with Death, maybe even more than her colleague, the Observer.

    She exists in a plane of existence that appears as a foggy landscape of hills and mountains with an eternally setting sun, every few meters a clock appearing and taking on the form most fitting for the place it¡¯s standing. ¡®Tis a quiet idyllic place and, sometimes, when she meets someone she particularly likes, she lets them roam there for a while, before having Death take them to the other side.

    One would be led to believe that she¡¯s seen everything that there is to be seen, but that would be wrong, for that is the Observer¡¯s job. It would be more correct to say that she¡¯s heard it all, for her friend tells her all the stories he¡¯s witnessed.

    In short, Time is¡­ a normal person. Time is everything we could ever wish her to be, the greatest gift ever given to humanity by Chaos, and we should thank her every day for the part of herself she¡¯s given to us.

    One last thing: betimes, Time blesses the creations of the people she¡¯s learned to love the most.

    Clockmakers.

    <hr>

    We showed you how Serafia and Gaius reacted to finding out their vault had been robbed and their security measures, which they¡¯d thought of as proofed against all but the highest Level individuals with decades of experience behind their backs, broken through. For all they knew, it had actually been one of such individuals. They¡­ took it extremely well, actually, for nothing of real importance had been lost for them.

    What we didn¡¯t tell you is what happened to Isse. Oh, sure, we showed you her and Siidi¡¯s Level Ups, but what of it? Even Death herself sometimes cannot stop the System from giving its gifts.

    Luckily, Death did not come to the city of Tedam.

    E???v????e????n??? ???l?????u???c?????k????i?????e?????r????, Isse did not find anyone on her way out of the mansion.

    But the way itself¡­ it was strange.

    It felt surreal, no, unreal, as if she was walking through a moonlit fog, a chilly wind caressing her hair as a voice whispered in her ear, asking a simple question: What is Real?

    She didn¡¯t know the answer, for this world had never been real before That One¡¯s meddling and she wasn¡¯t real and nothing was real, and since nothing was real then the guards passing by her weren¡¯t real, and unreal things do not notice each other, and since the world was not real then the walls around her weren¡¯t real, nor the earth over her head, nor the trees and that little pond she liked so much and the statues that had been set up to fire at anything that moved, friend or foe alike.

    Nothing was real.

    Until a song played in the back of her mind, a song so old it had been forgotten by all. A song not of this world nor of home, but what was home? Where was home? Home had been the colorful forest, the embrace of her soulmate in a silk hammock, the lessons of a grumpy old arachne and the laughter of an older sister with a crack in her soul. Home had been a house with a tree she¡¯d climbed over and over again and jumped down from even after she¡¯d broken her arm doing so, a school with friends that had cared for her and people she¡¯d called friends but in the end had been nothing. Home had been a lot of things, but it wasn¡¯t what it was now.

    Home wasn¡¯t the workshop, home wasn¡¯t Albert or this city. These were just places. She lived here and ate here and read here and worked and learned, but it wasn¡¯t home.

    The song stopped for a moment, and it was enough for that sense of unreality to take over again, but it didn¡¯t last long as another song started playing.

    This time, though, it wasn¡¯t a violin, but a piano.

    And the song felt like home.

    It felt like all she had lost, and then it felt like all someone else had lost. Tears streamed down her face as she walked purposefully, aimlessly, around the streets of Tedam, and Siidi cried with her, for the song spoke of the Silken Palaces and her sisters of blood and battle. It spoke of the great libraries and the bars and the cheer and the alcohol and the love. It spoke of the spiderlings running around and playing, laughing, of the knowledge that, as long as they were growing and for a few years after their puberty, they would live happily, for their sisters and unknown mothers would protect them from harm and the knowledge of what could harm them.

    The song was in a language she didn¡¯t know from a country of her world, but she knew it spoke of a cradle and a woman waiting patiently for a man to come back from a war and sit by her side, to look upon their child and love them together.

    And then the song asked her a single question: Would you take me with you?

    Isse and Siidi, one and the same and two souls, laughed and cried, a shrill chittering sound that sent shivers down people¡¯s spines and made them look in the dark corners of their rooms, and they, she, as one, answered: Yes.

    <hr>

    They woke up back in their hammock, in their room over Albert¡¯s workshop.

    Said Albert was currently sitting on a chair by the open door, glaring at them with a smile.

    They shook their head, and they became two shes anew.

    Isse looked at Albert, feeling both groggy and full of energy.

    ¡°Mornin¡¯,¡± she mumbled under her breath, her mouth feeling dry, her tongue too large. She was thirsty.

    ¡°Good morning to you too. You succeeded in your exam, if barely.¡±

    She raised an eyebrow questioningly, and the action felt much more difficult than it should: ¡°Did you riffle through my Bag of Holding? You know it¡¯s bad manners looking into a lady¡¯s bag. You never know what will find you.¡±

    She decided she¡¯d put some kind of venomous snake or spider in there if he¡¯d actually done that, just to make the point clear, only to then remember that living things didn¡¯t survive inside bags of holding since they were compressed together with the rest of the stuff inside.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Nothing like that dear. I¡¯m a gentleman after all. I simply have a Skill from my [Spymaster] days: [Underling: Mission Report].

    She grunted and fell back face first into her pillow, willing her body to start working as it should instead of feeling like someone had added weights all over it.

    When that didn¡¯t work they both groaned.

    Then Isse realized Siidi was groaning too.

    Do you feel like shit too?

    I feel like I drunk fifteen glasses of beer without eating a crumb of bread.

    They both groaned.

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m told that¡¯s usually what it feels like. To bond with a Relic, that is.¡±

    That was more or less when everything that had happened last night from the moment they¡¯d walked into that third room with the vault came back to them.

    They froze in place, their eyes opening wide as the sight of frozen flowers calling at them filled their memories, the sensations overwhelming them.

    ¡°Calm down. Deep breaths. I said deep breaths Isse.¡±

    But she wasn¡¯t breathing. She couldn¡¯t. The memory was beautiful and haunting and -

    Albert slapped her.

    She bit him.

    ¡°Argh! Cow dung!¡± he shouted. And still he didn¡¯t curse.

    Nonetheless, it had been enough, and now she was looking down at him with wide eyes and a little smile on her lips. His blood tasted sweet.

    He glared up at her: ¡°I¡¯m not going to lose our bet because of a little bite. Now, would you mind showing me what you so foolishly grabbed from that mansion?¡±

    Isse stared at him for a moment longer, the taste of blood still lingering in her mouth, then she took a deep, calming breath, and reached inside her bag of holding, taking out the violin¡¯s case.

    Plonking it down on her hammock, she opened the two latches and lifted the lid, turning it around to show Albert the contents. A single violin. It didn¡¯t look like anything special: rather, it looked worn, used and scratched in a few places, the wood clearly well traveled. The strings though looked almost new and, when she looked down, seeing the bow, she noticed that it, too, looked completely new. One could go as far as saying that it looked unused.

    ¡°Do you know what Relic this is? For the matter, is it normal for Relics to, like, kidnap people?¡±

    Albert observed the simple instrument, cocking his head to the side, uncertainty appearing in his eyes, before he shook his head: ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of a Relic taking on the form of a violin. For that matter, I also never heard of Relics, as you said, ¡®kidnapping¡¯ people, but I did hear tales of how they sometimes choose the person worthy of using them, so I guess that¡¯s what happened: you were chosen.¡±

    Isse sighed, then fell face first into her pillow again, groaning, then groaning louder as her shoulders cramped up.

    ¡°What is this, some kind of shitty novel about chosen ones and the like? Will I now get an animal companion to accompany me and my group of chosen friends on adventures to save the world? ¡®Cause I haven¡¯t been in the mood for saving anyone after the fire.¡±

    This, dear Isse, is not, in fact, a novel. I believe we passed that point over 50000 words ago. These are books, and I¡¯d like you not to - oh, wait, is this thing still on?

    *Sounds of tape being wound back*

    Albert couldn¡¯t contain a chuckle: ¡°I believe your life would turn into that kind of story only if you chose to. Relics don¡¯t guide people, they¡¯re not that kind of¡­ thing. You can make your choices, and if they¡¯ll align with the Relic¡¯s past in some way you¡¯ll be rewarded with Skills and knowledge. That¡¯s how it works.¡±

    She looked down at the instrument in her hands, her fingers having moved in a position that would make playing a Pizzicato easy.

    She¡¯d never played a violin her whole life.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never -¡±

    ¡°I can tell. You¡¯re holding it wrong.¡±

    Oh, so the natural-feeling position had been wrong. Of course!

    ¡°I know someone who owes me a favor who¡¯d be able to teach you. Interested?¡±

    ¡°Will it cut down on my free time?¡±

    ¡°Yes. You¡¯ll still be required to learn about clockworking with me. I didn¡¯t tell you to pick up a Relic from a noblewoman¡¯s house. It was all your choice. Which means training yourself into using it will be on you. It¡¯s your responsibility now, so you¡¯ll have to bring it on walkies and change its strings or whatever in Airm magical violins need to do.¡±

    Isse turned her head around, eyes narrowed, and mumbled: ¡°Tyrant.¡±

    ¡°What was that?¡±

    ¡°Nothing,¡± she shot back, her voice higher pitched than she¡¯d wanted. A moment later she chuckled, unable to contain herself.

    Albert smiled and, out of the blue, his hand shot up to her hammock and, gently, laid itself on her head, combing back her hair.

    ¡°You did well, Isse. I¡¯m proud of you. Don¡¯t think about the Relic, I was joking. You did what you could, and then some.¡±

    And then, without saying anything more, he turned around hastily and walked out. She couldn¡¯t see it, but his cheeks were slightly red, his eyes a bit teary.

    As for Isse? She stared towards the now closed door with wide eyes, her mind all jumbled up as a single memory was dredged up from the loam of the gray mass that was steadily becoming smaller and smaller.

    Makira patted her head, combing back her chestnut hair with slick, long, fingers as she hummed in approval. She¡¯d just won her first game of Queen of the Tree and couldn¡¯t keep the smile off her face as Catgirl and Anda stood by her sides, the former smiling cheerfully while the latter pouted slightly, but still clung close to her.

    ¡°You did well, spiderling. I¡¯m proud of you.¡±

    Makira had always been like that: showering them with compliments, even for the, apparently, simplest things. That was why she was so beloved among all of her sisters and the spiderlings.

    That was why her sacrifice at the end had been all the more bitter.

    I miss them, she whispered in the back of her mind as she hugged her pillow close to her chest, muscles be damned, and buried her face in what was left, letting warm tears stain the white surface.

    I do too, was all Siidi said. No comforting words, there was no need for them, for words couldn¡¯t contain the depths of their loss. But she still felt a phantom sensation of being hugged.

    It was all she needed.

    She began falling asleep again, ready to meet her soul half in her Mind Castle and spend some time together.

    As for the Violin? It sat there, in her hand, and as her eyes closed, the strings began to vibrate, playing a gentle song, a lullaby from a place that wasn¡¯t home.

    <hr>

    When next she woke up it was to something hanging from a long bit of spider silk near her bed, her opening, foggy, eyes looking right at it.

    At first she frowned, thinking it was just a bit of her web that was meant to keep her hammock in the air having detached from the ceiling.

    Then her vision focused and she finally saw what it was: a clock.

    A pocket watch, to be precise.

    Its case was made of silver, or some other whitish metal, and from what she could see there was a single, big, snowflake carved on the side facing her, overly detailed and beautiful.

    With a (luckily no longer aching) hand she reached out for it, half expecting her hand to pass through the beautiful object, but instead she was met by cold metal. Much colder than she had expected.

    Slowly, gently, she tugged on the hanging bit, noticing only then that it was actually an albert, the chain meant to connect the watch to the user¡¯s clothes. It, too, was made of silver.

    She turned it around and stopped right in her tracks.

    For, carved into the back of the casing, was a very simple symbol: a spider, divided in two by a wiggly line.

    How the hell - she began asking, only for Siidi to interrupt her.

    You meant to say Airm, right? Also, it¡¯s Albert we¡¯re talking about. He is a [Spymaster], so finding out about this isn¡¯t even a surprise.

    Do you think we should confirm it?

    Silence was her only answer for a while, until she sighed: Yes, we should. However much I hate the idea, we should. He¡¯s gained the right to know this much at least.

    Nodding, she got up, cradling the precious gift in her hands.

    Skittering down the hallway, she entered the kitchen-dining room and saw that, for once, Albert was neither cooking nor working. He was reading one of her books.

    ¡°In the end I managed to convince you,¡± she said with a smile.

    He looked up at her over the edge of the book, eyes calm and relaxed for once.

    ¡°Yes, well, you were right. These are quite entertaining.¡±

    She looked down at the title of the book and her smile only grew bigger as she noticed it was ¡®The Mind [Detective] ¡®

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna have to tell me what you think about it.¡±

    ¡°I most definitely shall.¡±

    Before he could go back to his book she handed him the clock, smiling: ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Then she showed him the side with the carving of the spider, a delicate finger tracing the line that cut it in half.

    ¡°Her name is Siidi,¡± she said almost in a whisper.

    Hiiiiii!

    ¡°She says ¡®Hi¡¯.¡±

    He looked up from the book again, eyeing the clock, then her, and finally smiling. A genuine smile.

    ¡°Hello, Siidi. It¡¯s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.¡±

 Chapter 30: Winter Dreams

    Months earlier

    Alice sat down in her bed and sighed happily as she felt the fluffiness of the covers embrace her while the mattress hugged her backside in welcome.

    A steaming cup of mint tea sat on the nightstand beside her as she kicked off her furry slippers (she¡¯d found ones similar to those in the [Witches]¡¯ house back in the Mountains) and looked out of her window, where snow was softly falling and blanketing the ground. She would¡¯ve liked the cup to contain hot chocolate, but apparently the [Merchants] didn¡¯t do runs through the mountains during the cold season, and getting the stuff imported via ship was too costly even for her. Ten gold coins for a single chocolate bar the size of her fucking hand? Never!

    Damn whoever had decided to monopolize chocolate down there in the jungles south of the Mountains!!!

    Still, tea was good enough, and she¡¯d grown the mint herself in her garden. She also supposed that her Skill, [Garden: Increased Hume], was doing its job, whatever it was, since the plants were greener than any mint she¡¯d ever seen back on earth. Or, for the matter, greener than any plant should have any right to be during winter. She¡¯d tried to find out what this mysterious ¡®Hume¡¯ was, but no matter where she looked or who she asked, all she got was blank stares and raised eyebrows. For the matter, not even her [Perfect Recall] seemed to be able to dredge up anything from the dark recesses of her mind, so her grandma hadn¡¯t taught her about it.

    Well, whatever, so long as it didn¡¯t kill her¡­ she narrowed her eyes at her cup of tea, as if willing the leaves still seeping inside to talk and confirm that they wouldn¡¯t poison her. They did not speak. Luckily.

    Someone knocked on the door to her room.

    ¡°Come in Av,¡± she said as she moved to the side a bit, leaving plenty of space for her boyfriend to join her.

    Surprisingly, after two months, they were still a thing. Oh, sure, they¡¯d had their own share of arguments about things both serious and not so much. The first few times Alice had ended up breaking down into tears when they finished, hiding in her room, under her covers, fearing that that would be the time when Av would tell her it was over.

    Every time, unfailingly, he¡¯d come back, bearing a gift if he¡¯d been in the wrong, or a hug and a smile if she had been the one in the wrong, saying that he forgave her, and trying to resolve the thing in a much more peaceful manner. And now here they were, sitting on a bed and looking out the window, his head on her shoulder, her ear in his hair, ticklish but not overly so.

    There they sat, sipping and whispering sweet nothings as they watched the snow fall and marveled at how beautiful it was.

    There was something truly breathtaking about being able to see so much snow coming down from the skies. She hadn¡¯t seen anything like it in years now: Earth was becoming too hot for it. She feared that, one day, there would no longer be any snow falling on it and the beautiful white flakes would become a distant legend spoken of with fondness, until it was completely forgotten.

    Here though? Here there was no smog in the skies. No factories belched endless plumes of gray into the clouds, no cars burned through liters of oil in their attempt at making life easier for the common man by bringing him anywhere he wanted faster. Truly, this world was a natural paradise, for, if she wanted to find someplace wild, she only needed to look out of her window, instead of needing to go on a long journey to someplace where man had already trudged on and built trails, turning the wild into an attraction. Well, at least in England. Italy still had lots of wild places in the mountains, places where the wolves still roamed. They also had a problem with hogs running around in the streets sometimes, but those were details.

    ¡°What are you thinking about?¡± asked Av from her shoulder. He was quite the cuddly sort, she¡¯d found out.

    ¡°About how much I love this world,¡± she said with a smile in her voice.

    Averick chuckled: ¡°You speak as if you weren¡¯t from this world.¡±

    She didn¡¯t freeze in place. That was what bad liars did, and she was a great liar. Instead she just sighed: ¡°You want the truth Av? Sometimes it feels like I don¡¯t.¡±

    Less, these days, but it was still there: a voice in the back of her mind whispering to her that she didn¡¯t belong here. It had appeared after her first visit to the Dream and, since then, had tried to infect her with Impostor Syndrome or something equally as stupid. She never paid it any mind, like she did with all of her impulsive thoughts about murdering people with poison (she was well trained on that front), but it had been an extra annoyance. Now though? With Av by her side and the knowledge that, with her abilities, she¡¯d saved a man on the verge of death, she felt like she truly belonged in this world.

    That, and her new ¡®job¡¯, if you can call it that. What job? Why, of course, helping people solve their problems with her knowledge. She was, after all, an [Occult Herbalist], and what better use for her Class than to help people in need?

    Her charms seemed to actually work and her concoctions made using herbs harvested from her garden were surprisingly effective. For a while she¡¯d theorized that was what Hume meant: something to make herbs generally better. She¡¯d had to discard that theory when she¡¯d tried to create some poison from foxgloves and, after testing it on multiple rats, saw that it wasn¡¯t more effective than poison crafted using plants from outside her garden.

    Maybe it was because I was using rats. Maybe I should use bigger animals.

    She paused in her musings, then thought better of it: But then what would I do with the corpses?

    Always the practical soul, Alice put the thought of animal experimentation without risk of accusations of animal cruelty (at least, excessive accusations) to the side and instead just enjoyed the falling snow.

    ¡°So, are there any events in the near future I should know about? Any festivities? Any more ¡®Silken Weeks¡¯?¡± she asked, her voice soft but, at the same time, surprisingly clear and vibrant. Frowning, she looked down at her cup of tea, squinting her eyes to see if something else had ended up in her drink.

    Av took a sip very slowly, because he was a pussy who feared to burn his tongue. Ha! If you didn¡¯t burn your tongue on the last sip of a cup of tea then you hadn¡¯t really enjoyed it!

    ¡­Thought a very grumpy Alice who¡¯d burned her tongue the day prior and still couldn¡¯t taste food quite  well.

    ¡°Well, there¡¯s the Day of Creation. It¡¯s at the end of Zaston, next month. We celebrate the day the Gods created our world and all that lives on it,¡± his voice, too, came much clearer than normal. What was happening?

    Alice hummed, silently thanking Av for not asking her why she didn¡¯t know about it. He knew she had a secret and still respected her decision to keep it to herself.

    ¡°Do people give each other gifts?¡± she asked, swirling her cup of tea and, again, inspecting it for any abnormalities.

    ¡°Nope. Well, unless you count donating money to the churches as giving gifts.¡±

    Alice frowned and, for the first time in the last twenty minutes, moved, facing Av: ¡°Wait, so that holiday¡¯s just a way for the churches to rip people off for their money?¡±

    He shrugged: ¡°No? Yes? Yesn¡¯t?¡± they both chuckled at that last one, ¡°It¡¯s¡­ complicated. Tradition says that you should give money to the god you wish to receive a blessing from, and the more you give the greater the blessing.¡±

    He smiled: ¡°So you can very well imagine how many donations the church of the God of Commerce takes on every year.¡±

    Alice saw nothing to smile about in this practice. It reminded her too much of how the church back home had acted during the Dark Ages, asking money from people in exchange for granting them a ticket to Heaven. Of course, back home, God was dead, killed and buried by humanity and its actions (the best thing they¡¯d ever done, if you asked her), but here? Maybe the gods were real? It was a possibility. One she didn¡¯t care to explore. Stars, she hadn¡¯t even gone to Gunsee¡¯s church since her arrival, and not only because it was small. She cared not for petty beings who believed themselves superior to her just because they¡¯d made her.

    Actually, they hadn¡¯t, now that she thought about it. She was from another world! Which meant they had nothing on her. All that had happened to her, all that she¡¯d done, it had all been her and her alone. Ok, maybe not alone, she couldn¡¯t forget about Albert and, most important of all, Averick¡­ she noticed only then that their names all started with As.

    The Three As, she thought to herself, Nah, doesn¡¯t sound cool. How about¡­ The Triple A. Yes!

    She snorted at her little videogame joke that nobody would get the reference to in this world, causing Av to look up at her from her shoulder.

    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± he asked, raising an eyebrow.

    She looked back down at him, lying on her shoulder, and in lieu of an answer kissed him on the lips.

    When they separated, panting a little for breath, she simply said: ¡°I¡¯ve decided. This year, instead of giving money to stupid churches, we¡¯ll be giving gifts to each other. How do you like the idea?¡±

    A few moments later, he kissed her back, and that was all the answer she needed.

    Soon enough their cups of tea lay abandoned on the floor as the room was filled with the noises of their lovemaking.

    <hr>

    The Dream welcomed her like an old friend.

    Or so she liked to think.

    The eternally setting sun shone gently on her mask as she opened her eyes and found herself in a field near the cave where Albert kept the kits when they weren¡¯t training. Said Albert, who she¡¯d once called ¡®Fox Man¡¯, sat on a tree trunk nearby, slowly sipping a glass of wine made from memories. From the perfume that wafted towards her, carrying a whiff of a story being told in an old hotel along a deserted road, she guessed it was the same vintage he¡¯d let her taste way back when she¡¯d first appeared in the Dream.

    ¡°Albert, do you ever wake up from the Dream?¡± she asked him as a greeting as she allowed herself to lay on the ground and feel the soft grass on her back. She willed a pillow to appear under her head and marveled at how real it felt for being something that wasn¡¯t really there.

    ¡°As little as possible, Garda.¡±

    That was her name in the Dream. One of the Rules of the Land stated that nobody should ever tell their real name in here. It was an old Rule, created during a time when some [Dreamers] could quite literally kidnap your mind inside the Dream and just¡­ lock you inside, leaving your body behind in the Waking World. What they did with those bodies is a story better not told. Some things deserve to be forgotten.

    The Rule remained even now, centuries later, in a time when the practice had disappeared completely (or so she thought), and it was nearly a Tradition. Airm, it probably would have already become one if it wasn¡¯t for the fact that the Land of Dreams was too impermanent, too¡­ less, if that makes sense, to make the existence of things like Memories and Traditions and even Laws possible. Also, the System found it hard to make the Land collaborate most of the time.

    ¡°Wait, really? You don¡¯t wake up?¡± she asked.

    Albert shook his head and motioned her close, an empty glass appearing in his hand.

    ¡°No, I do have to wake up sometimes, but¡­ there¡¯s not much for me to do in the Waking World,¡± he chuckled bitterly, ¡°If you can believe it, I used to wake up even less than I do now. So no, let me correct myself, I do have a reason to wake up more nowadays, but she¡¯s very much like me: she prefers the Dream to the Waking.¡±

    Alice nodded and sat down beside him, taking the proffered glass and watching him pour out from the bottle.

    ¡°Your found yourself a lover? I never met her.¡±

    He shook his head: ¡°Not a lover, no. A daughter, of sorts.¡±

    She wanted to ask him more, but he deftly tipped his glass of wine into his fox snout and drank greedily, a dreamy smile forming on his lips. Clearly it wasn¡¯t something he wanted to talk about.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Garda, there are no lessons for me to teach you today. Truth be told, I taught you most of what I know: you took to the Dream like an alcoholic takes to liquor. Better than expected.¡±

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t it be ¡®Worse than expected¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter, you get the gist of it. Again, sorry, but tonight¡­ I¡¯m not feeling well. Please¡­ give me some time. That¡¯s all I ever need when I end up like this.¡±

    Alice tilted her head to the side for a moment, truly looking like an animal, before nodding and waving goodbye. She had been in Albert¡¯s situation more than once and knew that, sometimes, it really only took some alone-time to help. Some people would say something along the lines of ¡®You should never be alone when you¡¯re this down¡¯, to which she would say that the presence of other people would just make her uncomfortable. This was probably the same. And if it wasn¡¯t, well, she was the last person someone should ask for tips on psychology.

    As she walked out of the clearing, hearing the distant laughter of the Kits coming from underground (that actually sounded more ominous than she¡¯d thought), she suddenly became very acutely aware of something sitting in the pocket of her pajamas.

    Looking down and putting a hand in she felt something circular, small and extremely smooth, except for four little holes. Frowning, she took out the object.

    Opening her fist, she saw it was¡­ a simple button. A white, bone, button.

    A¡­

    Button¡­

    ¡­

    How could she have forgotten? The spider girl. The arachne. It had been months ago. She had promised she¡¯d come back! And then she¡¯d just f???o?????r????g?????o????t????t?????e????n???.

    How did she get there in the first place though? Right, she¡¯d just touched the button and it had brought her to that girl¡¯s ¡®Mind Castle¡¯, as she¡¯d called it. Why wasn¡¯t it working now though?

    That was when she saw it: a red thread. It was tied to one of the holes and it was so thin it might as well not be there. And yet she could see it. No, she was certain, she was probably the only one who could see it.

    A thread of destiny.

    ¡°Bring me to her,¡± she whispered to the button, to the thread, to the Dream and its impossible logic that sometimes she could bend to her will in the name of traditions that weren¡¯t quite yet Traditions, ones coming from another world, ones that were new or, sometimes, so old they¡¯d been forgotten, making them new again.

    And the thread? The thread tensed up. It disappeared into the distance, she noticed, away into the horizon where the sun didn¡¯t sit, in that place between sunset and purple sky where there was true darkness.

    The thread pulled.

    The sky shook.

    It pulled harder, for it had heard her request, for it to accomplish its purpose, to unite two souls. It had been of another color, once, but its permanence with the girl sometimes named Alice, sometimes Garda, had changed it. The depths of the change were too great to be explained by words, for the soul is much too complex to describe and the bond between two souls connected by destiny is more complex still. The only thing that could be said was that this was a Thread of Destiny. An image, a false copy in a place that wasn¡¯t and, if all went well, never would be, but it was still that.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    What was a Thread of Destiny? Well, in ancient times, when the Parcae, or Moire, or Norns, had still been the holders of Fate, they wove it in the form of threads. Weavers of Destiny, it is said by some that the Ball of Yarn given by Ariadna to Theseus had been made with thread from the Fates¡¯ loom to unite them. What isn¡¯t said is that the thread, so kindly given to her, had been bound to Theseus¡¯ father. Now cut, the thread told the story of the man¡¯s death by suicide.

    It makes no sense? It is not the myth that you knew? Well, how can you be so certain this isn¡¯t how the story went behind the scenes? People always look at the words and try to find meaning in them, they never look at how some things happen, at the story behind the story.

    Anyways, the point is, a Thread of Destiny, a true one, is an unstoppable force that will do anything to make sure the bit of fate it represents actually happens. And in this case?

    In this case the thread pulled. It pulled so hard that that space between twilight and false star bent and twisted, moving towards Alice.

    Then¡­ it snapped. The space, that is, not the thread.

    And the sky swallowed Alice.

    <hr>

    It was dark. Like the spaces between the threads of the Web of Worlds. An all consuming darkness that ate and ate and ate and was always hungry and the Spider couldn¡¯t work fast enough to connect everything, but what was the purpose of the work if, in the end, the Nothingness was going to eat everything anyway? Why, of course, to give them all a chance to escape its hunger, give them refuge. Already, there are places on the Web for those who managed to escape. Or there will be. Or there were. The problem, as you know, is that Time doesn¡¯t look at the Web.

    But how did Alice know all this?

    She didn¡¯t, that¡¯s how.

    And she wouldn¡¯t when this ended.

    Then it was less dark.

    And Alice opened her eyes.

    ¡°Whoa, that was surreal. Amazing!¡±

    She couldn¡¯t quite put her finger on what had been so surreal about the experience, she just knew it had been, even if it was already slowly disappearing from her memories. Had this also happened when she¡¯d come here the first time? Had she forgotten¡­ actually, what was it all about? Oh, right, the sky had gone strange and now she was here. Right right. Nothing special, not for Dream standards.

    Looking around, she smiled as she recognized the walls of the monastery-cathedral-palace with a library sprouting from one side like some kind of benign tumor, her eyes quickly locking on to the highest tower of the building, which was somehow covered and also not by the giant tree growing at the center of the building.

    She took a deep breath¡­ and immediately choked. The air smelled of dust and ash, particles of the stuff swirling around in great clouds she hadn¡¯t noticed until then.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± she asked herself. With how much ash there was around her she half expected a forest to have been burned to the ground, and yet she clearly remembered there not being anything here other than the ¡®castle¡¯.

    ¡°Isse? Are you here? It¡¯s me! Garda! Do you remember? The girl from the Dream!¡±

    There was silence.

    Then a tremor as the ground underneath her feet shook for a few seconds, a small earthquake. She lost her balance, falling to the ground as she watched in horrified fascination the tower wobble as if it was made from some kind of jello. For a while she feared it would break apart and fall to the ground, but then the tremors stopped and the building settled down, temporarily disappearing behind motes of dust and ash that had been raised from the ground.

    When it all cleared up, an imposing figure stood over her. Her body looked human from the waist up, with long dark hair cascading behind her and reaching her waist, where, instead of legs, a spider¡¯s thorax stood on eight legs. She was lean and her muscles were tensed as if she were ready to leap at a single hostile twitch of her body. To Alice it felt like the woman was emanating a strong aura of bloodlust.

    ¡°Hi Siidi,¡± she said, raising  a hand in uncertainty, waving shily. She suddenly felt very much out of place.

    Two heterochromatic eyes stared down at her as, very slowly, the arachne bent down to put their eyes level with each other.

    She really was quite the tall woman¡­ heh. Gods she felt really out of place.

    ¡°You¡¯re the fox. The [Dreamer] who invaded our Mind Palace months ago.¡±

    Her eyes narrowed as she looked at her and Alice got the distinct feeling that she could see right through her mask.

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡±

    Well, that was easy to answer at least, and she hadn¡¯t even threatened to kill her yet! Progress!

    ¡°I¡¯m here to visit Isse, like I promised,¡± she very intelligently decided not to say that she¡¯d promised this months ago and had forgotten. For some reason.

    ¡°Ah, yes, like you promised several months ago and then forgot,¡± said the arachne as a sinister smile appeared on her face.

    Suddenly Alice felt something pointing right at her throat and, when she glanced down, saw it was a¡­ giant fountain pen? She blinked four times: ¡°Is that a giant pen?¡±

    Siidi pressed the [Improvised Weapon] to Alice¡¯s throat, causing it to actually, somehow, manage to pierce through the skin: ¡°Is that really what you should be worried about?¡±

    Alice shrugged: ¡°This is part of the Dream, more or less, I think, so yeah, you can kill me alright, I¡¯ll just wake back up in the Waking World with a bad memory.¡±

    Death didn¡¯t scare her, not after she¡¯d poisoned herself on purpose to kill that Nightmare months ago. The experience had been painful and horrifying and¡­ she¡¯d actually liked it. Although she¡¯d since abstained from suicide in the Dream: she feared the path giving into those desires would take her down.

    After a brief staring contest, Siidi closed her eyes and sighed, turning around and beginning to skitter away: ¡°Leave,¡± she said without turning back, ¡°You¡¯re not welcome here. Be glad that I¡¯m letting you go instead of torturing you: I know for a fact that sensations in the Dream are as real as in the Waking.¡±

    Alice cocked her head to the side, before she began running towards the arachne disappearing into the ash: ¡°At least tell me how Isse is. Is she alright? Is she -¡±

    Before she could finish she felt a sharp stabbing pain in her thigh. Looking down, she saw the point of the pen had pierced right through her pajamas and deep into her leg. Dumbfounded, for a few moments she stared down at it, before her mind registered that this was supposed to hurt and it actually began hurting.

    ¡°Porco dio!¡± she shouted as she fell to the ground and grabbed at the pen, trying to get it out, then remembering that that wasn¡¯t a good idea, and then being given no choice as Siidi appeared over her and began pressing the pen down into her injury.

    ¡°I told you to leave. I gave you a chance. I tried to be kind, like she was before, but you¡­ your kind never understand. You¡¯re cruel, senseless, heartless pieces of shit who know only how to hurt those you call enemies in the worst ways imaginable.¡±

    She leaned down, her eyes staring right into her mask¡¯s eyes, her lips thin as paper as she continued: ¡°You call us monsters, and I won¡¯t say you¡¯re wrong. We were made to kill and pillage and destroy. But what¡¯s the difference between us and you, huh? You kill and pillage and destroy too. The only difference is that we were never given a choice in this, it was our purpose. You on the other hand? Your kind, all the other species, you all could¡¯ve decided to just be peaceful, to be kind to each other with no ulterior motive. Instead you became what you are today. At least the arachne could live together without going to war among each other!¡±

    She pressed harder, tears now forming in Alice¡¯s eyes: ¡°We are monsters by creation and necessity. You lot are by choice. Which one is worse, eh?¡±

    She twisted the pen around and gouged out a piece of flesh, and Alice cried out at the sudden spike in pain. This wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to go. She was just meant to visit Isse, spend some time with her, maybe even cuddle a bit.

    ¡°Look at this place. Look!¡± she took her head in her right hand and, with a strength she didn¡¯t expect, lifted it from the ground, making her look at the clouds of dust and ash all around the Mind Castle.

    ¡°This is what your kind do. Destroy and destroy and destroy meaninglessly, leaving behind nothing!¡±

    She looked her in the eyes again: ¡°Your kind killed my clan, my soul half¡¯s clan, a few nights ago. They came with fire and swords and tried to burn us alive. We are all that¡¯s left.¡±

    What? she wanted to ask, but the pen was suddenly and brutally removed from the wound and she was thrown to the ground.

    When next she looked up she saw there were tears in Siidi¡¯s eyes, streaming down her cheeks: ¡°YOU DID THIS! ALL OF YOU! We¡¯re the last of our kind! I had to watch them all die again! We had to watch our lives go up in flames even if we¡¯d done nothing wrong! Just because of what we are!¡±

    Alice tried to speak: ¡°I - I - I¡¯m sorr -¡±

    She didn¡¯t get to finish her sentence as Siidi pointed the bloodied pen at her neck: ¡°Not a word, or I will make that leg look like a gentle bite.¡±

    Before the situation could escalate further though, a new voice joined them. A small, feeble, voice, nasal and half choked out: ¡°Siidi, what is it?¡±

    Immediately the arachne over her froze in place, clearly thinking about what the best approach to the new situation was.

    In the end, she turned around and, for a moment, Alice caught a glimpse of Isse, the young arachen she¡¯d met a long few months prior. She looked taller, although one would be hard pressed to tell seeing how hunched over herself she was, as if all the strength had abandoned her.

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing Isse. Let¡¯s go back to the tower, let¡¯s rest some more,¡± she spoke calmly, gently, doing a complete one-eighty from the way she¡¯d been talking to her a moment ago.

    Walking towards her soul half, Siidi made sure to cover Alice¡¯s form with her spider half, keeping her out of sight.

    ¡°Siidi, I can see the thread going through you and back there. Who is here? Are we in danger?¡± her voice was suddenly a bit more ¡®awake¡¯, her eyes slightly sharper. She¡¯d changed from the person Alice had known. She was more¡­ broken. Sort of like her, but worse.

    The arachne sighed, letting her pen disappear and moving towards her soul half, letting her see Alice.

    ¡°An old acquaintance came to visit, but she was already leaving, right?¡± she said, turning to look at Alice with eyes that spoke volumes of what would happen if she didn¡¯t turn around and leave. Still, she decided to ignore the look, instead unsteadily rising to her feet, only to fall on her ass again as her leg very loudly protested any form of movement.

    All the while Isse looked at her with impassive eyes, not moving a single muscle to come help her. Yep, definitely changed.

    After a while of this prolonged silence and looking at each other, Alice finally spoke: ¡°Well, this is one hell of a way to kill my afterglow,¡± she pointed at her leg and tried to smile, managing a pained grimace.

    Both Isse and Siidi raised an eyebrow in confusion, before the latter understood, her eyebrows shooting up as she attempted and failed to contain a snort, followed a moment later by a hateful glare. It took Isse a few seconds more, then her eyebrows, too, shot up into her hairline and¡­ she began laughing.

    It was a sad, bitter, sound, with notes of amusement at the very back that were trying and sort of succeeding at not being drowned out by the sorrow that filled the girl up to the brim.

    Then the tide broke and she started laughing even harder, her legs giving up as she fell to the ground, curling up around her thorax, and all the while she laughed and laughed and now the amusement was truly drowned.

    Soon after the sound of laughter was joined by sobbing and hiccups as she began to cry, the ground trembling anew underneath them.

    Siidi stumbled and Alice¡­ she rose to her feet and, slowly, hobbled towards the arachne as she internally cursed the total absence of nature in this place. She could¡¯ve sprouted some opium poppy and made some painkillers.

    She looked towards Siidi, determination in her eyes, challenging the arachne to stop her, and in response all she got was a glare and¡­ a nod. A sad nod.

    The arachne sighed and fell to the ground, her legs hugging her spider half and beginning to contract and relax, massaging it. To Alice it was fascinating, but right now it wasn¡¯t what she was here for.

    Finally, she managed to reach Isse and, following a tremble, fell to her knees (she tried and, probably, failed to muffle a cry of pain that shot up her leg) and wrapped her arms around the young arachne.

    ¡­

    They stayed like that. Isse cried and sobbed, and Alice hugged her. She didn¡¯t say anything, she didn¡¯t pat her hair or try to reassure her. She just sat there, on her knees, feeling the coarse ground underneath them and the trembling going up her arms.

    When, finally, she felt Isse¡¯s arms go around her torso and hug her back, she smiled.

    A smile that faded immediately after, when she heard the girl say: ¡°Makira loved to make those jokes.¡±

    At that moment Alice desired to have the ability to kick herself in the face, because a punch wouldn¡¯t hurt enough. She and her fucking jokes! Why could she never keep her mouth shut?

    Isse clung to her, the sobbing slowly subsiding, leaving behind only a trembling body, a stained face, and Alice¡¯s tear-stained pajamas.

    And now Alice wondered: what should she say? What could she say that wouldn¡¯t sound stupid or remind her of people she loved? ¡®You¡¯re going to be ok¡¯? No, that was just bullshit. Maybe, one day, these bleeding wounds would scab, but right now? In this moment, she was certain that Isse didn¡¯t really see a future for herself, if what Siidi had said about their entire clan being killed was true.

    ¡®Everything¡¯s gonna fix itself¡¯? That was even more stupid. One couldn¡¯t leave these matters up to Time. It would just make you suffer more. When shit hit the fan and you didn¡¯t have an umbrella, all that was left to do was clean yourself up and keep going.

    That was when she knew what to say.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to make it all ok,¡± she whispered in the arachne¡¯s ear.

    Isse froze, her trembling stopping for a few moments.

    ¡°Everything¡¯s gone to shit, I can understand that. I can also understand what it feels like to lose a loved one, although not on a scale as vast as yours. But I know this: you¡¯re going to make it okay. You¡¯re going to fix this situation, you¡¯re going to come out on top, and you¡¯re going to show it to those who did this to you.

    ¡°Take your time, cry all you want, suffer and let it all out, never keep anything in. And when you¡¯re ready, fight back, and drink the blood of your enemies from their skulls.¡±

    That.

    That was the right thing to say.

    <hr>

    Siidi had brought Isse back to the top of the tower, where she was now slumbering, as in ¡®actually sleeping¡¯ instead of being in the Mind Castle.

    Now, she sat in front of Alice, looking at the wound she¡¯d caused her.

    ¡°Want some webbing to, I don¡¯t know, stop the bleeding?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not bleeding Siidi, otherwise I¡¯d already be dead here. You cut apart a few important arteries in here. It¡¯s just painful.¡±

    The arachne nodded: ¡°I have no solution for pain.¡±

    Alice shook her head: ¡°Oh, but you do. Tell me, how sharp is that pen of yours?¡±

    Siidi frowned: ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°I want you to kill me when we finish this conversation. It¡¯s the fastest way to get me to wake up. Also, I have no idea how to get out of here.¡±

    Silence fell over them.

    Then Siidi laughed: ¡°You¡¯re one strange human.¡±

    ¡°Many have told me so. So far only one person meant it as an actual complaint.¡±

    ¡°Are you not afraid of me? Of the arachne?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯d probably be plenty more afraid if this wasn¡¯t happening in the Dream. As is, I just think Isse¡¯s cuddleable and you¡¯re a grumpy little shit.¡±

    She didn¡¯t get an answer, which spoke volumes to how serious the situation truly was. She was certain Siidi was the kind of person who loved to banter.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± she asked, ¡°In the Waking, I mean. Are you safe?¡±

    Siidi chuckled mirthlessly: ¡°What, you want to help?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe? If you¡¯re somewhere near where I am I could help. It¡¯s what I do: help people.¡±

    ¡°Are you on Irevia perhaps?¡±

    She shook her head: ¡°Eva.¡±

    ¡°Then I imagine you cannot help. Don¡¯t worry though: a strange old man picked us up and is keeping us safe. Isse decided to¡­ sort of trust him. So we¡¯re going with him.¡±

    Alice nodded. She didn¡¯t ask where they were going, knowing all too well that she wouldn¡¯t tell her for fear of her actually still being a traitor of some kind.

    ¡°Please, take care of her,¡± she instead said.

    ¡°Always.¡±

    Rising to her feet, Siidi made the giant pen appear in her hand.

    ¡°Any last words?¡±

    She shook her head.

    The shaking stopped when her head rolled to the ground.

    <hr>

    Back in her room, she opened her eyes, feeling Av¡¯s calm breathing beside her.

    Outside, the snow was still falling. She knew for certain that she wouldn¡¯t be falling asleep again tonight.

    Rising to her feet, she padded noiselessly out of the room and into the kitchen, bringing the tea cups they¡¯d abandoned on the floor with her. Leaving them in the sink, she went for a glass of water.

    That was when she noticed something strange: by her window, standing on his little feet, was a small crow with a letter held firmly by a piece of string to his beak.

    What the fuck? she asked herself as she went to the window and, without hesitation, opened it, letting the trembling animal in.

    The crow landed on her table and let the letter go, cawing towards her.

    ¡°Shhh, Av is still sleeping.¡±

    The crow cocked his cute little head to the side and said: ¡°No stealing.¡±

    She answered back: ¡°No thieving.¡±

    And the animal settled down. She¡¯d always found this practice of grandma¡¯s quite strange, to look at crows and greet them with this phrase. Now she knew why.

    The letter was a simple affair, made of waxed paper to protect it from the elements and, naturally, cold to the touch. Wax sealed it shut, but there was no sigil imprinted on it.

    Breaking the seal open, she took out a small white page. It read like this:

    Dear Alice,

    This is [Witch] Aria writing to you. Me and my coven sisters would like to invite you to a festivity of our Class. It is called ¡®The Festival of Stories¡¯ and it happens for five days starting from the first of Zastos. We would love to host you. Do not think about Beria, she will be grumpy but we outvoted her.

    Yours truly, [Witch] Aria, Commodora and [Apprentice Witch] Lili.

    P.S: You should put up some anti-scrying wards dear, finding you was way too easy.

    Alice looked at the letter, transfixed for a few moments. Then she smiled, turning her head up to the south, where the Tiurna Mountains could be clearly seen.

    ¡°I¡¯d love to,¡± she said to the air.

 Chapter 31: The Mountain Calls

    ¡°How did you convince me to do this?¡± asked Averick as he steadily walked by her side. Apparently he¡¯d learned his lesson the last time they¡¯d come here and he¡¯d tried to outrun her. He¡¯d also gained a new Skill out of the ordeal: [Enhanced Stamina].

    Now he could¡¯ve probably run an extra two kilometers on these rises before he had to stop and take a breather.

    On the other hand, Alice had a much more fitting Skill for the situation: [Expert Climber]. In truth, it didn¡¯t seem to be doing much for her: oh, her footing was surer, and the times when she encountered rocks hidden under the soft layer of snow she didn¡¯t even have to slow down to make sure she wouldn¡¯t fall, but other than that? It felt like only a minor upgrade, instead of an Uncommon Skill. She supposed that¡¯s what she got by a Skill being upgraded based on her abilities.

    ¡°Because I asked you nicely. And because I reminded you that they have great food.¡±

    He groaned exaggeratedly and forlornly looked down the road they¡¯d been steadily climbing on, his eyes flitting through the trees as if expecting to find an opening through which to look at the distant landscape, where maybe he¡¯d manage to see Gunsee, or lacking that, the carriage that had brought them at the base of the mountains.

    The climb itself wasn¡¯t that harsh: they were following a well beaten trail, after all, one that they¡¯d been told to use by the inhabitants of that village up in the mountains. They¡¯d said that not even the [Witches] remembered it, although that wasn¡¯t a surprise since they were pretty self sufficient and rarely needed to leave the mountains.

    No, what really made the climb hard was the amount of gear they¡¯d brought this time at Alice¡¯s insistence, together with the very warm clothes they were wearing, which made moving a bit more complex. Alice was used to it: she¡¯d spent her youth climbing through the Alps with her grandma both in the warmer and the colder seasons (she¡¯d always preferred doing it during summer though. It allowed her to escape the hot days). Averick though? This was basically the second climb of his entire life, and he was doing it with the added difficulty of extra gear. That was why she¡¯d decided to do her good action for the week and was carrying most of it, to Av¡¯s express displeasure.

    ¡®I¡¯m supposed to be carrying the heavy stuff!¡¯

    ¡®No, you¡¯re supposed to climb by my side at a good pace. If you carry all of this alone you¡¯ll just fall to the ground in half an hour.¡¯

    That was how that conversation had gone, and he¡¯d quickly given in: he¡¯d come to learn that there were arguments he would¡¯ve had better chances at winning with a talking wall¡­ speaking another language.

    ¡°Come on, it shouldn¡¯t take too long!¡± she said with a smile as she trudged on at a steady pace, a lilt in her voice.

    ¡°You said that an hour ago.¡±

    She chuckled, and he couldn¡¯t help but smile. For all he was complaining he was enjoying this. He also couldn¡¯t wait to try those [Mountaineers]¡¯s food again.

    ¡°Can¡¯t you do some strange thing like, I don¡¯t know, talk to the forest, make the trees come alive and bring us up? Something like that?¡±

    Alice laughed out loud, scaring a few birds with white and gray feathers that had been merrily chirping in the trees nearby. She had to stop and take a breath, before she answered: ¡°What do you take me for? A Level 50? Maybe a 60? Or some kind of [Druid]. Nah, I wouldn¡¯t be able to do any of that.¡±

    She stopped, furrowing her brows: ¡°Probably.¡±

    Averick immediately turned towards her, his neck creaking as he heard a loud pop, staring with wide eyes: ¡°What do you mean ¡®probably¡¯?¡±

    She waved dismissively: ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. I wouldn¡¯t be willing to pay the price. For that matter, I don¡¯t think the ones who could ask for such a price exist here.¡±

    She was referring to a leshi, the spirits of forests in old russian folklore. Of all the different forest spirits she knew of, they were the ones who¡¯d have the power and willingness to do something like that. Dryads were a close second, but they had a bad tendency to play tricks or to break your kneecaps if they were in the wrong mood.

    Leshis on the other hand? For the right price they could do pretty much anything. Why, she¡¯d probably only have to give up a month of her life for a thing as simple as getting the forest to carry them to their destination in comfort. Maybe even less if the leshi in question was an old one, although those ones tended to ramp up their prices, especially for frivolous things like that.

    Sighing, she walked on, Averick looking strangely at her by her side.

    ¡°What is it?¡± she asked.

    ¡°You have that look on your face,¡± he answered.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to be more specific, my face makes a lot of looks.¡±

    Av chuckled, his frown disappearing: ¡°The look when you remember something interesting.¡±

    ¡°I have a look for that?¡±

    ¡°You have a look for everything Alice, even for when you¡¯re hungry and angry.¡±

    ¡°Hey, everyone has a ¡®hangry¡¯ face!¡±

    They stopped and laughed, Alice clutching at her knees as she doubled over. Truth be told, it wasn¡¯t that funny, but¡­ just being able to be herself with Av, with her stupid jokes, it was enough to make her genuinely laugh. When had been the last time she¡¯d actually been able to be herself, without hiding anything? Back on earth? Yes, back on earth, with a friend who¡¯d had to move states when her parents had broken up. They¡¯d stayed in contact, but it had never been the same.

    In this world though? Nobody batted an eye (mostly) to her weirdness. They just liked to joke about how, ¡®since high Level people always become weird, she¡¯ll be the weirdest of them all when she gets there¡¯. She liked the idea.

    On they walked, and she could sense that the forest was sleeping, waiting for winter to pass. There weren¡¯t as many birds in the trees chirping away merrily, nor could she hear the constant sounds of crickets and other insects. Sometimes the wind would rustle some branches high up, but other than that? There were many moments of actual silence. Not hostile silence, like that first time back a few months prior, just¡­ calm. The silence of the sleepers. Did trees dream? If yes, what would their dreams look like? And their nightmares?

    A branch cracked in the distance. Somehow, it hadn¡¯t been softened by the snow.

    Looking that way, Alice saw a figure approach them.

    The figure wore dark brown robes that covered its whole body from head to toe, a dark green cape over it moving slightly in the wind. A brown scarf covered most of its face as it approached them, but the thing that tipped them off was the hat. The figure, no, she wore a crooked, pointy, hat the color of autumn¡¯s falling leaves, with a new addition of a green leaf seemingly growing out of it.

    They stopped, letting the old woman, [Witch] Aria, approach them.

    When she was well within earshot, Alice bowed: ¡°I bow to you, Witch Aria, an occultist to one with craft.¡±

    The woman stopped herself not five paces away, tipping her hat: ¡°And I tip my hat to you, Alice, hatless witch. Rise, you¡¯re more than welcome in these woods.¡±

    Alice rose from her deep bow, a sign of respect towards an elder and someone who knew more than she did (at least, in the matters of this world). Her grandma had always said that this greeting was as old as the times of shamans back on earth and that, in the last two millennia, it had been nothing more than a memory, no longer practiced for fear of being hunted down and burned. At the time she¡¯d been taught though, at the death of magic, grandma hadn¡¯t feared such things, for the people no longer believed.

    To be able to use this ancient way of greeting again felt like an honor.

    The old, no, positively ancient, [Witch], crossed the distance between them and, with a grandmotherly smile on her extremely wrinkled face, she opened her arms to give Alice a hug.

    A hug that was swiftly given back.

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    ¡°Ah, it is a pleasure to see you again, young Alice. I feared you wouldn¡¯t accept our invitation after what happened the last time.¡±

    She smiled: ¡°The crow I sent was also quite happy about how you ¡®greeted him right¡¯. I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d know of the crows¡¯ ways.¡±

    Alice smiled back: ¡°People always forget how intelligent they are, am I right? They¡¯ve got a culture of their own!¡± she crossed her arms in indignation for a species¡¯ traditions that weren¡¯t respected simply because they were small, cuddly and liked shiny things. She had been like them once! That is, small, cuddly and with a love for shiny stuff. She still was, although without the small part.

    The old witch laughed, a sound like a creaking tree in the wind, and smiled up at her: ¡°You¡¯d fit perfectly with that new, young, fellow that popped up in Irevia, the King of Crows. Apparently he understood the same thing you and I do.¡±

    Throughout all this Averick just looked transfixed at the woman, probably wondering how in all the torture devices of Airm she could just be so¡­ jovial and active, while also being probably older than the two oldest people in Gunsee put together.

    Finally, he broke through his surprise and bowed: ¡°Witch Aria, it is a pleasure to see you again.¡±

    The old woman, for her part, looked unperturbed at the man¡¯s surprise: ¡°Young Averick, it is a pleasure to see you again too. The woods tell me you chose not to try and outrun your beloved.¡±

    And at that, both Alice and Averick became red as apples drawn by a child and spluttered something unintelligible to the extreme amusement of the older woman, who simply raised a hand and said: ¡°I am happy for both of you.¡±

    They both asked her how she knew they were together: could the woods somehow sense it? Could she see something?

    For an answer, the witch simply said that it was an old woman¡¯s insight that had made her understand. She¡¯d bring with herself to the grave the fact that she¡¯d found out about them because she¡¯d cast a scrying charm on Alice and seen the two going at it like rabbits.

    <hr>

    ¡°So, what¡¯s this celebration you¡¯ve invited me to? You called it ¡®The Festival of Stories¡¯, but I¡¯ll be honest, I have no clue about what it¡¯s about.¡±

    The old witch walked by their side, her steps sure in the snow, leaving behind only light footprints, as if she didn¡¯t quite touch the ground. She could also, somehow, keep up with them without looking tired at all.

    ¡°It is an old tradition among our kind. A day to remember the last great [Witch] to ever appear in this forsaken world. A festival in honor of the things she loved most in this world, other than her fellow witches, things forbidden and delightful. A festival in honor of Jelaina Neverwhere, the [Wandering Witch of Stories].¡±

    Alice¡¯s mouth opened to say something, then her brain registered what she¡¯d heard and she turned to stare at the witch, her eyes widening.

    ¡°Wait, her Class was actually [Witch of Stories]? What was her craft?¡±

    Aria looked down at her and¡­ her smile had already been there, nostalgic and old, but now? Now it was bigger, with a hint of mystery: ¡°She had none. Her craft were stories.¡±

    Alice stopped in place as she looked up at the [Witch], repeatedly opening and closing her mouth.

    Then Av spoke: ¡°Why do you look so shocked? Is that bad?¡±

    Alice shook her head: ¡°Bad? No. Extraordinary? Nearly impossible? Yes.¡±

    Aria nodded in evident satisfaction.

    Here¡¯s the thing: witches always had a craft. What is a craft, you ask? To put it simply, witches work with emotions. Fear, anger, jealousy, happiness, nostalgia, sadness, wonder, you name it, they have it. Upon taking up their hat, they choose an emotion and stick to it, turning it into their craft, and they practice it by harvesting their emotion of choice from other humans (or monsters and the like). As you can well imagine, negative emotions are much easier to come by than positive ones, and the emotion used affects the things a witch can make, together with, in the long run, affecting the witch herself. That¡¯s why witches are so disliked, because they usually choose to harvest, and cause, negative emotions to make their job easier.

    As you can well imagine, a witch without craft is not a witch at all. And sure, some witches gain the ability to work beyond their craft, but being without one at all? That was rare. Some would say impossible even, but Alice knew better.

    She knew of a story, a classical, famous even, story of a witch without craft: Baba Yaga.

    A craftless witch with a wooden leg who lived between the world of the living and that of the dead, good friends with death and all of her forms, married to a leshi and living in a house that moved around on chicken legs.

    A witch that could control nature and the world around her using ancient magics and rites.

    A witch¡­ who had once been a human woman.

    Nobody knew that side of the story though. Only she, now. A story her grandma had told her when she was a child. The story went that, once upon a time, in a time in Russia where not even kalduns existed, nor witches (which in Russia were sometimes called babyiga, while other times snatka, or knower), an old woman, a grandmother, liked to collect berries. She liked the activity so much that she¡¯d gained the nickname Babushka Yagada, which could be translated, quite literally, as ¡®Grandma Berry¡¯.

    Her time spent in the forests though wasn¡¯t for nothing: she met many of their inhabitants, from simple animals to changelings who just wanted to chat to, one day, an ancient, world weary, leshi. All those she met she befriended and, after some time, she even became a close confidant of the forest spirit.

    And then, one day something went wrong. You see, for one to be a grandmother, one has to have grandchildren. Baba Yaga had four of them and they were the joy of her life. The youngest was six years old and, one day, he¡¯d fallen ill. At the time there were no doctors near their village, or, for the matter, people worthy of the title of doctors. The village elder attempted to make a cure for the young boy¡¯s malady, but they knew not of what affected him, and the cure-all didn¡¯t work.

    So it was that Baba Yaga, in a moment of desperation, remembered about the leshi in the forest and about his great powers. She went and asked him to save her grandson and he, the old spirit¡­ just looked at her. He was a great figure, taller than the trees, lying on his side, his head on a rock flattened by the winds, always seemingly half asleep. He looked down at her, the woman who spoke to him as if he was an old friend, and saw her desperation. But nothing could be done for free. Everything must have a price, and if one wasn¡¯t decided before a deal such as this, it would be exacted later on by forces outside of it.

    The leshi thought and thought silently for minutes. He would¡¯ve thought for more, but he knew that time wasn¡¯t on his side on this occasion, so instead he offered her the closest thing to a fair deal he could: he¡¯d help save the woman¡¯s grandson. In exchange, old Babushka Yagada would have to become one of them. A spirit.

    The old woman, without hesitation, accepted.

    The rest, as they say, is history. The leshi called upon death herself, asking that she let go of the boy, and death said she would do it if she received something of equal value. That something, as it turned out, was half of Baba Yaga¡¯s soul. Something of equal value to the boy¡¯s soul, and the only way to turn her into a spirit, as she¡¯d agreed with the leshi, for spirits could never be alive.

    As half her soul was harvested, Baba Yaga¡¯s right leg withered and died, but the leshi was there to help her, making a wooden one to take its place, and when the process was over, death let go of the woman¡¯s grandson¡¯s soul and simply¡­ sat there to chat. It had been a long time since someone had been brave enough to do something like what Baba Yaga had done and she was fascinated.

    That is how the old Babushka Yagada became the witch she was better known as later, with powers obtained from the land of the dead and the spirits of the forest.

    That is why, upon hearing Aria mention that the [Witch of Stories] had once been one such craftless witch, she¡¯d been so surprised.

    ¡°Is this true? Or is it an exaggeration, an overly inflated story?¡±

    The old witch smiled at that, a sincere gesture of understanding with a bit of bitterness behind. Alice was probably the first one who had known what she was talking about and hadn¡¯t just taken it in stride.

    ¡°Old women don¡¯t lie Alice, remember that. We¡¯re too tired to care.¡±

    And on they walked, a very confused Averick following them and asking Alice to explain.

    She did, and, to make him understand, she began telling him stories of Baba Yaga from home.

    It was another hour before they reached their destination, well into the evening, the sun having already disappeared. Alice proposed they camp for the night and continue in the daylight, remembering the Skinwalkers and having a feeling there were things worse than them lurking about. Aria had waved her fears off, taking out a strangely decorated lantern from a bag of holding and lighting it up, the light from within being somehow magnified to the point that it felt like walking in daylight.

    When, finally, they reached the town, they were greeted by the light of warm fires and a smile that made her sweat under her heavy clothes.

    ¡°Welcome back miss Alice, mister Averick. We¡¯d been waiting for you,¡± said the [Mountainous Village Leader of Cheer], Radis, as he waved them closer. His Skill, [Warming Smile] was in full effect and, soon, Alice and Averick found themselves shedding layers of clothes off as they found out that the area inside the village, where a bonfire burned merrily in the central plaza, was comfortably warm.

    ¡°Let me guess, [Witch] Aria sent you a crow or something?¡±

    ¡°Actually, no, it was [Witch] Commodora. Apparently one of her¡­ pet wolves, scented you when you arrived at the foot of the mountain. We also saw the approaching light of [Witch] Aria¡¯s Dawn Lantern.¡±

    Dawn Lantern? She¡¯d never heard of those.

    She turned to the witch to ask her what that was, but was stopped before she could say anything: ¡°It is late, Alice. I suggest you go to sleep and recuperate. After all, it was a long day. And in two days'' time, when the Festival begins, you¡¯ll have your answer.¡±

    She turned around and started walking back to the darkness, taking out her lantern: ¡°I hope you¡¯ll have more stories like the ones you told Averick, young witch,¡± she finished, slowly but steadily walking away.

    And all Alice could say, in the end, was: ¡°I¡¯m not a witch!¡±

    Then they were led inside the village, fed and pointed to two bedrooms.

    She and Av slept together.

 Chapter 32: The Festival of Stories

    The [Witches]¡¯ house hadn¡¯t changed from the last time Alice had visited. At all.

    As in, there wasn¡¯t even any snow around it. The grass just turned perfectly green around it, the temperature balmy, the sun¡­ actually, the sun wasn¡¯t shining, clouds still covering it over their heads. Still, it was a change. She¡¯d never expected [Witch] Aria¡¯s Skill, [All Terrain Gardens], to be powerful to the point of subverting the seasons.

    ¡°This is surreal,¡± said Av as he began taking off his winter clothes, already beginning to sweat underneath them.

    ¡°The power of Skills,¡± agreed Alice with a nod. Sometimes even people from this world could get surprised at just how powerful Skills could be.

    After a few minutes of taking off the extra layers they¡¯d put on the started walking again. Not to the front of the house though: instead they followed a small gravel path that wound around the wooden beauty and led to the back.

    There, they were greeted by a small clearing in the expansive garden where a fire merrily burned inside a fire pit, small enough to be cozy, big enough to keep them warm for the coming night: just because [Witch] Aria¡¯s Skill allowed her to keep her garden in an eternal summer it didn¡¯t mean she could also control the temperature¡¯s excursion between night and day. It would still be chill when the sun set.

    In they walked, and when they did a detail struck them: the clearing¡­ it was bigger on the inside.

    What is this Dr. Who shit? wondered Alice as she looked around in wonder.

    Someone coughed beside them. Turning around, Alice saw it was the old [Witch] Aria.

    ¡°You¡¯ve noticed, haven¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I think it¡¯s pretty noticeable. It¡¯s bigger on the inside, somehow.¡±

    The old woman laughed: ¡°You¡¯d be surprised how many people don¡¯t notice until well into the night. At least, for the first timers. It¡¯s a Skill I have: [Always Space for More at the Festival]. Beria once bet she could fit an entire circus here so long as it was for the Festival. I told her not to bother: we can call ourselves lucky that the churches don¡¯t care enough about these mountains to check what we do during this day.¡±

    Ah, yes, sometimes Alice forgot about the strict limitations about stories and storytellers. She never understood how the churches and local authorities managed to enforce those stupid laws, but apparently they could and they did, with great accuracy and even greater punishments.

    Many trees had been felled to make benches for this occasion, although by the looks of the wood that had happened a very long time ago. Nonetheless, Alice was sure the forest had given that small part of itself for free, out of simple kindness. Truth be told, the whole area was permeated with a sense of calm and kindness.

    It wasn¡¯t some kind of supernatural sense or some witch power, no, it was more like a feeling in the air. She felt welcome, desired and loved, the warmth hugging her like an old friend while the flames seemed to start dancing even more cheerfully in front of her eyes. Ok, so maybe it was something that had to do with her Class actually. She was, after all, an [Occultist], in a way. Maybe her Class was changing even aspects of her not shown by her Skills. Was that a thing?

    ¡°Hello!¡± said the fire cheerfully.

    Alice nearly jumped out of her skin at that, while the voice giggled and, a moment later, from behind the fire emerged a little girl.

    Immediately she sighed, a hand going for her heart. She still wasn¡¯t hearing fires talk. That would¡¯ve been a bad thing.

    ¡°Lili, you scared the soul outta me. Hi!¡± she got down on her knees, to their protests, and opened her arms wide, the witchling running towards her to hug her back.

    After a few seconds of this they separated and the young girl smiled up at her: ¡°Are you going to be telling stories during the Festival? Ones that aren¡¯t as scary as the one about the tortured girl, I hope.¡±

    For a single moment Alice¡¯s expression darkened as she remembered that yes, that had happened. She hoped Beria would be a little less bitchy this time around.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t think I will? You only invited me to the Festival, you never told me about -¡± she stopped, remembering [Witch] Aria¡¯s words from two days prior: I hope you¡¯ll have more stories like the ones you told Averick, young witch.

    ¡°Oh, the old hag,¡± she whispered as she slapped her forehead, ¡°She invited me without inviting me. And I agreed. Crafty little hag.¡±

    Lili nodded: ¡°Yes, that sounds like [Witch] Aria. She said it would be good for there to be five witches to tell the stories.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m not a witch!¡± nearly shrieked Alice, only managing to contain herself because she was talking to a child who had no fault in this matter.

    ¡°You aren¡¯t,¡± agreed Lili with a nod that convened she agreed wholeheartedly, ¡°Your Class says as much. But both [Witch] Aria and Commodora agree that, for a moment, you were touched by our Class, before it disappeared inside your current one.¡±

    Alice sighed. The girl, and the [Witches] by proxy, was right. She could still remember the words whispered in the back of her mind months prior, during that night after she¡¯d come back from the mountain. She remembered how, for but a moment, she¡¯d been a [Witch], before the Class had been¡­ what was the word used? Ah, right, ¡®Consolidated¡¯, into [Occult Herbalist].

    Then she realized what Lili had just said: ¡°Wait, Commodora? When did she meet me?¡±

    ¡°Yesterday night.¡±

    She frowned: ¡°Yesterday night? I didn¡¯t see her.¡±

    ¡°Yes, you didn¡¯t. Apparently she and her pack were feeling playful, so she broke into the house you two were sleeping in and rummaged around your things. She took your comb. It was a good comb.¡±

    The way she said that last thing made it sound like the comb was no more¡­ which she feared it wasn¡¯t. Well, at least that explained why her stuff had looked so disorderly this morning and why she couldn¡¯t find her comb.

    Sighing, she asked: ¡°Is it normal for Commodora to randomly break into houses and steal stuff?¡±

    Lili shook her head: ¡°No, it isn¡¯t. The villagers are protected by an agreement. You weren¡¯t though.¡±

    ¡°Of course we weren¡¯t.¡±

    Hanging her head she sat down heavily on a tree trunk, looking at the crackling flames whispering sweet nothings at her.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have a hat,¡± she said.

    You¡¯d think that, of all the excuses to use, that would be the weakest of them all. It wasn¡¯t though: for a witch her hat was everything and a hatless witch wasn¡¯t a witch at all. At least, not one that would fit for this occasion. The Appalachian witches didn''t wear hats, for example. They stored their crafts inside their bodies, with all the collateral effects you can imagine. Half the monsters described in the folklore of those twisted mountains were just witches who¡¯d gone insane while practicing their crafts. In their defense though, they¡¯d been doing that during a time when witchcraft and its practices were dying, in a part of the world that seemed to actively reject magic and the occult or, if unable to do that, corrupted them, all because of the presence of old, dead, gods, lying buried underground, killed by the Spanish, the British, the colonizers in general, and afterwards the liberated Americans.

    Lili tilted her head to the side: ¡°What do you mean you don¡¯t have one? It¡¯s there, over your head. Can¡¯t you see it?¡±

    Alice blinked, then took a page out of the girl¡¯s book and tilted her head: ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure I don¡¯t have a hat, little witchling.¡±

    Lili nodded energetically, her hair bobbing up and down hypnotically: ¡°But you do. It¡¯s on your head, and in your head. It¡¯s there when you close your eyes to sleep. The hat remembers you better than you remember it. It has no craft though, no chains to bind it.¡±

    The two stared at each other for a few moments, before Lili smiled and turned around, waltzing out of the clearing, leaving behind a very bewildered Alice and a silently amused Averick.

    ¡°And she¡¯s only an apprentice you say? Are all [Witches] like that? ¡®Cause that¡¯d explain why they keep saying you¡¯re one,¡± he asked.

    ¡°Av, kindly, shut up.¡±

    He laughed.

    <hr>

    Night came fast, faster than she would¡¯ve liked, but it was still winter even though the clearing and the garden seemed to think otherwise.

    She was still sitting at the campfire, looking into the flames as she thought of a story that would fit the night. Certainly nothing dark: warning tales were some of her favorites, but she¡¯d realized only years after grandma had told them to her just how fucked up some of them were. Some children talked about how traumatic ¡®The Little Match Girl¡¯ was, or ¡®Red Shoes¡¯ for the matter, and she¡¯d absolutely agree, while inside she remembered the story she¡¯d heard as a child about a girl turning into a flesh eating monster after consuming her sister¡¯s corpse in a forest because they¡¯d lost the way and had been attacked by wolves. Grandma had never learned what kiddie gloves looked like.

    She was glad about it now though.

    Still, again, she wasn¡¯t going to be telling one of those stories during a night of celebration such as this. Well, there were no rules that stated she couldn¡¯t, but she didn¡¯t want to ruin some children¡¯s evening.

    Looking into the fire she allowed her mind to wander, her hands braiding something with some twigs and grass and flowers she¡¯d gathered. It shouldn¡¯t have been a complex choice, she knew what probably amounted to hundreds of stories, or at the very least a hundred. She also knew how to create a story from scratch, but a) she couldn¡¯t be bothered with going through that process and b) she felt like the Festival was meant for true stories.

    So she looked at the dancing flames, ideas flitting through her mind.

    Then a crack resounded from inside the fire, making her flinch and breaking her reverie. Looking inside she noticed that a piece of wood that had been bigger than the others had cracked down the middle, giving the flames some new fuel to consume. Her eyes focused on the red embers and she was struck by a flash of inspiration: banniks! She could tell a story about the spirits of bathhouses! The ones that¡­ stole newborn children¡­ and put pieces of wood in their place.

    Yes, alright, no, that was a very bad line of thoughts.

    She settled back down, her eyes now looking down at the little crown she¡¯d braided together while thinking. It wasn¡¯t much, she hadn¡¯t been looking after all, and she was certain it would be falling apart the moment she touched it wrong. Why was this so difficult? Why did she care about it so much? She was certain that up to a month ago she wouldn¡¯t have given a shit and just told one story at random, consequences be damned, because she had been tricked into joining this. She fucking hated having a conscience! She wanted a refund!!!!

    Also, she didn¡¯t. Because sure, having thoughts about people¡¯s feelings mattering wasn¡¯t something she was used to anymore, but it was¡­ different from what she¡¯d become back on Earth.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    Sighing, she threw the wreath into the fire, now remembering stories of Kupala Nights, of the wreaths braided by young girls and left to float on a river, hoping that they wouldn¡¯t sink, for that meant the loss of a loved one or the end of a love. She also remembered the stories of the fern flower, an impossible flower made of a mix of infernal and celestial fire capable of giving incredible powers to anyone who could get it. But those weren¡¯t stories that would fit a night such as this.

    Still, there was something there. Something she could use.

    And then she remembered another story her grandma had loved to tell her. A story that would fit the situation perfectly.

    She began gathering sticks again, working as fast as she could.

    <hr>

    There were rather a lot of people in the clearing now. She was quite certain it had expanded again to let all the people from the village and, apparently, another nearby one, in.

    And right at the center, by the crackling fire, she stood, together with the other [Witches]. On her left, calm and unmoving as a tree in a windless day, stood Aria, her hat for once proudly standing up without the usual crook to one side. To her right primly stood Lili with a proud smile on her face, probably happy to be part of this festival as a full fledged [Witch] and not just an apprentice for one night and one night alone.

    To Lili¡¯s left stood Beria, her smile light and hearty as she looked into the fire as if it were a lover.

    Meanwhile, to Aria¡¯s right, sat Commodora, her legs bent into a position that was reminiscent of a dog sitting primply in place. Even then, though, the furs covering her body looked especially well groomed and shiny, her dark black hat standing straight. Alice noticed only then, through the flames, that little wolves had been stitched into it, showing them playing and running around the brim, the distortion caused by the heat making them look more lifelike, as if they were moving. Of all the hats, hers was the most beautiful.

    Then Aria spoke: ¡°Welcome one and welcome all. Tonight, it is the Festival of Stories. Tonight, we celebrate the death of the last great [Witch] to ever wander this world. Tonight, we, the last of her kin, shall tell, all over the world, the stories that we desire, like the [Storytellers] of ancient. Tonight, we shall forget craft and desire and let stories take hold of us, for it is a [Witch]¡¯s duty to remember and tell truths. Tonight, no lies shall be admitted, no subterfuge shall be allowed. [So It Was Said, So It Will Be]!¡±

    As the final words left Aria¡¯s mouth Alice felt compelled to repeat them and, like the other four [Witches] around her, she did.

    And the System? The System listened.

    <Individuals Alice, Lili, Commodora and Beria have requested access to [Classification: <Legacy>] Skill [So It Was Said, So It Will Be]>

    <Verifying Classes¡­>

    <Occult Herbalist>

    <Apprentice Witch. Attention: Temporary Evolution to Witch Class. Reason of evolution: Class Restriction for Yearly Festivity>

    <Witch of the Wilds>

    <Witch of Stars>

    <Attention: Occult Herbalist Class does not fit criteria for access to Legacy Skill>

    <Overridden! Reason: Evolution of Class achieved through Consolidation of Witch Class>

    <Override Accepted>

    <All individuals fit criteria. Allowing access to Legacy Skill>

    <Resume Protocol: Observe and Judge>

    She spoke, and there was gold in her words. Her words felt more¡­ true, somehow, more real than they had any right to be as they commanded the world around them and told it her intentions without hesitation.

    Was this what it felt like to speak a Word of Power? A Word of Creation, the first words spoken by God when it created the world as it was known. Was this what it would feel like to use one without your skin sloughing off your bones together with all your insides because of the sheer potential? She hoped it was, because the sensation was mildly addictive in how right it was.

    They stood around the campfire, the world settling around them as it accepted their command.

    Then they sat down on the surprisingly comfortable logs.

    And [Witch] Aria spoke: ¡°As is tradition, the youngest of us will start. From her, we shall go counter-clockwise around the fire. Let the Festival begin!¡±

    Alice hadn¡¯t noticed, but they were all smiling in joy.

    <hr>

    Once upon a time¡­ nah, this is just too clich¨¦ a start.

    In a time after the end of the War of the Arachne, during the Era of Respite, [Witches] were hunted.

    They were hunted because they remembered the sins of the gods, they were hunted because they knew of what had happened on Rodar, they were hunted because of what one of their kind, the Witch of Spiders, had done, and they were hunted because the world saw only the worst of their kind (but was it the worst? Were they doing the wrong thing? We¡¯ll never know).

    The story goes that, during this Era, a [Witch] rose above all of them. Her name was forgotten, never passed down by those that came after her by her own request, but she is still known, to this day, as the Witch of Stories.

    A [Witch] who, upon wearing her hat for the first time and seeing the world, thought that no emotion would ever fit her, for there were too many and choosing a single one wouldn¡¯t do justice to the whole of them that coexisted inside the minds of mortals and immortals alike. She looked inside her hat, and chose to leave it empty.

    The other [Witches] called her a fool, not because she was rejecting the ways of her Class, for they knew that being a [Witch] meant doing anything one wanted and believing in what they wanted without caring about what the rest of the world thought. No, they called her a fool for attempting to do things in a different manner during a time when they were hunted and killed just for their Class. They asked her, begged even, that she do things following one of the most known old ways, that she may have a better chance at surviving, but she was a [Witch], and as such she did as she wanted, and she chose not to bind herself to a single craft.

    Then, when the begging stopped, when the tears were shed and the hugs given, when the covens swore that they¡¯d try to find a way to help her, for there were still many more covens even back then than there are now, the girl looked at her hat, then at the whole of the living, and decided that, since she loved every facet of them, she¡¯d become a [Witch] bound to that which could help represent the entirety of the world: stories.

    That is how the Witch of Stories¡¯ story began, but tonight we do not remember her birth, sadly. We remember her death.

    It came at the end of the last Witch Hunt, when our numbers were steadily dwindling. It didn¡¯t matter what magics the [Witches] cast, how foul or how benefic, how much they begged and groveled or tried to hide: always, they were found, and always, the were killed, sometimes fast, with something as simple as a sword through the heart, and sometimes, unluckily, in much more creative ways.

    During the last days of the Hunt she, in her full powers, carrying the weight of hundreds, maybe even thousands, of deaths on her shoulders and in her hat, appeared in front of the steps leading to the entrance of the College of Memoirs. There, fearlessly and sorrowfully, she called out to the Grandmaster, calling upon an old rule in their books: the Right of Hearing.

    Nobody had heard of it being used in centuries simply because it had been buried between hundreds of other rules.

    Still, the Grandmaster himself appeared and listened to her request: that he challenge her in any way he saw fit and, in exchange, if she won, he¡¯d order the end of the Hunt once and for all and that, in the future, none such hunts may start anew. The Grandmaster laughed and agreed, shaking her hand and not noticing the First Dealmaker looking over the deal and blessing the terms with her Skills.

    Then he gave her the challenge, with these exact words: ¡°You, woman, who call yourself the Witch of Stories, huntress of that which we forbid, I challenge you to gather, in Five days, Five Hundred and Fifty Five stories. Bring them to us and we shall end the Hunt.¡±

    So it was said, and so it was done.

    The Witch turned and walked away, slowly fading away as she went to the first of the many stories she¡¯d have to find and witness. Her hat was the last thing to disappear and, as it fell to the ground, it turned to look at them, like a black eye glaring at them.

    And it whispered a story, one known only to our kind and the Grandmasters, maybe not even them, not anymore: once upon a time there will be an itsy bitsy spider. The world will try to drown it in blood, but it will fail, and the spider shall feed and, in the end, eat them all.

    A very short story, yes, but it was a hat telling it, what do you expect?

    Five days came and went. Five days during which the Witch of Stories didn¡¯t eat, drink, sleep or even stop for a single moment. Everywhere all over the world stories were happening, all she had to do was witness them all and she¡¯d manage to save her kin. What were her needs in the face of saving them?

    The thing about stories, my dear listeners, is that they can be anything. When someone thinks about a story, they think about heroes fighting dragons and winning or losing, they think of soldiers doing impossible things during wars, they think of monsters being killed to save cities, goblins rising from their muddy abodes and destroying countries in their fury. Nobody ever thinks about telling the tale of a [Baker] rising in the morning to do her job, or the story a child creates while playing with a stick. Not even the Grandmaster had thought of that.

    So the morning came, exactly five days later, that the Witch of Stories, ragged and breathless and hungry and thirsty, walked up to those steps, her pride helping her not to stumble, and presented the requested stories.

    Still the Grandmaster didn¡¯t believe her and he asked that she tell them to him. All five hundred and fifty five.

    The Witch of Stories agreed, for that was nothing compared to what she¡¯d done so far, and began talking.

    First, though, she asked for food and water, but those were denied, saying that in the time it¡¯d take her to eat and drink she could make up some fake stories to fill in for the possible missing ones.

    Gritting her teeth, the Witch of Stories began talking.

    She spoke and recounted, and while the people around her feasted and drank to their heart¡¯s desire, nothing was given or allowed to her. But it didn¡¯t matter, because this would help her people.

    Five days later all five hundred and fifty five had been told, to the complete astonishment of the Grandmaster and the College in general, but not to the surprise of a figure observing through the windows, an old man with a doctor¡¯s bag.

    The Witch, lips and throat parched, mind hazy, eyes wide and bloodshot, sat on the ground, breathing hard, as she requested that they respect their side of the deal.

    The Grandmaster though laughed as, with a pleased smile, he said this: ¡°Witch, I think our deal was clear: you were to bring us five hundred and fifty five stories, gathered to be given to us. These stories though, they aren¡¯t yours. They are still out there, free, changing and becoming more. We cannot use them, cannot hold them, cannot make them ours.¡±

    The Witch of Stories despaired upon hearing this, knowing it was not right, what the man was doing and saying, but also knowing that he was taking his words to the letter and that he had, indeed, given her an impossible task, for stories couldn¡¯t be captured, not without damaging both the storyteller and the one whose story is being told.

    Clutching at her head, she felt tears begin trickling down her face. It had all been for nothing.

    Until someone else spoke.

    A girl who looked no older than twenty five, wearing worn traveling clothes, a tombstone hat, a cape that had once been black and a bag slung over her shoulder. Her hair was a fiery red that seemed to be burning with a light of its own, a light that paled in comparison with the one in her eyes.

    She smiled and stepped closer, and her words were heavy with an ancient power that nobody could ever hope to harness. A power she had gained through trickery and was keeping through friendship.

    ¡°I have heard these tales and counted them. Five hundred and fifty five were requested, five hundred and fifty five were given.¡±

    The Grandmaster though didn¡¯t give up: ¡°They are not ours though.¡±

    ¡°You are asking for the impossible, small man. Stories cannot be held.¡±

    ¡°And yet that is what happens inside these hallowed halls.¡±

    The First Dealmaker looked at the man, then at the College with a sneer of disgust, then at the Witch with sadness. Finally, she knelt by the woman¡¯s side and, in a whisper, asked: ¡°What would you be willing to give up to make sure this deal comes to fruition?¡±

    The Witch of Stories looked the First Dealmaker in the eyes and saw, in them, a strength that could probably end entire continents, held at bay only by the knowledge that there were Consequences for every action and beings more powerful than her who would make sure they reached her.

    And she simply said: ¡°Everything.¡±

    ¡°Then, greatest of all the [Witches] of our history, I offer thee this proposal: give up your life, the storyteller¡¯s life, in exchange for trapping these tales you told, that they may be held. It is a kinder price than the one the College has made others pay to gather their stories.¡±

    The Greatest of All Witches looked at those eyes, seeing hatred and sadness and acceptance, and¡­ she kissed the First Dealmaker.

    ¡°Do as you wish.¡±

    And the Dealmaker? She stood, stunned, then nodded: ¡°So it was said, so it will be.¡±

    She snapped her fingers.

    There were no screams, no pain. Just soothing nothingness that pervaded the Witch of Stories, and then she was gone, in her place a book bound in colorful silks just like her robes, and her hat, now a Relic.

    The Dealmaker took the book and the hat, hiding the latter and giving the former to the Grandmaster: ¡°As stipulated. Five hundred and fifty five stories, to be held and kept by you and you alone if you so wish. Now, [Respect Your Side of the Deal].¡±

    The Grandmaster did, for he had no other choice.

    This is the story of how the Witch of Stories saved our kind.

    This is the story of her death.

    This is the story of why, every year, we celebrate this Festival.

    We shall not forget.

 Chapter 33: The End of the Festival

    Lili finished her story, silence hanging in the clearing.

    ¡°As tradition wills, the first story of the night is that of the Witch of Stories¡¯ death,¡± said [Witch] Aria solemnly, ¡°Thank you, [Witch] Lili, for your help in maintaining this tradition.¡±

    She bowed her head slightly, tipping her hat, and was followed a moment later by the other witches and Alice doing the same.

    ¡°Now, I believe it is [Witch] Beria¡¯s turn,¡± she looked towards the young woman through the fire, the flames seemingly stilling to allow her to look her in the eyes. She in turn nodded and, sitting straighter, began speaking.

    ¡°Once upon a time¡­

    <hr>

    ¡­ there were [Sailors]. Not just any [Sailors] though. This crew was composed of [Star Sailors]. Men and women who had somehow gained the ability to sail in the space among stars, their bodies made of starlight and wishes, their ship of moondust and wood grown in the deepest trenches of the oceans, soaked in darkness and hardened by the pressure.

    They were blessed by both the Old Man by the Sea, for they had once sailed upon the great seas of this world, and the Old Man by the Stars, for she found them amusing and their company interesting in the days when the world was calm.

    Why did they sail the stars? Because they could. Because they wanted to. Because they were sailors, and for that they were freer than most other folks in the world. After all, there never was a god of the seas to keep them in check. So, when they got bored of the water, they looked up at the skies and thought: ¡®Hey, why not? After all, those stars are pretty far away. There must be endless wonders between them.¡¯

    Their Classes were strange and variegated, speaking volumes of the improbable necessities of travel outside the planet, in the dark void.

    Chief among them, their captain, whose Class was [Captain of the Wandering Stars], for every member of her crew was made of starstuff.

    The second most important member of her group was, of all people, unexpectedly, the helmsman, whose Class was simple in word but complex in concept: [Fractal Helmsman]. While the other crewmates of the ship were made of starstuff, the helmsman¡¯s body was built of something else entirely, something that wasn¡¯t of this plane of existence and, at the same time, wasn¡¯t of any of the other Seven Planes. He was made of something in-between Nothingness and Creation, Void and Everything.

    His purpose, again, was simple in all but practice: to ferret the ship and its crew from one place among the stars to another in a way that would cut the journey short, for space in the place he could bring the ship into, the Fractal, was different, wrong, and a pace in there was a thousand in Creation.

    No normal eyes could see the Fractal, a place that cannot be described as anything other than a soup of colors both known and unknown to humanity, where space opened and closed, appeared and disappeared, like a lung expands and contracts with someone¡¯s breathing, or like a beating heart¡¯s chambers do. Such is the way that not-place works.

    The captain and her crew (their names we have forgotten, for their stories were never written) were [Sailing on Ghostly Winds], getting ready to dive into the Fractal Sea, as they called it.

    ¡°Two minutes to the dive,¡± shouted the helmsman, beginning to take off his gear, slowly exposing more and more of his skin, eldritch colors dancing all over it in hypnotic patterns.

    The rest of the crew and the captain, on the other hand, did the opposite, beginning to cover their bodies with three layers of form fitting clothes, putting on eyeless masks made of the same dark wood as the rest of their ship. The last layer of clothing was as colorful as they could make it in an attempt to mimic the Fractal. Or rather, to blend with it.

    ¡°Thirty seconds,¡± calmly said the helmsman, his face now the only part of him that remained covered by his own mask.

    The last bits of clothing were put on and he slowly, carefully, took off his mask, revealing multifaceted and multicolored eyes that shone with a light of their own. An otherworldly light that didn¡¯t belong to this plane of existence. A light that was, in truth, abhorred by it. So much so that it began to tear itself apart in an attempt to escape the once-man¡¯s gaze.

    ¡°[Open the Passage]!¡± he shouted, and the tear in the very tissue of reality suddenly turned into a sort of doorway. It was, by far, a much kinder way to get through to that place, for thanks to the System what would have been a damage to reality itself became a safe way through that would close behind them.

    Then the ship went through, and the captain spoke her Skills: ¡°[Crew, Know Thy Ship]. [Ship: Colors of the Fractal].¡±

    And in they were. They couldn¡¯t see the Fractal and its colors, for that would probably lead to the end of their existence, the destruction of their bodies and their consciousnesses joining it to its fullest. Not even the System dared look into this place for fear of what would happen to It.

    For that reason they had slowed down in their Leveling, but that didn¡¯t matter to them: they already had everything they desired, and extra Levels would just make the experience less interesting in the long run.

    Still, the crew moved around the ship and did their chores without uncertainty in their steps, for they knew every single plank of it. Not thanks to the Skill though, that one only gave them a sort of sixth sense of the position of things everywhere: they had actually memorized everything. That¡¯s why it was only an Uncommon Skill.

    ¡°Captain, deactivate your winds Skill. We¡¯re about to catch a current,¡± calmly stated the helmsman as, carefully, he changed the ship¡¯s heading towards a patch of fractals that seemed to be expanding and shrinking faster than the others, like a palpitating heart. The moment the prow of the ship hit it¡­ nothing seemed to change. Certainly the crew didn¡¯t feel their ship speed up, what with their feet being [Firmly Anchored], their bodies [Immune to Friction] and, last but not least, the total absence of air and, therefore, wind. Still, they knew to trust their helmsman, and if he said they were about to speed up, they were.

    And on they worked, more careful than they normally would because in the Fractal only Passive Skills, or ones that had been activated before entering, worked. Why? Because, as already stated, the System didn¡¯t Observe the Fractal, so it could not bestow power to the Skills that the people called upon.

    That is how they navigated for several hours, completely silent, for they knew there were things living in the Fractal and attracting their attention wouldn¡¯t be a good idea. They¡¯d had encounters with them in the past, and it had never been pretty. Luckily, none of them had died.

    But then again, what story would it be without a problem? And, even better, what story for the Festival would it be if it didn¡¯t speak of an ending?

    So it was that, while traversing the endless tides of the Fractal, the crew heard a sound not unlike a deep groan¡­ if it was mixed with the grumbling of a stomach and a thousand screaming voices of children.

    ¡°What the fuck?¡± whispered one of the crewmembers, only to be quickly shut up by someone slapping their hand on the mouth of his mask. Useless? Certainly. Effective? Even more certain.

    The groaning grew closer and closer and, finally, the helmsman saw what it was.

    A formless, ever reshaping, thing that, one moment, reminded him of a kraken from the ancient tales of mariners, the next some kind of tentacled whale, and the next again a strange one eyed fish, the gigantic pupil staring right at them, seeing everything.

    He knew, in that moment, that they were fucked.

    ¡°Everyone! Get ready to row! Something big¡¯s seen us!¡±

    At those words activity burst all over the bridge and underneath as people ran and shouted, no longer caring about not making any noise, orders and information being launched from one side of the ship to the other.

    And the giant thing that dwarfed their ship? The monstrous, formless, being that followed them groaned again, the pupil of its giant eye, now the only thing that remained unchanging in its constant shifting, beginning to expand in what was probably excitement, happiness, at seeing something new. A small thing with even tinier things moving on it? It had never seen such a thing! What would it taste like?

    The monster, no, the behemoth, opened a gargantuan mouth filled with seething teeth and energetic tentacles, ready to chomp down on this novelty food, but as its mouth began closing with a loud groan, as if its jaws were made of metal, the thing sprouted some new small things on its sides (it was interesting how the central body didn¡¯t change at all compared to all the rest) and began moving a lot faster.

    So a chase it was! It had been a very long time since it had last found food fast enough to entertain it so.

    Meanwhile the crew was¡­ not panicking, surprisingly. They were experts, veterans one might say, and had become desensitized to true fear. What would have caused many others to freeze was, to them, only an adrenaline shot that made them work better.

    Also, it helped that they couldn¡¯t see what was actually hunting them.

    On the other hand, the helmsman was actively swearing in enough languages and dialects to cause every single person in hearing range to somehow feel at home. He, too, was merely scared shitless, although he no longer had intestines to speak of, so did that count?

    On they rowed, catching currents that made them move faster, aiding them in their escape from the leviathan sized monster at their backs, but it wasn¡¯t quite enough. Whenever they managed to pick up a current they gained distance on the thing, but the moment they left it it began gaining ground on them.

    ¡°Captain, we¡¯re doing nothing like this!¡± he shouted.

    ¡°It¡¯s still following?¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t even look tired.¡±

    Indeed, the Fractal Behemoth, for that was what the helmsman had decided to call it, wasn¡¯t tired. It couldn¡¯t really get tired, just like anything of the Fractal. And it most certainly wasn¡¯t going to give up: this was too entertaining!

    The fact that it was too big for the currents to really do anything for it was just an added challenge that made this situation better. And the speed it had to maintain to keep up with its prey certainly helped prepare its appetite. Oh, it was certain this morsel would be so worth all of this!

    ¡°Where are we helmsman?¡± asked the captain as she rowed near him, her paddle somehow entering the ¡®water¡¯ of the Fractal only when they met at the same level as the railing of the aft-castle.

    The helmsman closed one of his eyes and put his mask over it, blocking out the Fractal completely.

    In the darkness, he saw a familiar void, the blackness between stars.

    And, in the distance, he saw an even more familiar, waxing, moon, a green and blue sphere right behind it.

    ¡°We¡¯re nearing our home, captain.¡±

    ¡°Get us as close as you can, then get us out of here! This thing cannot follow us in Creation.¡±

    ¡°Aye aye captain!¡±

    On they ran, and on they rowed, not in desperation, but close to it. They had no desire to find out what awaited them in the belly of such a beast.

    It was nearly a half hour before they finally got close enough to their planet of origin.

    When that happened, the helmsman shouted at everyone to get ready and, as fast as he could, began dressing himself up again, his exposed flesh disappearing from view. As this happened the ship began vibrating, as if, somehow, an earthquake had struck it.

    It only took a minute, but it felt like an eternity. When, finally, the only part left to cover was the face, the helmsman shouted at everyone: ¡°Get ready!¡±

    Then, he put on the mask.

    The Fractal shook slightly, which caused the Behemoth to slow down for a single moment in confusion: it had never felt such a thing. Was it the small thing? Could it be doing this? If it could influence this place in such a way, then it was possible it could actually be dangerous. Maybe it would be better to stop playing with its food and actually feed now.

    The Behemoth, which had been holding back a bit during all this chase, used all of its strength to push itself towards the ship.

    Meanwhile, the Fractal recognized that the ship inside it wasn¡¯t meant to be here. It wasn¡¯t unreal, it was stable. Why had such a thing happened? Or rather, why did it keep happening?

    The Fractal contorted and distorted and, finally, with a sound like fabric tearing, an opening appeared in front of the ship, the currents around it all changing direction, fleeing to attempt to fill in the new available space.

    The ship accelerated.

    And then it went through.

    As for the Behemoth? It was going too fast to stop. Nor did it realize that a doorway to Creation had opened in front of it.

    So it was that, as the ship passed through, the Behemoth rammed at full speed into the tear in the Fractal.

    The sailors screamed as the maw of the beast got locked into place for but a moment, looking as if the Fractal¡¯s currents had gone against a [Bubble] Spell and expanded it.

    Then, with an obscene pop that they shouldn¡¯t have been able to hear in the void around them, the Behemoth went through.

    And, for the first time since¡­ the dawn of Time herself, a part of the Fractal ended up in Reality.

    The System watched this happen.

    The System, too, for the first time in its existence, cursed. It was a curse so powerful that a few [Witches] all over the world gained a Level in their Class with a Skill based exactly on that insult against reality, the dead Luck and many things the System had learned from the Spider and the Traveler. A truly specific Skill that had devastating effects on individuals who held exactly those Classes. And against spiders.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    And the Behemoth? It screeched. For it was not real enough to be where it was, it had no right to be here and it should¡¯ve immediately turned around to leave, for its presence alone here kept that weft into the Fractal open.

    Soon, though, pain became rage, and rage turned into stubbornness as the Behemoth did the one thing it had always been good at: it changed. It shed its fractal skin like a snake, black scales revealing underneath it. Tentacles disappeared and broke off, the single eye turned into many smaller ones, although considering its dimensions they were bigger than most capital cities were, while the teeth in its maws turned pearly white and became more in number.

    The System kept sending queries and requests for help, for Intervention, to the gods, but every time it calculated that the time required for them to answer them would be ¡®infinite¡¯ seconds. Then, out of desperation, it activated an ancient protocol:

    Hundreds of questions were asked, from the gravity of the situation to the calculated percentile chance of actual destruction of all life as it was known.

    When all of these were answered, painting a truly horrifying picture, the chains of commands that held back the System were, momentarily, for but a few seconds, released.

    And It began activating Skills and giving them away without having to follow any of its protocols.

    First and foremost, It closed the weft into the Fractal, locking back in a few curious creatures that had followed in the wake of the Behemoth¡¯s race: [Close the Tear].

    Then, it thought for but a single moment, before assigning a Skill to the [Captain]. And a mission.

    [Condition: My Crew was Forbidden from Home]

    <Mission Assigned: Neutralize the Behemoth>

    <The Fractal Behemoth is hunting you. Bring an end to this menace by any means possible.>

    <Secondary Reward: 1 Legendary Skill to you and your entire crew, fitting for their Class>

    <Tertiary Reward: A Chart of Locations for the Space Race Phase of Creation>

    All these words flooded the [Captain] and her crew¡¯s minds as, with a jerk, the [Helmsman] turned their ship away from the moon and their planet.

    And the [Captain]? She looked back at the monster following after them, looked at the back of her mind, where the System¡¯s words had been imprinted, never to be forgotten, and sighed.

    ¡°Prepare your weapons! We¡¯re fighting that little shit.¡±

    Said little shit, of whom much could be said, but not that it was little, got its first taste of pain a minute later as, from the ship, which had now turned to face it with its side, several strange tubular objects fired at a speed comparable to the speed of sound projectiles of moonrock.

    ¡°[Fast Recharge]! [Cannonballs: Airtight Aura]! [Shrapnel: Enhanced Damage]!¡±

    She shouted Skill after Skill as her crew kept on shoving fragile cannonballs made from harvested moonrocks and pumped air into their cannons, or so the System called them. When, finally, the Skill that kept the cannons airtight couldn¡¯t take it anymore and dissipated, the cannonballs were launched speedily towards their targets, and since there was no air in the void to slow them down, they hit harder than¡­ she didn¡¯t know. She¡¯d never been hit by something that powerful. It would¡¯ve probably killed her. She guessed it would probably hit harder than a giant going all out with his Skills though.

    Multiple attacks like this kept coming at the Behemoth, who shrieked in rage. Luckily for everyone its body had adapted to this reality and made it impossible for the sound to actually reach them.

    Then it ran towards them, opening its mouth wide, wider, wider, practically unhinging its jaw¡­ until it actually unhinged, and divided into four parts, the opening now wide enough to probably swallow the whole moon in a single bite with space to spare.

    That was when they knew it was over. They couldn¡¯t outrun that.

    So, instead, they kept on attacking, both in a vain hope to kill the thing and in a vindictive desire to leave a mark for the bastard to remember them by.

    ¡°[Sky-Shattering Speed]!¡± shouted the [Captain], using the Skill she¡¯d activated once upon a time to start their journey into the void. Only, this time, she didn¡¯t apply it to the ship, but to one last cannonball.

    The moment the words left her mouth the little bits of weapon which had just left the mouth of the barrel¡­ disappeared from sight.

    A moment later though they saw something black begin to flow out of the Behemoth¡¯s mouth, specifically around a single tooth which, a moment later, detached from its base. There was a good chance that the Behemoth screeched, but they couldn¡¯t hear it. They only saw the tooth begin to hurdle away from the Behemoth, fly past them, and move away, towards their home planet.

    Then the maws of the Behemoth closed around them. We presume they all died.

    As for the tooth? It flew away and down to our green world. The System, again, panicked, knowing full well that it would be catastrophic. This time, though, It didn¡¯t have to intervene, for Flatos, the God of the Skies himself, saw the threat coming and, with its power, slowed it down, depositing it down to the earth, near our chain of mountains.

    They say, in fact, that Mount Soran, the highest peak of the Tiurna Mountains, the mountain that the greatest [Mountaineer] to ever exist scaled in an attempt to meet the gods themselves, is, in fact, that same giant tooth, turned into stone and minerals because of the parts of Fractal still inside it changing it to fit better in its new environment.

    This is the story of how the highest peak of our mountains came to be.

    <hr>

    As the story ended Alice sat with her mouth hanging open.

    ¡°Close your mouth dear, you¡¯ll catch a mosquito,¡± said [Witch] Aria by her side.

    After she did and sat in silence for a few moments, as [Witch] Commodora began telling her own story, she whispered to Aria: ¡°I cannot compete. That story was amazing.¡±

    The old witch smiled a gentle smile at her and whispered back: ¡°This isn¡¯t a competition Alice. Not everything in life is. You should remember that more often. And as for you¡­ your story will be one of hope, not one of endings. It has been a long time since someone last brought one such story to this Festival.¡±

    Alice frowned: ¡°Wait, how do you know what story I¡¯ll be tell -¡±

    ¡°Shush, dear. I know not your story. Only what your heart harbors, and it harbors hope. I expect a story that will make me smile.¡±

    And with that, they sat back in silence.

    <hr>

    Commodora told a story on the death of the last vampire [Knights], while Aria told one about the Witch of Mirrors and her hatred.

    When the story ended the clearing was silent as all eyes were pointed at Alice.

    She¡¯d never suffered from stage fright in her entire life, her ¡®it¡¯s your fucking problem if you don¡¯t like it¡¯ attitude helping her get through a lot of things.

    Still, for the first time in a decade, she felt under pressure.

    That was when Av put a gentle hand on the small of her back, smiling encouragingly at her when she looked at him.

    Taking a deep breath, she rummaged around behind her tree trunk and, after a moment, plopped down on her legs a small¡­ probably doll was the best definition for it. It was made of sticks and long grass woven together half haphazardly, the figure looking like some kind of toddler with a too big nose with, of all things, some kind of animalistic ears that could¡¯ve been a bat¡¯s, a dog¡¯s or a cat¡¯s, or something else entirely.

    ¡°[Show Them The Past],¡± she whispered.

    And suddenly the people around her could not just vision, but see all that she was going to say.

    She began telling her story: ¡°Once upon a time¡­¡±

    <hr>

    ¡­there was a family.

    Well, calling it a family would be an exaggeration: they were two people, a father and a son. The mother of the family had died giving birth to him, and the father, a kaldun, a mage, had been unable to save her even with all the spirits and demons at his disposal.

    But this isn¡¯t the story of a dark mage and his son. This is the story of a spirit living in their home. The spirit¡¯s name was¡­ Mikhavich, and he was a domovoi. Demons like him were protectors of the house, guardians of its inhabitants who kept away other demons and undesired guests, chasing away thieves and warily trapping other mages who hadn¡¯t come bearing good will.

    They were shapeshifters, sometimes appearing like cats or dogs, sometimes like old, hunched over, hirsute and quite ugly gnomes, while other times still looking like small men with big beards, not unlike a dwarf if they were smaller.

    These events happened not long after the end of a great war, what was once believed would be the greatest war that would ever be fought by humanity as a whole.

    During those times of desperation domovois like him were, all in all, considered a blessing, for they sometimes could even manage to keep soldiers away from their homes. After all, and this was something many had forgotten, once upon a time they hadn¡¯t been devils, or chorts as they were called by their mages: there had been a time when they were called diedusca, or simply put, grandpa. Grandpa Domovoi. For they had once been the spirits of the departed, staying in their loved ones¡¯ izbas, in their homes, in a desire to keep them safe.

    They lived hidden behind stoves, even if once they¡¯d lived inside the flames themselves, for they¡¯d been made of fire. Oh, how the arrival of the churches and their beliefs had changed them, from helpful sprites to demons that had to be appeased with food and drink. And the worst part? They¡¯d been forced to become¡­ this, against their will. For stories shaped them as much as their memories.

    The war, the greatest of wars, had ended, and they had won.

    But while the wars among soldiers had ended, their blood no longer spilled, another war was fought in the shadows. Or rather, in an attempt to hide back in the shadows from a light that would destroy all it touched.

    This story begins on the first day of that fateful war of shadows and light, and it begins with a domovoi hiding in the shadows behind a stove in a small home where a father is teaching his son the black arts.

    That day began as many others did: the father was woken up just before sunrise by one of his devils coming back from a task assigned to it, and since the evil little bastard was, well, a devil, it decided that letting his owner sleep wasn¡¯t on the menu.

    Still, the father took it in stride: he¡¯d been a mage for decades now, this was nothing.

    He let his son sleep until the sun began shining from the windows, when he went to wake him up. After a small breakfast of grains and bread, a luxury for the country that had been impoverished by the war, he began teaching his son all that he knew: from spells to invocations to rites to names of devils that should never be called upon, such as Sitri and Azazel and Abadon.

    While these lessons were taught, the domovoi heard screaming coming from the yard. Upon looking they all saw two things: the Dvaravoi, the devil protector of their yard, on the ground, screaming as his flesh was burned away, and a woman carrying a white tome in her hands, her hands clad in the same light that surrounded the dying devil. Indeed, not disappearing, but dying. For even devils could be killed with the right words.

    The father shouted as the girl looked him dead in the eyes and he wanted to run, but there was only one way in and out of their home, for it was too small to need more than one door, all in an attempt to keep the cold out in the winters.

    When, finally, the screaming stopped, nothing but ashes remained of the devil, and the girl began advancing on the home.

    The father barricaded the door, told his son to hide anywhere he could while he tried to distract the girl, and while the domovoi had heard stories of mages saying those same words to their apprentices only to run away afterwards, he knew that this one would stay and fight.

    The door opened, and the girl walked in.

    ¡°You are the kaldun Proshkin, right?¡±

    The man narrowed his eyes at her: ¡°And you are the holder of the White Book,¡± he spit on the ground at her feet at those final words.

    The girl shook her head, looking forlorn: ¡°That about answers my question then. I¡¯ve come here to act on¡­ the gods¡¯ will.¡±

    <hr>

    Alice had to stop for a moment, remembering that this world didn¡¯t have a single God, but many. It would¡¯ve been suspicious for her to say anything else.

    She took a small breath, then continued.

    <hr>

    ¡°I will exterminate the plague of devils that infests this country, and together with them I will make sure that the knowledge of kalduns such as you dies with them.¡±

    The father shook his head: ¡°You¡¯d try to take on all of¡­ Airm itself? You are a fool, girl.¡±

    ¡°With the White Book in my hands and the gods by my side? It is not just possible, it is my duty. Now, where is your son?¡±

    The father smirked: ¡°Out of town, you second class viedma. You won¡¯t get him.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll se -¡±

    She didn¡¯t manage to finish her sentence as the kaldun toppled over a closed wicker basket by his side and seven devils flew out of it, in all shapes and forms, launching themselves at the¡­ probably a priestess. Neither the domovoi nor the kaldun knew for certain.

    At that sight she raised her hands, the Book flying in the air in front of her, spear of divine light piercing out of the pages, going straight through the devils and killing them.

    She turned back to the mage, but before she could say anything else he threw a curse at her, one that would¡¯ve caused her sickness by the hands of Karkusha, one of the aspects of Pesta, the pestilential facet of death. But where her skin should¡¯ve started rotting it looked barely touched, if possible even rosy with health.

    ¡°Now, di -¡±

    That was when the domovoi made his choice.

    With a lunge, he flew out from behind the stove, a single item in his hands: a nail. One he had taken from the walls of his home. In its hirsute form, the scariest one, he bellowed at the priestess, distracting her long enough to allow him the time to plant the nail in her shadow, specifically into a node in the wood of that plank.

    He recited an old incantation, and as the priestess tried to lunge at him, she found that she couldn¡¯t move away from her spot.

    ¡°Run, Proshkin. Take your son and run, hide, and tell the others. Our end has come. Forget us, for she has killed your devils and you are now free from their chains and demands.¡±

    The man looked the old, very old, domovoi in the eyes, then nodded and ran to his bed, getting his son out and running out of the door.

    The priestess lunged for them, but couldn¡¯t move. She tried casting a Spell, but the mouth of the stove opened and a single chort of the embers flew out at the house spirit¡¯s command, taking the hit for them. They were too simple minded to do anything anyway.

    When, finally, the people who had lived in this home for so long disappeared into the nearby forest, where a local, friendly leshi would probably help them, the priestess turned to glare at him.

    ¡°You damned!¡±

    He sat down, taking out a stone pipe from inside the stove and beginning to smoke an ember. One last time, in memory of the old times.

    ¡°You call me damned, but it was your church who turned me into a devil. I used to be a benevolent spirit, you know? A fragment of the soul of a dead loved one, staying back to protect my family. But your church just couldn¡¯t accept the existence of anything other than your gods, and so whenever you saw something different you labeled it as devilish.¡±

    He took a deep drag: ¡°Consider this my little revenge. Your job has just become¡­ probably ten times as hard as it should¡¯ve been. You no longer have the element of surprise. They will run and hide, and then, when you die of old age and the sigils of that Book form anew, we will come back.¡±

    As an answer she chanted something in the language of her church and, a moment later, a ray of divine sunlight began shining over the old domovoi. He hissed in pain, but other than that did nothing. He wouldn¡¯t give her the satisfaction.

    ¡°We will always survive, young bitch of the gods. It is only a matter of how many of us will.¡±

    He felt himself begin to disappear into smoke, and even though the pain was endless, he laughed in her face.

    That was the last thing he did as a spear of light went through his head, right between the eyes.

    That day, the second to last invisible war began.

    <hr>

    Alice sighed as she ended the story. But it didn¡¯t feel hopeful, at all.

    So, for the first time since grandma had told her this story, she decided to change something.

    ¡°It is said that the girl lost her war and that, in the end, enough survived.¡±

    She lifted her little puppet in her hands.

    The fire roared, a distant memory of the Kupala Night bonfire coming to Alice¡¯s mind, and she threw her creation into it.

    The flames roared even higher.

    She smiled.

    And everyone who sat or stood in that clearing knew that she was telling the truth.

    That night, the first domovoi of many woke up in one of the homes in that village in the mountains. Many would do the same soon afterwards.

 Chapter 34: Meeting a Dwarf

    The first day of winter Liam woke up to the sound of cheering and song.

    Of course he didn¡¯t know it was the first day of winter. For him the cold season had started two weeks ago with the need for heavier clothes and heating stones, something he had never known he¡¯d needed in his life until he had. Apparently he¡¯d found out that there were also chilling stones that people used during summer, but he¡¯d never gotten to use them, what with him arriving only by the end of it.

    Slowly, groggily, his brain numbed by artificial fog, he reached up to his neck and took off the necklace he was wearing. Immediately his mind began clearing up, his thoughts becoming straighter and faster.

    Sometimes he missed being able to dream, but then he remembered what the [Dreams Painted Red] were like and thought better of it. There were more important things in this world than dreams. Like his work, his project, food, his sanity, Amari - he blocked that thought off, his cheeks coloring slightly - and finding out why people seemed so happy at¡­ he checked the clock on the wall of his room and saw it was six in the morning.

    He slowly crawled out of bed and left his room, being careful to not walk anywhere near any furniture, right in the middle of the room where a safe corridor led to the door. Sure, the base of everything here was padded to reduce the pain, but even that only numbed it slightly if you rammed full force with your pinky finger into it. He¡¯d found that out the hard way. It was amazing how many little things one had to look out for when luck was literally against you in every waking moment.

    Opening his door, the first thing he saw was Sigmund standing by one of the window walls which was now, surprisingly, open on a hinge he¡¯d never seen. The cold air from outside didn¡¯t get in though, thanks to some kind of enchantment or something like that. It was too early in the morning to think thoughts more complex than ¡®I want coffee¡¯. Coffee which he¡¯d managed to get his hands on, at a high price, after he¡¯d found out through some research that a [Druid] from  the Kingdom of Occultism (which, by the way, was one of the coolest names he¡¯d ever heard) on Irevia.

    He padded close to Sigmund and looked out at a crowd of people in the distance cheering some soldiers who were doing what looked like a procession.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± he asked, completely forgetting his manners.

    Sigmund answered him without looking away: ¡°It¡¯s the first day of winter, which means all the [Soldiers] are coming back home to rest.¡±

    Liam frowned: ¡°Not that I¡¯m sad about it, but all of them?¡±

    ¡°Yup.¡±

    ¡°Then what if the enemy attempts to attack us back?¡±

    ¡°The enemy would greatly regret it.¡±

    The lizardman finally turned away from the window and looked him in the eyes: ¡°You know, the Law. Did you forget?¡±

    Liam panicked internally, somehow managing to keep his face straight while doing so, and shrugged: ¡°I¡­ never really gave it much thought.¡±

    Sigmund frowned slightly, muttering: ¡°You must¡¯ve come from a quiet peaceful place then.¡±

    Then he shrugged and explained, his voice back to normal, as he went back to look out of the window. Liam noticed how hard he was gripping the glass.

    ¡°It¡¯s a quite old Law. [No War Shall Be Fought In Winter]. Story goes, it was the Musician, you know the one, the one from the saying ¡®to go musician¡¯, who decided that wars shouldn¡¯t ever be fought during winter and went around until his last breath to be a pain in the ass of any and every nation that decided to fight from the moment the first snowflakes fell.

    ¡°He died on a battlefield but the System recognized his strength of will or something like that, and now we have this Law. If you ask me, it¡¯s a blessing. It means that for three months, each year, my daughter doesn¡¯t have to risk her life.¡±

    Liam nodded: he¡¯d long since decided to take in stride any kind of strangeness he found out about anything in this world. But then something began nagging at him: ¡°Wait, but how can we be sure that people are following this Law?¡±

    And at that Sigmund laughed: ¡°You¡¯re seriously asking that? We¡¯re talking about a fucking Law Liam. Something on the same level as the Laws the gods put unto reality when they made Creation. Things like gravity, the fact that we breathe air. It¡¯s a Law, of course it¡¯s followed. Soldiers all over the world would sooner start a revolution and dethrone their kings than go against that Law. And even if, for some reason, someone managed to start a war, the Musician would come to greet them rather¡­ coldly, shall we say.¡±

    He shivered: ¡°I¡¯ve seen recordings of what happened the last time someone started a war in winter. Only thing I want to say is, apparently, there are much worse destinies than death.¡±

    Then his smile came back, showing off some of his sharp looking teeth, and he kept on looking out the window.

    And Liam? He just went to the kitchen and began prepping breakfast, because winter or not, war or not, he had work to do that day, and doing it on an empty stomach wouldn¡¯t be good.

    Fifteen minutes later he and Sigmund were sitting at the kitchen table, forks and knives in hand, slowly and diligently, one might say even mechanically, eating. Liam hadn¡¯t noticed it, but he was taking on some of the lizardman¡¯s habits, such as his way of eating like every piece was supposed to count, could be the last he ever ate.

    Then they sat on the couch doing nothing in particular until eight in the morning, when they both rose (in synchronicity) from their resting positions and walked down into the lab.

    Twenty minutes later a pink line of smoke rose from the second chimney over their house-workshop. It steadily grew in dimensions, the output of smoke getting greater and greater, until exactly one minute and twenty two seconds after the beginning of this strange phenomenon the front door of the shop opened and a screaming Liam and Sigmund were ejected.

    Ten seconds later all over the city a sound not unlike that made by the strange new items used by the kingdom¡¯s [Knights], the ones that exploded, could be heard everywhere in the city.

    Somehow, the shop wasn¡¯t obliterated.

    <hr>

    ¡°How many times has this happened?¡± asked Liam as he rummaged around the ruins of the laboratory. Luckily for¡­ probably the whole city, Sigmund had the Skill [Isolate Room]. The laboratory, however big it was, was still one room, which meant the Skill applied to it. He¡¯d also used his [Emergency Escape] Skill, which was how they¡¯d managed to get out of the lab as fast as they had without the protective gear. Yes, because apparently the Skill was thoughtful enough to remove clothing in case it had been somehow contaminated. Which was good, because they had no idea if they¡¯d actually been.

    ¡°The laboratory exploding because I mixed together in an airtight glass bubble a mandrake¡¯s scream, an ice elemental¡¯s core, the tarot of the Lovers and a small amount of mythril powder? This was the first time. The laboratory exploding because of me mixing together random things to see if an interesting potion or item can come out? A few times. The laboratory exploding in general? Try asking the neighbors, maybe one of them kept count.¡±

    ¡°I thought you made safety procedures to make sure this didn¡¯t happen.¡±

    Sigmund shook his index finger left and right, a difficult task considering he was wearing heavy duty leather gloves that would make a blacksmith proud, but his heart was in it: ¡°Nah ah ah, I made my procedures to make sure the people working were safe. The working environment is kept safe as a consequence, not as a principle. But you know what they say, can¡¯t create something new without exploding a few times.¡±

    Liam raised an eyebrow as he found a glass flask in pristine condition and, after examining it for a few seconds through thick glass goggles to make sure there were no bubbles or cracks, put it together with the rest of the items he¡¯d salvaged.

    ¡°How many new things have you made in all these years Sigmund?¡±

    ¡°Enough to make me see that this method worked,¡± answered the lizardman with a big smile.

    ¡°I can agree with him. My teacher too, for the matter,¡± said a third, unexpected voice coming from the entrance of the laboratory.

    The two of them turned towards it and there, rummaging through the safety equipment lockers, was a small man with the bushiest beard Liam had ever seen. When he looked away from the locker he was holding a small set of leather armor, but what striked Liam more were his eyes: red as the setting sun. His face was signed by laugh lines and his dark red hair was singed off in a few places, as if he¡¯d just come out of an explosion himself.

    ¡°Hello, pleasure to meet you. The name¡¯s Gaius and I¡¯m miss Bevia¡¯s apprentice. Or rather, was. I graduated. One of the few people who managed to too. The woman¡¯s a devil straight from Airm, and I see where she got that from. Or rather, who.¡±

    He finished putting on the equipment, which seemed to fit him like a glove, although he frowned at the pants: ¡°This belt needs a few extra holes,¡± he muttered to himself as he tightened it as much as he could.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± asked Liam, clearly confused.

    ¡°Helping out, naturally. Us [Crafters] got to help each other, and you lot seem to need a lot of help.¡±

    He looked around and, after a moment, chose a pile of ruined¡­ something, Liam couldn¡¯t tell for certain what it had been, and began rummaging. A moment later he came up with something, looked at it, nodded, and put it to the side.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    And then, as if by silent agreement, they all went back to work as if nothing strange had happened. Because that was what true [Crafters] did, the kind who shared the knowledge of their creations, without keeping secrets, to help the world make even a single step forward. So much had been lost, so much was yet to be discovered.

    It took them an hour to finish their scavenging, after which they all took the items they¡¯d found upstairs and sat in the kitchen with beers in front of them.

    ¡°So, Gaius right?¡± asked Sigmund.

    ¡°Yup!¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s my greatest student?¡±

    ¡°Bevia? When she heard I was coming here she ordered me to tell you this: ¡®I¡¯ve become better than you as both a [Researcher] and a [Teacher] and you can come suck my feathery ass. Lovingly, Beria¡¯.¡±

    Both the dwarf and the lizardman burst out laughing at that.

    ¡°She hasn¡¯t changed one bit.¡±

    ¡°As far as I know, no, she hasn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Got anything for me other than her message?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got an entire bag of holding of her stuff,¡± he said with a smile, unhooking one of two bags of holding on his sides and handing it over.

    ¡°Well now, I¡¯ll have to repay the kindness. Wait here for a moment while I go gather my stuff for her. Liam, do keep the beers coming. Anyone who¡¯s graduated from one of my graduates has got a right to that.¡±

    And with that, the lizardman stood and walked downstairs, where the items he was looking for were probably already waiting.

    Meanwhile, the dwarf kept on sipping.

    Until, finally, he spoke: ¡°You¡¯re Liam, right?¡±

    His tone was friendly, and he was smiling in satisfaction, although if that was for the beer or for meeting him, Liam couldn¡¯t tell.

    ¡°It¡¯s me, yes.¡±

    Gaius nodded: ¡°Ah, good good. So you¡¯re the boy who created black powder, am I right?¡±

    At that he froze in place, fear gripping his guts. Was this it? Was this the moment when someone would attempt to kill him for having brought something new and dangerous to this world?

    ¡°Oh don¡¯t worry boy, I ain¡¯t here to kill you. I¡¯m no [Assassin] or some such. Actually, I think you won¡¯t find a dwarven assassin¡­ anywhere in the world. We¡¯re too bulky for that,¡± he chuckled.

    Liam relaxed slightly, attempting to return the smile, and only managing a grimace.

    ¡°I¡¯m just impressed. I always thought us dwarves would be the only ones to ever think about mixing shit in a trough for a few months to get the required material for making the explosives. It¡¯s not exactly straightforward. So tell me: how did you come up with the idea?¡±

    For the second time that day Liam panicked internally, again somehow managing to keep it all from showing on the outside, or so he thought, because not a few moments later the dwarf nodded and raised a placating hand: ¡°Don¡¯t worry, there¡¯s no actual need to tell me. You can keep the secrets about your benefactor to yourself.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t have a benefactor,¡± said Liam before he could stop himself, his pride getting the best of his reason.

    The dwarf raised an eyebrow, then nodded, making a satisfied face: ¡°Welp, [Truth] Spell says you¡¯re not lying, same goes for my instincts. Which means you came up with the idea yourself. In which case, well, congratulations.¡±

    Liam¡¯s mind settled down at that and he managed to stutter out a ¡®Thank you¡¯ before he settled down in his chair.

    After an entire minute of this, with Sigmund downstairs still rummaging around and, one time, making something crush to the ground, to his great cursing, Liam finally asked: ¡°So, dwarves already know about gunp - black powder?¡±

    Gaius nodded: ¡°Oh, we do. We¡¯ve known about it for a long time. We use it to help in the mining operations, but other than that? We don¡¯t want to develop more technology around it, not anymore. We saw how badly that ended. We can see it now still, what with your [King] using it to make war upon all of Rodar.¡±

    Again, Liam began sweating: ¡°And¡­ you¡¯re not angry?¡±

    ¡°Not really, no. We always knew someone would else would come up with a recipe for it sooner or later. We¡¯re actually surprised it took this long, if you can believe it! But then, wars bring many kinds of ravages, and the worst of them are the ones that affect knowledge,¡± he sighed, and for a moment the dwarf appeared¡­ old. Much older than one would think, even considering his face.

    ¡°I do hope you¡¯ll keep creating though, Liam. Minds like yours, that can think outside the box, are rare. Nowadays it¡¯s all a ¡®The gods this¡¯ and ¡®the gods that¡¯ and ¡®the sacred scriptures¡¯ and such bullshit, and people forget that they have the ability to think. So please, boy, never change. That will make my next century much better.¡±

    And Liam choked on his beer, some of it trickling out of his nose.

    Gaius stood and strode over giving him a few good pats on the back and dislodging the liquid from his lungs, before going back to his seat.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s next?¡± he asked once Liam had gotten all the air he needed.

    ¡°What do you mean what¡¯s next?¡± he countered, his voice still slightly rough.

    ¡°I refuse to believe that a craftsman such as you, working with Sigmund, hasn¡¯t gotten some ideas for some half assed and most probably impossible project. Especially at your low Level.¡±

    ¡°Wait, you can see my Level?¡±

    ¡°Yup. [Appraisal] Spell. Looked down upon by most of the world, you¡¯ll never find a respectable [Mage] without it. You should ask Sigmund to teach you how to craft and Anti-[Appraisal] ring. Or, even better, a confound-[Appraisal] one, although those are much more complex.¡±

    Liam put his head in his hands and sighed dejectedly. Why did every single person he met have to be so strange? Just why?!

    ¡°Come on boy! I¡¯m curious. And two brains are better than one.¡±

    Indeed, two brains were better than one, but he had Sigmund for that. Who was to say that this dwarf wouldn¡¯t steal his ideas after they¡¯d talked?

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t steal your idea boy. Yes, I can see it in your eyes, I can¡¯t read minds. If it makes you feel better you can cast a [Truth Spell] on me.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t cast that, and I don¡¯t have an artifact for that with me.¡±

    The dwarf nodded and, after a moment of thought, slid a ring off his finger, handing it over: ¡°Take this then. A present. They¡¯re rather easy to make.¡±

    Liam observed the simple ring: it was clearly made from silver, which had been polished to a sheen, one might go as far as to say that it had been kept maniacally clean. A single clear stone had been set on top, a small mote of light seemingly trapped inside.

    ¡°You would give away a magical item¡­ just like that?¡±

    The dwarf shrugged: ¡°Meh, I have a spare. And as I said, they¡¯re rather easy to make. Also, you¡¯re going to need it in the future.¡±

    Liam gently took the ring in his hands and, after a moment of hesitation, slid it onto his middle finger. Then, out of the blue, he said: ¡°The sky is green.¡±

    Immediately the stone shone a bright red.

    ¡°My name is Liam Ray.¡±

    This time the stone shone green.

    And Gaius nodded, a small smile on his face: ¡°Very good, you even went as far as checking the merchandise. You¡¯d be surprised how many people don¡¯t do that. Here¡¯s a tip Liam: never trust [Merchants]. The best of them will sell good things at overly inflated prices, and the normal ones buy in bulk without checking too well on who¡¯s selling the stuff.¡±

    Liam frowned: ¡°Surely that¡¯s not all of them.¡±

    ¡°Of course not. That¡¯s just a majority. The fools have even forgotten half their language.¡±

    His frown deepened: ¡°Merchants have a language of their own.¡±

    ¡°Had,¡± corrected him Gaius, ¡°As I said, they forgot most of it. Which was supposed to be impossible. It was made by cobbling together all the languages in the world into a strange amalgama, a monstrosity that would make any [Scribe] shiver, but that somehow worked. They made it possible for everyone all over the world to sort of understand them. And to sort of understand each other. It never really took root, but the idea was good. A single, universal, language. It certainly would¡¯ve helped when I first started learning Rodarion to impress Bevia.¡±

    Liam smirked: ¡°Impress, eh?¡±

    ¡°Oh, absolutely, and especially in the way you¡¯re thinking. Sadly the girl is married to her job. Which is a shame, she¡¯s great company. Also, Rodarion was the best choice, since I¡¯ve yet to find a single harpy willing to teach their true language to an outsider.¡±

    Liam decided to file away that line of questioning for later.

    Then, finally, he asked: ¡°So you¡¯re not going to steal any of my ideas.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± he answered. The stone shone green.

    <hr>

    Sigmund found Liam and Gaius poring over his projects for the Gun-That-Fires-Endlessly (he was still working on a name, alright? And no, Infinigun did not sound good), throwing ideas at each other.

    ¡°I¡¯m telling you, you need a good power source.¡±

    ¡°But what am I going to use? Mana Gems are my best bet.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not going to have enough power.¡±

    ¡°So I¡¯ll just have to use more!¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll exhaust the charge and then you¡¯ll have to change them out, which would mean disassembling your whole weapon.¡±

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t I saturate the inside with mana?¡±

    ¡°Enough to keep the gems running? You¡¯d need a dragon¡¯s corpse for that.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t there anything less¡­ lethal?¡±

    ¡°Liam, we¡¯re talking about corpses of highly magical creatures. The more mana a living being absorbs, the more powerful it becomes. Especially monsters. Although in their case more mana means stranger bodies and mutations to bring you nightmares. So no Liam, there aren¡¯t many non-lethal options.¡±

    ¡°Actually,¡± interjected Sigmund, wiggling into the conversation, ¡°there is another way: condensing mana cores taken from particularly powerful monsters could potentially create a self-sustaining environment where excess mana is used to recharge the core. That¡¯s how they used to make golems, oh, I don¡¯t know, centuries ago?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but you try to find someone crazy enough to do that these days,¡± countered the dwarf.

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m pretty certain I¡¯d just need to ask Mountainhome. Surely there¡¯s got to be something there, right? After all, you dwarves manufacture most of the golems one can find around.¡±

    Suddenly Gaius became serious: ¡°The business of Mountainhome stays there. We use only what we can spare, and nothing more. You won¡¯t find sellers for what you¡¯re asking there.¡±

    Well, that is a scary face, thought Liam.

    Then he was back to normal and they went on to converse among themselves, throwing in ideas on what could be done. The problem of the power source for his weapon was put aside for the moment in favor of things like the best ways to use space inside the hole in reality where he would need to put all the workings of his project. Because yes, soon Sigmund would teach him how to make bags of holding, which would then allow him to finally actually start working on his project.

    They stayed like that for thirty more minutes before someone coughed and a voice Liam recognized said: ¡°Bookworms, the lot of you.¡±

    He turned around and was greeted by a smiling Amarie.

    ¡°I¡¯m home, dad.¡±

 Chapter 35: A Contract, Signed

    Liam and Amarie¡¯s eyes met across the dining room, her small, resigned and happy smile brightening the room and making him smile in turn.

    Sigmund, too, turned at the sound of his daughter¡¯s voice, beaming brighter than the sun as he jumped off his chair, wobbling a moment on his prosthetic leg, before running over and hugging her.

    ¡°Amarie, dear! What took you so long?¡±

    The [Knight Commander] hugged him back, closing her eyes as she savored the sensation of her father¡¯s warm scales through her civilian clothes.

    When, after a while, the moment ended, she extricated from him, who had meanwhile somehow managed to wrap his legs around his daughter¡¯s rather imposing body compared to him.

    ¡°The [King] made a speech, as he does every year, and it wouldn¡¯t be good for the commander of his [Knights] not to be there, together with all his officials.¡±

    Sigmund huffed somewhat like a child: ¡°Huff, that man and his speeches. What do they even matter! He¡¯ll be gone in a few decades at most.¡±

    Amarie chuckled and shook her head: ¡°Careful not to let anyone particularly sycophantic overhear you, dad, or you could find yourself with a blade in your gut.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll have to break through the safety enchantments first!¡±

    They both looked each other in the eyes.

    And then they broke into laughter, hugging again.

    ¡°I had missed you, dad.¡±

    ¡°Me too, little Amarillis.¡±

    She slapped him gently on the shoulder, making him wince: ¡°How many times do I have to tell you I hate that nickname?¡± she asked with a thunderous frown, which immediately broke upon seeing her father¡¯s raised, scaly, eyebrow, turning into chuckling.

    ¡°Alright, alright, call me what you want you scaly bastard.¡±

    Sigmund hmpfed and shook his head in fake outrage: ¡°Youth these days! In my day I¡¯d -¡±

    ¡°Please dad no,¡± she begged him, closing his jaws with a gentle hand, chuckling at his exaggerated outrage.

    Then they hugged for a third time, and stayed like that for a while.

    Throughout all that Gaius and Liam stared at the duo, feeling markedly out of place, slightly uncomfortable and guilty for observing something that was clearly a private moment.

    ¡°Are they always like this?¡± whispered the dwarf.

    ¡°I¡­ think so. I never really saw them being this close though.¡±

    Which was true. Whenever Amarie visited in the rare leaves from the army and the wars they¡¯d spend as much time as possible together, nearly glued to each other, but he¡¯d never really seen such displays of affection. Was it because she would be leaving in a short while and they didn¡¯t want to hurt each other? That was the only explanation that made sense to him.

    Finally, after a good minute of this, Amarie patted her dad on the shoulder and they separated, going back at the table. When they sat down Liam waved at her and she smiled warmly, waving back.

    ¡°Liam already knows her, but let me introduce her again: this is my daughter, Amarie, and she¡¯s the [Knight Commander] in our glorious king¡¯s army. You still are, right? No Class evolutions or anything?¡±

    She shook her head: ¡°I gained two Levels in this last month, but I didn¡¯t get any new Skills, and I¡¯m still very far from Level 40.¡±

    Sigmund waved her off: ¡°You¡¯re still young dear, got a whole life ahead of you to gain those Levels. You¡¯re already much higher Level than I was at your age and will probably soon surpass me.¡±

    ¡°Surpass you? You? You¡¯ve got to be kidding dad.¡±

    ¡°Yes dear, surpass. Your rate of growth has slowed, but it¡¯s still better than mine. It¡¯s been two years since I last gained a Level in my main Class.¡±

    She looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged: ¡°Comparing Levels is useless. Sooner or later I¡¯ll find something to help me Level up more.¡±

    Sigmund shook his head: ¡°That¡¯s the wrongest attitude you can have dear. One must hunt down the challenges they need to Level. A [Crafter] must create more and more complex things, a [Mage] must learn to cast stronger Spells, a [Fighter] must fight greater enemies. And, in your case, a [Knight] must win battles with more impossible odds each time.¡±

    He sighed, looking despondent for a moment, before smiling again, although this time there was no merriment in his expression: ¡°That¡¯s why most fighting Classes have such explosive growth in the beginning. When you¡¯re at the bottom finding people stronger than you is easy, but the more you grow the more difficult it gets, and the higher the stakes become.

    ¡°You¡¯re not nearly near the top Amarie, not by a long shot, but you¡¯ve reached the point where the stakes are getting pretty high. If you want to Level, you¡¯ll have to do things that will put your life at risk more than normal. That is, if you want to Level up fast and probably breach your Capstone. While if you keep doing things as you are now, well, you¡¯ll certainly keep Leveling, but you¡¯ll probably stop when you reach Level 39. Capstones are notoriously more difficult to breach than any other Level because they require something¡­ more.¡±

    The table went silent after that, everyone thinking about what Sigmund had just said.

    Then Gaius spoke: ¡°So that¡¯s who she learned that from.¡±

    ¡°You mean Bevia? Hah, that chick got sick of hearing me explain this back in the day. But it is an important lesson to learn.¡±

    At that Liam finally spoke again: ¡°Does that mean the things you¡¯ve been experimenting with aren¡¯t¡­ dangerous? Or important enough?¡±

    The lizardman made a so-so gesture: ¡°More or less¡­ probably. I think. I¡¯m not sure. The only people who try to understand the ways the System thinks are patented [Madmen] and [Philosophers].

    ¡°Still, yes, I think that my love for safety procedures and doing relatively safe experiments has stumped¡­ ha,¡± he wiggled around his prosthetic leg, ¡°my growth. Which is fine by me, my life is worth more than any Level I could gain.¡±

    He looked at Amarie, then up at the ceiling, and then smiled the saddest smile Liam had ever seen him do: ¡°Although I do have some plans for when my life will come near its end. I never wanted to go out the slow way. So, when the time comes, I¡¯ll go outside this city,¡± he shivered as those words left his mouth and Liam was certain that, had he had any hackles to speak of, they would¡¯ve raised, ¡°and do the unsafest tests I¡¯ve ever planned to, safety measures be damned to Airm and back. It will be a ¡®succeed and Level, or die¡¯ situation.¡±

    Amarie immediately opened her mouth to protest, but was shushed by the lizardman this time, who put a finger on her lips: ¡°No protests Amarie. These are the wishes of a will-be-dying man. I know you don¡¯t like the idea, and I know you find it hurtful, but that¡¯s what I wish to do. I¡¯ve strived all my life to recover as much lost knowledge as I possibly could or to outright create something new, and I¡¯ll keep doing it until the very end.¡±

    And with that silence fell on the room like a heavy, wet, too clingy blanket. Because what could you say to that? Liam would¡¯ve liked to call what had just been told to him suicide, but Sigmund had many Levels: there was a good chance that, if he ever did something that crazy, he¡¯d¡­ how did people call it? Ah, right, Counter Level.

    Still, it was¡­ a very grim way to go.

    ¡°Anyways,¡± continued Sigmund, clapping his hands to break the silence abruptly, ¡°In all of this I forgot to ask you, Gaius: why are you here?¡±

    The dwarf looked at the lizardman strangely, before he registered the question and coughed into his fist, his beard hiding his blush: ¡°Ah, yes, that, I came for two reasons. The first was to speak with your apprentice here, which I already did; the second is a bit more personal: under Bevia¡¯s suggestion, and with her blessing, I¡¯d like to stay here and work with you as a researcher.¡±

    Sigmund nodded and motioned for him to continue.

    ¡°You see, I am, at heart, a [Crafter], and while miss Bevia taught me all she knew on that front, all that she had learned from you, she¡¯s changed her focus from crafting artifacts to crafting and researching new Spells.¡±

    ¡°Look how the mighty have fallen,¡± said Sigmund with a chuckle, putting a hand to his heart.

    The dwarf smiled: ¡°Yes, well, she¡¯s better at that actually. She still hasn¡¯t stopped making magical items, even some artifact grade ones, but she finds spellwork to be more challenging now.¡±

    Sigmund¡¯s smile only grew upon hearing this and he pointed at Gaius, looking at his daughter as he said: ¡°See? This is what I meant when I talked about looking for challenges.¡±

    Amarie sighed: ¡°I can¡¯t exactly change my job dad.¡±

    ¡°Never said that. Truth be told, I don¡¯t know what you should do to look for more challenges, I was just making an example. I¡¯d like to be more helpful, but¡­ I just don¡¯t know how. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry dad.¡±

    Sigmund nodded and turned back to Gaius, his expression thoughtful. He squinted, trying to see¡­ something, Liam couldn¡¯t tell.

    ¡°Alright Gaius, you¡¯re in, mainly because I know Bevia wouldn¡¯t give her blessings out so willy nilly.¡±

    Gaius raised a bushy eyebrow and looked right at the lizardman, completely unconvinced: ¡°You saw I wasn¡¯t lying thanks to that ring on your hand right?¡±

    He shook his head: ¡°Actually, I contacted Bevia while I was down there ¡®looking for stuff¡¯. She confirmed what you said.¡±

    ¡°Message Scroll?¡±

    ¡°Message Scroll,¡± he confirmed.

    And all the while Liam and Amarie kept looking from one person to the other, finding the conversation mildly entertaining.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°You got somewhere to stay?¡± asked Sigmund.

    ¡°I¡¯ve rented a home down the street from an old lady who wanted the money to ¡®leave this blasted continent¡¯. Apparently her bones can¡¯t take any more falls.¡±

    ¡°Ah, granny Winnow. Poor old lady, so the accident prevention rings I gave her aren¡¯t enough anymore? I¡¯ll miss her cookies.¡±

    ¡°On that front, she said that she was grateful that you gave them to her free of charge. She also said that she wouldn¡¯t insult you by giving it back.¡±

    Sigmund chuckled: ¡°That old canny woman, I really will miss her. I¡¯ve lost count of how many hours she spent rummaging around my shop trying to find interesting trinkets. Do you remember her Amarie?¡±

    The girl nodded and smiled: ¡°I distinctly remember her telling me that I¡¯d sooner burn down half the continent before I managed to cook anything other than charcoal.¡±

    Father and daughter exploded into laughter and suddenly the atmosphere became all the lighter.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to go invite her here for a goodbye meal. It¡¯s the least I can do.¡±

    ¡°You just want to try to extort the recipe for her cookies,¡± she countered.

    ¡°That is the second reason. Imagine just what I could do with that kind of power! I could conquer the world with the power of crispy chocolate cookies.¡±

    And from there the conversation developed in a series of stories told and anecdotes told by everyone at the table, all while Liam just sat and listened, for he felt that all of his experiences could never compare to their lifetimes. After all, he¡¯d not been anyone special back on Earth. Truly, he¡¯d been your typical, average, guy.

    A little mr nobody who¡¯d never amount to much more than a family man working as an employee for your typical big company. Not a bad life, all in all, but not a special one too. Here though? He could become so much more. The possibilities were endless.

    And he realized that only then, while listening to a lizardman telling about some particularly spectacular failures in his experiments, a dwarf recounting how airmish his training under Bevia had been and a woman he¡¯d fallen for head over heels talking about the funniest things her unit of [Knights] had done. He hadn¡¯t understood just how many possibilities he had even after he¡¯d started working on his gun, even after speaking with a literal god. Because his mind was still back on Earth, still with ideas from back there, ideas on how little he counted, ideas on how he would become just a small gear in a great machine that wouldn¡¯t even hiccup if he suddenly disappeared.

    He mattered here!

    He could become someone!

    So he smiled, and, for the first time in what he understood had been years, felt truly free.

    <hr>

    It was later, in the night, that the thing he had expected least of all happened.

    Gaius had left for the night to go to his room in that old woman¡¯s house: apparently she would be leaving in three days (for good fortune), but she¡¯d still given him the guest room. Sigmund had gone off to bed himself. Apparently the lizardman snored very loudly, but the soundproofing of the walls was top notch.

    He, too, was about to put on his pendant and fall asleep, when someone knocked on his door.

    ¡°Come in,¡± he said.

    The door opened without a creak and in walked Amarie, her face schooled into a serious expression as she stepped inside dramatically¡­ and promptly stubbed her toe into the leg of his table.

    Huh, strange. I don¡¯t remember it being there this morning.

    Amarie promptly started cursing as she lost her balance and began falling face first towards Liam. He stared at her transfixed as he saw her move in slow motion, his body reacting before his mind could, moving on an instinct that had been born on that battlefield, and dodging out of her way, leaving an empty stretch of bed for her to land on.

    Idiot idiot idiot! he shouted at himself, I should¡¯ve let her fall on me.

    That could¡¯ve been romantic.

    Instead Amarie fell face first in his sheets and groaned: ¡°I hate Rodar.¡±

    And since Liam was a dumbass, he said: ¡°Could¡¯ve been worse. You could¡¯ve fallen onto the floor.¡±

    She turned her head and glared at him, before slowly standing up to sit by his side on the bed.

    ¡°Liam, I wanted to ask you something.¡±

    Uh oh, worried Liam, wondering if he¡¯d done something wrong.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    Amarie sat there in silence for a while, looking at the wall in front of her, biting her lip for a single moment before she could catch herself, and then, finally, sighing.

    ¡°Well, two somethings, really.¡±

    ¡°...Alright? I¡¯m all ears,¡± he had no idea what to think right now. She seemed far more serious than usual, and far more worried than he¡¯d ever seen her.

    They stayed like that, in complete silence, as Amarie opened her mouth only to close it again and again, the questions on her lips, right on the tip of her tongue, but her courage leaving her every single time. All the while Liam felt like his heart wanted to jump out of his chest, into his throat and out his mouth, ready to go on a great adventure out in the wide open world and probably get squashed by a passing horse.

    He looked at her.

    She turned and saw him looking, a slight blush creeping to her cheeks, as she went back to looking at a particularly interesting spot on the wall.

    Silence reigned over the room for a while more.

    Then they both snapped.

    ¡°Amarie, I wanted to ask you if you¡¯d like to go out with me.¡±

    ¡°Liam, would you be interested in dating me?¡±

    They both blurted out at the same time, so fast they barely understood each other. Barely, but enough.

    They looked at each other and both blushed like little virgins but gods dammit they¡¯d finally done it! Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to watch a couple run in circles around each other for an entire fucking book and a half?

    And maybe I should stop breaking the fourth wall: reality can take only so many hits before it collapses in on itself.

    *Distant sound of crashing items*

    Liam and Amarie looked each other in the eyes, a tempest of emotions swirling in them: uncertainty, desire, affection, fear, doubt and, finally, acceptance.

    Then they lined into each other and kissed.

    And the world was a better place for it.

    <hr>

    ¡°What was the other thing you wanted to ask?¡±

    That was Liam, who was currently sitting on his bed, an arm around Amarie¡¯s waist, her head propped on his shoulder.

    No, they hadn¡¯t done anything other than kiss: it didn¡¯t feel right in the moment. A decision I¡¯m prone to agree with. But they knew, now, that they¡¯d fallen in love with each other, and that was what mattered, what would always matter.

    So they sat, huddled together, feeling the warmth of their bodies and wondering, a bit, how, and why, they¡¯d fallen for each other. They hadn¡¯t spent that much time together, and she was away for months on end because of the wars, and yet¡­ here they were. Smiling and cuddling, feeling ten years younger.

    At that question Amarie became nervous again, shifting slightly in her comfortable position that was turning Liam¡¯s arm slightly insensitive, before she answered: ¡°Do you remember the contracts the First Dealmaker gave you a few months ago?¡±

    How could he have ever forgotten them? The idea of what those many pages meant sent shivers down his spine every time he thought about them. He¡¯d even tried to get rid of them by throwing them out of the city into a river, but by the time he¡¯d come back to Sigmund¡¯s shop he¡¯d found them in pristine condition right on his desk, a simple note on top of the bound pages: ¡®A Deal is a Deal. You may not get rid of them. Love, Mina!¡¯

    He¡¯d also tried to burn them, but the contracts hadn¡¯t even crisped up in the flames of the kitchen¡¯s cooking fire.

    ¡°Yes, I remember them,¡± he answered, turning his head to look Amarie in the eyes, ¡°Why?¡±

    She didn¡¯t answer immediately, instead going back to staring at the same spot in the wall from before. Liam was pretty certain the paint was beginning to peel away.

    Then: ¡°I¡¯d like to sign that contract, Liam.¡±

    And that, ladies and gentlemen, was when a ghost decided to hit Liam¡¯s thoughts with a sledgehammer and send them careening off into the distance, leaving behind only emptiness, which took the form of the boy¡¯s face going slightly slack.

    Amarie giggled at that.

    ¡°A - Are you¡­ Amarie wha - Why?¡±

    The woman, the girl¡­ Liam actually realized he¡¯d never asked her age. A good move on his side, it showed he had some good self preservation instincts, but it still left him that great, nagging, question. He¡¯d ask her father tomorrow. Oh gods, he was already hearing the jabbing and the insinuations, followed by jokes, soon after probably followed by the father act of ¡®What you do to her I¡¯ll do to you twice as much¡¯ or something along those lines.

    Anyways, for all his attempts to not think about the thing Amarie wanted to do, she snapped him out of his reverie by speaking: ¡°I¡­ I fear I¡¯m going to die soon, Liam. Nobody¡¯s talking about it, but the war is getting tougher. Nations are banding together against ours and every battle we fight feels more and more like something we win by, and I know this makes no sense on Rodar, sheer luck. The enemies make small mistakes and we manage to use them, or we¡¯re in a strategically better position, and still we¡¯re barely winning. Losses are mounting, Liam and I¡­¡±

    She stopped, her eyes downcast now, and she hugged him with an arm of her own.

    ¡°I fear I¡¯m going to die, Liam. I fear that at some point I¡¯ll be the one to make a mistake and then it¡¯ll all be over. But I don¡¯t want it to be.¡±

    She sighed: ¡°I know it¡¯s cowardly, but¡­ I want a second chance. A possibility to start anew if worst comes to worst.¡±

    What could you say to that?

    Apparently, the right thing: ¡°It¡¯s not cowardly to fear death. I¡¯ve been fearing it ever since I was on that battlefield, and I don¡¯t fight a war on a weekly basis.¡±

    That got a chuckle out of her: ¡°Thank you.¡±

    They stayed in silence some more. A companionable silence filled with worry and thoughts, but also gratefulness and¡­ love? They both weren¡¯t certain of that last one. Was it love or infatuation? How could they be certain? Or were they already?

    So many questions. Stupid questions, one might say, and that one would be wrong, or never felt true love. True love is a constant question, and the answer to it is always ¡®yes¡¯. The problem, unlike with many things in life, is getting to know the question, or questions, and having the courage to give that answer: yes.

    In this case, though, the question was simple: will you let me bind myself, body and soul, to you for the rest of your life?

    And for the third time that evening, Liam did the right thing. A very auspicious thing, that: three times. Three. A small, magical, number that shouldn¡¯t have meant anything in this world. A number which meaning had been brought here from outside, changed by the voyage into something else entirely. Still, it remembered its original purpose.

    ¡°If you want, then¡­ let¡¯s do it. Let¡¯s sign that contract.¡±

    From underneath the bed, Liam took out a small bundle of papers, still in their wrapping paper and bound in red string. He slowly, hesitantly, even reverentially, opened the package and took out a single page.

    The words looked like they were written in perfect english to him, but Amarie could still read them, which led Liam to think that there were some Skill shenanigans involved.

    And he wouldn¡¯t have been wrong, for the First Dealmaker had a very simple Skill from the days before she¡¯d become one with a devil: [All-Language Contracts].

    They read over the simple terms of the contract together one last time, read about what would happen to Amarie¡¯s soul, which would be stored inside Liam¡¯s body until an ¡®acceptable receptacle was provided¡¯. They read over the consequences for not providing such a service, which were the complete annihilation of Liam¡¯s soul.

    And finally, they read the most important word at the bottom: ¡®Signed¡¯.

    Two neat lines had been traced underneath it.

    ¡°[Summon Pen],¡± whispered Liam, and a long, probably duck¡¯s, pen appeared from thin air in his hand, a small amount of ink on the tip. The ink was new: originally, the pen had been just that, but apparently Skills upgraded themselves in small ways after enough Levels were gained, so now he had ink as well.

    Slowly, his hand shaking slightly, Liam signed his name on the first line, leaving a small blot of ink at the end.

    Then he passed both items to Amarie, who, without any hesitation, signed her own name at the bottom.

    ¡­

    Nothing changed.

    Outwardly, that is.

    But had someone been there, someone with true [Mana Sight], someone like Isse with her ability to see the threads that connected people, then she would¡¯ve seen that the simple red thread of destiny between Liam and Amarie had thickened and wrapped around both of them, binding them together in a bond that nothing could¡¯ve broken ever again.

    When enough time had passed the two youths kissed, laid on the bed, and cuddled together until they fell asleep.

 Chapter 36: First Attempts

    The next morning Liam woke up in bed with Amarie being, of all things, the little spoon.

    Turning around he threw an arm around her, hugging her tight and causing her to twitch in her sleep. A moment later she opened her eyes wide, looking around the room nearly with panic, until she realized where she was and calmed down.

    ¡°Morning¡¯;¡± she mumbled, already beginning to get up, to Liam¡¯s great sadness. He would¡¯ve rather stayed in bed a while more but he knew perfectly well there was work to do.

    Then he remembered the laboratory had exploded the day prior and realized that there probably wouldn¡¯t be much to work with. Surprisingly most of the glassware had survived, what with it being made from dwarven volcanic glass (apparently the sands around the Arborges Mountains, especially near the Burntear volcano, were black and filled with minerals that the crafty smaller folk somehow managed to turn into highly resistant glass) enchanted with some of the best enchantments money could buy (that wouldn¡¯t interfere with the reactions happening inside the glassware, because that was a thing, as Sigmund had shown him when they¡¯d started his training). Most of the things made out of metal though hadn¡¯t survived the explosion, being bent or melted by the mixture of wild magic and chemical substances that had spilled from their containers. Because, again, mana had the ability to enhance pretty much anything it came in contact with¡­ in very unpredictable ways.

    ¡°Morning,¡± he said back with a smile, which was mirrored back once her groggy eyes noticed it.

    Her hand reached up to his neck and gingerly removed the necklace he wore each night to stop  his nightmares, causing his mind to slowly start coming back.

    ¡°Breakfast?¡± asked Amarie.

    ¡°Breakfast,¡± he answered.

    They left the room at the same time. A big mistake, because Sigmund saw them.

    The lizardman, at first, looked extremely confused, then his eyes began getting bigger and bigger until they reminded him of saucers. Finally, his mouth began stretching into a toothy smile that made it absolutely clear just how much he would be ribbing them for this.

    ¡°Dad please -¡±

    ¡°Sigmund, for the love of all that is ho -¡±

    They tried to stop the incoming disaster, but it was already too late: the gunpowder had been set on fire, the heat already causing its explosive reaction, and no amount of water being dunked over it could stop it anymore.

    Sigmund opened his mouth and Amarie, in a desperate attempt to stop whatever was coming, grabbed the nearest thing she could find and threw it at the lizardman. That thing wound up being Liam. He felt himself being lifted from the ground and, a moment later, being thrown bodily towards his teacher, probably all with the help of a Skill. The whole action took no more than five tenths of a second, the flight itself two seconds.

    He crashed into the lizardman and half expected to hear a cartoony sound effect from M???i???c???k???e???y??? ???M???o???u???s???e???¡¯???s??? ???S???t???e???a???m???b???o???a???t??? ???W???i???l???l???i???e??? or something like that. Instead the only sounds that could be heard were the oompf of air leaving both of their lungs as they crash landed on the floor.

    Sigmund¡¯s eyes rolled back inside his head for a moment, his prosthetic leg popping off silently, then he blinked and looked Liam right in the eyes, his smile coming back.

    ¡°Welp, took you two long enough.¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°So you already knew,¡± asked Liam at the table, holding a piece of frozen¡­ krimou, right, that¡¯s what those strange hybrid cows were called, to his head, where a big bump was slowly attempting to form.

    ¡°I¡¯m many things Liam: a genius inventor, a great commercialist, an even better shopkeeper, but first and foremost, I¡¯m a father. And I¡¯m also not blind, not for lack of attempts on the part of my experiments. I clearly saw how you two were looking at each other for the past three months or so. I say, youth these days. Back in my day -¡±

    ¡°Dad,¡± calmly said Amarie in a very threatening tone.

    Apparently, though, the lizardman¡¯s brain had been slightly scrambled by the last hit, or he had a lot more courage in him than he let on, because he continued: ¡°- we would start courtship as soon as possible, not wait until destiny and hormones had their course.¡±

    ¡°Dad! We didn¡¯t -¡±

    ¡°I said the same thing to my parents when I did it back in the day, Amarie dear. Worry not, I¡¯m not against it. I actually think you two make a great couple! And don¡¯t worry about making too much noise, the walls were soundproofed for a reason.¡±

    The [Knight Commander], victor of dozens of battles, found herself at a loss in front of her father¡¯s absolute frankness and total misunderstanding. She attempted to default to the ¡®throw something at him¡¯ reaction, but found out that Sigmund had taken away everything from the table they were talking at, and Liam had conspicuously moved out of easy grabbing range. She was, of course, extremely embarrassed by her reaction a few minutes prior, but couldn¡¯t deny to herself that it had been satisfying on a deeply visceral level.

    ¡°Sigmund, for the last time, we did nothing tonight. We only cuddled.¡±

    The lizardman looked at them completely horrified, putting a hand over his heart: ¡°Cu - Cu - Cuddling?¡± he said, stuttering, ¡°You mean¡­ the obscene act second only to hand holding in obsceneness?¡±

    Liam and Amarie slapped their foreheads at the same time.

    ¡°Is that even a word? Obsceneness?¡± asked Liam, trying desperately to divert the conversation to something, anything, else.

    Sigmund shrugged: ¡°I have no idea. Maybe? You tell me.

    ¡°Anyways, don¡¯t try to shift the subject around like you did with my leg a few minutes ago. I¡­¡±

    He stopped, his expression turning slightly more serious, although he was still smiling slightly in happiness.

    ¡°I approve of this. You two, I mean. You make a good couple. Liam, you¡¯re kind and have a good head on your shoulders, which you will need to keep this dumbass,¡± he pointed to Amarie, ¡°alive. And you, Amarie, have the biggest heart this world has ever known. Your head¡¯s not screwed in as well as I¡¯d like it to since you want to fight in these wars so much, but you¡¯re brave, and you know when to stop.

    ¡°So yeah, go ahead. I won¡¯t interfere or stop you two. You can go bonk in the night as much as you¡¯d like.¡±

    That final sentence would¡¯ve caused Liam to spit water from his mouth had he been drinking any, but luckily Sigmund had had the presence of mind to take away his glass of water before saying all of this.

    ¡°Now, you two have two days to spend together, enough time for me to contact some people and get the lab back in shape. I¡¯m warning you, Liam, next thing on the list for you to learn is how to craft bags of holding. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be able to apply the concept for that weapon of yours as well.¡±

    With that the lizardman stood from his chair, wobbling on his prosthetic leg that had been reattached wrong apparently, settled said prosthetic right onto the stump of his leg, and walked towards the stairs leading down into the shop.

    A few seconds later he came back.

    ¡°Forgot breakfast?¡± asked Liam, although it wasn¡¯t really a question.

    ¡°Forgot breakfast.¡±

    They ordered food from the nearby bar because nobody was in the mood to cook.

    <hr>

    Two wonderful days later Liam was standing in a freshly renovated laboratory, wearing his old safety equipment, a dwarf by his side doing the same.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t your beard at risk of catching on fire?¡± asked Liam, who¡¯d had the displeasure of having his hair nearly catch on fire.

    ¡°Nah, I¡¯ve got a special balm to make it flameproof,¡± said the dwarf as he surreptitiously caressed his big beard.

    ¡°Nothing magical in that balm I hope,¡± said Sigmund.

    ¡°Nah, only the blood of a Spitter Lizard from back home mixed together with some reagents. Nothing magical to it, only alchemy.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Ah, [Alchemists] and their ilk, they¡¯re greedier than dragons,¡± sighed Sigmund before clapping his hands together and walking into the newly renovated room.

    ¡°Alright then, let us start with the lessons on crafting bags of holding.

    ¡°Now, there are around a dozen possible concepts for these little delights, all of them different in both complexity and costs. The most common and, by far, most beloved one, is one where we create space inside a normal bag, making a non-geometrical space, bind it to the opening, and then test out how much it can hold by throwing random stuff in until nothing more can fit. It¡¯s fun, easy and, most importantly, very cost effective, although it¡¯s quite¡­ random, yes, that would be the best word for it.

    ¡°Another method, which would be the second most popular, and by far also the most expensive one, is to create a space on our level of reality and then miniaturize it to fit inside a normal bag of holding, applying a miniaturization spell on the opening to make anything you put inside fit. The biggest problem with that is that mass is conserved, which means that you must also apply some enchantments to reduce weight, or, even better, something to fight the pull of gravity. As you can well imagine it¡¯s a lot more expensive.¡±

    Liam frowned: ¡°Then why would it be so popular? I imagine only a noble could afford something like that.¡±

    Sigmund nodded: ¡°And you¡¯d be imagining right! The average price for a bag of holding of that sort goes around three thousand gold coins, and that¡¯s only for the smallest ones. The bigger they get the more expensive they become. But, they have an advantage compared to the first kind: if shit hits the fan and the enchantments stop working you¡¯ll only find yourself on top of a room full of objects with a bump here and there.

    ¡°Meanwhile, if the enchantments of the stitching of a bag of holding from the first category is damaged or stops working, well, as I said, the space we put inside is non-geometrical. It shouldn¡¯t exist. Which means that, the moment the enchantment fails, the space inside the bag will go back to not existing, and rather implosively at that.¡±

    ¡°Implosively?¡± asked Liam with an ever deepening frown.

    ¡°It means,¡± said Gaius, ¡°that, best case scenario, the bag will be gone with everything it contained. At worst, it¡¯ll take a chunk out of your leg or wherever you¡¯re keeping the bag, probably killing you in the process.¡±

    Sigmund piped up, adding: ¡°A few years back a Kingdom right here in Rodar attempted to weaponize this concept, but failed miserably because the only bags of holding that could do that were ones with a lot of space inside. Afterwards he tried to sabotage every bag of holding in his enemy¡¯s army, and succeeded greatly, winning the war by impoverishing the enemy kingdom with the loss of equipment that had to be bought anew.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t they turn it into a war crime afterwards though?¡± asked Gaius with a frown.

    ¡°Oh absolutely! The king, though, didn¡¯t care, so the College got involved, and now that kingdom is no more,¡± agreed the lizardman.

    Liam raised a hand and Sigmund nodded his way: ¡°If those bags of holding are so dangerous, then why do people keep buying them? Why are they even the most popular solution?!¡±

    He shrugged: ¡°Making them doesn¡¯t cost much, which means buying them is easy enough and affordable for pretty much anyone. And the best solution to the problem of an enchantment failing is to do the one thing everyone should always do. Maintenance. Just go to the first two copper [Mage] in a Mage¡¯s Guild you can find and ask them to check the enchantments. They can easily repair any damage for a small fee.¡±

    That explained a lot of things.

    ¡°Now, you should already know this Gaius, but I¡¯m explaining all this for Liam who hasn¡¯t.¡±

    The dwarf nodded in understanding.

    ¡°As I said, the idea behind bags of holding is simple enough. The way one actually makes them, now, that¡¯s another pair of trousers altogether.¡±

    At both of his students¡¯ mighty frowns he sighed: ¡°What? You think ¡®Pair of trousers¡¯ doesn¡¯t fit?¡±

    They both nodded.

    ¡°Well, you can kindly fuck off. I¡¯m the teacher, I talk however I want. Now, as I was saying, making bags of holding is complex.

    ¡°In case of the non-geometrical ones, we need to perform a Spell, or rite if you prefer, that will open up a tear in reality towards another plane of existence from which a random amount of space will be harvested depending on a lot of different factors, chief among which is the amount of mana imbued in the Spell circle, followed by mana density in the area, followed by, and no, I¡¯m not shitting you, the day of the week, and finally influenced, in small amounts, by any items you may have decided to throw into the opening before the Spell could cut away that bit of reality. Yes Liam?¡±

    ¡°The day of the week?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you asked. Yes, apparently doing this Spell during a Grasei will result in a smaller space being harvested, while for some reason during Felsei you¡¯ll end up with more space. Another good alternative is to do it on a Cremei. Never, and I underline never, do it during an Avrei.¡±

    Those were, in order and in Earth terms, sunday, saturday, wednesday and monday.

    ¡°Why not during an Avrei?¡±

    ¡°The Spell¡¯s been known to fail completely and rather, again, implosively during those days. I found it out the hard way: tried to do it during an Avrei, the Spell collapsed and took the magic circle, the floor underneath it and all the air inside the room. Had I been just two steps closer I would¡¯ve lost my other leg. So do not make bags of holding during an Avrei. You understand me?¡±

    Liam nodded as fast as his neck allowed it, remembering something Sigmund had told him a very long time ago: There is little difference between a [Witch] and a [Mage Crafter].

    ¡°Now, do you see this sheet of paper on the floor?¡± he asked, pointing at a relatively small sheet of paper with what, to an outsider, would look like a very complex diagram for a spell circle but was, in truth, rather¡­ simple, all things considered.

    ¡°This is a standard spell circle to create a hole in reality and craft a bag of holding.¡±

    They both nodded, although the dwarf was frowning.

    ¡°Very good. Liam, you got a good look at it?¡±

    ¡°Erm, yes Sigmund. It¡¯s rather simple.¡±

    ¡°Good. Then forget about it. This is shit,¡± that said he took out a wand from his belt and proceeded to incinerate the apparently offending piece of paper.

    ¡°That¡¯s what a second rate [Crafter] would use to sell some base quality shit. We don¡¯t do that here, mainly because this Spell has a small chance of failing, and a small chance on Rodar turns into a certainty if it¡¯s for something negative.

    ¡°This is the design we¡¯ll be using, one I developed personally through trial and error.¡±

    He pointed to the wall where, up until then, they hadn¡¯t noticed the presence of a rather large set of parchments all pinned together to form a much bigger spell circle filled with symbols and incantations and runes and¡­ basically every bit of knowledge he¡¯d learned up until now.

    ¡°This spell circle has a proven zero percent chance of failure, requires four times the mana of the one I showed you before and creates, at a minimum, a space of ten cubic meters. For your information, that¡¯s a lot of bananas.¡±

    Now the dwarf was smiling, probably recognizing the design he¡¯d been forced to learn.

    ¡°Now, if that was everything I¡¯d say it¡¯s a pretty easy thing to do. Problem is, since it requires a lot more mana than most spell circles, you must paint it using liquified mana stones, which, as you can probably guess, is expensive as fuck! But it¡¯s worth the cost, and you only have to do it once, then you can just reuse it.¡±

    Gaius frowned: ¡°Wait, that doesn¡¯t consume the charge of the stones?¡±

    Sigmund chuckled: ¡°I see Bevia forgot that last bit: no, the charge isn¡¯t consumed. The spell we inscribe here isn¡¯t that mana intensive, which means that part of the mana we inject inside them remains at the end of the spell, keeping them ¡®active¡¯. What, you seriously thought Bevia redrew the whole circle every single time? She doesn¡¯t have the patience for that. Or she didn¡¯t. I¡¯m not so sure today.¡±

    He looked back up at the design on the wall and smirked.

    ¡°Now, Liam, I want you to use my good brushes and paint that spell circle on the floor right there,¡± he pointed towards a space that was completely free, ¡°as best as you can using these really expensive gems that I pre-melted for you. You have around thirty minutes before they solidify, at which point I¡¯ll teach you how to melt them again.¡±

    Liam¡¯s jaw dropped to the floor as Gaius by his side burst out into laughter.

    And Sigmund? He only raised a scaly eyebrow and motioned him to get a move on: ¡°No time for gawking boy. Time¡¯s ticking. I hope you¡¯ll be as good at painting with those hands as you were pleasing my daughter.¡±

    This time the dwarf¡¯s laughing turned into half choked shrieks as he fell to the ground and began tearing up, gasping for air.

    ¡°Come on! Spell circle won¡¯t paint itself.¡±

    <hr>

    Naturally he failed miserably. Five times, actually.

    He found out that melting gems was surprisingly easy as the mana was eager to get out, reducing the melting point to something close to gold¡¯s. Naturally it was kept inside the forge by a spell circle of its own that insulated the area inside from the outside, keeping the mana in and slowly compressing it back into the gem slurry, as he¡¯d started to call it.

    What he had found out he was not good at was writing small words with a substance that basically acted like some kind of gel, sticking to everything. Even his [Steady Hand] Skill was no use for that.

    On his first try, Sigmund had noticed exactly thirty six mistakes all over the circle and destroyed three hours of work in a matter of seconds by using the Skill [Salvage Materials]. His best attempt had been the second, in which he¡¯d only made fifteen mistakes in the pattern. He was not proud of the number of those he had made on the last attempt, after which Sigmund had said they¡¯d been done for the day.

    He ate dinner mechanically, then went into his room, put on his necklace, tripped on his desk and fell right into his bed, already asleep before his head could hit the pillow.

    The System, as always when it came to making Liam Level up, had to stop and think, always because his Class gave him access to many Uncommon and, sometimes, even Rare Skills, but his Level didn¡¯t fit the parameters for them.

    After a few microseconds of thinking, though, It came to a decision.

    [Mage Crafter Level 14!]

    [Skill - Substance: Aspects of Paint Obtained!]

    [Skill - Hastened Melting Obtained!]

 Chapter 37: Grumpy Violin

    Two days after her great mission in [Lady] Serafia¡¯s home, Isse woke up to the sound of Albert¡¯s gentle knocking on her door.

    ¡°Time to get up Isse,¡± his voice came through the wood, the various webs and the sleep fog.

    Slowly, groggily, Isse lifted her body from the very comfortable cushion that still whispered her name. Maybe reading until three in the morning hadn¡¯t been a good idea after all, but the book had been so gripping. She looked both askance and longingly at the red, leather, cover with the words ¡®The Firebound [Necromancer]¡¯ embossed in gold. Alas, her day was about to begin and her schedule was quite full.

    With agile legs and a contraction of her surprisingly powerful kegels she rolled onto her legs and skittered (without looking) down from her hammock and onto the floor, the inordinate amount of webs all over her room touching her softly as she passed but not attaching themselves. Anyone else (other than Albert apparently) would¡¯ve found themselves tangled up and trapped in a manner of seconds.

    Opening her door she peered out, eyes half lidded, vision still foggy, and she saw a smiling Albert standing right there, being irritating by being so energetic this early in the morning. Gods she missed coffee.

    ¡°Good morning,¡± he said.

    She glared at him, a very simple action considering her eyes were already in the right position.

    ¡°You¡¯re too cheerful this morning.¡±

    ¡°And you shouldn¡¯t stay up at ungodly hours just to read.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re one to talk, you do the same thing.¡±

    Albert frowned: ¡°How could you tell? I never heard you leave your room.¡±

    She smirked at that, her eyes slowly focusing to their full extent, and answered: ¡°A magician never reveals her tricks.¡±

    It was all thanks to Siidi: after she¡¯d Leveled up, her new favorite Skill, [I Saw Through Eyes of My Own] had received a range upgrade apparently, to the point where she could even move her eyes up to what she thought were two human steps away from Isse. That was how they¡¯d found out that Albert slept in the room next to theirs and how he stayed up reading late as well. The problem with that being, he didn¡¯t feel tired in the morning when it was time to wake up.

    Now that they thought about it, why had they never even thought about where he slept?

    ¡°Well, whatever, even Skills can sometimes fail in the face of ignorance. Anyway, I must remind you that the teacher I found to give you lessons on that violin is coming today after breakfast.¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes, I remember.¡±

    Albert at least had the decency of not making her notice that, if she¡¯d known, she shouldn¡¯t have stayed up so late. He knew all too well what it was like to be young, have something you liked to do and have little time to practice it. During his training days¡­ decades prior, he¡¯d spent many sleepless nights just to get some time for himself. Master may have been a relatively good teacher when it came to spying, but he had already become tired and bitter by the time Albert had become his apprentice, which meant he often forgot that people had hobbies other than getting blackout drunk before going to bed.

    They ate their breakfast and walked down into the workshop, where at exactly nine o¡¯clock, precisely at the ninth strike of the grandfather clock put up for sale in the main room, someone walked in.

    He was a small man with a clean shaven face and bright yellow eyes, a big nose like that of the seven dwarves in the old Snow-White cartoon, big lips that were basically just a shade darker than the rest of his pale skin and, to top it all off, a rather elegant suit in, of all colors, bright yellow.

    This dude¡¯s got a theme going, said Siidi with a small chuckle.

    And he¡¯s supposed to be a [Violinist]? wondered Isse as she tilted her head to look at him. He looks more like a clown dressing up as a businessman for a bit.

    They both chuckled internally, which only showed on Isse¡¯s face as a smile.

    ¡°Ah, Virgo, pleasure to see you again,¡± said Albert as he stepped forward with an outstretched hand.

    The small man grunted and shook it back: ¡°Don¡¯t play coy you damn dealmaker, you saw me three days ago.¡±

    The [Clockmaker] put a hand to his heart in fake hurt: ¡°Me? A dealmaker? You hurt me, old friend. I just work in the business of favors, they¡¯re much kinder.¡±

    They kept shaking hands as Virgo shot back: ¡°We¡¯re anything but old friends, Albert. And as for your ¡®favors¡¯ being kinder than a [Dealmaker]¡¯s deals, I wouldn¡¯t be so certain. So, confirm it again, this time in front of a witness: if I teach this girl to play the violin, my favor towards you will be considered repaid. Retroactively. As in, not when she¡¯ll be done learning, but the moment I begin.¡±

    Albert¡¯s smile was a tad strained as he confirmed: ¡°Yes Virgo, the moment you begin teaching her the favor will be considered repaid. But that does not mean that you¡¯ll only do one lesson. You must go the whole way through, understood?¡±

    The small man grunted and, finally, let go: ¡°Who do you take me for Albert?¡±

    The [Clockmaker] shook his hand slightly to get the stiffness out: ¡°I take you the same way I take anyone else, Virgo. Seriously. And, as I said previously, [A Deal¡¯s a Deal].¡±

    For a moment there Isse activated her Mana Sight and watched the threads of the world unfold around her. Since she¡¯d gotten an upgrade to her Skill from [Comprehend Soul: Minor] to [Comprehend Soul] the process of distinguishing the background noises of the world¡¯s souls and the things she wanted to see had become much faster and a lot less straining on her mind. The moment she looked she managed to get a glimpse of a thread binding Albert and Virgo, a thread yellow as the man¡¯s suit and thick as a finger break. Now the two were only connected by a thin thread, just like most people around her: a symbol that they were connected only by acquaintance and nothing else.

    For a moment she wondered if she could¡¯ve reached out to that thread before and simply¡­ broken it. What would¡¯ve happened? Would the connection have been lost? Would the favor Virgo owed Albert simply be forgotten? She didn¡¯t know, but her Class whispered in the back of her mind, saying that it was something she could¡¯ve tested. Maybe it would¡¯ve even been enough to get her a Level.

    ¡°Very well,¡± said Virgo, interrupting her thoughts and snapping her back to reality, ¡°Shall we begin then kid? I¡¯m eager to see how undeserving of the instrument you probably bought on a whim you are and how much work I¡¯ll have to put in.¡±

    Hey, that was rude, said Siidi.

    Isse thought exactly the same thing, but instead of saying it she just frowned and looked at the man with venom.

    ¡°Ah, right, Virgo, a tip, if you will: try to be a little less¡­ you, with her. It won¡¯t work. Actually, it¡¯ll probably work against you.¡±

    Virgo smiled: ¡°Oh, good, I do like a challenge.¡±

    And that was when Isse understood these lessons probably were not going to be pleasant.

    <hr>

    Ten minutes later Isse and Virgo were sitting in an unused room in the back of the shop. Up until that morning it had probably been an oversized broom closet, but they didn¡¯t need much space anyway. Well, ok, the bulk of Isse¡¯s spider half occupied a good chunk of the room, her dress¡¯ mind-bending effects (as she¡¯d started calling them) causing Virgo to just stay put in a corner of the room on his chair, his fingers impatiently beating a small tune on his leg.

    ¡°So, show me the instrument,¡± he said, making grabby motions with his free hand.

    After a short moment of hesitation she put a hand in her bag of holding and took out the Violin¡¯s case. She put it on the floor beside her and opened the locks, taking out the worn instrument that had probably seen an elf generation be born and die.

    She handed it gently to Virgo who, just as gently, took it in his free hand, his fingers careful not to touch the strings.

    For a minute he examined the Relic, nodding appreciatively: ¡°It¡¯s clearly used, but it was kept in good condition. Rare, these days. Noblemen have a bad tendency to just throw their instruments away when they start looking worn.¡±

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    Isse froze in place, fear blooming in her heart. Did he know?

    ¡°How do you know it came from a nobleman?¡±

    The man raised a brow at her and chuckled: ¡°The strings. These are made with sheep intestines instead of steel. Truth be told there¡¯s no difference in what materials are used for them, the instrument plays equally well, but noblemen always must have things made from the highest quality materials. So, who did you lift this off of?¡±

    Isse winced at the unfortunate choice of words but managed to somewhat hide it into an expression of confusion.

    Virgo looked up from his examination and raised a brow: ¡°What? Don¡¯t want to reveal your ¡®dealer¡¯,¡± he smiled a somewhat evil smirk, ¡°Well, don¡¯t worry, I don¡¯t really care. You have this and that¡¯s what matters.¡±

    He elegantly and assuredly placed the violin on his shoulder, his chin resting on the¡­ Isse didn¡¯t know how it was called.

    ¡°Now, look very carefully, this is the correct way to hold a violin. If you can¡¯t do this don¡¯t even bother trying to play this little beauty. Ah, right, while I¡¯m at it, pass me the bow, we have to test if it¡¯s still tuned. If it¡¯s not I¡¯ll teach you how to do that.¡±

    Isse gingerly fished inside the¡­ no, her case, because it was hers now. She¡¯d bound herself to the Violin.

    A pleasant tingling went down her spine and made the hair of her spider half stand slightly on end. Yes, the Violin was hers and would only answer to her.

    Anyways, she pulled out the bow that had been in the case together with the violin. The wood of it looked worn the same way as the instrument it was used to play, but the string of¡­ she thought those were horse hair, she¡¯d read that somewhere, looked shiny and new.

    Virgo took it gently, although she was certain that, hadn¡¯t it been for his extreme care when handling his instruments, he would¡¯ve gone for a grab. Clearly he didn¡¯t want to be here. Then he put the violin on his knees, beginning to rummage inside a bag of holding at his waist, taking out after a few seconds a small paper package. He opened it, revealing it contained something that had once probably been a cube of¡­ red stuff.

    ¡°This is what we in the business of music call rosin. It¡¯s basically solid tree sap that you must apply every now and then to your bow. Before you ask, yes, it will make the bow sticky, that¡¯s necessary to actually make the music, otherwise the bow¡¯ll just slide over the strings and do nothing. On that front, never, ever, handle the bow¡¯s string with your hands, you¡¯ll grease the string and you¡¯ll have to buy yourself a new one.¡±

    He finished carefully applying the rosin on the bow and, after wrapping it back up and putting it in his bag of holding, he faced her, showing it to her.

    ¡°Now, you see this screw at the base?¡± he asked. She nodded, noticing indeed there was a screw there.

    ¡°Good. That¡¯s used to tighten the string of the bow. Always remember to loosen it up when you finish practicing and playing: leaving it tensed up will ruin it in the long run. Now, as for how tense you want it to be, look at the middle of the bow. ¡°

    She did and saw that, naturally, there was a space. Virgo then put his finger behind the space between the string and the wood: ¡°Now see this? You should tighten it up just enough for the distance between wood and string to be around the width of your pinky. You could do more, but that will make the bow difficult to control for when you want to play long notes, and for now we¡¯ll just be doing the basics.¡±

    That done, he took the violin back in hand and gently put it on his shoulder, chin on that black thing at the base, and took the bow in his right hand, his big fingers delicately holding it, making sure to never touch the string.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see how well your previous proprietor treated you,¡± he whispered to the instrument.

    He placed the bow on the strings and moved it, his fingers holding some of them down.

    Yet¡­ no sound was produced.

    Virgo batted his eyes a few times, clearly extremely confused, before trying that again.

    When no sound was made again he slung off the instrument and squinted at it in suspicion.

    Then: ¡°Please tell me you weren¡¯t handed a mimic by accident.¡±

    Isse¡¯s eyebrows shot into her hairline and she couldn¡¯t suppress a snort in time before it outright turned into laughter: ¡°Oh, the great musician doesn¡¯t know how to play. No, that¡¯s definitely not a mimic.¡±

    Instead of taking the bait Virgo gave the instrument a look of utter perplexity and plucked at a string. Again, no sound came.

    Frowning, he handed Isse the violin: ¡°You saw how I held this¡­ instrument. Now do the same thing. I don¡¯t care if it feels more comfortable one way or another, you must hold it the way I showed or you won¡¯t be able to actually play it.¡±

    Isse started doing as ordered, but the moment her hands touched the instrument her mind was filled with a strange emotion that clearly wasn¡¯t hers or Siidi¡¯s.

    For the first time in¡­ months, probably, one of the first Skills she¡¯d gotten activated¡­ involuntarily. As if to remind her that it was there: [Sense Emotion]. And right now, with her concentration of the Violin, she could sense one thing: outrage.

    Then the feeling she¡¯d gotten became deeper, her understanding greater, for since the day she¡¯d obtained that Skill she¡¯d gained many Levels and, with them, the capacity to understand things better. That was how she knew why the Violin seemed so outraged: it was because someone that wasn¡¯t his chosen had attempted to use him. That was unacceptable.

    Slowly, though, as she held, nearly cradled, the¡­ grumpy, yes, her Violin was grumpy, instrument, the outrage began to fade and, in its place, rose calm and happiness.

    A single note played, the string vibrating in her grip but producing no sound, even though she clearly heard it.

    That¡¯s¡­ wow. Just wow, said Siidi.

    Then Isse put the Violin on her shoulder, her left hand circling around the neck, her fingers touching the fingerboard and hovering over the strings, her head gently laid on the chinrest (she didn¡¯t know how but she now knew instinctively how that part was called) to balance it all.

    ¡°Good. At least you¡¯re a fast enough learner. Now, take the bow in your hand and place it on the strings.¡±

    She did as ordered, trying to imitate the way he¡¯d been holding the bow.

    He shook his head, bending her pinky finger slightly closer to her hand, giving it more of a curve, moving her thumb closer to the hollow of the frog (how did she know how all those parts were called?) and, in general, making small adjustments. In the end, the position of her hand felt slightly uncomfortable.

    ¡°In the beginning your hand¡¯s going to cramp, it¡¯s inevitable. But you¡¯ll slowly build muscles and a good resistance to pain. Remember, a musician must always finish their song. Doing otherwise would mean losing their pride.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be playing any songs for a while still Virgo,¡± commented Isse as she tried to keep her hand in position.

    ¡°Most probably, but who knows. Maybe you¡¯ll be one of those prodigies, eh?¡±

    She snorted: ¡°What, like you?¡±

    He shook his head, a slight smile on his face: ¡°You¡¯ll be surprised but I wasn¡¯t always a good musician. I had to start from scratch like everyone else and it took me decades to get where I am.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be honest, I never heard about you.¡±

    ¡°That is extremely offending and you must be joking. You never heard about the King in Yellow? Virgo, the King of Strings?¡±

    She shook her head no: ¡°Nope. Never once. But my family did keep me¡­ sheltered, for most of my life, so it¡¯s no surprise.¡±

    Virgo frowned mightily, then sighed: ¡°I blame your family then.¡±

    That sent a pang to her heart and she suddenly felt a prickling in her eyes as memories of her clan came back. She put them aside. Right now wasn¡¯t the best moment to reminisce.

    And, to make sure she could distract herself, she asked: ¡°How did you and Albert meet?¡±

    He smirked: ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you rather ask me how I ended up owing him a favor?¡±

    ¡°That too.¡±

    Virgo sighed and passed a hand through his blonde hair: ¡°He helped me in a very tight spot ten years ago, give or take. I owed a lot of money to the wrong person and, at the time, I wasn¡¯t that great a [Musician], with funds, Levels and Skills. I was just a two bit bard trying to live the life. He got rid of my debt by getting rid of the person I owed the money to, then set me up with someone to help me grow. And now I¡¯m here.¡±

    She frowned: ¡°Then why do you act like you hate him.¡±

    He frowned back at her: ¡°Because I know who he was and I remember him seeing people as nothing more than tools, dominoes to set up some chain reaction. I¡¯m grateful he helped me, but I didn¡¯t want to be his little piece in a game. That¡¯s the only reason I accepted to teach you.¡±

    Isse sat in silence, because, really, what could she have said to that? That Albert was a good man? That he would never do that? They would¡¯ve been lies, and bad ones at that. She was pretty sure Albert would¡¯ve been more than capable of doing what Virgo was saying, even if he was retired.

    ¡°Now, let¡¯s stop dilly dallying, shall we? It¡¯s time for you to start learning.¡±

    <hr>

    That night Isse fell into bed and began reading, a [Light] Spell by her side shining onto the pages. She was tired, but not overly so, even though she still winced when she moved her hand in the wrong way.

    Today had been a good day.

    When, finally, she closed her book at around one in the morning, she smiled. She couldn¡¯t wait for morning to come, for that strange, gruff, but altogether likable, [Violinist] to give her another lesson, to teach her songs and stories.

    Then she closed her eyes, and the System began speaking.

    [Apprentice Musician Class Obtained!]

    [Apprentice Musician Level 2!]

    [Skill - Enhance Muscle Memory (Minor) Obtained!]

    <Skill Overridden. Motivation: Strengthening of Bond with Relic>

    [Relic Bond Level: 7%]

    [Relic Skill Unlocked!]

    [Skill: Anti-Cramping Muscles Obtained!]

    Isse opened her eyes in surprise. That had been different. Since when could Skills be canceled?

    It was always possible, Isse. There are things in this world other than the gods that can defy the System¡¯s will. It tends to listen, most of the time. Now go back to sleep.

    She did.

    And the Wintry Violin played her a lullaby.

 Chapter 38: A Day in the Life of an Arachne

    One week later

    Isse woke up feeling well rested. For once she hadn¡¯t stayed up late reading. Not for lack of trying, naturally, she¡¯d just finished the book she¡¯d been reading and hadn¡¯t felt like getting up from the comfort of her hammock to get another one.

    As always when she managed to squeeze in more than five hours of sleep (an actual nine this time around!) she told herself she should be doing this more often.

    Yeah, sure, even you don¡¯t believe that, said Siidi with a smirk in her voice.

    At least I can say I tried.

    A chuckle escaped their lips and they walked out of their room, surprising a domesticated Albert with a raised fist ready to knock on their door.

    After a moment of embarrassed silence as the two stared at each other he coughed and motioned motioned towards the dining room/kitchen.

    ¡°Could I tempt you with some breakfast?¡±

    ¡°Oh yes, absolutely!¡±

    And in they walked. The food was ready in a matter of minutes and, when Albert served it, Siidi activated one of her greatest Skills: [A Minute, United]. It was the Skill she¡¯d obtained when they¡¯d first started training with Grandmother in magic and¡­ whatever it was she taught Siidi. It was simple in concept yet so much more in practice: for a minute and a half twice a day their minds united, becoming one. They both felt what the other felt, their thoughts commingled, their sensations united and empowered. It was a festival of the senses, a short time of pure joy and pleasure that made everything better, even something as simple as krimou meat with eggs for breakfast.

    They, she, ate with gusto, Issekina and Siidi (Issidi?), smiling all the while.

    Meanwhile Albert looked at them with raised eyebrows, curiosity in every crease of his face, as he looked down at the simple plates and wondered not for the first time in these months if he had done something strange with the meat to make it taste so great for the girl. Or was it something about the arachne¡¯s tongue? He did not know, and he dared not ask and ruin the moment for her.

    In truth, it was a mix of both: the meat was great, arachne had taste buds that were made to make meat and anything related to it taste great and, finally, and most important of all, there was the enhancement from the Skill.

    When the minute passed they became two again, and yet their good humor remained.

    Well, I¡¯ll be painting if you need me, said Siidi.

    Alright. Have fun.

    Siidi chuckled mirthlessly and then her presence lessened. In truth her work of giving back color to Isse¡¯s memories was long and tiring, decidedly complex and truly a drain on her energy, but she didn¡¯t care. After seeing how distraught it had made her soul half to lose the ability to feel anything from those memories she felt it was a necessity to do this.

    ¡°Having a small conversation?¡± asked Albert.

    She nodded: ¡°We speak constantly. Kinda difficult not to when someone literally lives in your head.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it¡­ I don¡¯t know, stifling?¡±

    ¡°Oh, we tried to kill each other at first, when I was born. I somehow ended up in the body she was supposed to be reborn into and I was in control while she was in the back of my mind. She wasn¡¯t happy about it. But¡­ we managed to solve that conundrum, thanks to our sadistic Elder. I can¡¯t say I¡¯m not thankful for what she did but I hated how she did it.¡±

    ¡°I thought arachne never fought among themselves and always helped each other, or so the stories used to say.¡±

    Isse made a so-so gesture with one hand, eating with the other. After a short amount of munching she spoke again: ¡°Yes, well, sort of. You probably wouldn¡¯t be happy if someone suddenly appeared in your mind and took your place. And as for the Elder¡­ she was old, as you can imagine. Old and very tired of the way her people had to live, constantly hiding. It made her sad, bitter, and because of that¡­ she preferred more direct ways to solve big problems. I didn¡¯t like it, nor did Siidi. It hurt, it still hurts even remembering it, but¡­ I can¡¯t say I¡¯m not grateful.¡±

    Albert nodded: ¡°I see. Thank you for sharing this.¡±

    She smiled back: ¡°Thank you for keeping me here, even with all the trouble I¡¯m causing.¡±

    He broke out into laughter: ¡°You call that bringing trouble? Try stealing someone from the College and smuggling them to another continent. Now that¡¯s trouble.

    ¡°Let¡¯s not talk about sad things though now, shall we? Virgo¡¯ll come sometimes in the afternoon. Today I want to teach you how to file a gear into the perfect shape.¡±

    <hr>

    Here¡¯s the thing about gears: back on earth there are machines that make them in all the shapes a clockmaker could ever need, cutting with lasers or water or what have you. Some madmen tried to make foundries with molds in specific shapes to craft the gears, which worked like a charm for big ones used in the making of clock towers but, as you can probably well imagine, was useless for making the small ones.

    So how did Albert make the gears for his watches?

    The method, as is for most things in this world, was extremely simple in theory, but also extremely time consuming and complex in practice. He had sheets and sheets of brass in a small backroom, all neatly piled up to waist height (that is, waist height for Albert. In Isse¡¯s case it actually only reached, like, the middle of her spider half). What would he be doing with them?

    ¡°You see Isse, all the gears I use I also make myself. The method is quite simple, albeit time consuming.¡±

    ¡°Albert, the last time you told me something was simple you had me pick a lock that would put to shame a bank¡¯s safe.¡±

    ¡°But you did pick it!¡±

    ¡°Yes, after three hours of swearing in my head because every time I did it with my voice you¡¯d tell on me.¡±

    ¡°Swearing isn¡¯t right for a proper lady, Isse.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah? I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll make you swear sooner or later.¡±

    ¡°You can certainly try. Haaa, I should¡¯ve put a time limit on that bet of ours.¡±

    ¡°What, you fear that, since you didn¡¯t, you¡¯ll have to keep yourself in check for the rest of your life?¡±

    ¡°Oh no, it¡¯s not that, it¡¯s just that your pathetic attempts to make me swear so far have been ridiculous and mildly laughable. I¡¯ve lost count of how many times you tried to make me swear by moving the furniture around a bit while I was passing making me stub my toe.¡±

    She had done that exactly seventeen times before giving up.

    ¡°I still don¡¯t understand how you didn¡¯t feel any of those.¡±

    ¡°Pain tolerance training. Also, I have the Skill [Ignore Inconvenience]. It¡¯s terribly useful and works on both me and other people around me.¡±

    ¡°That¡­ That¡¯s cheating!!!¡±

    ¡°I never said life was fair, Isse.¡±

    They bantered like that for a while as they brought two brass sheets to the workshop and put them down on a special table with clamps to keep them still.

    ¡°Now, as I was trying to say before you interrupted me, the process is quite simple: we cut circles of varying dimensions off the sheets depending on how big we need the gear to be, and then we file it into the shape we require. It takes some time, but it¡¯s worth the effort.¡±

    Isse stared at the large plate in front of her.

    Then she turned around to look at the floor to ceiling shelf of small boxes of gears.

    Finally, she looked straight into Albert¡¯s eyes.

    Then: ¡°You¡¯re fucking insane.¡±

    ¡°Language!¡±

    <hr>

    Turns out, the process itself wasn¡¯t that complex. Once the brass using a special compass Albert had created, she had to use a metal hacksaw that was basically composed of a very thin and sharp wire. Then, once she had a handful of those circles, she spent the next few minutes drawing the shape of the cog and its teeth onto it, followed by an extremely long time spent filing the metal into shape.

    It wasn¡¯t hard per se, but all the time her mind kept on wandering to other things, like her books, the Violin, her mission and, sometimes, when she could suppress the thoughts, her past and her future.

    ¡°Albert, how do you deal with the thoughts?¡± she asked.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    The old man¡¯s eyes momentarily flickered up towards her from his hunched over position at his table right beside her, before going back to his work.

    ¡°I don¡¯t. I let them have free reign. Here¡¯s the thing Isse, the more you try suppressing the thoughts, and trust me, I know the ones you¡¯re talking about, the more they¡¯ll try to surface in your mind. It¡¯s like trying to keep a bunch of empty, stoppered, wine bottles underwater: sooner or later you¡¯ll be distracted and one will float back up. If you¡¯re unlucky, it¡¯ll come back so fast it¡¯ll hit you in the face.

    ¡°So I just let my mind do its thing. I work and my thoughts, my memories, my many regrets, slowly become one indistinguishable mass of so many things that I¡¯m incapable of thinking of them all.

    ¡°It all boils down to me, my body, my heart and my breath, my hands and my eyes and the work in front of me. Anything else becomes secondary, unimportant, meaningless.¡±

    He smiled slightly at that, before adding: ¡°That¡¯s why I love my job.¡±

    Then he fell back into his laborious and calm silence, the sound of the steel file on the brass, the only one in the room, his eyes half closed as he tried to make out every detail of the gear, his breathing shallow and only possible to hear because of a slight whistling coming from his nose.

    Isse looked at Albert and, for a moment, she thought she¡¯d seen the man that had been, the [Spymaster] who had gone through some kind of tribulation to leave this Game, the regretful shadow who had never truly lived.

    She looked back at her work and tried to do the same thing he had done.

    Ten minutes later she had fallen into a trance where there was only her, Siidi in the back of her mind humming a little tune, the work in front of her, and nothing else.

    That was how Virgo found them after entering the back of the shop because they¡¯d failed to answer his calls from the front door multiple times.

    <hr>

    The violin lesson per se wasn¡¯t the important part of the day to her, not today at least.

    Oh sure, Virgo was as much of an (apparently) apathetic piece of shit who did not want to be here as always, and his lessons were great (she actually felt like she was learning something well for once instead of fumbling around in the dark and trying to find the solution to her problems by following some cryptic advice).

    Still, that wasn¡¯t the highlight of the day.

    Nor was it learning to file gears from Albert, or finding out about his cheating ass with that Skill he had.

    No, the highlight of the day arrived in the form of a half elf boy with purple eyes and a surprised expression wandering into the shop just after Virgo had left.

    Tobias Eclisse, the only other friend Morra had ever made who she¡¯d come to know a bit better in the last few weeks since he¡¯d started joining them on some of their outings. She considered him a good friend.

    The first thing he said as he walked in was: ¡°Was the person who just left Virgo, the King in Yellow?¡±

    Isse frowned and tilted her head to the side: ¡°Yeah, sure, I think. That¡¯s how he said some people called him at least.¡±

    Tobias jaw dropped to the ground: ¡°What was one of the greatest [Musicians] of our era doing in this shop Isse? Like, it¡¯s not a bad shop, but¡­ you know¡­ it¡¯s pretty small,¡± he tried to hedge as she narrowed her eyes at him.

    ¡°So what if the shop¡¯s small? We don¡¯t need that much space to sell watches.¡±

    Tobias raised his hands in a placatory manner: ¡°Never said that. Still, you didn¡¯t answer my question.¡±

    She crossed her arms and looked offended as she answered: ¡°He¡¯s just giving me lessons in playing the violin.¡±

    If the half elf¡¯s jaw had been on the floor before now it had sprouted arms and started digging: ¡°One of the greatest [Musicians] in all of Irevia is ¡®just giving you lessons¡¯ in playing an instrument? Since when do you even play the violin?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a recent development,¡± she muttered, before looking down at him and giving him a short hug.

    ¡°I missed you, purple guy,¡± she said.

    ¡°I missed you too, strange girl,¡± he said back, hugging her in turn.

    They chuckled and extricated themselves.

    ¡°So, is it really him?¡±

    ¡°I mean, I think he is? Albert says he is.¡±

    ¡°Albert being your uncle?¡±

    ¡°Yup. He called in a favor with Virgo and now he¡¯s giving me lessons.¡±

    ¡°Your uncle knows Virgo?¡±

    ¡°Sure he does. But they¡¯re not friends. Virgo keeps saying he¡¯s a piece of shit and a bastard. Which, now that I think about it, could be seen as friendly insults?¡±

    She looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook her head: ¡°Nah, no, nope, nisba, pretty certain they weren¡¯t the friendly sort of insult.¡±

    A chuckle escaped her lips and, not for the first time, Tobias wondered who in Airm this girl truly was. He¡¯d gained two Levels in his [Information Gatherer] Class just trying to find out anything he could about her, but the girl was a total mystery. He¡¯d only found out when she¡¯d walked into the city, but before that? A total ghost. She fascinated him, and, most important of all, she was pleasant to be around. Plus, she was a good influence for Morra. He was certain, even though she kept on wearing that mask of hers, that she smiled more these days.

    Then he asked: ¡°Isse, have you really never heard of the King in Yellow before?¡±

    She had, actually, back on Earth, but she was pretty certain that the King of that book back home and this one weren¡¯t the same person.

    Probably.

    Mainly because Virgo clearly hadn¡¯t been alive for over a hundred years.

    ¡­Right?

    ¡°Nope, never before.¡±

    ¡°So you never even listened to him playing?¡±

    ¡°I mean, he let me listen to how some of the songs I¡¯m practicing are supposed to sound, but they¡¯re pretty basic, so I couldn¡¯t say I did.¡±

    The moment she said that Tobias started mentally counting how many coins he had saved up and wondered if he had enough to buy two tickets for the next time the King in Yellow had a concert.

    He resolved after a few seconds to start looking for another job.

    ¡°So, wanna go hang out with Morra?¡±

    ¡°Oh I¡¯d love to. Albert! I¡¯m going out!¡±

    ¡°Alright! Don¡¯t do anything I wouldn¡¯t do!¡±

    ¡°Does that mean I get to murder people?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t murder people Isse!¡±

    She chuckled and the half elf was certain he heard someone else do the same from the backroom.

    Then they were out.

    It was a magnificent evening.

    <hr>

    Thirty minutes later

    Two figures wearing nondescript clothes walked into Albert¡¯s shop. Their shirts were white and clean, their trousers a dull gray that had probably once been dark but had lost color with years of use. Their hair was blonde and light brown, their eyes blue and green. Truly, they were a duo you¡¯d look over anywhere on the streets. Uninteresting. Inconsequential. Nobodies.

    One of them rang the bell on the counter and they waited, the brown haired one with his hands crossed, the other leaning on the wooden top of the counter.

    Albert walked out a few moments later, a smile plastered on his face.

    ¡°Good evening, gentlemen. How may I help you? Are you here to buy a new clock or watch? Or are you perhaps looking to have one repaired?¡±

    The blonde man smiled cordially: ¡°Ah, good evening sir. No, we¡¯re here for¡­ other business.¡±

    A coin appeared seemingly out of nowhere and was placed on the counter, the clack of it filling the shop which had gone deadly quiet, clearly thanks to some kind of [Silence] Spell.

    It was an apparently normal gold coin, except that on the face on which a king¡¯s profile should¡¯ve been visible the head had been removed, leaving behind only a surprisingly well visible crown.

    ¡°We¡¯re calling upon Remembrance, sir.¡±

    Albert¡­ frowned, looking extremely confused: ¡°Remembrance? Sir, what do you mean? This is a shop that sells clocks. If you need to write something down to help remember it the [Scrybe] is two shops down. Tell her I sent you and she¡¯ll even give you a five copper discount.¡±

    The two men looked at him as if he¡¯d started speaking another language.

    ¡°I know it¡¯s not a lot, but good [Scrybe] work costs, and it takes a lot of time. Also, [Printers] don¡¯t do that sort of work.¡±

    The two men looked at each other, than back at him, and this time the brown haired one spoke: ¡°Albert Sirius, [Spymaster of Favors], once a Bishop of the Greatest Game, we are requesting Remembrance to you. You will listen to us.¡±

    And at that the confused smile on Albert¡¯s lips slipped away, instead a frown appearing on his features, his eyes narrowed.

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think I will. Now, leave.¡±

    He began to turn around, but the blonde one spoke: ¡°You know that¡¯s not how it works Albert. We are requesting Remembrance. The Game is calling you back. You have no cho -¡±

    He never finished his sentence, Albert¡¯s fist connecting with his mouth, a crunch clearly hearable around the whole room as many of his teeth broke against the old man¡¯s very hard punch. He fell to the floor, his head striking one of the pieces of furniture in which pocket watches and clocks were exposed.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand. I left the Game in a permanent manner.¡±

    The brown haired one looked completely unperturbed by his companion¡¯s fate. Also, he was either stupid or extremely brave and Skilled, because he spoke again: ¡°A Player may abandon the Game only upon their death, Sir. Those have been the rules since its creation.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve completed the Pilgrimage of Eights,¡± was all that Albert said as he shook his hand and prepared to give him another punch.

    He stopped only upon seeing the surprise on the man¡¯s face.

    ¡°Ah, so you weren¡¯t informed. Sacrificial Pawns, I understand I understand,¡± he lifted his shirt and showed the man his flank, where a single tattoo was visible: a bishop¡¯s hat on fire.

    ¡°This is a real one. You know how to check, right?¡±

    He shook his head: ¡°There¡¯s no need to.¡±

    He was clearly only a Pawn. Anyone with more than two brain cells would¡¯ve checked to see if the tattoo was real. There was no respect in the modern generations if they¡¯d really sent someone so low in the ranks to attempt to get him back in.

    ¡°Tell whoever told you to call me back that, if they attempt so another time, their agents won¡¯t be coming back. Understood?¡±

    Brown hair nodded.

    ¡°Good. Spread that information to your comrades as well. I left the Game and I will not be coming back. Now go, and take with you this shitty little coin.¡±

    They left, and Albert sighed.

    He was going to hate whatever would follow.

    <hr>

    That night, as Isse slept, she heard the voice again.

    [Clockworker Level 13!]

    [Skill - The Worker¡¯s Trance Obtained!]

 Interlude: As the World Turns

    Centuries before

    Not much was known about the Tiurna Mountains around the world. Well, except that they divided the continent of Eva in half, that strange things happened the higher up you went (and for the matter the stranger the people inhabiting them became) and that, underneath, there was a true gold mine. Airm, no, gold was the least of it. Any kind of rare metal that ever existed could be found there, and relatively close to the surface too!

    If you want to understand just how good of an opportunity it was, just know that, at some point, the dwarves of Aknos organized what would come to be known as their first and last expeditionary force: a group two hundred dwarves strong that went to Eva and started a small colony on the side of mountain.

    They left two weeks later, collapsing their tunnels, declaring the place ¡®Unfriendly¡¯, dismantling their colony and leaving behind only one message: ¡®Do not use flames¡¯.

    But of course candles cost less than hiring a [Mage] to cast and maintain a [Light] or [Illumination] Spell, and of course nobody believed that the dwarves, of all people, would say something so ominous. Yes, I know, it¡¯s shocking, and this is not sarcastic, but apparently being the friendliest people in the world makes it hard to take you seriously when you need to.

    So it was that Francis, a [Miner] working for the illustrious Pixie Company (yes, a strange name indeed), was mining underneath the Tiurna Mountains. His surname was unimportant. Really, the only reason why he¡¯s even being mentioned is what he accidentally did.

    Now, the Pixie Company had been pushing to dig deeper and deeper under the mountains for nearly five years now. They¡¯d become rich with all the minerals they¡¯d extracted but, as has always been the case with greedy people, they kept going. They forced their [Miners] to dig deeper and deeper in the hopes of finding even rarer metals, maybe even some undiscovered ones.

    And the [Miners]? They dug, simple as that. Their pays were good, the food wasn¡¯t bad, they had roofs over their heads at night, good doctors always ready to help them if the worst came to be and, most important of all, a group of extremely well trained [Warriors] always on standby in the main mineshaft. ¡®For what?¡¯ you may be wondering. The answer is quite simple: to scare off the Wardens.

    Nobody knew what, exactly, they were, nor what they were wardens of for that matter. They were these wormlike monsters longer than five fully grown horses put one in front of the other, their height comparable to two of those same horses put one on top of the other.

    Their skin, if that¡¯s what it was, was made of a kind of carapace that was as strong, if not stronger, than steel. Truth be told, the older they got the harder it became to pierce. Only once they had encountered an Elder Warden and, well, that hadn¡¯t gone well. Their team of [Warriors] had gained four Levels each in that encounter, and they were all over Level 30.

    But really, as you¡¯ve all probably understood, that wasn¡¯t the really dangerous part. No, that was the blade-like appendages that protruded from the carapace, together with the Wardens¡¯ ability to move as easily as water down a mineshaft, as if their natural armor didn¡¯t hinder them at all.

    Finally, there was the head: a single eye the color of the midday sun, covered by a thick nictitating membrane. When these monsters attacked their eyes emitted a blinding light that was, somehow, concentrated, as if the membrane acted as a magnifying glass. The resulting light could melt people over short spans of time. There were horror stories going around the various Companies about how, sometimes, Wardens melted the rock of the tunnels and covered the [Miners] and people protecting them in magma.

    In short, they were a true nightmare.

    And in the last few weeks their attacks had increased in number and severity.

    Still, Francis and the other [Miners] didn¡¯t stop working because they all wanted the money. They could feel the ¡®mythril fever¡¯, as it was called among their circles: the desire to keep mining in the hopes of striking true, of finding that one big vein that would set them up for the rest of their lives. The hope and dream of every [Miner] that had ever existed.

    ¡°[Power Swing]!¡± he shouted, activating a Skill as his pickaxe came down and sheared through the rocks like a knife through meat.

    It cleaved through the wall in front of him, then downwards still, until it hit the floor, planting itself in the ground with a resounding crack!, the worst sound one could ever hear underground.

    But then, it was already too late.

    Cracks appeared in the floor, expanding from where his pickaxe was still stuck.

    He looked on in frozen horror, his hands stuck to the object. Then a scream left his lips, his fear finally overpowering everything else as he let go, turned around and began running.

    As stated, though, it was already too late.

    The ground under his feet opened up like the many maws of a reveler ant, rock falling from under his feet towards a black void beneath, an endless pit of nightmares made manifest that would gobble him up whole, bones and soul.

    He jumped, hoping to reach the safety of the tunnels a bit higher up just like some of his other companions were trying to do.

    For a moment, he was weightless, free, elated and scared both.

    His arm extended forward attempting to touch the lip of the stairs that led upwards, to safety and sunlight.

    But he would not see the sun ever again. He wouldn¡¯t feel its soft and harsh kiss on his skin again. He wouldn¡¯t feel wind through his hair and the moon¡¯s soft embrace in the dark nights when he chose to sleep under a tree.

    His hand didn¡¯t even touch the lip of the stairs.

    Then he was falling.

    And falling.

    And falling.

    And falling.

    And falling.

    SPLAT!

    The sound echoed upwards.

    And he was falling no more.

    ¡­

    ¡­

    ¡­

    ¡­

    ¡­

    ¡­

    ¡­

    ¡­

    The darkness was alive. It had always been. It had stopped being so on the Surface. But down here, in this godsforsaken place, it was alive, writhing, hungry.

    Yet it couldn¡¯t feed, for it was mere darkness and darkness didn¡¯t have form, had never had form, shouldn¡¯t have form.

    Yet, it always had, at least, once upon a time. And now still. Only, the form wasn¡¯t alive, wasn¡¯t as it should be. They had taken it away from them, just like everything else. Their reason to exist, their form, their thoughts, it had all been taken away.

    They hated it.

    They didn¡¯t.

    For they had no mind to think.

    None of them had.

    Still they covered the corpses that had fallen in their reign, wanting to hurt them more, to tear them apart bit by bit until all that was left of them was bone dust and smears on the floors of their eternal prison.

    Then¡­ giggling.

    A single figure in the mass of eternal darkness emerged. A small figure, no higher than a meter and thirty, a little girl¡¯s figure, with pigtails and a cute little dress. All black, all totally, utterly, completely, black, blacker than the blackness of a dark room at night underground, a black so black it ate the darkness around it, making her stand out.

    The giggling turned into laughter as the girl reached the body of the man who had been known as Francis and began looking for something, anything, in his clothes.

    She found it after a few seconds: matches. A small, worn, box containing just a few matches, five in total.

    The girl¡¯s laughter turned maniacal as she rummaged around inside her darkness and, after a moment, took out a millennia old candle that had been dropped down here by mistake by some explorers in a ship capable of traversing the earth as if it were a sea. Not a grain of dust had touched it, for even dust died when it formed here. The wick was in pristine condition, a bit waxed and dry.

    The shadow of the girl placed the candle on the floor and the darkness around her writhed and seethed in desire and hate and lust and envy and every sin that ever was and ever will be. The darkness watched as she took out a match and, in a small, hasty, motion, struck it against the rough side of the box.

    For the first time in eons, light bloomed at the bottom of this pit that had once been just earth, opened up by the gods when they¡¯d raised the Tiurna Mountains in an attempt to trap them.

    The girl watched, mesmerized for a moment by the simple beauty of that which she hadn¡¯t been able to see for time immeasurable.

    Then she placed the match near the candle¡¯s wick and watched as that, too, caught on fire.

    The darkness around her was dispelled and the endless writhing sea stopped as, slowly, figures emerged around her. Men and women made of darkness. No, not darkness: shadows. Hundreds of millions, no, billions, of shadows. The shadow of every single being that had ever died. All down here, left to rot and be forgotten, for souls could be recycled, but shadows could not, since they were made of all the evil that the living had ever committed in their life.

    And the girl?

    She wasn¡¯t one of them.

    She hadn¡¯t been born from this world.

    She¡¯d come from somewhere else. A place that had been called Earth. She came from a part of that world where old gods had been killed and buried underground, their long lost power corrupting all it touched. From that, she had been born. Because of that, she was different.

    The girl smiled at the candle, although nothing was shown on her face made of darkness.

    Then she spoke: ¡°You can see me now. Witness me, my mind, my desires, and give me the power I deserve.¡±

    The System witnessed it through the light of the candle.

    For a moment¡­ It hesitated, for It didn¡¯t like what It saw. But It had a job It had been created to do, and It had to be impartial.

    So it spoke.

    <Race Recognized!>

    <Searching Database for matching result.>

    <Match Found!>

    <Race Name: Shadow People>

    <Current Number of Shadow People on [Unnamed]: 1>

    <Return to Protocol: Observe and Judge!>

    [Shadowed Queen of Hatred Class Obtained!]

    [Shadowed Queen of Hatred Level 10!]

    [Skill - The Candle of Eva Obtained!]

    [Skill - ¡­]

    It kept going, until it said these final words.

    [Bound Item - Everburning Candle Obtained!]

    The little girl laughed and laughed and laughed, and she could laugh for a long time for she had no lungs nor a need for air.

    Then she looked up at the shadows around her and, after a few moments, nodded and waltzed towards the blackest of them.

    ¡°[Summon: Brimmed Hat].¡±

    An old, worn, black hat with a large and rather sharp brim appeared in her hands. She beckoned the darkest of the figures closer and it did, silent as the dead.

    Slowly, she put the hat on top of its head.

    ¡°Welcome back, Hatman.¡±

    <Current Number of Shadow People on [Unnamed]: 2>

    [Shadowed Queen of Hatred Level 11!]

    <hr>

    Now

    On the day the Forest of Tusca burned, on Eva, a young man stared into the flames of the Fire underneath the City of Warriors.

    The flames roared up higher than they had in decades.

    ¡°Master Runa, something¡¯s happening,¡± he shouted towards an old woman sleeping by the Fire on a comfortable bed.

    Her one eye flew open and settled on the flames, then on her [Apprentice], then back on the flames.

    ¡°[Show Me],¡± she whispered, and the fire contorted as it hungrily asked for something as payment. The old woman motioned at her [Apprentice], who promptly threw a log into the Fire.

    A moment later a loud crack resounded as the wood broke under the hungers of the Fire, which calmed down and began changing shapes, showing her dozens of flaming spiders skittering around as wasps punctured them to death, until the fire gobbled everything up.

    Then the image of a warrior wearing worn armor appeared, marching out of a grave.

    ¡°It is not yet time. He¡¯s yet to keep his word,¡± she said to the Fire.

    It calmed down and she closed her one eye.

    ¡°Rest, [Apprentice]. The Fire will burn until tomorrow still, and afterwards¡­ I will teach you what you need to know.¡±

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    <hr>

    The drowned crew did its job silently. It was never a good idea to attract attention in the world under the waves.

    Their [Drowned Mage] kept a [Partial Air Bubble] and a [Pressure] Spell going in their engine room, letting water spill through holes in the first spell onto paddles that transferred the power of their movement to a central axis connected to a propeller in the back, all while the second one forced the water out of a hole at the bottom of the ship. A great alternative for those crews that didn¡¯t have someone capable of casting [Ghostly Winds] and, in general, a helpful addition even to those ships who did.

    They were passing by a particular stretch of ocean that was known by many as ¡®The Sleeper¡¯s Resting Place¡¯. Not because a kraken slept here, oh no, a kraken was a lot less destructive than what the being that slept here could, potentially, do. Or so the [Drowned Governors] in the City of Wrecks said. Nobody had ever seen the being in action. All they knew was that, when winter came to the Surface, a small being made of shadows and darkness with white eyes plummeted into the water and laid here to sleep. Always the same place, always the same spot, always arriving on the first day of winter and beginning to leave a week before the beginning of spring.

    This time though, as they silently passed by the spot and the [Captain] turned to salute this strange figure (it had become a strange sort of tradition, started by the First Drowned Man and followed by all the others), he didn¡¯t see the dark shape and the white spots in place of eyes.

    No, through his [Eyes of the Angler] that allowed him to see perfectly through the darkness of the depths all he could see was sand, coral, rocks and a hole in the shape of a man between all these things.

    ¡°The Sleeper isn¡¯t here,¡± he whispered to his [Quartermaster].

    ¡°What?¡± he asked, surprised, his tone just an octave higher than usual.

    ¡°He¡¯s always here in the winter,¡± he continued.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. There must be matters on the Surface that he must attend to, it seems.¡±

    They moved on, as silent as the dead, for they had, technically, been a single step away from dying. Instead, they¡¯d accepted a thousand year old deal and joined the ranks of the drowned, of those who would never bow to anyone no matter what, of those who would help keep the seas free from the churches and their influence, for the God of the Sea had died the day he had created the waters that surrounded the Surface Lands.

    On they went, and [Message] Spells were sent to every nearby Drowned City with this information. Something was amiss, and whenever something was amiss underwater it meant that things were about to change, usually for the worst.

    <hr>

    The Tower Academy loomed over the Visant desert, a sprawling, labyrinthine complex of dormitories and edifices of white stone all surrounding in a great circle a grand tower standing at the very center and rising towards the clouds, a Babel¡¯s tower attempting to reach the gods that had stopped out of the builder¡¯s boredom seeing how, at the very top, you could still see what looked like construction materials abandoned there to gather dust and sand. Well, ok, without the dust and sand part actually, all thanks to the Academy¡¯s various protection and self-cleaning Spells.

    Students and teachers alike were moving either calmly or rushing from one place to the other, many of them going for the central tower, the building created by the last great [Archmage] of the last few Eras, Hurfinger, the Archmage of Spellcrafters, better known to the rest of the world as the Archmage of Dwarves.

    Now here¡¯s a little bit of information about the dwarves: they were not a magical race. As in, they sucked at being [Mages], because their mana reserves are, normally, negligible at best. And sure, anyone would tell you that ¡®that doesn¡¯t matter! Skills will fix it¡¯, and they wouldn¡¯t be wrong, in fact many dwarves did just that but¡­ for many others, it just wasn¡¯t worth the effort.

    Not exactly the best mindset, one the Grandfathers had been trying to correct for generations now, and managed to resolve partially. In the end though the thing dwarves were best at was Runecrafting, an ancient mode of magic that used the ambient Mana to power spells sculpted into small stones. It was a slow type of magic that required time to prepare, but once it was done it was quite powerful and surprisingly versatile.

    It was a craft they¡¯d taught themselves and refined with some of their closest friends. Ones that weren¡¯t around anymore.

    The Tower Academy had been built with a single purpose in mind: to allow the magics of old to be rediscovered and relearned, to keep all the politics of the world locked outside, to keep the churches with their teachings and their bookburning and hoarding of knowledge away.

    Because yes, in the days before the opening of the Tower Academy, if one wished to be more than a mediocre [Mage], they¡¯d have to go to one of the churches and be taught there, where they would be indoctrinated while being taught. In that time [Mage Paladins] abounded and they were true nightmares.

    Now though, thanks to the hard work of a single dwarf (well, more like the hard work of hundreds of them when it came to the building of the place, but you get the gist of it), it was possible for anyone to come and learn all the magic one desired at a fair price.

    Naturally, in the early days, things hadn¡¯t gone so smoothly.

    Politics had nearly caused the whole concept to crumble to dust, factions had formed that hoarded books and knowledge, people had tried to become rich by putting impossibly high prices for gaining access to the place.

    That¡¯s where the¡­ ¡®safety measures¡¯ had come into play. That is to say, the monsters on all fifty of the floors. Every floor contained a specific type of monster that had been enhanced by the mana in the Academy or through experimentation, and that¡¯s without taking into consideration the floors with sentient monsters. Why is that important? Well, the only way to beat each and every floor was to use every type of magic that could be learned from the floors below, making it basically impossible to beat a floor without people pooling their knowledge together. At first there had been attempts at creating alliances, but soon it was found out that the best way to pass floors was by combining Spells which were taught in different books, owned by different factions.

    A long decade put short, the problem of factions was solved by a small rebellion and it had never appeared again, any and all newborn factions getting squashed at the time they formed.

    That, ladies and gentlemen, is a show of the foresight of dwarves, who usually think in terms of decades or outright centuries ahead, instead of months and years.

    Still, on that day, a group of three arrived at the doors of the Tower Academy, on foot, from the desert. That¡­ was somewhat surprising, for all people used the flying transportation services offered by the Tower as a way to safely traverse the desert and not get eaten by the giant sand worms that lived underground.

    The group knocked on the gates of the Academy and the man in front shouted: ¡°We are a delegation of the College of Memoirs. We request entry inside the Tower Academy and wish to speak with whoever is in charge.¡±

    The moment the words were spoken one of the [Mages] stationed at the entrance, a [Door Mage] to be precise (an extremely specific Class that centered its powers and abilities around the protection and usage of doors. It was surprisingly powerful actually, if you had enough fantasy to look for ways to use Door Skills in a day to day situation) raised an eyebrow and didn¡¯t open the gates. Now he understood why they hadn¡¯t come using the flying services: they¡¯d been denied the use.

    After an entire minute had passed the man shouted again: ¡°We are from the College of Memoirs and we request to speak with the person in charge of the Tower Academy. Now!¡±

    Again, silence was all the answer they got as the [Door Mage] smirked.

    Another minute passed and Mr. Shouter, as the [Mage] had decided to call him, looked like he was about to pop a vein, while the two people who¡¯d come with him began fidgeting.

    Finally, he shouted again: ¡°Open these doors! [The College Won¡¯t Be Denied]!¡±

    Immediately as the words left his mouth the gates of the Academy began opening without a sound. The [Door Mage] jumped from his comfortable seat and began using Skills.

    ¡°[Access Denied]!¡± nothing happened.

    ¡°[Lock the Gates]!¡± again, nothing happened and the gates continued opening.

    ¡°[Wall of Sand]! [Aknos Scorching Heat]! [Strengthen Internal Structure]!¡±

    A wall of sand formed in front of the entrance gates and, a moment later, the area around it became so hot that the sand turned into glass. Then¡­ nothing happened, visibly, but the wall looked much sturdier and the glass started concentrating the light of the sun towards the trio.

    The man stepped forward and the wall shattered, not a shard hitting him or his poss¨¦.

    ¡°Fuck! [Bindings of Burntear]! [The Great Sage¡¯s Denial]!¡± he used his most powerful Spell and Skill. He was only Level 35, a very low Level for receiving a Rare Skill, but he¡¯d gained the right to it by beating the Boss of the fortieth floor of the Academy alone. That one had been a true challenge for everyone, for the monsters there hadn¡¯t been monsters, but illusions. Sapient illusions that made it impossible for anyone to progress unless they managed to answer many questions. The boss himself had been an illusion of a [Great Sage] from Eva and the only way to progress past him had been to¡­ beat him in a debate, of all things. He¡¯d done it, after extensive preparation on a subject of his choice (the only advantage that had been given to him and the other [Mages]), which had been a debate on choosing to use only extremely specific Classes.

    The debate had been fierce and had lasted for hours, but he¡¯d done it. Because of that he¡¯d received this Skill.

    As the words left his mouth chains of magma and scales appeared from the ground around the trio, attempting to bind them in place, and shattering the moment they touched their skin.

    The second Skill though gave them pause.

    Suddenly the [Door Mage] and the [Enforcer Missionary of the College] were looking each other in the eyes. The world around them bent and twisted and they were facing each other. The former of the two had only ever heard of such a phenomenon: a Clash of Wills. A moment in time when two beings¡¯ wills, desires and convictions were so strong, or so empowered, that reality itself bent under the force of the Clash. The one who came on top would have their Skill and desires win over the other.

    So there they stood.

    On one side, a simple [Door Mage] and [Philosopher], at his back only the shrouded image of an ancient Sage who put his hand on the man¡¯s shoulder in support, his eyes flickering towards their adversary.

    He looked at the duo and smirked, at his back millenia worth of Memories, Traditions and Laws, an entire organization that had dominated Kingdoms with nothing more than a few words. Screams came from his side, pain, sorrow, anger, but it was just screaming. It could do nothing to him. But it could scare the one on the other side.

    The [Door Mage] trembled in place. He hadn¡¯t expected this, hadn¡¯t been prepared.

    ¡°You would go against me? Against us? Against the College? You would deny us?¡± asked the [Missionary] with a sneer and a glint in his eyes that seemed to be begging him to answer ¡®yes¡¯ and see what would be the consequences.

    And the [Mage]? He sweated and cursed at himself. How could he have ever thought to tell them no? What had passed through his fucking head?

    Then the Sage¡¯s memory squeezed his shoulder. He turned around, fear in his eyes, ready to surrender. Then he saw the Sage point behind them and his eyes focused on that: a Tower, even more beautiful than the one he looked at every day, stood behind him. It was also much, much, much bigger, and thousands, hundreds of thousands of¡­ things, looked out of the windows. Some he recognized as humans and dwarves and beastkin, but others were¡­ monsters? Yes, monsters. All the monsters they had ever fought against, from simple goblins wearing mages¡¯ attires to elementals to reveler ants to mage eaters to golems and illusions, and many more that were shrouded in shadows, unwilling to show themselves for they were higher up on the Floors.

    And, above all of them, standing proudly at the very top of the Tower, was the old [Advocate of Lost Causes] as he had been when he was alive and not a hardlight golem.

    They were all looking at him expectantly and smiling, as if saying ¡®So what if they¡¯re the College? We will fight them all.¡¯.

    He turned back to the sneering [Missionary], feeling the fear and doubt taking hold of him again, but he managed to put on a brave mask and sneer right back, to his great surprise.

    ¡°Yes. I dare,¡± he answered with a feeble, trembling, voice. But how he said it mattered little: what was important was his stance, his decision.

    ¡°You are not welcome,¡± he continued, this time his voice coming stronger.

    The [Missionary] frowned and shook his head.

    ¡°You alone don¡¯t have the power or the strength to deny us. Begone,¡± he shooed him away with a hand and he felt an impossible strength try to lift him up and throw him away, out of the Clash, attempting to break his Skill.

    Yet it couldn¡¯t move him as the hand of the Great Sage at his back tightened its grip, planting him in place.

    The [Missionary]¡¯s frown deepened.

    ¡°I said begone!¡±

    The force pushing him away became stronger, so much so that he felt like his insides were being torn out of him, and the Sage¡¯s hand trembled as he began losing his footing.

    Then chains appeared out of nowhere and bound his feet to the ground, the links made of every possible element of magic that ever had been. Another figure had appeared on top of the Tower. It was a shadow, small and stocky, wearing a [Mage]¡¯s robes and holding a wand in one hand and what looked like a scroll in the other. The wand was pointed at the [Door Mage] and, a moment later, a colorful shield formed around him, blocking out the force.

    The [Missionary] was sneering now.

    ¡°We will not be denied! We are the College!¡±

    The [Door Mage] looked around, then down at the sand underneath his feet, and cast a Spell without using a Skill or anything, for he wasn¡¯t actually casting a Spell so much as imposing his will upon this image of reality, and his will took the form of water forming at his feet and wetting the sand.

    Then he kneeled down, made a mud ball, and threw it at the [Missionary].

    The reality they were standing in shook and began cracking as the man¡¯s will started falling apart, his strength not enough to beat centuries of hard work, impossible alliances and deals together with the stubbornness of youth and the remembered will of a man of knowledge. Pain and suffering and fear only worked so much on these things.

    Still the [Missionary] stood, turning his fury and outrage into will, trying to overpower the Skill.

    And then, out of the shadows a figure emerged, a black figure with white eyes. The figure, unnoticed by all, raised a hand, in which it held¡­ a button. A bone white button seemingly taken from a shirt. It flicked the small object towards the raging [Missionary] right into his forehead.

    The Clash of Wills collapsed.

    The [Door Mage] and the [Missionary] stood again where they had before.

    Only now the Gates of the Tower Academy began closing anew, locking themselves right into his face, denying access to the College.

    ¡°There will be a pri -¡± started shouting the [Missionary], only to be stopped when a figure appeared by his side. He looked old, with fading hair and a great mustache. What was more noticeable about him though was the glow emanating from him, for his body was made of hardlight, an advanced type of Light Magic. He was, in a way, a hardlight golem, and at the same time so much more.

    For he was what was left of the [Advocate of Lost Causes], now the greatest guardian of the Tower Academy left behind by the Archmage who had built this place.

    He smiled politely at the [Missionary] and spoke in a cold tone: ¡°This is a pre registered message: If you are hearing this,¡± the voice suddenly changed, becoming much more tired-sounding and crackling, as if the person who¡¯d said these words had been gargling rocks before registering them, ¡°you are either from the College or one of the churches. I don¡¯t care. You are not welcome. Leave, or face the consequences.¡±

    The [Missionary] became red and shouted: ¡°I care not for all this bullshit! The College demands entry into the Academy and to check that all that is inside follows the Regulations on Decency!¡±

    The [Advocate] opened his mouth again: ¡°This is a pre registered message: If you are hearing this you are either from the College or one of the churches. I don¡¯t care. You are not welcome. Leave, or face the consequences.¡±

    He repeated the message again.

    ¡°Let us in!¡± he walked towards the gate, ignoring the hardlight golem.

    ¡°This is a pre registered message: If you are hearing this you are either from the College or one of the churches. I don¡¯t care. You are not welcome. Leave, or face the consequences.¡±

    He repeated a third time.

    The [Door Mage] dearly hoped he would stop with this charade soon and do something, because he knew he was faking it. He was sentient and extremely intelligent. Also, he didn¡¯t think he had it in himself to do another Clash of Wills if it came to that.

    The [Missionary] reached the gate and touched it.

    A moment later in his place stood a small cloud of black dust. No, not dust, ash. And that, too, was quickly dispersed by a small gust of wind.

    Then the two people who had accompanied the man, too, turned to dust, and for only a single moment the [Door Mage] saw a Rune appear on the wall nearby before a bolt of lightning appeared and, faster than the eye could blink, reached them, disintegrating their bodies.

    Then the [Advocate] stood alone and¡­ sighed.

    ¡°The time has come, it would seem,¡± he whispered.

    Then he appeared beside the [Door Mage] and smiled: ¡°Good job Michail. I¡¯m proud of you. You¡¯ll surely Level tonight.¡±

    And he was gone.

    That night, indeed, he Leveled.

    [Conditions Met: Door Mage -> Mage-Warden of Freedom!]

    [Mage-Warden of Freedom Level 40!]

    [Skill - The Academy¡¯s Will Empowers Me Obtained!]

    [Skill - Door Spell: Rune of Disintegration Obtained!]

    [Skill - Collegebane Skills Obtained!]

    [Conditions Met: Access Denied -> The Gates of Leningrad Stood Closed]

    [Skill - Access Denied Consolidated!]

    [Skill - Lock the Gates Consolidated!]

    [Skill - The Gates of Leningrad Stood Closed Obtained!]

 Chapter 39: A Little Bit of Cheating

    Liam woke up the day after his first attempts at making a functional magic circle to create a bag of holding with satisfaction coursing through his veins (that is, the moment he took off his pendant). Oh, he was going to show them! He would create the best circle they¡¯d ever seen! Muhahahahahaha!!!!

    Ok, he should probably stop. Still, the point stood: he¡¯d Leveled last night and gained some quite interesting Skills, chief among which was [Substance: Aspects of Paint]. If it did what he imagined it would do he¡¯d be able to turn that hateful crystal jelly into something manageable!

    With a pep in his step he opened the door to his room and stumbled face first into Amarie, who was standing there with her fist raised in the air to knock on his door. They stumbled a bit but luckily the woman managed to regain her balance by putting a foot up against the wall.

    A moment later Sigmund peeked into the corridor having heard the mild swearing and, with a raised eyebrow and playful smile, asked: ¡°Already at it this early in the morning? At least do your thing in the room.¡±

    They both glared at him with so much heat that they probably gave him a sunburn (glareburn? Yeah, that sounded better), which only made him chuckle some more before he disappeared back into the kitchen, where the sound of sizzling and his whistling mixed together with the wonderful smell of spices and cooked meats. He was in a really good mood apparently.

    Still, holding hands, the two lovers sat down at the table and ate, chatting easily about inconsequential things.

    That is, until Amarie looked at Liam and, after a moment where she looked rather thoughtful, she asked him: ¡°Yesterday while I was out I met Sir Neville. Do you remember him?¡±

    Liam nodded as he immediately associated the name with the youthful [Knight], youngest of the unit, and smiled: ¡°Yes, I remember him. What did you talk about?¡±

    ¡°Well, apparently my unit organized a dinner and the two of us are invited. Apparently that is also not up to discussion, we will come or they¡¯ll send Giulia to drag us there.¡±

    Both Liam and Sigmund frowned at that, but the former beat the latter to the punch and asked: ¡°Why does that sound so ominous?¡±

    ¡°Because Giulia has the unnatural ability to get people to do what she wants every time, sometimes without even needing to speak a single word,¡± she chuckled, then shook her head as a snort escaped her lips too before adding: ¡°We like to joke that the only reason she hasn¡¯t become a [Queen] by now is that she just doesn¡¯t want to. Again, that girl can be scary. Since you created the explosives she¡¯s become even worse, and also somehow much more manageable.¡±

    ¡°...Is it normal for your unit to just menace people using a pyromaniac?¡±

    ¡°No. They only do that among themselves. They¡¯d never abuse the power on anyone else. But that means that sometimes they use her against me. You cannot even begin to imagine how many times they tried to set me up for a date and asked Giulia to ¡®convince¡¯ me to go on them.¡±

    They looked at each other, then chuckled amiably.

    All the while Sigmund smiled at them and ate, enjoying the small talk more than the food. For a moment his eyes slid towards the windows, to the street outside already beginning to fill up with people. He dared to glance up at the sky peeking out from behind a building with a roof lower than the others, seeing a few rays of sunlight and a bright blue sky. He wondered if today would be the day, but his body answered for him by sending a shiver down his spine and his stomach twisting into knots as a single bead of sweat rolled down from the top of his head and down towards his tail. A clear no then.

    He let the two lovebirds keep chatting for a few more minutes, gathering the dirty plates and placing them gently in the sink so as not to crack them. His hands moved steadily in small circles as he passed a sponge filled with soapy water over them to remove the grime and fat from the meat before he put them to dry on a nearby rack bolted to the wall with double the amount of screws necessary, all three inches longer than they ought to be, before placing three towels underneath to make sure that, if worse came to worst, they¡¯d at least fall on something soft and not (all) break.

    ¡°Hoy Liam. Time to work!¡± he shouted before stepping out of the room and going for the stairs. His prosthetic leg creaked and he promised himself to check the wood, the screws, the enchantments and everything come evening because it was better to be safe than sorry: he wouldn¡¯t want his leg to fail him while he was crafting items to sell in the shop or, gods forbid, experimenting. The former would mean a very probable injury, while the latter would be, well, not a death sentence, he had Skills to help him after all, but something too close for comfort.

    He heard Liam step behind him as he said goodbye to his daughter and stepped down the stairs.

    He smiled to himself, feeling truly happy for the first time in a while. If there was one thing he would say he missed most of all now that his wife was dead it was the noise. He missed the sounds of people talking, the small noises made by someone living over his head, be it the patter of feet or the clanking of pans and utensils being used to cook. He missed the gentle snoring beside him in his bed, the voice shouting for him to come eat lunch or dinner from the stairs that led down into his laboratory. He missed his daughter¡¯s shrieking laughter mixed in with his wife¡¯s lighthearted one when she decided to tickle her, or the gentle cooing when she helped her daughter get better from an illness or from a bad scrape she¡¯d gotten while playing outside.

    In a way, he also missed the sky. The bright¡­ blue¡­ endless expanse¡­ hovering over his head¡­¡­. immense.

    No¡­ yes¡­ both. He missed it and he feared it. He could still remember going out into the city proper, to the marketplace, with his wife to buy things. He remembered talking to people outside their homes, going to bars to have a nice drink and a chat with the patrons and the proprietor.

    But now she was gone, and he had nobody to anchor him to the ground, to make sure he wouldn¡¯t fall into that endlessness over his head. He knew it didn¡¯t make sense, he knew there was no way for him to float away from the earth beneath his feet up to the stars (there was a reason he¡¯d never crafted even a single [Levitation] wand or [Flight] Scroll), but the rest of his mind and his entire body rebelled against that logic, shouting at him in terror that no, there was a chance, it could happen, why risk it?, it was better to stay inside, to stay tucked away in his warm home with a solid roof over his head, better yet if he was in his lab underground even further away from the sky.

    He sighed internally as he felt anxiety grip at his insides and, as he released the air, felt the tension leave him with his breath. There was no place for anxiety and fear in his work.

    He stepped down into his dark shop, the absence of natural light making him feel better, and saw Gaius, the dwarf, waiting at the counter patiently, a comb in his hand as he meticulously untangled his beard.

    ¡°Good morning Gaius,¡± greeted Sigmund.

    ¡°Good morning Gaius,¡± repeated Liam.

    ¡°And a good morning to both of you,¡± he answered back as he put his comb in his bag of holding.

    ¡°So, are we all ready?¡± asked Sigmund.

    <hr>

    Liam sat on the floor and observed attentively the enormous and extremely complex magic circle. With a night¡¯s rest behind him and the knowledge of his failures from yesterday he now understood just how big of a task this actually was.

    Still, he felt confident he could do it this time.

    Without hesitation he looked down at the bowl holding the gem goop and used his Skill: ¡°[Substance: Aspects of Paint].¡±

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Then he immersed the tip of the brush inside, ready to feel it slip inside without resistance¡­ and found it just as ¡®goopy¡¯ as before. With a frown he took out the brush and watched as, like yesterday, the gemstuff clung to the bristles while also forming a line connecting it to the contents still inside. Had the Skill failed?

    Apparently, yes.

    But here¡¯s the thing Liam didn¡¯t know: sometimes Skills were more complex to use than just ¡®saying them with the intent of using them¡¯. Sometimes conditions had to be met: for example, an [Archer] with a [Airmish Arrow] would need to invoke the devils of Airm to ¡®bless¡¯ his shot, or make an obscene gesture that meant ¡®I call devils upon you¡¯; other times one had to specify what they wanted out of the Skill. This was one such case.

    That, ladies and gentlemen, is usually the problem with high Level Skills: they actually require you to think when using them. And for a Class that was all about discovering new things and making seemingly impossible contraptions Skills like that abounded.

    Looking into the goop Liam frowned and tried activating the Skill again. Again, nothing happened.

    Why is it not working? Has the System gone on the fritz?

    The System had not, in fact, ¡®gone on the fritz, and as It observed him, It thought that, had It been able to feel emotions, right then and there a small part of It would¡¯ve felt amusement.

    What¡¯s wrong? Is the gem goop too¡­ I don¡¯t know, dense?

    That was not the problem here. It was, in fact, in the perfect state for the Skill to activate. Or rather, it would still be for another six minutes and forty five seconds.

    Ok, let¡¯s think this logically: the Skill says [Substance: Aspects of Paint]. Analytical thinking, go!

    He waited for his mind to suddenly come up with the solution to the problem like in those Sherlock Holmes books he¡¯d read as a child, but no improbable inspiration borne out of a series of seemingly unconnected clues came up from the swamp of his mind (or rather, he thought of it as a clear lake, but from the day he¡¯d gotten his Red Skill it had changed slightly).

    Yep, didn¡¯t work out quite as I wanted.

    So, let¡¯s try this without hoping for some divine illumination. The Skill says [Substance: Aspects of Paint]. Substance first. What is classified as substance here? I hope it¡¯s nothing related to the philosophical meaning of that word, ¡®cause I don¡¯t remember jackshit about my phil classes from high school. But in chemistry we count a substance as a single element¡­ ok, element isn¡¯t the right word for it, it¡¯s not just a single element from the periodic table, but my professor isn¡¯t here to correct me so I¡¯ll go with that; anyways, it can be in any form, be it solid, liquid or gaseous. So the goop is made from many different gems, but mostly the difference comes from the mana inside, the molecular structure, or rather, the atoms used in their making should be somewhat similar? I hope. Gods I hate this.

    So hopefully that¡¯s not the problem. Although, should I maybe specify what substance I want to get the aspects of paint? Maybe? Certainly it cannot hurt.

    Ok, let¡¯s try it.

    ¡°[Gem Goop: Aspects of Paint].¡±

    The System recognized the moniker ¡®gem goop¡¯, It had that much elasticity, but It still couldn¡¯t activate the Skill for him. He had to be more specific.

    Ok, that did nothing. Is it because of the name? Maybe gem goop isn¡¯t recognized because that¡¯s not their name? Should I use ¡®Melted Mana Stones¡¯?

    He tried that, and again it didn¡¯t work.

    Why did I have to get the only Skill that requires figuring out what it does?

    He had not, in fact, gotten the only one, nor the most difficult by a very, very, very, very, very, wide margin. For example, there was a Skill named [The Endless Road of the Grim Wanderer], which required the user to let a few drops of blood fall at a street crossing paved in bone marble (yes, that one specifically. And for your information, bone marble was excavated from the Tiurna Mountains and it came from the very same mountain that stories told had once been the tooth of a giant monster), all to access an apparently black endless road that could, in truth, lead you anywhere you desired if you were willing to walk in total darkness or only with the assistance of a Dawn Lantern, which ways of crafting had been long forgotten, or a Soul Lamp, which was a fancy name for a lantern made of black jade which cast darkness instead of light (and yes, the darkness it cast was actually less dark than the darkness of the Road), which, again, couldn¡¯t be made anymore because the recipe had been lost. Also, some people had figured out that one could leave the road and even build things in the darkness away from it, so now there were also structures there. And the Collection. But that was another problem, and it was much too far from the Road to bother anyone.

    So yes, there were much worse Skills Liam could¡¯ve gotten.

    Okay, well, I¡¯ll just have to specify more stuff? I hope. And probably switch around between the names for the goop and see which one sticks. So, back to the analysis: the Skill also says [Aspects of Paint]. Aspects. Plural. Does that mean that I should specify what aspect of the paint I should be calling upon? But then, what should it be?

    He looked down at the, he realized, rapidly hardening gem goop, and he frowned as he sighed and got up, moving towards the small forge near his working space.

    Well, probably viscosity. So what, the Skill¡¯s supposed to be¡­ actually, let¡¯s put this down and then test that. I¡¯ve read too many stories about how stuff like this always ends, and I have no desire to clean up a mess.

    He put the bowl down and , after he¡¯d made sure to place the brush back inside, whispered the Skill: ¡°[Melted Mana Stones: Aspects of Paint - Viscosity].¡±

    That was a mouthful.

    He looked back down at the bowl but nothing seemed to have changed. Nearly hesitantly he put his hand on the handle of the brush and took it out, his mind already seeing the line of gem goop extending from it to the liquid inside¡­ only there was no line. There were, instead, several drops of goop falling down, as if the brush had been saturated with water. Or rather, paint.

    With a gleeful smile Liam looked down at the bowl, immersing the brush inside and getting it out again, marveling at the fluidity of the goop (although calling it goop now wasn¡¯t fitting at all).

    Looking up at the diagram of the spell circle he set to work.

    <hr>

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how, but you cheated,¡± said Sigmund as he stared in open disbelief at the perfect spell circle.

    Liam put a hand to his heart in mock offense: ¡°Me? Cheating? I would never.¡±

    ¡°I clearly heard you muttering to yourself for ten minutes before you got up, walked to the forge, thought better, then set down to work for exactly forty minutes without ever needing to get up to put the melted mana stones into the forge to turn them liquid again. So, out with it: what¡¯s the Skill?¡±

    Liam sighed. He should¡¯ve known Sigmund would¡¯ve figured it out: he¡¯d just expected it would take him longer.

    ¡°Alright. It¡¯s [Substance: Aspects of Paint]. I got it yesterday when I fell asleep.¡±

    A strange expression appeared on the lizardman¡¯s face, a mix of disbelief, jealousy and outrage that made the dwarf beside him chuckle.

    Then he finally exploded: raising a fist up to the air he shouted: ¡°DAMN YOU! WHY DID HE GET SUCH A SKILL ON HIS FIRST TRY AND I NEVER DID? FUCK YOU!¡±

    And at that Gaius exploded into loud laughter.

    When they both finally calmed down the dwarf spoke: ¡°You got real lucky there boy. Among Common Skills ones that let you just¡­ change the aspect of something are outright the best. Although I have no idea why, of all the things, you got paint.¡±

    ¡°...Maybe because I was thinking about what I was doing as a painting?¡±

    The dwarf shrugged: ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right. Who can say? The System works in strange ways.¡±

    Sigmund just grumbled something incomprehensible, then shook his head, huffed, and looked up: ¡°Well, whatever, you did it and that¡¯s all that matters. So congratulations. You get the rest of the day off because I still haven¡¯t gotten ready the things I need to do the ritual. Go spend some time with my daughter or whatever. Ugh, some people get all the luck.¡±

    Which, in a way, was hilarious, because Liam was indeed a [Lucky Soldier]. A Class that was revealing itself as being more and more useful, especially because there was no way to replenish the luck Liam was steadily losing just by existing on Rodar.

    With quick steps he got out of the lab, took off his uniform and waltzed up to the first floor, where he found Amarie reading a book.

    They spent the rest of the day wandering around the city.

    <hr>

    [Painter Class Obtained!]

    [Painter Level 2!]

    [Skill - Clean Brush Obtained!]

 Chapter 40: Dinner Plans

    That same evening Liam and Amarie walked out of the shop, where they were greeted by a smiling Sir Neville wearing civilian clothes. Seeing him without his armor felt mildly surreal to Liam, his mind constantly associating the young man with the [Knight] in plate armor and seeing him wearing trousers lined with felt, a long sleeved shirt and a heavy cloak to keep the cold at bay was¡­ new. He looked like a completely different person.

    ¡°Good evening Liam, [Commander]!¡± he said cheerfully with a wave, causing people to turn their heads at the word [Commander]. Of course everyone and their parakeet (apparently there weren¡¯t many dogs on Rodar. Or pets in general. They didn¡¯t last long) knew who Amarie was and where she lived, but some people still found it hard to believe that someone who was basically a minor celebrity lived in such a¡­ normal part of the city.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad we didn¡¯t have to ask Dame Giulia for help this time around,¡± he continued, a smirk making its appearance on his face now.

    Liam chuckled: ¡°Good evening to you too Sir Neville. And come on, she can¡¯t be that bad. Right?¡±

    For a single moment the young [Knight]¡¯s expression was overtaken by a haunted look, as if he¡¯d just seen the horrifying ghost of a monstrous ghoul appear behind Liam. Then he shook his head slightly, his smile returning.

    ¡°Trust me Liam, you don¡¯t want to find out. It¡¯s usually enough for her to look at you to convince you to do as she wants, and I had the displeasure of hearing her talk in an attempt to convince me. I know Airm when I see it: I live in it.¡±

    Again, Liam was tempted to say something along the lines of ¡®surely you¡¯re exaggerating¡¯, but thought better of it when Amarie put a placating hand on his shoulder.

    ¡°Good evening Neville. Let¡¯s all drop the titles now, shall we? It¡¯s winter, we¡¯re all out of a job.¡±

    That got a chuckle out of the [Knight]: ¡°Sure we are. ¡®Least the [King] pays us still, otherwise we¡¯d be in dire straits.¡±

    Because yes, apparently there were kingdoms out there who didn¡¯t pay their military during the winter pauses from the fighting and wars, practically disbanding them until the arrival of spring, all to save up some money. Some would call it a very stupid tactic, and if we were on Earth I¡¯d be prone to agreeing with the idea, but on <Unnamed> it was considered a completely normal practice and no one would¡¯ve looked down on their [Kings] for doing this, mainly because it freed up funds that could be spent to help the people (or so many liked to think. The money was usually spent in other things). Few were the kingdoms that kept their armies paid during the winter, and they were mostly the extremely wealthy ones. Kingdoms such as Nagid, the one Liam lived in, which kept on gaining nearly absurd amounts of money by sacking armies and getting taxes from more and more cities. There had been a serious risk of inflation for a while in the beginning when the flow of unexpected riches hadn¡¯t been kept under control, but [King] Tibur had a managed to get ahold of a good [Minister of Finances] from a nearby city state and the problem had been swiftly solved¡­ somehow. Nobody was quite sure how. Although there were rumors of a hoard slowly forming underneath the city.

    ¡°So, where are we eating?¡± asked Liam.

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re going to love the place! It¡¯s called ¡®The Herbalist¡¯s Nightmare¡¯ and it¡¯s awesome. They say their [Chef] is over Level 30!¡±

    ¡°...The Herbalist¡¯s Nightmare?¡± he was thoroughly confused.

    ¡°Yes. A great name, am I right? Their dishes are all different types of meats prepared in the most outlandish ways imaginable and they all taste great!¡±

    Amarie smiled, then, leaning in close to the young man, asked: ¡°Who lost a bet and is forced to spend their life¡¯s savings on this evening?¡±

    Neville burst out into laughter: ¡°Oh, that would be Sir Pollion. We made a bet on who would manage to convince Giulia to stay put among the ranks during the [King]¡¯s entire speech; he got the short straw and lost. Also, it¡¯s not his entire life¡¯s savings, just the month¡¯s stipend, and he said he had a lot of money saved up. He¡¯ll be bringing his wife and kid there next week, got an appointment set up and everything.¡±

    That brought a genuine and happy smile to Amarie¡¯s lips, and an expression of incredulity to Liam¡¯s face. Why he couldn¡¯t have told you, but it just felt so¡­ strange, to hear that one of the people he¡¯d been traveling with, someone who risked their life on the daily fighting in wars, would have a family waiting home. It didn¡¯t make sense, but then again, the human mind seldom does, and Sir Pollion had never given Liam the married man vibes, much less the dad ones.

    ¡°He¡¯s too good a man for these wars,¡± said Amarie in thinly veiled sadness and resignation, ¡°but he made his choice, and he¡¯s good at what he does.¡±

    ¡°Amarie, with all due respect, if there¡¯s someone in our unit who¡¯s too good for these wars it¡¯s you, and everyone in the unit would agree with me,¡± rebutted Neville with a slight glare.

    ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right, but it¡¯s all I¡¯m good for.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit,¡± said the young man, motioning for the duo to follow him as he began walking, ¡°You could¡¯ve become a great [Musician], maybe even one on the same Level as the King in Yellow.¡±

    At those words Liam froze up for a moment, staring at the young [Knight] in surprise: ¡°Did you just say¡­ King in Yellow?¡±

    He turned around with a small smile: ¡°Yes! So you weren¡¯t born under a rock after all. Darn, I owe Yulus ten golds.¡±

    Liam felt hesitant to ask, but he needed the clarification because he¡¯d heard tales about the King in Yellow back home and he really wanted to hope that the one Neville was talking about wasn¡¯t some kind of eldritch god.

    ¡°Erm, Neville, out of curiosity, who¡¯s the King in Yellow?¡±

    The young [Knight] raised an eyebrow: ¡°Wait, so you didn¡¯t know? Oh phew, I¡¯m not gonna lose my money.¡±

    ¡°No, well, I mean, I heard some strange stories, really strange ones, like that he¡¯s some kind of¡­ god?¡±

    A snort escaped both Amarie and Neville, which rapidly turned into a chuckle on the young man¡¯s part: ¡°A god you say? Well, he certainly plays like a god, but no, he¡¯s just as human as you and me. Not Amarie here, she¡¯s a halfblood. No offense, naturally.¡±

    ¡°None taken.¡±

    ¡°Anyways, no, he¡¯s a man from Irevia, a great musician who made his name by turning his entire audiences into his orchestra sometimes, parts of his songs. That¡¯s where he got his moniker as King. The yellow part came from his fondness of yellow things. Apparently he always dresses in yellow, or has something yellow on himself.¡±

    Why did this world have to be so fucking strange?

    ¡°Anyways,¡± said Amarie, ¡°you¡¯re exaggerating Neville, there¡¯s no way I could ever become that good.¡±

    The young man gave her a dirty look: ¡°Amarie, your music can make people see things, see their primordial aspects. It is beautiful, it is simple, it is completely different from the King¡¯s music, and I swear that if you ever wanted to actually make use of your Class you¡¯d probably reach his own Level in a few years.¡±

    Levels and Time can make anything possible, remembered Liam. It was one of Sigmund¡¯s favorite sentences.

    They chatted like that for a few minutes until, finally, they reached a simple looking building. That is, simple for Earth designs: there was a window in place of the frontal wall, wood framing it all around, a clear display of wealth, especially on Rodar. Even more than that though were the words painted on said glass: ¡®The Herbalist¡¯s Nightmare¡¯, all in a bright green that really felt at odds with the concept they were trying to communicate.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know this place was here,¡± he whispered to Amarie.

    ¡°How much have you been getting out lately?¡±

    Liam opened his mouth to answer that, then stopped, realizing that he had not been goin out of the workshop that much. At most he left to go get something to drink at the nearby bar, but that was the extent of his outings.

    ¡°Just as I thought. Dad managed to create a small world inside our home just so he would never really need to go out.¡±

    And it was very subtle at that too. He hadn¡¯t stopped to think about it once since his arrival at the workshop: between his lessons, his work and Amarie herself he¡¯d just accepted that this was how these things would go.

    Hesitating a moment Liam looked at his girlfriend (and oh my god wasn¡¯t that a thought) and asked: ¡°Amarie, does your father suffer from agoraphobia?¡±

    She batted her eyes a couple times: ¡°Ago-what?¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes, you probably don¡¯t call it that. It¡¯s¡­ well, for lack of a better word it¡¯s a mental illness that causes people to fear going outside their homes.¡±

    At that Neville piped up: ¡°Oh, you mean Dwarven Sky Syndrome, or DSS.¡±

    ¡°Errr¡­ yes¡­?¡± it was more a question than a confirmation.

    Amarie nodded: ¡°Yes, he does suffer from that. He always has as far as I know, but when mum was alive¡­ well, he was better. Since she died he went back to his old ways of life.¡±

    Liam nodded but, before they could continue that line of conversation, a group of familiar people walked towards them: the remaining members of the unit of [Knights].

    ¡°Amarie, hello!¡± waved a cheerful Sir Pollion, ¡°And Liam and Neville too! Pleasure to see yall again. Except for you Neville. We met this morning.¡±

    A chuckle went up from the group.

    Next was Dame Giulia, who simply nodded her head in greeting to each of them, giving everyone a sparkling smile that promised good natured mischief.

    Afterwards Yulus greeted them¡­ and that was more or less everyone he knew. The other [Knights] he hadn¡¯t really spent much time talking to. Still, they all greeted him warmly.

    Then in they went, where a smiling [Restaurant Owner] showed them to their private booth bringing them menus that were basically a cutting board with a paper menu somehow glued to it, which was a nice touch seeing how the whole menu could be described with the words ¡®Meat, meat and more meat¡¯.

    ¡°So, what do you suggest I take?¡± he asked as he read all the unfamiliar cuts of meat from many animals, some known, many very much unknown.

    Immediately he was flooded with proposals and suggestions on what to eat and what drink to order to accompany his food and so much more, until he noticed the pained expression on Sir Pollion¡¯s face and, upon looking at the prices on the menu, realized they were all suggesting the most expensive items they could get away with.

    In the end he settled for a ragout of krimou meat with many different spices as his first dish, followed by a dragonspawn steak. Well, alright, it wasn¡¯t the actual spawn of a dragon, mainly because dragons had long since gone into hiding. It was some kind of very big lizard that could be found on Aknos around the Arborges Mountains that could spit magma at people.

    The meat, he found out, was extremely spicy.

    He drank it all down with a local wine.

    Meanwhile the conversation had moved through many different topics and, in the end, an emboldened and slightly tipsy Pollion asked this: ¡°So tell me Amarie, did you finally manage to get a boyfriend? Or girlfriend. We don¡¯t judge.¡±

    Everyone at the table turned to look at the man as if he¡¯d just stepped on bomb (everyone except for Giulia, who was smiling delightfully at that).

    Amarie, on the other hand, just smirked and nodded: ¡°Oh, I have Pollion. You can finally stop setting up dates for me.¡±

    The man raised his hands to the skies, glass of wine still in hand, and shouted: ¡°Fucking finally! Who¡¯s the lucky guy?¡±

    Again, Amarie smirked, before surreptitiously looking towards Liam, who was still calmly eating his steak and had, mistakenly, stopped paying attention to the conversation.

    Everyone¡¯s eyes at the table widened as they turned to stare at him with incredulity (except, for the umpteenth time, for Giulia, who looked amused and had a very knowing smile)

    Finally, he noticed them and looked up from his plate.

    ¡°What?¡±

    Nothing.

    ¡°Why are you all staring at me?¡±

    Yulus turned towards Amarie: ¡°Seriously? Him?¡±

    She nodded.

    Then the questions began.

    And suddenly Liam was the center of attention.

    <hr>

    The night was cold. Not a bad cold per se: he had good, thick, clothes on, enchanted with heating Spells in case of necessity, there was no wind and no humidity in the air to make the cold reach your bones and start freezing them.

    Amarie was still inside, trying to convince Pollion to let her pay part of the bill because she felt guilty he¡¯d been forced to pay it all: she was failing rather spectacularly in the face of a very drunk [Knight] who was refusing her proposals loudly. He¡¯d snuck out to enjoy some peace.

    The door behind him opened and, when Liam turned, he saw Neville walk out, hands in the pockets of his trousers, steps slightly unsteady from the wine he¡¯d imbibed, which was nowhere near as much as Pollion luckily for him.

    ¡°Hey,¡± he said.

    ¡°Hey,¡± repeated the young [Knight].

    And then they stood there in companionable silence.

    There was no need for words, nor looks, nor anything in truth. They were just two men relaxing and thinking about their lives, about how they¡¯d changed and how they were going to change in the future.

    Out of the blue Neville spoke: ¡°Tell me, Liam: what will you be doing next?¡±

    He turned to look at the young man, who was actually older than him, and said a very intelligent thing: ¡°Huh?¡±

    The slightly tipsy [Knight] turned to look at him: ¡°It¡¯s something I¡¯ve been meaning to ask you for a while. You created those ¡®bombs¡¯ we use in combat now. Don¡¯t try to deny it, I saw the autographed bomb in Giulia¡¯s tent. You¡¯re working with a prestigious [Crafter] and, probably, trying to create something new, or something powerful, I don¡¯t know. But what then?¡±

    ¡°...This is very out of the blue Neville, why are you asking? Is this the wine talking?¡±

    The young man chuckled: ¡°Maybe. Probably. The question remains: do you have a dream Liam? Something maybe impossible you wish you could do one day?¡±

    Liam opened his mouth to answer, to say that yes, he had a dream like that, his gun¡­ only to then close his mouth as he realized that wasn¡¯t a dream. That was just a project. Oh, sure, it was his project and he was doing everything in his power to make it but¡­ it felt possible. It didn¡¯t feel like a dream.

    He didn¡¯t know it, he couldn¡¯t, but he wasn¡¯t like Alice and Isse. They both had their dreams: the former desired to become as great as her grandma had once been, maybe to even surpass her, to become the greatest occultist this world had ever seen; meanwhile Isse wished for a place to call home, truly home, a place with her soulmate and her sisters. An impossible dream that one, but that was why they were called dreams to begin with, right?

    Liam though? He hadn¡¯t been anyone special to begin with: just your normal, everyday guy, trying to make a life for himself, getting thrown into another world without even getting to choose his own Class, and from there just going with the flow.

    So what was it that he desired?

    ¡°I don¡¯t know Neville.¡±

    The young man nodded: ¡°Yeah, that happens often with driven people. They just look at their work, at the here and there, and never stop to think about the things that could be more.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call myself driven, Neville.¡±

    ¡°I would, and you can¡¯t change my opinion. Now, would you like to hear what¡¯s my dream?¡±

    Liam hesitated, then shrugged and nodded: ¡°Sure.¡±

    ¡°I want to travel around the world. I want to see everything there is to be seen and then some more. I want to climb to the highest peak of the Tiurna Mountains, I want to visit Kraken¡¯s Rest in the depths of the ocean; I want to see Aknos and the Tower Academy, Irevia and its beautiful cities, the jungles of Eva and the City of Temples, even the College. I want to see it all. That¡¯s my dream.¡±

    ¡°...It¡¯s a great dream Neville.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    There they stood.

    And for the first time Liam thought about his very own impossible future.

    Nothing came to mind.

 Chapter 41: The First Failure

    Liam woke up the next day cradled by Amarie. Now that was a sentence he had never thought he¡¯d ever hear his mind say.

    Slowly his hand reached up to his neck and, with careful movements, removed the necklace hanging there, his mind beginning to clear as the sense of doom and foreboding that was always there whenever he woke up began to disappear. For a moment, in that fraction of time when his mind was lucid enough to think thoughts and still numbed enough that said thoughts were extremely stupid, he thought that maybe he should try fighting the Nightmare: maybe if he won he would manage to finally sleep again, to finally dream again. Even now he had to be careful, to not allow his mind to wander too much, ¡®lest he start daydreaming and the Bloody Skill resurfaced once again.

    He tried to move but found that Amarie had wrapped an arm around him and wouldn¡¯t let go, her hand snaking underneath him and holding on tightly (but not uncomfortably) to his flank, the other one draped much more gently over his breast.

    After a few milliseconds of him thinking about waking her up to start his day he nearly slapped himself in the forehead and instead decided to snuggle in closer because fuck the day ahead he had a girlfriend and the world wouldn¡¯t stop turning if he took time to enjoy this.

    They both laid there, Amarie sleeping peacefully beside him as he cuddled closer to her, turning around to embrace her as he fought off the assault of sleep: he didn¡¯t want to put on the necklace, damaging his perception and ruining the moment. He wanted to enjoy this, to feel the warmth emanating from her body, to hear her deep breaths and feel her chest rise and fall against his, to hear her heartbeat under his ear.

    The emotions they¡¯d felt for each other had been subtle at first in the previous months, but now that they¡¯d confessed to each other¡­ they¡¯d all erupted out, all at once, and they (luckily) didn¡¯t seem to be stopping. He¡¯d never thought he¡¯d ever feel like this for someone. No, no, that was wrong. He¡¯d always wanted this, always thought he¡¯d one day find someone to make him feel like this: he just could have never imagined the¡­ this.

    Words weren¡¯t enough, for they were too simple in scope. Thoughts came close with their images and sounds and concepts, but even then, sometimes, they felt lacking. A song, maybe, could¡¯ve managed it, but it would need to be a great song.

    He laid there, his mind trying to come up with some kind of rhyme or song that would even come close to explaining what he felt for Amarie, but words didn¡¯t come, or rather, they came, and they felt like they weren¡¯t enough.

    Oh how the harpies would¡¯ve laughed at seeing his struggles. They would¡¯ve laughed and laughed and laughed, and then they would¡¯ve taken him aside, in a room filled with light and lit candles with mage pictures and paintings of people who had once been alive, a window at the back showing a memory of an eternally blue sky with little clouds dotting it here and there, and there they would¡¯ve taught him their language, the true one, the one they didn¡¯t speak outside their islands and communities. A language of songs that human throats could never, would never, manage to recreate, of sounds impossible that made you hear light and colors, touch emotions and dance with them as they twirled you around and around.

    And then they would¡¯ve smiled sadly, for his ears could never hear the words, only bits and pieces: still beautiful, but also only such a small part.

    He knew none of these things.

    There was no need for him to.

    He just needed to know that he was in love and that he was loved in turn.

    So he laid in bed and listened to his beloved, the world outside fading away into nothingness. It was bliss.

    And then it was an absence of thoughts.

    But since reality abhorred absences, abhorred voids, no more than a few seconds later his brain decided to start thinking. And what did it latch onto?

    I have no dreams.

    And not dreams in the sense of visiting the Land of Dreams to have a pleasant night¡¯s rest. He didn¡¯t have a purpose.

    Once upon a time a man said this: ¡®A Man without Purpose is like a Ship without Rudder. A nothing.¡¯

    And every time Liam thought about that he felt just like that: like a complete, total, nothing. A hole in his form that left behind nothing but empty space, the knowledge that something should¡¯ve been there without the proof of it having ever been there.

    In all honesty, this wasn¡¯t completely Liam¡¯s fault. No, the fault, all of it, laid on the shoulders of the world he¡¯d come from. A world that fed on dreams and desires and shat out only hardships which it took in its hands and threw at people like a monkey with its own shit.

    A bleak, gray, world that then took you by the hand and whispered that it was alright, that it was normal, that things should be the way they were and should stay as such. A world that then took out a little hankie and dabbed away at the worst of the shit on your face, maybe letting you open one eye to see the side of its face that smiled and showed it cared: a metaphor this is, naturally, where the hankie is entertainment and a distant hope that all the hard work, all the shit thrown in your face, will one day matter, will help you get as high as these people and allow you to throw your shit in the face of others below you.

    So one can imagine why Liam, who had been a little Mr Nobody in the world, a person like any other, generic one might even say, had forgotten what it was like to have a dream. And now, now that he realized this, he felt¡­ empty.

    Luckily for him his thoughts were locked from escalating any further by Amarie shifting slightly around him as she opened her eyes, slowly blinking in the morning light streaming into the room through the window. For a few seconds she looked down blearily, her brain trying to catch up with the situation.

    Then she realized what position she was in and suddenly her face was as red as a tomato, which was extremely cute.

    ¡°Good morning my little tomato,¡± he said both as a joke and genuinely.

    As the compliment registered her blushing intensified and she slapped him on the arm: ¡°Liam!¡±

    They looked each other in the eyes¡­ and began laughing.

    When, finally, they calmed down, she smiled at him and kissed him.

    ¡°Good morning.¡±

    And the day began.

    <hr>

    He stood in front of the magic circle he¡¯d painted yesterday and looked at the various items arrayed in front of it.

    ¡°Ok,¡± said Sigmund, clapping his hands, ¡°Let us begin. As I said yesterday, we needed items to perform the rite to create this bag of holding. And, just as I said before that, we had been waiting for the right conditions to create a good one. Now, today is a Cremei, which has been proven being one of the best days to do such rituals, so that¡¯s one thing off the list. Yesterday I didn¡¯t allow the creation of any mana intensive items, so this room should be moderately filled with mana.

    ¡°We have Mana potions here and my personal take on Channeling Manacles. Yes, it¡¯s a play on the words Mana and Manacles. Yes, it¡¯s horrible. Basically, one of us will activate the rite, while the other two will feed him mana in an attempt to get more space out of it.

    ¡°After that we¡¯ll need items to anchor the space to. Since this is going to be for Liam¡¯s little crossbow project I decided to go for a small bolt box. Finally, we have the box¡¯s lid to keep the space contained. It won¡¯t be necessary in the future but this is called a rite for a reason: it needs some ritualisms and traditions to be respected.¡±

    Gaius interrupted, saying in a low voice: ¡°There is little difference between a [Mage Crafter] and a [Witch].¡±

    ¡°Exactly. Now, Liam, this is going to be your first time, so listen carefully, for this is an extremely complex process that will require a few steps.¡±

    Liam nodded, getting ready to do anything he would need to do.

    ¡°Ok, first things first, put your hands outside the circles, letting only your fingers touch the crystal.¡±

    He did as ordered, kneeling by the circle and letting his fingers come in contact with the cold crystal by his feet.

    ¡°Good. Now, let your mana flow into the circle while we put the Manacles on.¡±

    ¡°How do I do that?¡±

    ¡°Eh, it¡¯s different for everyone,¡± he answered as Liam heard the sound of clinking chains, ¡°For example, in my case, it feels like turning on a little candle in my heart and then pouring oil down my arms, letting the flame catch and go down.¡±

    ¡°In my case it¡¯s like turning my heart into a forge and letting molten metal go down to my hands,¡± added the dwarf.

    ¡°It¡¯s all a matter of visualization,¡± continued Sigmund with a nod of approval.

    ¡°So, what? Do I just visualize stuff flowing out of my heart into the hands in different variations until I get the right one?¡±

    Sigmund chuckled: ¡°It ain¡¯t that easy boy. It¡¯s completely different for every person: for example, Bevia sees it as letting an air current pass through her feathered arms; another student of mine felt it was like letting someone pour water over his head and letting it go down his body into his arms. As I said, everyone sees it in a different way. You just have to find your own.

    ¡°Now, get to it. Chop chop chop!¡±

    And then there was silence, the lizardman and the dwarf looking down at him as they sat down on nearby chairs, their eyes watchful.

    So this is all the information I¡¯m going to get out of them? Feh, of course it couldn¡¯t be easy.

    He kneeled in front of the circle and, a moment later, changed positions so that he could sit instead because it was already getting uncomfortable.

    Then he closed his eyes and began thinking.

    They wanted him to get his mana out of his body, to let it flow into the magic circle. It should be easy, right? [Mages] did it all the time, heck, Sigmund did it all the time. And he¡¯d seen it done in games¡­ sort of. So maybe all he needed to do was concentrate and -

    ¡°You¡¯re overthinking boy,¡± said Sigmund.

    That shocked him out of his thoughts. Well, mostly it was the ¡®boy¡¯. It had been¡­ a surprisingly long time since someone had called him that.

    ¡°Actually, the problem in general is that you¡¯re probably thinking. These things don¡¯t work with logic,¡± he tapped his finger to his forehead.

    ¡°So what am I supposed to do?¡±

    ¡°Just let yourself go. Then, after you¡¯ve learned the feeling for the first time, you¡¯ll just know what to do. But, as with many things, first time¡¯s the hardest.¡±

    He glared at the lizardman, then sighed despondently and looked back down at the circle, his eyes closing.

    And he let his mind drift.

    That¡­ was the biggest mistake he would be doing that day.

    <hr>

    The Headless Knight was staring at the blood drenched ground between its armored feet (for a given meaning of staring since he didn¡¯t have eyes. Or a head). It was sitting on a small pile of corpses, its sword buried through a man¡¯s head and down into the stomach of the one below.

    The boy, the one it was supposed to hunt and haunt, was gone. He had come for a short while at first, scared as a child, but then something had happened and now every night, when he appeared on the battlefield, his eyes were gone, just empty sockets looking into nothingness as the body stood in place. The first few times the Knight had attempted to kill him but every time his sword cut something off the part would slowly writhe on the ground and then slither up to where it was supposed to be, fixing the damage.

    The sight hadn¡¯t been unsettling to it, for it was a Nightmare, one of the Old Ones too, but the uselessness of it all had been frustrating, to the point where, now, it just sat around the whole time the boy was here, bored out of its armor.

    For a moment it remembered the old glory days, when the Nightmare King had still been alive, when it and others like it, Nightmares sprouted from Chaos¡¯ darkest thoughts, had inhabited the minds of the Masked Folk from the Yellow Palaces. Oh, those had been the days, when it could¡¯ve spent years slaughtering people in their dreams and then have drunk enough wine to fill its armor in the company of its prey.

    Then the Nothing had come and taken it all away.

    They had survived only thanks to the Traveler¡¯s kindness.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    As it reminisced it heard a familiar sound: screaming.

    It hadn¡¯t heard that sound since that one time when it had been stopped from accomplishing its purpose by that same Traveler. How dare he? Didn¡¯t he know that, without this, it was going to go back to the Dark Place? It would be bored again!

    The Nightmare around it shivered as it stood, the red sky laughing with its voice that had never existed to begin with.

    The corpses on the ground shook and, suddenly, they began rising. The Knight extracted its sword from them and watched in satisfaction as the wounds began to close and the two soldiers opened their eyes, which at first were blank but, slowly, were filled with blood, fury and insanity.

    The Knight looked away, uncaring again: it had one job, one objective, and it was slowly, unwittingly, walking down the stairs that had sprouted from the sky, descending into its reign of insanity and terror. It looked up at the sky, where a red sun glared down at the world, sometimes blinking, turning the whole world dark, other times observing, just like all the other stars in this strange world did.

    It remembered, for a moment, when that same sun had observed this same battlefield in another world, the day it had been born, for things where it had come from didn¡¯t quite die on some occasions, because Death had been a physical being that joined the battlefields and fought among the ranks of the Masked and, as such, could be killed. It happened more often than one thought, and until the right rites to turn the one who had killed Death into the new Death were performed nobody could die.

    Ah, truly a wonderful and erratic reality, one that even this Nightmare couldn¡¯t quite recreate.

    The boy, its victim, reached the bottom of the stairs.

    It knew it didn¡¯t have much time, for the boy wasn¡¯t asleep but just deep in thought, or rather, deep in an absence of thought which its¡­ [Condition], right, that was the word that strange being used, had filled.

    The Knight wanted to lick its lips but it didn¡¯t have a head, so instead it flicked its sword and got the blood off it, letting the black metal gleam in the red light.

    <hr>

    Liam knew this wasn¡¯t real. He was certain of it, because he had been sitting in Sigmund¡¯s lab underground and now he was on a battlefield, a headless armor following him with steady footsteps and somehow never getting further away from him even as he ran with all he had. Actually, it looked closer every time.

    His feet squelched on the blood drenched ground and he prayed to every god that he knew that he wouldn¡¯t -

    He slipped.

    His feet flailed in the air as his face came closer and closer to the ground until, finally, he met it, feeling something wet enter his nostrils and mouth.

    He immediately pushed himself off the dirt and spit out the mouthful of earth and blood he¡¯d nearly ingested before trying to lift himself from the ground, only to slip again on something squishier than the rest. Looking back¡­ actually, that was a mistake, he definitely shouldn¡¯t have done that, because he saw two things: one, the Knight was looking down at him from a few steps away; two, there was a dead body behind him and he¡¯d just stepped on his face, destroying the eyes and peeling off a good chunk of half-rotten flesh.

    Of the two though Liam was most scared by the Headless Knight which had stopped to look down at him and¡­ had inclined its head. At least, he thought it had since one shoulder was lower than the other.

    His arms frozen in place by fear and fascination he stared as the black armored thing stepped closer, the joints of its legs creaking ominously as it took a knee in front of him and pointed the tip of the sword to his chest.

    Then¡­ something he hadn¡¯t expected happened.

    ¡°You¡­ came¡­ looking¡­ for¡­ knowledge¡­ power¡­¡±

    The voice was stunted and slow, it creaked just like the metal of the armor and was so deep it echoed. It also didn¡¯t come from the Knight but from the Nightmare around him but the Knight was the Nightmare and vice versa and -

    ¡°I¡­ will¡­ give¡­ power¡­ you¡­ will¡­ return¡­¡±

    What? Did it mean¡­ was it going to give him¡­. what the fuck kind of power could something like this give him?

    He didn¡¯t know, he couldn¡¯t tell, but the Nightmare? Oh, it had a very good idea because it lived in his head.

    The System, too, knew, for it was all knowing and all-seeing¡­ in a manner of speaking. And right now a single, small, part of It, insignificant even, held its breath. It couldn¡¯t feel emotions, but It still had the ability to understand good from wrong and It intrinsically knew that wrong things were bad and shouldn¡¯t be approved of. So, as it looked at the exchange, It could see the blood beginning to seep from the ground into Liam¡¯s robes, trying to find a way into him. That would not be good.

    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t want it. Whatever power, I don¡¯t want it! I won¡¯t accept the deal! I DON¡¯T!¡±

    A sound like a thousand thousand nails falling over a blackboard sounded around him even though the Knight didn¡¯t move.

    Then he heard the one thing that all those who had been in his situation once upon a time feared most of all: ¡°You¡­ don¡¯t¡­ choose¡­¡±

    The Knight stabbed Liam in the chest and through his heart.

    The rivulets of blood that had been seeping into his clothes, looking for a way into his body, moved like many little snakes towards the weeping wound and forced their way in. Into his body. Into his mind.

    The System sighed.

    [Mage Crafter Level 15!]

    [Skill - Gift of Blood Obtained.]

    The Knight watched as Liam¡¯s eyes went blank before he disappeared.

    It watched as the battlefield around it slowly fell silent, as soldiers killed each other ruthlessly and started dismembering each other and bathing in their blood.

    It felt¡­ satisfied. Satisfied because it had worked. You see, in the weeks when it had been forced into inactivity the Knight had had a lot of time to just sit and think, and after much thinking it had realized this: it wanted more. It remembered the glorious days of fighting the endless battles of the Yellow City, the joy of feeling true, actual, blood running down its sword as it killed and feasted and killed and¡­ you get it. Violence had been their greatest form of entertainment since Death wasn¡¯t something to be worried about, because even when he or she did his or her job there were ways to bring back the dead through their masks.

    It remembered the day the Nothingness had come, destroying everything in its path, killing permanently even the greatest of their people. They had thrown Death into it in an attempt to make themselves immortal, but they had failed. Then the Traveler had come, offering passage to somewhere safer, somewhere that wasn¡¯t going to disappear anytime soon. He had even been kind enough to offer them to stay in a place where they would¡¯ve practically been able to continue their endless revels, a place of Dreams. That was how they¡¯d joined the ranks of the Nightmares. That was how they¡¯d gained the title of Old Ones among them.

    And now?

    Now the Knight had had the time to remember all of that, and it wanted it all back, but it couldn¡¯t, not as long as it was bound to this fleshy little thing that kept staying away from it, escaping like a little rabbit from a hungry fox.

    But now? Now he would no longer be able to run, not as much as he had so far.

    It would get what it desired, and that boy would be the key to it.

    <hr>

    Liam opened his eyes and gasped, but his hands seemed to be glued to the magic circle in front of him and suddenly he felt that new Skill activate: [Gifts of Blood].

    He felt like someone was draining the blood out of him and suddenly the circle in front of him lit up. At the same time Sigmund and Gaius retched behind him and something heavy, probably the dwarf, toppled to the ground.

    The young man didn¡¯t get to look behind though as the circle flashed with a light so bright it made the sun pale in comparison.

    And yet he still managed to see something: a tear formed at the very center of the magic circle, getting wider and wider and wider, and he saw¡­ nothing on the other side of it. Just white. An endless, fathomless, depthless, eternal white that spread from top to bottom to horizon. Behind all that though there was¡­ a presence. And it was feeling pain.

    The Spell then began activating, cutting away at a part of the space, like a surgeon with the sharpest scalpel ever created, surgically removing a good chunk of the space behind the tear and transferring it into their reality, where seven different sets of runes kept it stable while three others rapidly began draining that not-space into the box he¡¯d placed at the center of the circle, beginning to unravel the wooden lid placed nearby into thin threads that it wove through the immaterial, binding it to the material.

    Then something went wrong. The scalpel was batted away as an armored hand took its place, a large black sword in hand. Another hand appeared, gripping the not-space, the Void; the sword came down.

    The Void screamed in agony.

    And what was probably the greatest amount of space to ever be harvested in a single try from the Void was taken away as the portal collapsed and the truly enormous chunk of unreality was drained into the box.

    It all happened in but a few seconds, but it felt like minutes to him.

    Then the light was gone.

    And he sat there, completely stunned.

    ¡°Ok, what the fuck? Gaius, you alright?¡± shouted Sigmund, to which the dwarf responded with a groan and a thumbs up from the ground.

    ¡°Good. Now, Liam, you alright too?¡± he asked, kneeling unsteadily beside him and beginning to check him out.

    When he looked him in his eyes he blanched, seeing how¡­ empty they were.

    ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know.¡±

    Then everything went dark.

    [Mage Crafter Level 16!]

    [Skill - Bound Item: The Knight¡¯s Bag of Holding Obtained!]

    <hr>

    Two weeks later

    Liam had kindly asked Amarie and Sigmund not to worry about him, that nothing had gone wrong, or rather, that what had gone wrong had been that he¡¯d just used up more mana than he wanted, which was an understatement considering he¡¯d basically also drained the lizardman and the dwarf through the Manacles.

    Now he stood over his Bag of Holding, which was apparently now bound to him. Sigmund had explained how such Skills worked, saying, to put it simply, that a Bound Item couldn¡¯t be removed from the person it was bound to. As in, if you brought it too far from them it would teleport back.

    Currently he was staring at the inside of it with a special item that the lizardman had called ¡®Modelist¡¯s Lense¡¯. It looked like a common monocle to him, but apparently it was enchanted with enough magic that it gave off a magic signature all of its own. What was it used for? Well, apparently he wasn¡¯t the first person to want to put things inside a bag of holding for reasons other than storage. It wasn¡¯t rare for nobles to want for someone to create miniature rooms or even entire houses inside bags of holding.

    Sigmund had said that he found the practice stupid and senseless, but then again, money was money, and the Lense Liam was using now had been a gift from the noble who¡¯d wanted him specifically to craft him a miniature room.

    And what was he doing now? Well, technically the part Liam was working on would be, when everything was assembled, the magazine of his gun. In the last two weeks he¡¯d worked on creating a storage system inside the space of the bag of holding, which, they¡¯d found out, was as big as half the laboratory. Inside the ammunition used by the weapon would be stored and spit out when the need came. With the help of the Lense, which nullified the disorienting effect of an item shrinking to fit inside, they¡¯d built an actual wall with the cheapest wood they could find and covered the walls with tons enough runes and magical script to write a small book, all of which could be translated into a very simple line of commands: Start at designated Signal. Drag ammunition towards opening. Repeat with the next row. Repeat until storage is emptied. Stop upon designated Signal.

    That had taken them most of the two weeks to write down.

    Afterwards they¡¯d mounted the actual rows to hold the ammunition, which had been an excruciatingly long process as the rows had to align perfectly with some specific runes that ¡®watched¡¯ for the presence of arrows to shoot and either gave the signal that there was ammunition or told the Spell to move to the next row.

    Finally, when all of that had been said and done, they¡¯d built a second wall and, inside, had placed exactly thirty mana stones. Most of them had been bought for cheap from the adventurer¡¯s guild (but since there were so many it had cost them¡­ Sigmund had actually refused to say the number when he¡¯d read it, just saying ¡®Money exists to be spent¡¯ and throwing the paper into the fire), but four of them had come from some extremely powerful monsters. Which ones he didn¡¯t know, but the four of them combined had cost more than the other twenty six.

    Still, it would be worth it if everything worked. The four big stones would be needed to jumpstart the loop that would keep the mana of the other stones from running out by giving a boost to the absorption of mana from the outside world. It was probably very close to being a perpetual motion device, but he knew all too well that he¡¯d need to change the gems regularly. Still, again, it would be worth it, he knew it! It had to be after what he¡¯d given up to the Nightmare.

    ¡°Everything seems fine,¡± he told Sigmund, who was sitting beside him with a pleased smile.

    ¡°Very good. I do hope this works after all the money I spent on it.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t thank you enough Sigmund, truly.¡±

    ¡°Nah, don¡¯t worry, you absolutely can. After all, you gave me an interesting challenge to work on with you. Haven¡¯t Leveled Up yet, but I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll happen soon.¡±

    ¡°So, how are we going to test if it works?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got a mana-saturated room for special occasions. Takes a fuckton of time to get it ready to go, what with the circle needing to extract enough ambient mana to focus inside it, but it¡¯s going to be perfect for an initial test on this. Remember Liam, when testing things, first you do it in an ideal environment, then, and only then, you start doing stress test.¡±

    Liam nodded as Sigmund walked towards the end of the room, where a few doors stood closed: the testing chambers.

    He opened the leftmost one and walked in, followed soon by the young man.

    The room was simple and undecorated, the greatest form of comfort in it taking the form of three uncomfortable looking chairs with comfortable looking cushions on them. Hand knitted if his eyes weren¡¯t betraying him.

    Other than that there was only a circle painted on the ground with gem goop, much simpler in design than the one he¡¯d had to work on, but a dozen times bigger.

    ¡°Ok, place the box at the center of the circle,¡± said Sigmund as he took a seat.

    Liam did as ordered.

    ¡°Good, and now send the signal to start.¡±

    Liam hesitated for a moment, clearly not knowing if he should be doing that. After all now, every time he tried to use his mana, the Knight made an appearance, exacting his price in phantom pains and giving everything he did just that little push to make it all better.

    In the end though he did it: he sent the signal. A small wave of his hand caused a precise pattern of mana to reach the box which, a moment later, began spitting out arrows. Meanwhile he felt like someone had planted a knife in his hand for a moment, a phantom pain that disappeared as fast as it had come.

    ¡°Now what?¡±

    ¡°Now we wait. My [Real-Time Inventory] Skill will be counting how many arrows are appearing and, if everything works well, the number of them  it spits out will be the same as the number we put in.¡±

    Then the wait began.

    A wait of exactly twenty three minutes.

    When that time had passed the box suddenly stopped spitting out arrows.

    Liam looked expectantly at Sigmund.

    He smiled bitterly and shook his head: ¡°Didn¡¯t even reach the halfway point.¡±

    The young man looked at the lizardman.

    Then he fell to the ground.

    He had failed.

    [Mage Crafter Level 19!]

 Chapter 42: Tickets Please

    Today was going to be the best day in Isse¡¯s life in this world (or as close as it could get), and she didn¡¯t know it yet.

    Her morning started like many others: she opened her eyes groggily at the sound of Albert¡¯s gentle knocking, her brain attempting and failing to connect with her limbs, particularly the ones of her spider half, which flailed around aimlessly for a few moments before she got them under control. As always, she¡¯d stayed up late into the night to read.

    ¡°Good morning Isse. Breakfast¡¯s nearly ready, come on!¡±

    She groaned and buried her face into the pillow, wishing with all her heart that the world could end right that moment.

    It didn¡¯t, so she slowly rose from her comfortable hammock and skittered down the wall to the floor, brushing aside errant strands of silk from which she had started hanging random trinkets she found cute. On a few closest to her bed were gears of different forms and sizes, none of them actually used for making clocks (they were used for decoration alone); on others hung small bells she¡¯d bought at a local market which tinkled in a relaxing way whenever she was mad enough to open the window of her room and let the cold in; others still were the home of small wooden animals, birds mostly; finally, in many corners, the webs of some of her new friends were slowly being woven and expanded. Yes, you¡¯ve heard that right, her room was filled with spiders. City spiders, small and harmless ones, but they¡¯d started growing under her care. She¡¯d even gained a few Levels in her [Pet Owner] Class! She was Level 6 now! And one of her new Skills was [Pet: Increase Intelligence (Minor)].

    Which led to her cute little spiders making much more complex webs that sometimes ended up having some quite mesmerizing patterns. She¡¯d also started to suspect that recently they were making that sort of webs for her entertainment alone.

    Was it speciesist to say that arachne liked spiders? Maybe! Just a tiny bit. There had been some arachne who¡¯d hated the guts out of them in the past, considering them inferior, and there had even been rare cases of some arachne being arachnophobic. That one must¡¯ve been hilarious. Still, a good majority of arachne had indeed loved spiders, but not as much as frogs.

    Isse still missed Marquis du Fly, her pet frog.

    She skittered up a wall towards one of her new pets¡¯ webs, placing her hand close to it. A few moments later a rather larger than usual jumping spider walked drunkenly out of her hiding spot and crawled on her extended fingers. She smiled and brought her close to her face, where the little spider nuzzled her cheek. She patted her head and thorax with a finger and put her back, before going to repeat the operation with her four other pets in the room.

    And all the while she greeted them.

    ¡°Hi Red,¡± she told a spider with slightly reddish fur.

    ¡°Hi Cat,¡± she continued with one that had a very lightly chestnut colored fur.

    ¡°Good morning Aru,¡± she told the one who made the most beautiful webs.

    ¡°And hello to you too Iada,¡± she said with a smile to a spider that was still very skittish around her.

    And what about the spider she¡¯d greeted first? Why, of course, her name was: ¡°Hello Grandmother.¡±

    The dead should never be forgotten.

    And yet¡­ she couldn¡¯t bring herself to use the names of the two she¡¯d held closest of all: Makira and Anda.

    Slowly, with an air of melancholy, she skittered out of her room, gently closing the door behind herself as her passage made the bells jingle and the wooden birds clack against each other.

    <hr>

    Her morning was spent, as always, training with Albert in clockmaking. He was slowly teaching her the intricacies of gear placement. It was, unsurprisingly, the most complex side of his job.

    Still, it was an interesting brain teaser, and the challenge had gained a few more Levels in her [Clockworker] Class.

    It was as they were finishing that she decided to ask him a question: ¡°Albert, can I ask you something?¡±

    ¡°Sure. Ask away, I¡¯ll answer anything.¡±

    ¡°Is it good, or normal, to have as many Classes as I have? I¡¯ve got four now.¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes: [Shadowed Soul Shaper], [Last Survivor], [Clockworker], [Apprentice Musician] and¡­ ah, right, [Pet Owner]. Which has Leveled recently.¡±

    As he went on Isse¡¯s mouth began opening, slack jawed.

    ¡°How - ? You gave me a ring to make sure people couldn¡¯t [Appraise] me.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but I¡¯ve got Skills that allow me to see the progress of my apprentices. Don¡¯t worry, they just tell me their Classes and if and when they Level up, nothing more. It doesn¡¯t even work on particularly high Level people.

    ¡°Anyways, to answer your question¡­ well, let¡¯s just say there¡¯s no real way to say if it¡¯s right or not. People have been debating on whether or not it''s a good thing to have many Classes for millenia now. Some say that people should choose one Class and Level only that one, while others say that having many Classes is the best idea because it allows them to Consolidate and create more powerful and interesting Classes. The truth is, in my opinion, there¡¯s no right approach to Leveling. I¡¯ve met people who stuck to their one Class all their lives and became extremely good at what they did and I¡¯ve also met people who had six different Classes that could beat my ass in a few minutes. It all comes down to what one desires: some people are certain that they want to do one thing all their lives and will stick to it, while others are uncertain, try many things, get many Classes and from there¡­ who knows.

    ¡°So, Isse, I don¡¯t know. It will be something you¡¯ll have to find out on your own. You¡¯re young, you have time.¡±

    And then they went back to assembling.

    Albert¡¯s fingers were nimble and slow, methodic, as they assembled, gear by gear, the watch he was working on. They seemed like an entity all on their own, disconnected from the rest of his body, such was the stillness of his body and of his calm, brown eyes. It was mesmerizing to watch, his left hand holding a screwdriver that he sometimes swapped for another while his right firmly took hold of a pair of pincers. He would take a gear from a small pile by his side, all of which would seem identical to the untrained eye, examine it for a moment, and then gently put in place, while his other hand moved the screwdriver with a magnetic point towards a nearby set of very small screws and took one. Then he would close his fingers around the handle and start turning, his wrist¡¯s motions sure and precise, nearly mechanical in nature, like the clocks he made, tightening the small screws in place, but never too much, for that would hinder the gear¡¯s turning.

    She looked at him work like that for a few minutes, the silence between them companionable and relaxed, the kind that could be found between a group of friends sitting around a campfire in the woods as they ate, maybe as someone played a guitar. That would¡¯ve fit well right now.

    She wanted to ask him if he would be willing to spend some coin on buying a Song Crystal to put in the workshop, one with some relaxing melodies to work by, but then she decided against it. To speak right then would¡¯ve broken the spell of this magical moment.

    So, instead, she went back to work. She was clumsier than he was and much slower. She also had to reference several sheets with diagrams for the gears she had to use and where to put them. Apparently Albert had spent an entire night drawing them.

    Then she fell into a trance of her own and, like Albert, forgot about everything other than the work in front of her.

    It was several hours later that someone knocked on the frame of the door leading into the workshop and coughed.

    They both turned towards the disturbance and saw none other than Virgo. The man was glaring daggers at Albert.

    ¡°You forgot to let her eat? Again?¡±

    Yes, because this wasn¡¯t the first time they¡¯d both forgotten to eat as they concentrated on their work. They both turned at the same time to look at a clock hanging from the wall in front of them and saw it was well past one in the afternoon, around the time Isse had to take her violin lessons.

    Albert turned back to look at the irate [Musician] and, after a moment, calmly said: ¡°And you¡¯re late.¡±

    <hr>

    In the end Virgo allowed her to eat a quick lunch he bought her from a nearby inn, some kind of soup that tasted good considering how bland it looked. Apparently it was some meat broth mixed with¡­ stuff. It was good, and that was what mattered. It was also filling, another thing that surprised her since she was quite the voracious eater, as all arachne were.

    Then she found herself sitting on the ground of the backroom Albert had given them to train her musical skills, her legs hugging her spider half gently and kneading it in a relaxing manner.

    ¡°You should really learn to take care of yourself,¡± sighed out Virgo as he sat down in what was probably the most comfortable  chair in the house.

    ¡°I do.¡±

    ¡°You both forget to eat most days.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t! We just have¡­ late lunches. Very late ones.¡±

    He raised an eyebrow at her, clearly unconvinced.

    ¡°I swear!¡±

    He sighed: ¡°You¡¯re too young to develop a fucked up schedule girlie.¡±

    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m seventeen!¡±

    Nearly eighteen actually, in Earth birthdays. She was still six months away from her first year of life in this new world.

    ¡°Yeah, so? Just because sixteen is the age of adulthood doesn¡¯t mean you stop growing.¡±

    Well, for that matter arachne never really stopped growing, ever, as Grandmother had shown.

    ¡°You¡¯ve gotta re-learn to eat well and at the right time of the day. Albert¡¯s at the end of his rope, so he can do whatever the fuck he pleases -¡±

    ¡°Language!¡± came the [Clocksmith]¡¯s distant shout.

    ¡°Fuck off!¡± shouted back Virgo.

    ¡°Anyways, he¡¯s old, he can do what he wants. You, on the other hand, should take better care of yourself, especially because you¡¯re my student, the first one I took in over two decades, and I don¡¯t want you to start withering away or something.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m not! I¡¯m eating well! What does it matter if I eat at midday or if I eat at two in the afternoon?¡±

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    Virgo sighed, then shook his head: ¡°It doesn¡¯t, but it¡¯s a matter of habits. From ¡®eating at ungodly hours¡¯ to ¡®forgetting to eat¡¯ the step is very narrow. Trust me.¡±

    For a moment he sounded troubled, then he shook his head and began rummaging in his bag of holding, taking out his violin. It looked worn, just like hers, and simple in design. One might be led to think that a man like Virgo, also known as the King in Yellow, would¡¯ve commissioned some kind of strange design for his instrument of choice, but they would¡¯ve been wrong.

    ¡°Now, let our practice begin. Let¡¯s start with the musical scales, then we¡¯ll go over the basic exercise routes again, and finally I¡¯ll let you try your hand at an actual song.¡±

    And so they did.

    Since she¡¯d started training with Virgo nearly a month ago she had developed some skills and Skills. She was now a Level 7 [Apprentice Musician]! But she also hadn¡¯t managed to increase her connection to the Violin. Albert had said something about doing things that the original holder of the Relic would¡¯ve done, but she wasn¡¯t even sure of who had been its proprietor to begin with! Well, ok, she had a theory that it had been the man whose statue had talked to her in Winter¡¯s Last Stand, but she wasn¡¯t sure, and even then, nobody seemed to be quite certain of who he had been.

    Still, it didn¡¯t matter what she was meant to do to unlock the potential of the Relic. It was a violin, therefore, before she did anything on that front, she had to learn to play it, and play it well.

    Now, while Virgo seemed to have become kinder in his attitude, his training regimen was still as pleasant as a punch to the face. Every time she made a mistake he would point it out immediately and make her restart from the beginning of the training exercise. Sometimes, if she made the same mistake too many times in a row, he would slap her hand, making her hands sting, and tell her to stop. They would spend the next minutes in complete, total, silence, as he tuned his instrument and attempted to tune hers, with little success since the pegs wouldn¡¯t turn no matter how hard he tried (which wasn¡¯t much, he was definitely still being delicate).

    In the end he would give up and let her start again after he was sure her fingers weren¡¯t hurting anymore.

    Was it the right approach to teaching? She didn¡¯t know. What she did know was that, somehow, it worked.

    Then, finally, after one and a half hours, they stopped with the training exercises and he took out another set of sheet music. That¡¯s another thing: she hadn¡¯t expected this world to use the same method as on Earth: five lines, circles, treble clefs and all. She had asked him how they¡¯d been created and he¡¯d said it had been a rather recent development. Apparently a [Musician] from around a thousand years ago had appeared and decided that the way things had been done so far were unacceptable. He¡¯d then introduced this new method to write down songs, that they may be passed on to future generations, and this way gained the love and appreciation of the entire community of [Musicians] the world over.

    Still, it was strange that someone from this world had had the same idea as the people from her original world.

    ¡°Now let¡¯s try actually playing something. The training is good for you but it¡¯s the most boring thing ever.¡±

    ¡°Then you could just allow me to play the interesting stuff. It comes out better anyway,¡± she said with a huff, puffing out her cheeks in annoyance.

    He shook his head: ¡°No, I cannot. It would be irresponsible of me as a teacher. To you it seems that playing the actual songs, the ones that sound better, is easier, and I won¡¯t deny it, at the beginning it all seems so much easier. But without the training, without the parts that you hate, the small songs that sound bad, you would never come to understand the true nuance of things.

    ¡°The songs I¡¯m letting you play, like this one,¡± he showed her the two pages of sheet music she was learning to play, ¡°They¡¯re easy. If I let you play more complex things, well, you¡¯d probably learn to play them, in time, but you would learn them wrong, learn them with small mistakes that would carry over when you start trying to play true music, small mistakes that would grow to a point where you would be unable to play and, sooner or later, just downright give up. Trust me, I saw this happen many times in my life.

    ¡°And lastly, without these bases you wouldn¡¯t be able to learn to do the most important thing when it comes to music,¡± he said that last part with a rare smile on his lips, his eyes looking up at the ceiling as if seeing some impossible and beautiful sight.

    ¡°Which would be?¡± she egged him on, the look in her eyes clearly saying that if he didn¡¯t give her a straight answer she¡¯d lynch him.

    ¡°To forget the rules and play with the heart.¡±

    Isse stared at him.

    Yep, that¡¯s it, we¡¯re lynching him.

    She rose to her feet and got ready to jump at him, maybe gouge an eye while she was at it, but he beat her to it and slapped several dozens pages of sheet music on her head, making her sit back down.

    ¡°I¡¯m not kidding you. That is the most important thing a [Musician] must learn to do. We are raised on rules, but to truly become great we must forget said rules and play as we will it.

    ¡°The trick, as my father explained it to me, is that the rules we so wish to forget will be remembered by our bodies, by our hands, and whenever we play, forgetting about the world around us, about the rules, we still apply them enough to turn something natural, something new, into something better.¡±

    His smile disappeared and he went back to his usual ¡®resting-bitch-face¡¯.

    ¡°Now, let¡¯s see your progress on the song.¡±

    And progress she had.

    But the song itself¡­ it wasn¡¯t much, she could easily tell. For a moment she remembered the ones played by the Silken Orchestra back in their Forest; she remembered waking up nearly every morning to the notes of a new song as they all looked around, trying to see the mysterious musicians and always, inevitably, failing to spot them.

    So this song¡­ it wasn¡¯t much. It was nothing. But it was hers, and for that it mattered.

    When they finished, having played and replayed it for a good half hour as, every time she finished, Virgo pointed out a small mistake here and there, she was exhausted.

    That was when the man coughed in his fist a bit to attract her attention.

    Looking up from storing her Violin and its bow in the case she saw a small piece of paper in his hand.

    It was yellow in color, obviously, because it was Virgo we were talking about. On it was written something in a fine print that not many humans would¡¯ve been able to read at that distance, but she was an arachne and her enhanced senses allowed her to see what was written on it:

    Ticket for one Entrance at the Yellow Court.

    Signed: Virgo Eclante, the King in Yellow.

    ¡°Is that a ticket to your concertos?¡±

    ¡°Indeed. The Yellow Court will unite this evening at exactly eight o¡¯clock. I suggest you wear something yellow, although it isn¡¯t necessary.¡±

    He handed her the ticket and she took it gratefully with a smile.

    Still, she couldn¡¯t help but notice: ¡°Wait, only one? Are you not inviting Albert too?¡±

    ¡°That old fart wouldn¡¯t understand the difference between a violin and a clarinet. Also, I don¡¯t like him.¡±

    Looking at him for a moment Isse wondered if she should try to defend the man who had taken her in and was teaching her so much¡­ but in the end she had to agree, he was right. Albert had no musical ear. Years spent working with clocks had completely destroyed it.

    She rose to her feet and, before Virgo could do anything, she hugged him.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    He stiffened up in her embrace and, unlike in those novels, didn¡¯t soften until she let go.

    ¡°Please, don¡¯t ever do that again,¡± he said.

    She raised an eyebrow: ¡°So, wait, next time I want you to do something I¡¯ll just have to menace you with a hug?¡±

    He shivered again and she smirked evilly.

    Then she sat back down.

    ¡°Thank you. Really.¡±

    Virgo had seldom seen such a genuine smile. The only other times he had was whenever he played in his concertos, whenever the Yellow Court came to be and he could see the people finally give up their masks and show their true selves as they had fun and forgot about the world outside. It was a risky choice, and he¡¯d long since learned not to invite most of the nobles of the kingdoms he visited for fear of them showing their true colors and ruining everything. For a long time he¡¯d agonized over that after one time when things had gone very badly.

    Then he¡¯d received a Skill that had solved his troubles: [Visions of the Yellow Court].

    It allowed him to get a glimpse of what someone would look whenever the Court united.

    He¡¯d used it on Isse the first time he¡¯d seen her. He¡¯d promised himself that, if he didn¡¯t like what he saw, he would find a way to wiggle out of Albert¡¯s favor and never think about it again.

    What he¡¯d seen had broken his heart: a girl, or rather, an arachne, wearing a crying mask that danced hand in hand with another arachne wearing a blank mask with spots of color here and there.He¡¯d heard the sound of laughing, of genuine laughter, as they twirled around.

    He didn¡¯t care that she, no, they, err¡­ yes, looked like an arachne. He¡¯d seen people turn into dragons and drakes, skeletons and dolls, giants and dwarves and fairies and other stranger things still. An arachne in comparison was nearly tame. Sure, it could mean that she was someone who would kill without hesitation, but then again, the laughter¡­ there had been true joy there. A killer couldn¡¯t feel such emotions while doing something as simple as dancing. Or so he¡¯d wanted to think.

    ¡°I¡¯m expecting you this evening then, apprentice. Don¡¯t be late. You¡¯ll understand then and only then what I mean when I talk about true music.¡±

    And he left.

    <hr>

    As Virgo left Tobias Eclisse, Isse¡¯s friend, arrived at the shop. He watched with his mouth hanging open as one of the most famous [Musicians] in the world casually walked out of the shop and down the street.

    For a moment he considered running up to him and asking him to autograph something of his, but then he remembered the stories people had told him about the man¡¯s unpredictable temper and decided against it. With his luck he¡¯d end up losing his tickets.

    Because yes, he¡¯d managed to buy two tickets to the man¡¯s latest concerto! It had taken him a month of non-stop working between helping Morra and doing odd jobs wherever he could, plus basically all the money he¡¯d saved up in the last five years, but he¡¯d done it! HE¡¯D BOUGHT THE TICKETS!!!

    As he walked into the shop he found it empty, but when he rang the bell on the counter someone appeared: Albert.

    The old man looked down at him and¡­ smiled.

    ¡°Ah, you must be Isse¡¯s friend, Tobias. Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.¡±

    He seemed calm and well mannered, why anyone would hate him was a mystery to him.

    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me. Is Isse still here?¡±

    ¡°Oh, she most definitely is. She¡¯s in a good mood, I¡¯m certain your arrival will make it even better. She¡¯s in the back.¡±

    When he walked into the back of the shop he was greeted by tables filled with boxes and gears and clocks and watches still in the making. And, at the very center of it all, dancing on the spot, was Isse, laughing and smiling and singing a little wordless tune.

    For a moment he just stood there, mesmerized and fascinated, feeling his heart skip a beat and butterflies fill his guts.

    Then she noticed him and stopped in place, a slight blush beginning to form on her cheeks before she shook her head and smiled.

    ¡°Tobias!¡± she ran at him shouting, hugging him strong enough to squeeze the air out of his lungs.

    ¡°You will not believe what happened today!¡± she said excitedly once she let him go.

    He raised a placating hand towards her, then lifting a single finger asking for a moment as he breathed in again. For such a small frame the girl sure had a lot of strength. A Skill maybe?

    ¡°I¡¯m certain it¡¯ll be great, but would you like to hear me out first?¡±

    ¡°Sure sure!¡±

    She was so cheerful.

    So, without preamble, he took out the two tickets he¡¯d bought and showed them to her.

    ¡°Since you said that you never heard his music, I bought two tickets for a concert Virgo will be doing tonight. Would you like to go with me?¡±

    Isse¡¯s jaw dropped to the floor¡­ and then she laughed.

    What? Had he done something wrong?

    ¡°Oh Tobias, this is perfect! You won¡¯t believe it, but,¡± and she rummaged in her pocket, taking out, of all things, another ticket that looked just like his own, ¡°I have one too! Virgo just gave it to me, said it was to ¡®teach me what true music sounds like¡¯,¡± she deepened her voice in what Tobias believed was meant to be an imitation of Virgo.

    Then she leaned down and¡­ she hugged him again. Gently this time.

    ¡°Thank you for thinking about me.¡±

    When she let go she was smiling even more: ¡°But since I have a ticket now there¡¯s one too many. We can¡¯t waste it. So how about this? Why don¡¯t we invite Morra to join us?¡±

    Tobias¡¯ smile had been frozen in place for quite a while now, but at the mention of that idea it froze even more, if that was possible.

    He had wanted this to a thin between the two of them! Not¡­ well, he hadn¡¯t wanted an interloper, and he was certain that Morra would¡¯ve ruined the evening!

    But then, he couldn¡¯t bear to tell Isse no, not at this junction.

    So, instead, he sighed internally and, after a moment, smiled.

    ¡°Sure, we can do that. The more the merrier.¡±

 Chapter 43: The Yellow Court

    As you can very well imagine Albert told Isse he¡¯d slap her if she didn¡¯t go to the concerto, so not ten minutes after she and Tobias had finished talking she was out of the shop¡¯s door and walking with him.

    Before that though she¡¯d gone upstairs and made her dress of Shifting Silk change into an elegant gown with frills and bows deep blue in color that hugged her human half snugly, showing off her curves while also not showing skin; it also felt padded and warm. While that happened she set about styling her hair, something she hadn¡¯t done¡­ ever, in this world. There had never been a need for it back in the Forest and from the day she¡¯d started her life here in Tedam she hadn¡¯t felt that need.

    Her hands felt clumsy as she styled her hair into a simple chignon. It had been her favorite way to style them back on Earth: her mother had taught it to her when she¡¯d been six and ever since then she¡¯d fallen in love with it. That, at least, hadn¡¯t been taken away from her in that dreary hospital. The nurses had helped her style her hair every morning ever since she¡¯d been too weak to do it herself.

    After she was done she looked at the reflection in the mirror of her room and admired herself. She looked good, that much she could agree with (Siidi too for the matter), but she still felt like something was missing.

    It¡¯s too¡­ ordinary. Too much like the old me, the human me. I want¡­ no, I need it to look different. Special. Mine, for the new me.

    Then decorate them.

    ¡­What?

    You remember those big crocheting needles you bought on a whim a while back? Put them in your hair and see how they¡¯ll make you look! And you¡¯ve got the power of spider silk on your side, you could literally put anything you want in your hair and it wouldn¡¯t fall!

    She thought it over for a moment, then nodded and skittered to one of the strands of webbing attached to the ceiling, from which hung, pointing upwards, two long needles. They were made of steel and, on one side, sported two small red balls of something like wood.

    Smiling slightly she looked back at the mirror and carefully put them in her hair, making sure they formed a cross over her head with the two balls.

    She looked at herself from one side and the other, admiring the new addition¡­ and frowned.

    It doesn¡¯t fit.

    Yup.

    She sighed and went to pull them out, but then she was struck by a very simple idea.

    ¡°[Minor Illusion],¡± she said, pointing at the two red spheres with her right index finger and concentrating on the effect she desired to put on herself.

    A moment later the red shifted in color and became the same blue as her dress.

    Now it¡¯s perfect, she thought with a smile as she looked at the change.Sure, the Spell was going to be a drain on her mana, but she apparently had very good reserves, what with her having a much higher body mass and a soul empowered by the presence of another soul bound to her, together with the abnormal rate at which arachne absorbed mana. It wouldn¡¯t be a problem for her to keep it up the whole evening.

    Then another thought crossed her mind: a hair clip would¡¯ve looked lovely with the whole ensemble. But she owned none.

    Then her eyes settled on a little something hanging over her bed: a small, wooden statuette of a bright orange fox with a white tipped tail. A gift, one she had received what felt like years ago in a dream by a strange, scared, kind man with a very old and tired soul in the company of a girl that had wanted to be her friend. Garda and Albert, right.

    The statuette had survived the fire by virtue of being inside her bag of holding and now she kept it over her bed in the hopes it would keep her safe from nightmares. Not that she dreamed: when she fell asleep she ended up in her Mind Castle and, when she decided to fall asleep there, everything just became darkness. For the longest time she¡¯d thought it normal for the arachne but Siidi had told her it was not, that it normally took years of training to do what she did. She¡¯d unlocked the ability by virtue of Siidi living in her head and dragging her there the first night she¡¯d fallen asleep.

    Gently, she cuddled the statuette towards the side of her head and, with a small mesh of sticky webbing, attached it to her hair.

    She looked back into the mirror and, after a moment, smiled. This was good. This was¡­ her. A new her. The her she hadn¡¯t accepted until the third Trial, or maybe even until she had understood that Anda was her soulmate and had accepted it.

    She walked out of her room, wearing a beautiful long, blue, clinging dress, her hair in a chignon pinned in place by crocheting needles with deep blue wooden balls on top (that she could probably use as weapons in a pinch now that she thought about it) with a bright orange fox hanging from the left side of her head in a rather garish and contrasting display that didn¡¯t quite fit with her elegant and maybe even somber apparel, but looked great all the more because of it.

    Last but not least, as she walked out she passed by her hammock and took the pocket watch Albert had gifted her, placing it in a pocket her dress made for her right then.

    When she skittered downstairs she was met by a very approving Albert who looked her up and down before nodding.

    ¡°You look stunning. Go on, get out and blow that boy¡¯s mind.¡±

    ¡°Albert! I¡¯m not doing this because I¡¯m looking for a boyfriend.¡±

    She was into girls now after all. Arachne girls, specifically.

    ¡°Blowing someone¡¯s mind doesn¡¯t necessarily mean proposing to them Isse. For example, [Fire Mages] blow people¡¯s heads off all the time. Doesn¡¯t mean they have harems.¡±

    She smiled thankfully at him, managing somehow to keep the chuckle building up in her throat to stay there.

    ¡°I¡¯m going then.¡±

    ¡°Have fun and tell Virgo to go to Airm for me, alright?¡±

    ¡°I will!¡±

    Then she walked out of the backdoor into the shop proper, where Tobias was looking with interest at a display of wrist watches near the entrance, his hands tucked in his pockets as he just waited.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready to go!¡± she said in a chipper tone.

    ¡°Oh, grea -¡± he didn¡¯t manage to finish his sentence because, the moment he turned around and his brain registered what his eyes were seeing, he froze in place, jaw hanging slightly open.

    Then a slight blush crept over his dark skin.

    Finally, Isse skittered towards him and closed his mouth with two fingers in a very ladylike manner, a smirk on her face.

    ¡°See something you like?¡±

    Girl, calm the hormones, you said you didn¡¯t want a boyfriend yet you¡¯re practically seducing him.

    Calm down Siidi, I¡¯m just having fun.

    That¡¯s what one of my sisters used to say every time she flirted with one of the people we captured before fucking the poor sod to death.

    ¡­Is that an actual thing?

    Yeah. I believe in your old world it was called¡­ death by snu snu? What in the actual fuck does that mean? What in Airm is a ¡®snu¡¯?

    Don¡¯t ask me, I have not the slightest clue.

    The Author too, for the matter, still has no clue as to where in the actual fuck the word ¡®snu¡¯ came from, and at this point he is too afraid to go deeper down that rabbit hole.

    Anyways, she turned her smirk into a simple smile and told him: ¡°Let¡¯s go get Morra.¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°No.¡±

    It was a pretty straightforward answer. There was no way to turn it over and see an affirmation or a possibility of one.

    ¡°Why?¡± she asked. Maybe she could convince her to join them.

    ¡°Because I don¡¯t want to,¡± answered Morra.

    ¡°But Tobias spent a lot of money on the tickets. Surely you wouldn¡¯t want him to throw them away.¡±

    Morra turned to look at Tobias and Isse was for some reason certain that her best friend in this city was glaring at him underneath her mask.

    Before anything more could be said Creanza appeared seemingly out of nowhere (That¡¯s gotta be a Skill. No way in Airm it isn¡¯t!), her head popping up over Isse¡¯s shoulder, her eyes big as an owl¡¯s as she gazed at the ticket she was holding towards her guest. She read the words and her eyes became even bigger. The arachne feared the woman¡¯s pupils would explode.

    ¡°Isse, please, confirm this for me: you¡¯re holding a ticker to the King in Yellow¡¯s latest concerto. I¡¯m not seeing things, right?¡±

    ¡°Nope, you¡¯re not seeing things.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re offering it to Morra?¡±

    ¡°Yup.¡±

    ¡°And she¡¯s refusing it.¡±

    ¡°Yup.¡±

    The [Barista] looked at the ticket, then down at Morra with an expression of utter shock.

    Then she looked back up at Isse: ¡°You wouldn¡¯t want to give it to me, would you?¡±

    ¡°Nope,¡± she confirmed, her hand moving slightly back to protect the ticket from sudden grabbing.

    ¡°Figures,¡± she sighed, before turning around to look at Morra.

    ¡°Alright girl, you¡¯re going.¡±

    Said girl looked up at Creanza and this time Isse was certain of the presence of the glare behind her mask.

    ¡°I said no.¡±

    ¡°But why? Are you so afraid of socializing with others?¡±

    The pointed silence was all the answer she needed.

    ¡°Look Morra, I know you¡¯re not much of a people person, but this is a one time occasion. I don¡¯t know how Isse managed to get these tickets -¡±

    ¡°It was Tobias actually,¡± the arachne corrected her.

    ¡°Tobias - wait what?¡± Creanza turned a disbelieving look at the half elf, who smiled smugly at her.

    ¡°I¡¯m not gonna ask, I don¡¯t need to know that. Anyways, I don¡¯t know how he got these tickets, but he did, and he¡¯s offering you a once in a lifetime chance to go with him.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not interested,¡± she mumbled.

    ¡°Now that¡¯s a lie if I ever saw one! Do you think I don¡¯t know about your collection of Song Crystals?¡±

    Morra froze in place, her head slowly turning towards Creanza: ¡°Did you rummage around in my room?¡± she asked, menace and barely-kept-at-bay anger in her tone.

    ¡°Of course not. It¡¯s just that you forgot that our rooms¡¯ soundproofing isn¡¯t that good. It certainly helps, don¡¯t get me wrong, but when someone blasts a song at the maximum volume the spell allows, well, let¡¯s just say that our evening crowd was treated more than once to some good music. Especially the King in Yellow¡¯s music.¡±

    Silence fell on the table like a heavy, wet, blanket, before Morra put her head in her hands and began mumbling incomprehensible things.

    After an entire thirty seconds of this Creanza intervened by putting a gentle hand on the girl¡¯s shoulder. She immediately froze in place as if the [Barista] had been holding a knife to her throat, before relaxing¡­ slightly.

    ¡°Morra, nobody would ever judge you for having fun. It¡¯s good to unwind, to stop thinking about life. You, more than anyone, deserve it. So go.¡±

    The young girl looked down at the floor beneath her feet and sat in silence for a bit.

    Then: ¡°I don¡¯t have anything to look good.¡±

    Isse¡¯s heart broke at hearing this and she resolved to go upstairs and quickly weave something good for her if it was necessary. It would be a simple dress, after all they didn¡¯t have that much time, but she¡¯d do it!

    Luckily, again, Creanza came to the rescue: ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. There¡¯s no need to wear anything fancy for the King¡¯s performances. It won¡¯t matter anyway when he starts playing.¡±

    Everyone at the table frowned, looking at her in confusion.

    She smiled: ¡°I had the pleasure of¡­ hosting the King in Yellow, back when he still wasn¡¯t as famous as he is today. I was one of the first people to ever wander his Court, so trust me: it doesn¡¯t matter. You could go naked for all he cares, the Court¡¯s standards are what matters and they will be applied to you all, want it or not.¡±

    She decided not to tell them that the King had cried when he¡¯d seen her mask in the Court. She had too. But she¡¯d never changed, even knowing what it meant.

    ¡°So don¡¯t worry Morra. Go with them, have fun and live through a night you will never forget.¡±

    Another moment of silence, then she nodded.

    ¡°Alright.¡±

    ¡°Great! Now go! And if you change your mind, know that I will force you to join me and the others during our game evenings!¡±

    Faster than the eye could blink Morra shot out of her seat and marched towards the door, not even turning around to look back and make sure they were following her. Which of course they did, but not before they turned around to thank Creanza, who had sat down at the table with a tired smile. For a moment there she looked older than she was¡­ or maybe as old as she was. There was a weariness to her eyes, a tug at her lips that turned her smile not quite as happy as she wanted, and a slight slump to her shoulders that only Isse noticed.

    Still, she didn¡¯t have the time to stop and ask. She just nodded at the woman in thanks and turned around to leave.

    Meanwhile, she and Lavia looked at their disappearing backs and remembered.

    Creanza was wearing a worn yellow dress, one that definitely wasn¡¯t up to date on the modern trends of the Court, but who cared? This was the Yellow Court, where everyone could be what and who they wanted.

    And what was she? She¡­ was a walking corpse. Not a zombie, no, she wasn¡¯t rotting after all. Just a corpse that still had the will to walk around. In many places all over her body she was missing bits and pieces of flesh, leaving bone exposed. Her left arm, the non-dominant one, had been completely stripped of it, leaving visible gleaming white bone. That, more than anything, made her understand this wasn¡¯t real: bone wasn¡¯t supposed to be that clean. She should know. Well, unless one sanded it down, but that had a tendency of making the bone weaker. Had she sanded her bones?

    Still, this was her nature, had been for a very long time: someone who gave up parts of herself, who took from herself, from her life and strength, and gave it to others, uncaring for the pain. She suddenly put a hand to her chest, looking for a heart, beating or unbeating she didn¡¯t care, but only found an empty space. Right, she had forgotten: that had been the first part of her she¡¯d given up, the only one that had been wasted. Or had it? Losing that had changed her, had turned her into who she was today. So yes, maybe not completely wasted.

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    She looked to her left, where a harpy with broken wing arms stood proudly, holding a glass of wine and wearing a halved mask that showed a beak with a few pieces missing, the other half, the one covered by the mask, lacking even that. Ruined, broken, damaged, taken and thrown away and abused, and yet there she stood, prouder than a jungle lion and much prettier. Hadn¡¯t it been for her missing heart she would¡¯ve probably long since fallen in love with her.

    Creanza batted her eyes and returned to her bar. She still remembered that day: in those times it had only been her and Lavia. Her [Chef] Premi¨¦ and Grazia hadn¡¯t been there back then, nor had she had the Class she had now.

    She sighed and smiled: they were going to have fun.

    <hr>

    The theater was large and, surprisingly, filled to the brim.

    When they¡¯d arrived a clerk had looked at their tickets, squinted, used a Skill, then looked at them again with raised eyebrows as she let them in, wondering how in Airm these kids had managed to get the money to come in this evening.

    Still, her job wasn¡¯t to ask questions, only to check tickets, and check she did.

    Anyways, the theater was large, probably as large as¡­ ten dining clearings from back in the forest. Too small you say? Well, consider this: the dining clearings were meant to house dozens of spiderlings together with all the grown up arachne, and they did it while also having space to spare. So yes, it had been pretty big.

    The seats were padded and looked mighty comfortable from the noises of appreciation made by Tobias and the way Morra wasn¡¯t fiddling in place and instead had decided to recline on it. Isse would¡¯ve loved to feel that but, you know, big ass spider half didn¡¯t fit in human chairs. At best she could¡¯ve laid face down on them, and while it would¡¯ve been pretty comfortable still she doubted her dress of Shifting Silk could¡¯ve made that look normal. Instead she sat on the ground sideways and, with a bit of mental gymnastics, shifted her perspective and saw what the Dress was showing the rest of the world: her, sitting sort of sideways with her legs hiked up on the armrest of the nearby seat, keeping everyone from taking place there and making sure this was that nobody would bump in her spider half while attempting to take a seat.

    She and Tobias chattered a bit about nothing in particular while Morra just stared ahead in her mask and dark clothes.

    Some people who passed by seemed to recognize her and either waved in greeting or frowned, to which the girl answered with a small nod of the head for the former and completely ignored the latter.

    It took the beauty of half an hour for everyone who¡¯d gotten a ticket to come in and take a seat, but when they did the lights of the room were snuffed out: every single candle, lantern and [Light] Spell, all going puff. It was disquieting. It was exciting. She smiled.

    Then, just as suddenly, a very yellow light turned on over the stage. And no, that wasn¡¯t an overstatement or something: the light felt yellow, it gave off a feeling of yellowness and colored the world underneath in a shade of yellow that superimposed itself over the natural colors underneath, shading everything in this otherworldly color.

    And right there, at the center of that beam of yellow, was the man of the hour: the King in Yellow, Virgo-no-surname because he hadn¡¯t told her. He was wearing, as expected, a yellow button-up shirt with comfortable yellow trousers and yellow leather shoes. Or rather, she thought it was all in yellow, it could¡¯ve well been another color that had been changed into yellow by that light.

    On his head had been proudly put a broken crown of pyrite, rough around the edge, probably uncomfortable and decidedly a mocking of an actual king¡¯s crown.

    He stood there, in complete silence, and in that single moment he appeared more regal than any [King] living today. Then he did something Isse had rarely seen him do: he smiled. It was a bright smile that seemed to radiate light just as yellow as the one over his head, a second beam that reached towards the crowd in front of him, and wherever it touched, the people and place seemed to change for but a single moment before it moved in.

    ¡°Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, lords and ladies, beggars and nobles, common people with uncommon talents and uncommon people who¡¯re just plain boring and, finally, but not for being the least, actual normal people.

    ¡°I am Virgo, the one you all keep stubbornly calling the King in Yellow, and tonight¡­ tonight, the Yellow Court shall unite anew.¡±

    Cheers rose from the crowd but especially from a small group of people sitting at the front, people who all wore, first to last, yellow scarves. They didn¡¯t look special, just normal, everyday people: one was wearing a straw hat, another had pelts hanging from his shoulders, a third had scars criss-crossing his face. Normal people, but every time Virgo¡¯s smile turned towards them they seemed to shine of a light of their own.

    ¡°Now, without further ado,¡± he clapped his hands and when they separated he was holding a violin, ¡°Let the Court come!¡±

    He put bow to string and began playing.

    And then Isse understood what Virgo had meant when he¡¯d talked about playing true music, great music.

    <hr>

    Isse looked down at herself: she was now wearing a yellow dress that looked the same as the one she¡¯d had before. Her hair was styled the same and, luckily, hadn¡¯t changed too much, gaining only a few streaks of yellow here and there. Her fox statuette, too, had become yellow and, if one looked at her the right way, it would almost look like it was now chasing something in a field of flowing golden stalks mixed together with the earthen colors of the ground beneath.

    She was also wearing a mask, although she couldn¡¯t see it because there were no mirrors around her.

    On her left Tobias stood wearing a typical thief¡¯s outfit: body clinging, yellow like a punch in the eye and with a mask that reminded Isse of the one worn by Zorro in all the films she¡¯d seen as a child.

    He was staring to his left, where Morra had been sitting, his mouth hanging open. When Isse looked she understood why: the girl was naked.

    Only, that was no longer a problem, because she didn¡¯t have a body anymore. Instead she was now a walking skeleton wearing a human face, one whose lips clearly weren¡¯t Morra¡¯s because they were puffy and lacquered in yellow lipstick. As for the rest, well, she¡¯d never seen the rest of her face so she couldn¡¯t tell if anything had changed. But from the way she was smiling and looking at herself she was¡­ satisfied?

    Then she looked at her¡­ and her jaw dropped.

    ¡°Isse, what are you? And who¡¯s that behind you?¡±

    Confused, the arachne looked around and, as she turned, caught a glimpse of¡­ an arachne. There was an arachne standing right by her side and looking around in utter confusion. She was wearing a dress, yellow like everything else, and her fur had been colored yellow too, but the thing that stood out most of all was the mask she wore: it was divided in two, one half red, the other green, just like¡­

    ¡°Siidi?¡±

    The arachne turned and stared at her: ¡°Isse? What¡¯s happening?¡±

    Then she looked down.

    ¡°Oh fuck, Isse, look down.¡±

    She did and saw that her dress had retreated, showing off her spider half, which fur, like her hair, was still chestnut, but with strands of blonde mixed in.

    She began getting ready to bolt out of the room, panic taking hold of her heart and mind, her thoughts going in circles of desperation and determination as her hand moved to her bag of holding and began looking for the knives she¡¯d bought when she¡¯d first come to the city. Siidi, too, seemed ready to run and fight, her hands beginning to close into fists as she realized she had no weapons to speak off on her persona.

    All that though was stopped by Tobias who, while touching the soft fluff of her spider half, smiled and said: ¡°Whoa. I¡¯d heard that his illusions were realistic, but this is on a whole other level. It feels real! And soft.¡±

    She froze in place.

    He was touching her. Her spider half. He¡¯d said it was soft. Which¡­ was true, her fur was fluffy and soft and it was wonderful to sleep on, so he was telling the truth, he wasn¡¯t exaggerating.

    Then she realized: he wasn¡¯t scared. [Perceive Emotion] wasn¡¯t reading fear coming off him or Morra, just curiosity, happiness, satisfaction and wonder. Wait, was wonder an emotion? Apparently yes. So they weren¡¯t scared.

    Which was normal. Of course they wouldn¡¯t be scared? Why would they if it was normal for Morra to be a skeleton with a human face? If she could be that, then being an arachne wasn¡¯t strange, right?

    ¡°Ah, I see, newbies. Welcome to the Court my lovelies,¡± said someone on their side.

    Before Siidi could jump and attack, Isse''s hand shot out and grabbed hers, her grip tight, but she didn¡¯t forget to squeeze reassuringly, giving her a tight smile when she turned to look at her.

    She leaned in, whispering: ¡°Don¡¯t worry and act natural. This is probably supposed to happen.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like the sound of that ¡®probably¡¯,¡± she hissed back.

    ¡°Now now there¡¯s no need to panic young one,¡± said the voice again, and this time Isse and Siidi both turned around, ready to tell the woman, because it was clearly a woman¡¯s voice, to shut the fuck up and leave them be.

    Only for both of them to remain with their mouths hanging open when they saw her: she was beautiful. Her skin was as blue as the sky, with eyes an even deeper blue that reminded them of the ocean depths. She wore a yellow silk dress that left little to the imagination, but then again, it was useless for the woman was missing all her bits. As in, she had no nipples and nothing down there. At seeing their surprise she smiled and they saw that her teeth were pointed, like a shark¡¯s, as if she was ready to tear apart their throats at a moment¡¯s notice.

    She was also wearing a yellow scarf.

    ¡°It can be disorienting the first time, I understand, but the moment you leave the Court you¡¯ll go back to normal. Until then, enjoy being an arachne with all the perks of actually being one of them.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± asked Morra, ¡°so this isn¡¯t an illusion?¡±

    The woman smiled: ¡°That¡¯s what the outsiders want to believe. But no: this is real. All of it. But then again, what is real?¡±

    The woman smiled and patted the skeletal girl on the cheek, bowing down from her impressive height and whispering something in her ear that Isse couldn¡¯t catch because of the noise around them.

    That was when she noticed it: there was noise. People were talking, shouting even, and laughing. There was so much laughter.

    And above all that, there was music. A song that didn¡¯t feel like it belonged here, where here was the world she lived in, this planet in general. It was a song so filled with meaning that the world itself bent and twisted around them in an attempt to comprehend even a small part of the hidden meaning inside.

    The theater they¡¯d been in was no longer there now: they were instead in a dining room that was just as large, if not maybe even larger, and everywhere there were tables filled to bursting with food and games and instruments and anything one¡¯s heart could desire. There was a changing room near the back where a man wearing a yellow scarf showed all the people present the large breadth of clothing available to change oneself into, from extremely formal dresses to comfortable house clothing to bathing suits to¡­

    ¡°Is that fetish wear?¡± asked Siidi, shocked, and causing everyone around her to look towards the clothing section and seeing a woman changing right there, in the open, into a yellow dress (if that could be called a dress) of leather straps that criss crossed her body. Another one had chosen one made from golden chains that clinked at her every step.

    ¡°...Apparently,¡± said Tobias, who had turned away from the scene with a slight blush on his cheeks.

    Then the real fun began.

    Isse and Siidi stayed together most, if not all, the time, dancing together the old dances Makira had shown them back in the forest. For a while, as they¡¯d danced, Siidi had activated her Skill [A Minute, United] and¡­ it had been simply amazing. Normally, since they were in the same body, Siidi could only feel what Isse felt and the two shared an enhanced version of those sensations; here though, now that they were separated, in two bodies, however temporary one of them might have been, it was a sensory experience.

    Isse felt the steps she was taking and Siidi¡¯s the feeling of the floor from two points of view, the feeling of the other¡¯s muscles as they pumped away and moved the body, the feeling of their hands joining and touching, the taste of their lips when they kissed and then the sensation of the love they had for each other. Not love like the love that had existed between them and Anda, no, it didn¡¯t even come close, but the love of two siblings who had been through Airm and were slowly dragging each other out of it through sheer stubbornness.

    They danced, and the minute was eternal, for time lost meaning in this theater where the only Rules and Laws were the ones set by the song and the song shouted ¡®All Shall Be Allowed in Spite of Belief¡¯. It wasn¡¯t a Skill, for a Skill couldn¡¯t ever come close to what was really being done here: Virgo, in all his abilities, was playing a Word of Creation. Or rather, a set of them. Words that had been used to create reality, and he was trying to let them all listen to them, that they may catch a glimpse of it. He had been given that chance at his second to last Capstone, and from there he had created ever more complex songs that would, one day, allow him to say the words that had nearly melted his eyes and mind without killing anyone.

    The two arachne danced, and time lost meaning because they wanted it to and the song allowed it.

    In the end, though, they decided to change partners.

    Siidi danced with Morra, who knew nothing of dancing but was happy to learn, was truly happy for the first time in a while (that is, time without Isse. The girl always managed to brighten her days), because her body was her own, it was the body she desired, one that was unable to feel what she¡¯d been forced to go through when she¡¯d been younger, before she¡¯d run away and met Creanza. Meanwhile Isse danced with the charming Tobias, who in fact knew how to dance and was more than willing to show off.

    Then they changed partners anew and the faces blurred together, or rather, the masks. Most people were wearing masks of some kind and there were few who showed off skin in that department. The other ones though? Isse was pretty certain one of the people she¡¯d danced with had been naked.

    In all that though, for some reason, an orgy didn¡¯t start, and in truth that is probably the greatest mystery of them all when it came to that evening.

    They didn¡¯t know how long they spent as the Court, but in the end their beloved King, for he was truly a King here to be capable of making something so beautiful and unique, spoke: ¡°The song is about to end my lovely Court. It is time for us to divide anew, for the Court to break apart. It was my pleasure to see you here.¡±

    Then the song ended.

    And they were all back in the theater.

    Their clothes were back to normal.

    Their faces were uncovered anew.

    They all were in the same places they¡¯d been sitting or standing on when the song had started.

    And it was dark again, only a single beam of light shining on the stage, illuminating Virgo, but missing the yellowness from before. The man was smiling but Isse could clearly see that he was tired, his breathing nearly ragged as sweat beaded his forehead and he had to sit down on a nearby chair.

    One song. That was all he had played. A single song for the entire evening, a song that, to him, had lasted no more than ten minutes, but to them had seemed like hours, maybe even days. Now Isse understood why he was so famous.

    This was wonderful. Not even us arachne have ever managed to make something so¡­ so, said Siidi.

    Really?

    Our music touched the soul, but few, nearly none, of us ever managed to touch the soul of reality itself, not in a meaningful way, not this way.

    Then the theater erupted in applause, cheering and screams and shouts of approval, a sound so loud that it made the walls themselves tremble.

    When it calmed down, several minutes later, and they started to get ready to leave, she heard that voice again.

    ¡°Ah, Isse!¡± someone shouted.

    Turning around she was nearly tackle hugged by a very happy [Lady] Serafia. She dodged her only by an inch, at which point the woman turned and gave her a more normal hug, all the while laughing, joy clearly emanating from her to Isse¡¯s Skills.

    ¡°It¡¯s been so long dear. How have you been?¡± she asked, extricating herself from her and giving her face a good look.

    She hesitated only for a moment before Master¡¯s training kicked in and she smiled back: ¡°Serafia, the pleasure is all mine. I¡¯ve been well.¡±

    The [Lady] frowned: ¡°You look thinner. Have you not been eating well?¡±

    She chuckled: ¡°Well, I¡¯ve been told that I eat at ungodly hours, but other than that I¡¯ve been eating well.¡±

    ¡°Hmpf¡­ alright, I¡¯ll believe you.

    ¡°Anyways, while meeting you is a great pleasure, I¡¯m here for someone else: her,¡± she said, turning around and pointing at Morra.

    The girl, who¡¯d been frozen in place by the sight of someone of such importance being so close to her and talking in such a friendly manner to Isse, froze even more.

    ¡°M - me?¡±

    ¡°Yes, you! I¡¯ve been ordered to give you this,¡± said the woman, to everyone¡¯s complete shock: someone could order [Lady] Serafia around?

    She rummaged around her bag of holding a moment and took out¡­ a yellow scarf.

    ¡°Our [Recruiter] greets you and welcomes you to our ranks,¡± she said while handing Morra the scarf.

    ¡°She says that you felt like a perfect addition to the Eternal Court.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Serafia was still holding the scarf, offering it to her.

    ¡°The Eternal Court, as we call ourselves, are¡­ exceptional people who understand the true meaning behind the Court. Some see it as just a place to unwind, others as a place where they can be free of any rule and regulation, others still see it as a resource. Few understand its deeper meaning, fewer still on the first time they¡¯re inducted in the Court.

    ¡°You, my dear, are exceptional, or so our [Recruiter] says, and so far she¡¯s never been wrong.¡±

    Morra raised a finger, probably to protest, but Serafia spoke over her.

    ¡°Being part of the Eternal Court means that you¡¯ll get to enter the Court every time it unites, which is guaranteed by Virgo himself. The scarf marks you as one of us, but it doesn¡¯t bind you to anything. Ultimately, it is always your choice, because that¡¯s the nature of the Court. Just know that you will always be welcome.¡±

    That said she stepped forward and wrapped the scarf around a still stupefied Morra, before smiling, greeting Tobias, hugging Isse and leaving while waving goodbye.

    Morra stood there, watching the woman leave, before finally saying: ¡°Now I understand why everyone likes her.¡±

    Then they left.

    And, as they did, Isse skittered close to Tobias and kissed him on the cheek: ¡°Thank you Tobias,¡± she whispered, ¡°I¡¯ll see you around.¡±

    The boy blushed like a tomato, stuttering something that was probably an ''It was my pleasure'', but she was already skittering away.

    That night, as she fell asleep, the System whispered to her too.

    [Apprentice Musician Level 9!]

    [Relic Bond Level: 15%]

    [Relic Skill Unlocked!]

    [Skill: Glimpses of a Song¡¯s World Obtained!]

 Chapter 44: The Players and the Shop

    Have you ever had trouble with privacy? As in, have you ever had someone put their noses where they didn¡¯t belong and find out things you didn¡¯t want being found, secrets you¡¯d rather not be known, or just someone looking through your things.

    The answer is probably yes sadly: these days it¡¯s hard to do something without others finding out about it one way or the other, and parents have developed the bad habit of wanting to control most if not all facets of their children¡¯s lives. It is saddening, but it is what it is and, hopefully, the coming generation will know better.

    Anyways, imagine all that, then multiply it by a factor of five.

    Then add a healthy dose of blackmail to the mix and you got the Greatest Game as it was in Isse¡¯s time. Or rather, as it had been for a few millennia even before Isse¡¯s arrival in this world.

    A total lack of privacy worldwide that led to more blackmail flying around than there were birds in the skies. All of them.

    Some would say that it had always been like this, Stars, most of you, dear readers, would say that it¡¯s the same back on Earth, and I¡¯d like to say that you¡¯re wrong, but it was like that back in my day and I¡¯m not around anymore to confirm whether you¡¯re right or just exaggerating.

    Pardon my mood, I¡¯m just feeling¡­ maudlin, today. It happens from time to time. Ha. More often than not these days, sadly. You try being around for as long as I have and not become a mass of barely repressed depression and memories one¡¯d rather forget.

    Sigh, but let¡¯s not dilly dally now, shall we? After all, you¡¯re not here to listen to the ramblings of an old man.

    The day the events I am about to narrate happened, Isse and Albert had gone out of their home. Specifically they¡¯d been summoned by [Lady] Serafia herself who¡¯d wanted to chat with Isse while having Albert check on the clock he¡¯d recently repaired to make sure the enchantments she¡¯d had placed on it weren¡¯t interfering with the movements of the gears. Turns out that, what had been an excuse to have a tea party with Isse, had also been a good idea because, apparently, the dumbass [Enchanter] who¡¯d placed the Spells hadn¡¯t thought about the high levels of mana in the clockworks nearly magnetizing the gears.

    So, while he worked on trying to fix the problem without needing to change every single gear inside the clock, Isse had a lovely tea party with the [Lady] who had also invited, of all people, Morra.

    But right now we are not here to speak about the happenings of that fun meeting.

    No, today we are talking about a group of four people breaking into a shop that was known in all the city of Tedam for selling the best clocks in a good half of the continent, if not maybe the entirety of it.

    We¡¯ve met none of them so far: they were nobodies, most of them, Pawns of the Game that mattered little and would probably die somewhere in the dark with nobody to remember them. That is, for three of them: the last one, the fourth, was something else entirely. He was a Rook. Now, what was the function of these pieces in the Game? Well, once upon a time being a Rook meant being the King¡¯s fallback plan, the piece used to protect his or her reputation from crumbling by being a scapegoat, and the one most proficient at destroying their enemies in the same way. It hadn¡¯t been violent, not like they had become now. These days they had become glorified enforcers, worse than criminals, for even criminals had a credo they abided to, while Rooks just blindly followed orders.

    This Rook in particular was well over Level 40 and was the strongest one serving his King.

    And, currently, he was eyeing the entrance of the shop they¡¯d been ordered to get into to dig up some dirt on the man who lived over it: Albert Sirion. An ex-Player, one of the best ones who had managed to complete the Pilgrimage of Eights. What was that? The Pilgrimage was an ancient rite that allowed anyone to leave the Game in a definite manner: the Player in question just had to complete eight tasks assigned to them by various Kings all over the world. It was hard, nearly impossible with how things were done these days, but so far it had been a sacred and respected rite and the few who had succeeded at it had been let go and never recalled.

    Not this time apparently. The King had decided he needed Albert, that it was beyond important for him to come back and so here they were. If they could find anything (and there was bound to be some dirt about Albert since he had once been a Player) they could¡­ convince him to come back. Just for one mission. Only one. It wasn¡¯t much, right?

    So there they stood, looking at the front door.

    ¡°No chance in Airm we¡¯re going through the front door,¡± said Pawn 1, as the Rook had decided to call him. One through Three. Because they were just Pawns.

    How cruel a destiny it was to be reduced to a mere number by those who considered themselves superior. In truth even the Rook was no more than a number to his King. Oh, sure, he was number 1, the best of them, but still, just a number. If he died, or was captured or disappeared there would be others ready to take his place. The Game always hungered for more Players, more Pieces.

    ¡°If we were a bunch of idiots we¡¯d go in from the front. I, on the other hand, know for a fact that there¡¯s a back entrance. Let¡¯s go there.¡±

    They did, and meanwhile the Rook smiled as he complimented himself for his brilliance: he had taken the time to scout out all he could about the shop, which wasn¡¯t special per se; on the other hand his plan to blackmail the [Enchanter] he¡¯d found out had been working on [Lady] Serafia¡¯s clock and forcing him to mess up the enchantments so that the woman would be forced to ask him for help, now, that had been a true genius move worthy of a Player of his rank. He didn¡¯t know that things had gone a bit different from what he¡¯d planned, but that didn¡¯t matter because, in the end, things had gone the way he needed them to go.

    They walked around the house-shop and reached the back, where a sturdy wooden door laid in wait, locked shut.

    ¡°Do your thing,¡± he said, motioning Pawn 2 towards the door.

    The woman nodded and, silent as a cat, reached the door, her nimble fingers going for a set of lockpicks at her side and taking out a torsion wrench and a pick. She reached the door, kneeling on the hard ground of the alley, putting her eye near the keyhole and looking at the mechanism inside with a [Lockpicker¡¯s Eye], the Skill changing the pupil¡¯s color for a few moments. She grunted in appreciation.

    ¡°Heh, clearly this was made by an expert, it¡¯s much more complex than I thought.¡±

    She rummaged around in her bag of holding and extracted two more picks, these ones much smaller, and set to work.

    The lock was small and wouldn¡¯t look out of place in any home around here, but that was all deceit: the insides were filled with components so small and arranged in such complex combinations that it would¡¯ve taken hours just to disassemble it piece by piece.

    Pawn 2 set to work, her torsion wrench in place, ready to be turned to open the door while she moved her picks inside the lock¡¯s mechanisms, shifting pins this way and that, keeping them in place with ever smaller picks, all while avoiding the fake pins that would keep the door locked if they were moved, then making sure to rotate the ones that, if moved in any other way, would cause a chain reaction that would lock the door again.

    It was a challenge, the first one she¡¯d had in months. She could feel the Levels coming just by picking this masterwork. Oh what she wouldn¡¯t have given to become an apprentice under the man who¡¯d made these. Now she understood why their King wanted him back into the Game so badly.

    Finally, she moved the last pin in place and, as fast as she could, she twisted the torsion wrench and listened in satisfaction as the lock clicked open.

    A moment later she felt a pinprick in her eye.

    Then she fell to the ground, dead.

    The remaining Pawns looked in shock as their colleague, who had been working tirelessly for fifteen minutes to open this door, just fell to the ground, her eye punctured to the brain, blood flowing out fast. And there, right where the keyhole had been, having moved out the wrench and broken the picks, had emerged a long, sharp, pointed bit of¡­ steel? Probably steel. It was now covered in blood, eye humors and, near the tip, brain matter.

    They didn¡¯t know it, but for all the woman had worked hard on cracking the lock open, the place had still been defended by one of Albert¡¯s Skills: [Sanctuary: Trapped Locks].

    ¡°What the fuck?¡± whispered Pawn 3.

    ¡°She had opened it. Look, the door¡¯s sliding open. Why did a trap activate?¡± asked Pawn 1.

    The Rook shook his head: ¡°It was probably a Skill. From what I¡¯m told it¡¯s definitely in his style: make an impossible challenge to ward off people he dislikes, then kill them anyway if they succeed. He really doesn¡¯t want anyone to get in his home.¡±

    Like most sane people, he added to himself.

    ¡°What do we do?¡± asked 1.

    ¡°We go in, obviously. Let¡¯s not throw away her sacrifice.¡±

    After a moment of hesitation the two Pawns moved forward, warily opening the door since the needle had retracted back inside. No more traps were activated though.

    As the Rook passed by the corpse of his companion he nodded in thanks: he could¡¯ve easily broken through the door with sheer strength, but now, because of her sacrifice, he knew what to expect from the rest of the home.

    In they went and they were greeted by a short corridor with doors on both sides that led into what appeared to be a workshop with tables covered in gears and clocks that were still being assembled.

    ¡°Ok, let¡¯s scatter and search through the lowest floor first, see what we can find. Afterwards we¡¯ll look into the first floor.¡±

    The two Pawns nodded and stepped forward.

    Immediately the Rook felt one of his Skills activate: [Negate Ward Spell].

    Fuck, that was close.

    ¡°[Deactivate Ward Spells: Thirty Minutes]. Come on guys, fast, we¡¯re on a time limit. [Players: Enhance Senses]¡±

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    They moved fast, just as he¡¯d ordered and in a matter of a few minutes they¡¯d scoured the entirety of the ground floor, finding nothing but gears, springs, clocks both finished and unfinished and a safe that the Rook found out, through a Skill, contained a single gold coin, protected by enough traps to make most people regret their life choices.

    At the end of the search they found themselves in front of the door that led to the stairs. It was, as expected, locked.

    ¡°We¡¯re not going to have to pick it, right?¡± asked Pawn 3.

    ¡°None of us are trained for that my friend,¡± said Pawn 1.

    Instead of answering Rook stepped closer to the door and, after taking a deep breath, kicked the door in with all the strength he could muster.

    For a single moment as his foot touched the door he could feel the Skill permeating it, feel it empower the wood, making it stronger and more resistant. The Skill laughed at him, at his paltry strength that would¡¯ve never managed to single handedly break it. His eyes widened slightly as he felt the blood in the Skill, as he felt it boil over and out, trying to eat his foot.

    [Rook¡¯s Charge]! he called in his mind, and immediately he felt an alien force push him onwards, but he managed to stop it, to redirect it towards his leg alone, enhancing his strength greatly as the door creaked and bent, needles of wood sprouting from it like grass, trying to stab into his foot and nearly managing to pierce through his reinforced shoes.

    Then it broke in half and flew off its hinges, landing at the base of the stairs.

    And the Rook heaved for breath, his heart racing a mile a minute as he remembered the feeling of blood rushing towards him.

    That, ladies and gentlemen, was another one of Albert¡¯s Skills: [Sanctuary: Bloodthirsty Doors].

    Who in the actual fuck is this man? What the fuck is this? They want to recruit back a monster who¡¯s been touched by Blood? Has the King gone completely fucking out of his mind?

    These questions flew through his mind before he could stop them.

    ¡°Everything fine?¡± asked Pawn 1, who was looking in horror at the needles of wood slowly receding back into the door.

    No, of course nothing was alright because his King was willing to break one of the oldest traditions of the Game for someone who had a Blood Class, because that was the only thing it could be: Conditions didn¡¯t give people the Skills he had just seen the effects of.

    ¡°...Let¡¯s keep going,¡± he said, shaking his head. It didn¡¯t matter: he had orders and he wouldn¡¯t go against them. He was just glad he didn¡¯t have to fight that man.

    Pawn 1 nodded and stepped onwards, trying his best to avoid the door that had just been kicked in. He stepped on the stairs and Rook expected them to creak ominously: they didn¡¯t. They were well built, the wood in good condition. It must¡¯ve been expensive. Actually, this whole place must¡¯ve cost Albert a fortune, or at least one from the point of view of a Player. How high had he been on the Board? Had he been a Rook like him? Or something even more important, like a Bishop?

    A thought crossed his mind: what if he had been a Queen at some point?

    For those wondering, in the Game¡¯s jargon Queens weren¡¯t servants of the Kings. No, they were Players who had somehow managed to wiggle their way into a King¡¯s everyday life, into their minds even, and could manipulate them into doing whatever they wanted.

    Rook thought about that as he stepped on the stairs, but he discarded the idea as fast as it had come: nobody who¡¯d become a Queen and managed to keep that role hidden would¡¯ve ever abandoned the Game, and someone who¡¯d been found out probably wouldn¡¯t have lived long enough to tell the tale.

    A step.

    A sound like a sword being extracted from its sheath.

    A strangled cry.

    Gurgling.

    A dead body.

    It happened too fast. Rook didn¡¯t even get the chance to intervene.

    One moment Pawn 1 and 3 had been ascending the stairs, carefully looking at every surface, checking for anything even remotely resembling a trap, the next dozens, no, hundreds of long, thin and sharp steely spikes had emerged from the floor, walls and ceiling, piercing through the wood and the two men¡¯s bodies, cutting through enchanted clothing, personal magical shields and defense artifacts and, finally, flesh and bone. They didn¡¯t suffer for long at least, their brains and hearts and lungs getting practically turned into mush.

    Rook too, for that matter, hadn¡¯t been that lucky: his right leg had been inside the area of effect of this safety system and he stared in shock, the pain not yet registering, as it was pierced in multiple places, the bones cracking, the muscles tearing apart, blood pouring out as several arteries were punctured.

    A few moments later he began screaming in pain and horror, although he couldn¡¯t tell which one was more overpowering.

    His mind panicked, he tried to pull the pulped mess that had been his leg out of the mesh of steel rods, uncaring that he would¡¯ve probably just torn it off completely if he kept at it. Luckily, a few seconds later, the rods retreated back inside their hiding places. He didn¡¯t see this, too concentrated on cradling the bleeding leg, but the moment the rods disappeared back inside the walls (as in, actually disappeared), the holes sealed themselves shut, leaving behind nothing but smooth wood paneling.

    Another Skill.

    This one¡¯s name? [Sanctuary: The Price of Passage is Lifeblood].

    Old Skills, these ones. Skills that hadn¡¯t been seen for¡­ millenia, for sure. From the time the last Knights of Lifeblood charged into the battle that would cause their deaths. And these¡­ these weren¡¯t even that powerful, not for the old standards. Truly, Skills and Levels had lost a lot to them. Where once upon a time A Level 50 would¡¯ve been considered a force of nature, nowadays one of them was just really powerful, but rarely to the point where they could destroy entire cities with their hands alone.

    The challenges were different, easier in a way, and people had become accustomed to them and now considered what had once been simple¡­ complex. So they gained Levels, but the power given through those Levels was lesser because the challenge itself was lesser.

    Anyways, Rook looked down at his leg, still screaming his lungs out, then a part of his mind that was [Always Lucid] made his hand move towards a belt at his hip where he stored all his potions and took out the most powerful one he had, a High Grade, Purification Type, Health Potion. He unstoppered it, the adrenaline running through his veins momentarily making the pain bearable, and poured most of the vial onto his leg, chugging down the rest.

    Immediately his leg began to reknit itself, the powerful alchemical magic of the reagents encountering bones and beginning to set them in the right place (not something to be underestimated. There have been throughout history uncountable cases of people using cheap Accelerant Type health potions and ending up with their bones rebuilt wrong) while muscle fibers were stretched on top of thin threads of magic and reassembled. A mere ten seconds after the potion had been used the bones were back the way they should¡¯ve been, the blood vessels already in working order as the muscles finished repairing themselves and skin began growing over everything.

    Rook sighed in relief.

    Then he stared at the bodies of the Pawns and he felt bile rising in his throat which he quickly gulped back down. They had done their job and, as every Player of the Game, knew the risks involved: doing reconnaissance in the home of an ex high ranking Player who had reached old age. It was clearly stated that this was probably going to be dangerous.

    Still, he had expected none of this.

    For a moment he considered retreating and leaving, his mission failed, but he quickly thought better: he had no desire to be demoted back to a Pawn.

    So, slowly, he stood back up, testing that his leg, which now felt like it was crawling with ants, could support his weight. When he was certain he could walk normally he began ascending the stairs again¡­ by climbing on the bannister. If the trap was activated by pressing the wrong floorboard this way he wouldn¡¯t activate it again.

    In time he reached the top of the stairs, where another door waited. Locked.

    Still, it was quick work to break it open with his Skill from before, which had recharged, and while the door tried to puncture his booted foot (he had to use the other one since the one he¡¯d healed had had its own boot destroyed by the trap), he was ready this time.

    Then he stepped on the first floor.

    Three people had died to get here and he¡¯d half expected, as he walked through the doorway, to see mountains of gold or something like that. The sight of the sad, undecorated, corridor painted a monotonous white was thoroughly grounding and¡­ depressing.

    Is this it? he wondered.

    Then he shook his head for what felt like the umpteenth time in the last¡­ fifteen minutes. Fuck! His Skill¡¯s timer had reached the halfway point. He couldn¡¯t waste a second more!

    Quickly, or as quickly as he could, he moved towards the closest door. This time the wood didn¡¯t wait for him to kick it to start sprouting needles. It was if the trap had understood that it had lost the surprise effect and was now just attempting to ward him away through intimidation. As if it was waiting for something. Or someone.

    Oh, I understand. The traps weren¡¯t meant to kill us. They were just there to keep us out until Albert came back to finish the job. But since I deactivated the [Ward] Spells on the building with my Skill the whole thing is moot.

    It was scary to realize that the traps that had killed his subordinates hadn¡¯t been meant to kill. But, after all, these were Skills from an older Era where they would¡¯ve been considered basic, something that any two bit [Rogue] could¡¯ve just passed through without a hitch. And sure, they may have been empowered, what with them being blood Skills, but the upgrade should¡¯ve been minimal¡­ right?

    He put those thoughts aside, like all the other ones that had come to him so far, and instead looked at the door.

    The spikes seemed to be challenging him, asking ¡°Are you willing to kick me now and lose another leg?¡±

    The answer to that, naturally, was no. Because of that he turned towards the wall beside the door and kicked that in. He didn¡¯t even need to empower himself, his passive Skills doing the job for him.

    The spikes remained in place a moment longer, as if stupefied, then retreated back into the wood.

    House three, myself one. I¡¯m fucking losing but at least I¡¯m not being completely destroyed.

    Then he looked into the room of which the wall he¡¯d just caved in and nearly shat his pants.

    For, beyond the hole, lay a room completely filled with spider webs from floor to ceiling: every available surface had been covered in it, everything except for a dresser with a full length mirror on it. From the ceiling, hanging from strands of webbing, were dozens of assorted items, from gears to children¡¯s toys to wooden statuettes of birds, a cute attempt at decorating a nightmarish place. At the very center of the room, kept high up from the ground, was what looked suspiciously like a hammock with a cushion and, after an extra moment of observation, he saw there was a book lying beside said cushion.

    He took a step back as a single thought crossed his mind: Arachne.

    It was even possible: their Knights had long since found out that the reason why the Forest of Tusca had been burned down had been that arachne had made a Nest in it and had had to be exterminated. And, wouldn¡¯t you look at it, just a few weeks after that incident Albert came back with a girl nobody had ever seen before with no past to her name.

    He wanted to think it was a coincidence, but the details added up, and if that wasn¡¯t enough, there was also the room in front of him.

    With trembling hands he took a wand out of his bag of holding and pointed it at the room, casting the Spell that had been carved in it: [Mage Picture].

    The Spell immediately took a shot of the space in front of it and stored it inside its matrix.

    Then the Rook turned around and ran.

    He slid down the bannister, into the ground floor and scrambled out the back door, nearly forgetting to use his one, most powerful, Skill, which had been the only reason why he¡¯d been chosen for this mission.

    ¡°[Reset the Board],¡± he said, before turning around and running away, not bothering to look back.

    Meanwhile, back in the shop and home, everything went back to the state it had been before their break in: the boxes of gears filled themselves back up, clocks going back to their places, the three dead bodies disappeared (reappearing back at base, scaring another Pawn shitless), the back door closed itself, the lock re-engaging; the broken doors and wall went back to being pristine and functional. The blood that had been harvested by the traps was drained, leaving the container empty again as it had been for the last six years.

    And all was well.

 Chapter 45: Dream Reunion

    Before leaving to go back down to Gunsee, Alice had one last encounter with the [Witches]. All four of them (well, three: Lili had gone back to being a simple [Apprentice Witch]) met her at the start of the path that led downwards.

    Witch Aria greeted her with a smile and nod of her head, tipping her again-crooked hat; Witch Beria gave her a grudging nod and did the same with her own hat, little stars sewn on it seeming to shine of a light of their own as they glared at her; Witch Commodora grinned wolfishly at her and, as the other two, tipped their hats, although she seemed ready to go for a tackle hug¡­ because why not. Alice would¡¯ve liked that.

    Finally, little Lili looked up at her and tried her best to look intimidating and serious, only managing to look cute for her efforts.

    Alice, on her part, bowed slightly in greeting, unwilling to imitate the motion of tipping her hat. She wasn¡¯t a Witch after all. Just an Occultist. Someone lesser than the women in front of her, and at the same time at their level, for she brought all that was left of the ancient knowledge of her world: a final arc to preserve the old traditions from all the places her family had been to in the generations that were. Now she understood why her grandma had always been so adamant she learn everything she could from her.

    ¡°It was a pleasure being here for the Festival. The tales you told were great.¡±

    She turned to look up at Witch Aria and squinted: ¡°Although you still have to tell me about that Dawn Lantern.¡±

    The old woman laughed, a sound like a tree falling to the ground, rough and crackling with age: ¡°So you didn¡¯t forget.¡±

    She waved her hand dismissively: ¡°The idea to build it came to me in a dream, or rather, a nightmare. A single fragment of the dawn, trapped in a cage of dreamstuff, forced to forever sleep and bring light to us. I hear that¡¯s how the Traveler created the star in the Land of Dreams.¡±

    Alice¡¯s frown froze in place as curiosity was momentarily substituted by fear, then a strange hope.

    Still, she had to be careful: ¡°Are you telling me dreams are a place?¡±

    ¡°Sure they are, and people can visit them. [Dreamers], they¡¯re called. I met a few back in the day but I never managed to walk the Land of Dreams with them, no matter how much effort I put into it. Apparently I don¡¯t have the right mind for it: too grounded to the ways of the world, I am,¡± she chuckled, although Alice didn¡¯t understand the joke.

    Still she smiled: she liked Aria the most of all the [Witches], probably because she reminded her of her grandma.

    They spent the next few minutes saying their goodbyes, shaking hands and making promises to come see each other, which caused Averick to grimace slightly at the thought he¡¯d have to climb these mountains again.

    ¡°Let us hope our next meeting doesn¡¯t follow traditions then,¡± said Alice in the end as she bowed to leave.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± asked Witch Beria, suspicion painted on all her features.

    ¡°It¡¯s simple. The first time we met I spoke to three [Witches]. The second time I spoke to four,¡± she looked at Lili, who for some reason blushed and hid underneath her hat, ¡°So I hope that the third time there will remain three. Don¡¯t grow up too fast Lili, alright?¡±

    And with that ominous sentence she turned around and began walking down, waving goodbye to the three confused witches and one even more confused apprentice.

    After they were far enough away Av looked at her and asked: ¡°What did you mean back there?¡±

    She smiled bitterly and shook her head: ¡°Traditions always have the weirdest ways of enforcing themselves Av, but sometimes even they choose the easy way. There are three [Witches] in that village, and when next we¡¯ll meet, for the third time, there will be three [Witches] still. The only question is who the three will be.¡±

    The answer said everything and nothing, leaving Averick with more questions than the ones it had answered, but from the look on his girlfriend¡¯s face he knew that this matter was closed, so instead he told her he¡¯d managed to convince a village woman to give him the recipe for her grilled cheese.

    That brought a smile of delight to her face.

    <hr>

    A few nights later Alice laid in bed and activated what was probably her favorite Skill ever: [Fall Asleep].

    The moment the words left her mouth with the intent of using the Skill she felt her eyes close and blessed sleep overtake her. Since she¡¯d obtained this ability she¡¯d started finally losing the bags that had been under her eyes for the last six years. Oh sure, she¡¯d had some medicines to help her sleep¡­ at all, but she¡¯d still had those bags and had felt constantly sleepy without the ability to actually sleep. She¡¯d hated that. She¡¯d actually hated most of her life back on earth.

    Sometimes, as she laid in bed, before sleep, she wondered what her life could¡¯ve become if she¡¯d stayed back on earth. Most likely she would¡¯ve ended up drinking a poisoned tea to end her life the way she wanted to, probably a foxglove one because she¡¯d always wanted to see what the hallucinations would look like. Other times she liked to think she would¡¯ve gone completely bonkers and started murdering random people, becoming a famous serial killer on the level of Jack the Ripper. She¡¯d even been close enough to London to make the part!

    Of course they¡¯d been only fantasies, but in her worst days they¡¯d helped her keep going. Yes, she knew that imagining herself strangling people to death, or slitting their throat to drink their blood, or poisoning their drinks and watching them slowly die in front of her, wasn¡¯t exactly the best of coping mechanisms, but hey, you¡¯re (probably) not psychologists, so you can¡¯t judge!

    She opened her eyes and felt the mask now covering her face, the fox mask Albert had given her, the mask that called her Garda, in honor of the lake where her granny had once lived near. She¡¯d always liked the milder climate there, said her soul remembered the colds of the Soviet Union (although sometimes she called it the Russian Empire in reference to the time when the tzars were still alive) and the unkindness of the Americas.

    She took her time getting up, basking in the sensation of the cool grass underneath her, which was slowly becoming softer and comfier, welcoming her back, telling her to take her time, for Time didn¡¯t work quite right here.

    So she did, feeling the gentle rays of the ever-setting sun caressing her skin,hearing the sounds of the distant wilderness that was there but also was never quite there, for animals dreamed but their dreams were much simpler than hers or other humans (she¡¯d long since decided to call the whole of humans and other races just humanity because nobody had thought of a good way to name it).

    ¡°Are you feeling lazy today?¡± suddenly asked someone by her side.

    The ears of her mask perked up and turned towards the direction the voice had come from as she opened her eyes and was greeted by the sight of Albert standing nearby, smoking a pipe that instead of smoke released little fishies that were swimming through the air around him, making little cheerful sounds.

    She nodded: ¡°Nah, I just like the sensations. Whatcha smokin¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Fish dreams. The small ones. They always manage to make me cheerful.¡±

    ¡°Why? You weren¡¯t cheerful already?¡±

    He laughed: ¡°Oh Garda, one can never be too cheerful.¡±

    ¡°I beg to differ, I met a lot of people who were too cheerful for their own good.¡±

    He waved her off: ¡°Pah, it was probably early in the morning. Everyone¡¯s grumpier in the morning. I am grumpier early in the morning.¡±

    Alice laughed and shook her head: ¡°I somehow find that hard to believe.¡±

    He shrugged: ¡°You do you. Wanna smoke?¡± he asked, offering her the pipe.

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    She took the wooden pipe in hand and, after a moment of hesitation (since she¡¯d never smoked in the past), she put the lip to her lips and took a small drag.

    Immediately her taste buds were overwhelmed by the taste of happiness and thoughtlessness, a complete lack of worries flowing through her. She opened her eyes and, instead of the woods she¡¯d been sitting in, she was now at the bottom of a lake, light shining over her head, refracted again and again by the calm waters above. Colorful coral that shouldn¡¯t have been there swayed in invisible and unfeelable currents, the colors bright and happy. Little fishies swam around her, nipping at her hair and mask, booping her nose and doing little barrel rolls and other acrobatics in their weightlessness.

    She smiled and basked in the sensation before the pipe was taken from her hands.

    The vision started to slowly fade, easing her back in the Dream proper, the little fishies making small sounds of goodbye and waving small fins at her as they disappeared into the corals, until those, too, became bushes in the forest.

    ¡°So, how was it?¡± asked Albert, a pleased smile on his foxy face.

    She shook her head: ¡°You always know the right thing to do, eh?¡±

    The old fox chuckled. She hadn¡¯t noticed up until now, but a lot of the fur sported white tufts of hair here and there, a reminder of his age.

    ¡°Eh, I¡¯d like to say you¡¯re right, but I¡¯d be lying. I¡¯m only good when it comes to the Land. Outside of it? I¡¯m not as good.¡±

    ¡°Well, I never met you outside the Dream, so my judgement is a bit skewed, but I think you¡¯re a great man.¡±

    Albert didn¡¯t say anything immediately, but in the hand he nodded his head: ¡°Thank you, Garda.¡±

    ¡°Any time.¡±

    ¡°Very well. Now, let me teach you how to harvest a Dream for memories to empower your Concepts.¡±

    [Dream Poisoner Level 12!]

    [Skill - Harvest Memory (Minor) Obtained!]

    <hr>

    Two days later

    Alice stood in the Land of Dreams and looked towards the setting sun, a hand in her pocket touching gently a small bone button. She wanted to visit Isse, the arachne she¡¯d become friends with (sort of), but not today. Today she had something important to do.

    ¡°So, are you ready to hunt your first Nightmare?¡± asked Albert as he sat with his legs crossed by her side, a cup of¡­ probably tea in his hands.

    ¡°I already did that in one of my first visits, Albert.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, and you weren¡¯t supposed to. That Nightmare should¡¯ve been something else.¡±

    He shook his head, downing his cup of tea in one go and then letting his long tongue loll out of it as he panted. Clearly the tea had still been hot.

    ¡°Recently things have begun changing in the Land. Nightmares aren¡¯t following the usual rules. And they keep wearing fucking hats of all things. Why hats?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s so important about the hats?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not, but it¡¯s consistent between most of the Nightmares I¡¯ve fought in the last few months. Always they wear some kind of fedora. I don¡¯t understand why, and it scares me. Things haven¡¯t really changed in the Dream since the Sixth Bingo Night of Doom, and even then it was only mild changes to the landscape, not the essence of the Dream itself.¡±

    Alice nodded and looked at the man, who meanwhile had sat up.

    ¡°So¡­ be careful, Garda, alright?¡±

    ¡°I will, don¡¯t worry. And, worst comes to worst, I¡¯ll wake myself up,¡± she took out of another pocket a small needle painted red by a drop of her blood. If she wanted to wake up she¡¯d just have to prick herself with it. She¡¯d done this after the last time she¡¯d visited Isse and had been forced to ask Siidi to kill her to get her out of the Dream.

    ¡°Good hunting, Garda.¡±

    She nodded in thanks and walked out of the clearing and into the forest.

    When she stepped inside she immediately stopped and sat back down on the ground, beginning to rummage in a small bag of seeds at her side inside which she¡¯d stored several packets of seeds. Seeds she¡¯d been gathering by hand for the past month every time she wandered the Dream. It had taken a lot of time and some convincing on Albert¡¯s side to have their lessons in some specific locations, but in the end she had a massive collection of them. Seeds for plants she could use in ways other than their strict medicinal uses.

    After a while she finally found what she¡¯d been looking for: horsetail seeds.

    She smiled down at them, taking one out of the pouch, and kissed it lovingly, whispering: ¡°O¡¯ seed of vagabonds and vagrants, of lovers and sisters, show me the way to a Nightmare worthy of me.¡±

    Then, using a trowel she¡¯d carved herself out of a tree (with Wax¡¯s help. The little girl had been very happy to help!) she dug a small hole in the ground and placed the seed there.

    Then she sat down, closing her eyes and thinking about a clock¡¯s hands moving speedily onwards. She injected the image with memories of her grandma slowly getting older, with stories from her youth and memories of Alice¡¯s own youth as she steadily grew up. It hurt, but the hurting was good because it gave the act meaning, and that meaning was that Time was important right here, right now. Or, if not Time, at least her meaning.

    After a while she started to feel strange, as if she was being stretched at the seams, her body being forcefully moved forward, which she allowed as much as she could, but when she just couldn¡¯t move forward anymore she felt like her skin was being pinched and torn away. Immediately she slapped her face and whispered: ¡°The emotional pain will be enough for you. Take that as payment.¡±

    Immediately the pull lessened to a mere child¡¯s attempt at dragging her the way it wanted and she sat, waiting.

    Finally, an unknowable amount of time later, the pull ended and she opened her eyes.

    And right there, where she had, once upon a time, planted the horsetail seed, lay a bush of the little plants, a bush connected to a trail of them. You see, traditionally, horsetail was planted by young adults, especially couples and the newly married, in a place of significance to them; after a month of waiting they would come back, looking for the trail left by the plant, and travel alongside it to the place where they had planted it first. Supposedly the journey had a meaning of some kind. Alice, like her grandma, had always thought it was very stupid.

    On the other hand there was a lesser known tradition from Scotland that had much more use to her right now: it was that, with the right words, after planting a horsetail, the trail could lead you anywhere you asked it to, not unlike a Wanderer¡¯s Rose, although the horseshoe naturally took a lot longer to grow and, usually, by the time it reached what you desired it was gone. But here in the Dream, where she could just let time pass in the blink of an eye? Here it became extremely more useful.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, patting the plant she knew had been the first to grow. The stalk bent slightly, seemingly trying to curl around her fingers.

    ¡°You did well. Now grow. Keep growing forever and then more, let none bind you and cut you off.¡±

    With these parting words she turned around and started following the trail, her fingers caressing the stalks as she passed by them, and they seemed to bend down as she went, acknowledging her as¡­ something, she couldn¡¯t tell what.

    On the other hand, the System absolutely could tell what she was being acknowledged as by those simple plants: a queen. A queen of remembrance who brought with her the knowledge of a world that had forgotten everything about its past, or rather, the part of its past shrouded in shadows and murmurs. She was the last one, the last Knower, the last Shaman, the last Witch, the last Healer. She was so many things, but of all of them, the Last one. Someone who could thrive in such a world, for the Gods had long ago made a deal with another, older, deity: that this world may be a refuge, a place for the shunned and the forgotten to find rest and peace, to share their knowledge once more with people who would be willing to learn.

    They had been so progressive at the time.

    So the horsetails bowed, for in its very simple thoughts they saw Alice, Garda, as the last True Gardener, someone whom¡¯s orders and requests they¡¯d follow to the best of their abilities if only it meant that what they had once been would never again be forgotten.

    Alice walked down the trail and, after hours that were seconds and eternities, she reached what she¡¯d been looking for: a Doorway. The entrance to a person¡¯s dreams. And, from the ominous feeling it emanated, it seemed to her that it housed one nasty little Nightmare.

    With her right hand she touched, one by one, the five vials containing the poison from the Nightmare Hemlock she¡¯d gathered a while back, hemlock which she¡¯d empowered over time with the memories of the nightmares she¡¯d had as a child (they had been bad and had been what had started her insomnia problems), together with nights and nights of concentrated belief that these vials contained the most powerful ¡®feed¡¯ for a Nightmare. So powerful in fact that it would destroy them.

    She took a deep breath.

    Let it out.

    Then put her hand on the Doorway.

    ¡°In Christ¡¯s name, let this wound open anew,¡± she said.

    It wasn¡¯t necessary, but it felt right. Ritualistic. She believed it necessary, and her belief empowered the action.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    The way opened.

    And she stepped in blood.

    <hr>

    The Nightmare on the other side of the doorway was a battlefield filled with corpses.

    She was covered in blood too for that matter, for she had just passed through a wound to enter this Nightmare, but that was alright: it was a price she was willing to pay.

    Carefully, as she looked at the battlefield around them, she rummaged inside her seed bag and, after a moment, took out a single, bright red, seed. A consecrated seed, bathed in her blood and sins under the remembered image of Saint Agnes, patron saintess of purity and chastity. Now, Alice was far from both, and she had committed few sins she was truly regretful about, which hadn¡¯t helped in the slightest in this process, but now? Now it would come in handy.

    With a small knife she cut her left arm, allowing herself to feel the pain, for it was necessary: nothing could be gained without sacrifice, or so her grandma had taught her. Then, with a gentle gesture, she placed the seed inside the open wound, pushing it deep enough that her flesh nearly covered it.

    For a moment, as she glanced up while gritting her teeth not to scream, she thought she could see a speck of movement. A small, black, figure, walking in the distance.

    Then the seed began to sprout and she only saw white hot pain as it flared through her.

    But it was alright: this was a sacrifice worth making. She needed to feel the pain, for only through suffering could her sins be forgiven, and only through suffering could the Rose of Saint Agnes truly be born and protect her, help her.

    But why would she need that kind of protection?

    Because she had recognized this Nightmare.

    It was the same one she and Albert had entered a long time ago, the night when she¡¯d first met Isse. The one he had run away from while shouting ¡®Blood Nightmare!¡¯ in fear. The Nightmare of that battlefield with the red sun glaring down at them, at the intruders. She remembered it, and because of it she¡¯d chosen to go all out.

    The seed flowered, emerging from her skin and planting roots in her muscles and bones. At some point the pain just disappeared entirely, in its place a kind of lack of sensation.

    So there actually is a point in which humans just stop feeling pain. Huh, handy.

    She hadn¡¯t realized it but she¡¯d been screaming in agony while all this happened, while the vines grew from that one seed and slowly covered her body, thorns slowly making their way inside her and forming an additional protective layer over her. And then, finally, a single rose bloomed right over one of her eyes, opening up to let her see the world through the eyes of a saint who had once been beheaded. Had she still been on Earth and not in a dream she would¡¯ve seen so much, but here, in a place where the God she¡¯d once worshiped with her mother and father didn¡¯t exist, she could only see the bloodied battlefield, the headless armor stepping towards her and the corpses on the battlefield around her as they began rising, flesh knitting over bones, guts going back where they were meant to stay.

    She faced the approaching knight and, in one hand, took the first vial of her poison, knowing full well that what lay ahead wasn¡¯t going to be an easy task.

    Then, with her rose-enhanced eye, she saw something else of interest: a boy¡¯s body, standing stock still in the middle of the battlefield, his eyes empty as he stared ahead. She thought she recognized him from that one glimpse of this place a long time ago, but she wasn¡¯t certain, for that time the place had been an actual battlefield filled with people massacring each other. The one difference she was certain of was that the boy, at the time, had been running for his life.

    What happened to him?

    Then the headless-armor-thing was upon her.

    Just like that: one moment it was still far away, the next she blinked and it was raising its sword to cut her head off while standing right in front of her.

    She immediately tried to dodge¡­ and failed miserably, because the Headless Knight had a longsword, and she¡¯d still been in range.

    The sword struck at her arm and she imagined seeing it fly off somewhere nearby. Instead the sword struck the vines that covered her entire arm and she watched in amazement as many thorns were sheared off while a few others managed to downright stop the blade, allowing it to cut only a few millimeters deep into the vines wreathing her.

    The Headless Knight looked down at this and¡­ remembered.

    Suddenly Alice saw it: there had been others like her; madmen and madwomen who fought with pain on their side, sacrificing themselves in the name of power to attempt to beat it. Their armors were covered in knives that cut both ways, their eyes were carved out to see beyond the first layers of the Dream¡¯s skin, to see the weaknesses in the weave that they may exploit to attack; others reforged their bodies in the heat of the stars¡¯ remembered radiance, burning off everything and instead rebuilding their bodies in steel.

    They had tried everything to stop it, and sometimes had even succeeded, for even it wasn¡¯t all powerful, but¡­ it remembered: ripping off their armors together with their skins, cutting off their heads, fighting hand in hand with those metal bastards. Even they could be killed.

    And she? She wasn¡¯t even a tenth as good as they had been.

    Alice batted her eyes, the memories grim and horrible.

    Then she threw the first vial of poison at the now-moving Knight. The vial flew between them and smacked against the armor right where normally the helmet should connect to the rest, breaking apart and releasing its supposedly lethal dose right inside.

    The Headless Knight didn¡¯t even flinch.

    They had tried to poison It back in the Court, more than once, but they had always failed, for how could you poison iron? The answer: with rust. But it would never rust, not even if it was ever killed for good.

    Still, it felt a twinge of the powers and concepts behind this single vial. It would¡¯ve killed anything lesser than it. With enough time she could become a great dreaming one, like one of the oldest masks in the Court. That would be¡­ good. Maybe it could use her. The whole Court of Masks could. Maybe she could free them.

    Another vial, same place, same twinge.

    Something like a shudder traveled down the armor¡¯s back. Pleasure. Pure, unadulterated, pleasure, at the simple thought that the Court could be brought back to its ancient glory days. It had existed for that reason alone. To protect the Court and make it more powerful. This would be the greatest fulfillment of its mission: to bring it back!

    A third vial.

    Ok, now it was getting annoying.

    It raised its sword and, lightning fast, brought it down.

    This time It angled Its weapon so as to hit someplace without thorns to block and, this time, It cut right through the protective layer, although the plants managed to stop It from doing more than nicking her skin.

    ¡°What the fuck? This much killed that motherfucking hatted millipede!¡± cried out Alice as she jumped back, putting as much distance between herself and the Headless Knight.

    The Knight, for its part, looked at her, and felt nothing more than confusion emanating from her. Not even the slightest bit of fear. Oh, yes, she would be perfect.

    It stepped closer to her, attempting to use its favorite ability and step over the Dream and its senseless seams, but found it couldn¡¯t move its legs.

    Looking down it saw why: they were bound by¡­ something. It was green, that much it could tell, and for a moment it marveled at the color. It had been a long time since it had seen anything other than red.

    Meanwhile Alice began running¡­ towards the boy.

    No way in Airm I¡¯m leaving this dude behind with that monster.

    She had, luckily, managed to throw a handful of ivy seeds at the ground underneath the Knight, where they had rapidly sprouted, drinking in the blood from the ground and managing to clean it of the infesting red of this place. For the first time in¡­ centuries, really, there was something other than red in the [Dream Painted Red], and it was wonderful.

    The Knight tried to step forward again, but found the Ivy¡¯s grasp too strong, so It brought its blade down, cutting right through it, and watched in mild fascination as it immediately regrew to bind It anew.

    Alice had broken the rules in a way: she hadn¡¯t used a tradition on the Ivy, no, she¡¯d just empowered the concept of the cute little plant clinging to anything it could a hundredfold, imbuing the seeds with memories from her church days, in particular with the memory of the multiplication of bread and fish, and rabbits. Lots and lots of rabbits fucking non-stop. Apparently that was enough for now.

    She reached the boy and, for a single moment, was struck by a strange sense of recognition, a certainty that they had already met.

    Then she shook his shoulder: ¡°Hey, wake up dude! There¡¯s no time for this!¡±

    There was no reaction from him.

    The Knight cut through the ivy, but it drank the blood of the battlefield and clung to It still.

    ¡°Hey!¡± shouted Alice in the boy¡¯s face.

    Still no reaction.

    Then she felt something impact with her plant armor and being stopped, not even managing to cut through a few thorns.

    She turned around, eyes narrowed, the rose in her eye closing slightly to imitate the motion and make the sentiment very clear that she didn¡¯t wish to be disturbed by small fry. And small fry it was indeed: a single soldier who had cobbled itself together¡­ somewhat, still blood drenched, still covered in gaping wounds that would¡¯ve killed anyone else. It screamed at her and she put one of her remaining vials inside its mouth, watching as the glass butt hit the back of its throat, causing a memory of gag reflex activate, making the man-thing cough and close its mouth violently, yellowed teeth breaking through the thin glass and liberating the poison inside its head.

    Then she watched with mild satisfaction as the man did a ¡®Witch of the West¡¯ and melted into a puddle of fleshy innards that soon became just red goo.

    The Knight felt that. It felt a part of the Dream die permanently. Sure, a very small part, infinitesimal even, but it had been centuries since last someone had managed to do even that.

    It violently tore at the ivy and jumped over the weave of the Dream, managing to free itself from its loving grasp. The plant immediately began spreading, trying to reach it: there was so much blood in the ground that the plant could¡¯ve probably fed for centuries and probably not managed to drink even a thousandth of it. There was so much more!

    Meanwhile Alice swore as she rummaged as fast as she could inside her pouch: it was bigger on the inside, naturally, but the problem was that it seemingly lacked a bag of holding¡¯s ability to just give you what you were looking for. She swore even more because she was certain that the thing she was looking for had been right there, right where she was rummaging, and she didn¡¯t have time to play games with a capricious pouch because the Knight was free and slowly moving towards them.

    Then, finally, she found it: a small amulet, nothing more than a piece of string tied into seven knots and holding, at the very front, a flower of garden angelica. The small, greenish, plant, seemed to shine of a light of its own as she put it around the boy¡¯s neck and prayed to every god willing to listen that it would work. Because, you see, in ancient traditions it was said that this little plant was very effective at breaking hexes and curses, and if this place wasn¡¯t either a hex or a curse she didn¡¯t know what could be.

    She watched, waiting for something to happen, she didn¡¯t know what. Maybe a bright flash of light? Maybe for some screaming black thing to emerge from the boy¡¯s mouth and leave while cursing her?

    No, the only thing that happened was the boy fluttered his eyes and, suddenly, the glassy look in his eyes was gone.

    He looked around in confusion, then panic rapidly began taking over that, but before he could start running or screaming or what have you Alice reached out with a vine covered finger and pricked him with a thorn right in the nose.

    ¡°Ow!¡± he screamed, clutching at his face, the panic disappearing in the face of the rapid pain.

    ¡°Hello and welcome back to the land of the thinking I¡¯m Garda pleasure to meet you we must fucking run because the Headless Knight is coming for us. Run!¡±

    She unthinkingly took him by the hand, pricking him in many places, but now the pain was laced with adrenaline and panic (for the boy) and a strange sense of elation (for Alice). It had worked! It was still working! Everything she¡¯d studied under grandma was working! She nearly felt like crying, but that would probably be a bad idea, especially with a rose sticking to her left eye that would probably find the salty water tasty.

    As for the Knight, It marveled at the girl even more for every second that passed: she had woken up the boy, something It hadn¡¯t managed to do in months of attempts. Granted, most of Its attempts had involved trying to kill him or inflict pain, which had all failed on account of It being unable to actually touch him.

    It stepped closer, but they were running and, for some reason, he couldn¡¯t quite reach them, as if the Dream itself were bending away from It. Then It saw why: the flower around the boy¡¯s neck. It was trying to keep It at bay! How wonderful!

    The Knight stepped, imposing Its will over the flower¡¯s, and suddenly the plant¡¯s will and spell broke. It was too young and unreal to even think about fighting something as ancient as It.

    But the little verdant thing had done its job: the boy and the intruder had reached the Doorway that had led her into this Nightmare.

    So they were trying to run away.

    It shook¡­ its shoulders, because It didn¡¯t have a head. No no no no no no no no, that wouldn¡¯t do at all.

    The Knight stepped, appearing right behind their back, but there came the last vial of poison right into the neck of its armor. The fifth vial. It could clearly feel that, for some reason, this vial was much more powerful than the other ones. It felt the poison flying everywhere around it as the vial broke, but mostly flowing inside its neck hole.

    And then the payload hit It.

    It staggered, a sense of sickness filling it, the same sensation It had gotten a few times in the Court when It had done nothing but feast and feast and feast for days on end. It was full. Too full.

    So much so that -

    It vomited.

    Red innards, melted and chewed, bones and grist and flesh, all leaving the hole in its armor, plastering the red ground and the two in front of It.

    Then they were through.

    Out of the Nightmare.

    The Knight stumbled for a moment.

    Then It saw the doorway, still open, still bleeding because of the girl¡¯s rite.

    It decided to step through.

    But It was stopped, as if It had just hit a wall.

    There was another flower right there, on the ground in front of it.

    That had been, naturally, Alice. The moment the two of them had stepped through the Doorway she turned around, managing somehow to immediately find what she¡¯d been looking for. A single sprig of hawthorn. Little white flowers jiggled with the rapid motions of her hand together with beautiful red little berries.

    She traced a symbol in the air, an approximation of a key, and chanted: ¡°In Janus¡¯ name, the two-faced, three-faced, many-faced, but never single-faced God, I request this doorway be locked, the way barred and closed, for some wounds teach lessons better not learned! Show me the face of Ending!¡±

    Then she threw the little sprig and turned towards the boy.

    ¡°Alright, we should be safe.¡±

    ¡°Who are you? How are you here? Where are we? Why are we in a forest? What the fuck¡¯s happening? That plant won¡¯t hold the Knight at bay!¡±

    She was immediately bombarded by half a dozen questions, although the last one was an affirmation.

    ¡°Ok, calm down. Calm down I said! Breathe in, breathe out. Now, we¡¯re in the Land of Dreams, you were locked inside a very, very, very bad Nightmare, and I got you out. Sadly couldn¡¯t defeat it, but at least I got you out. And don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m sure my little trick will keep It at bay for a while.¡±

    That was when the Knight reached the Doorway and basically face¡­ ¡®front planted¡¯ into an invisible barrier that kept the Doorway inaccessible.

    ¡°See?¡±

    The Knight, for its part, saw the Dream outside its Nightmare, but It didn¡¯t care for that. It cared only for the girl who was somehow managing to give It trouble. Oh how It wished It could just take her and bring her to the oldest Masks of the Court, that they may reshape her, give her a mask of her own and make her see the world as it truly was: a festival unending where the only form of entertainment that didn¡¯t taste like dust was violence, like a spice that could then enhance any other vice they could desire to partake of.

    The Knight pressed an armored hand against the barrier¡­ and pushed.

    Immediately the distant image of a being with many faces that kept on changing, holding a key and with a cock by his side, the animals staring at It. And, while the thing, no, the god, was many faced, all the facets it was showing to It were ones of denial, of ending.

    It pressed more against the barrier. This paltry image of a god was nothing, nothing! It had fought against actual gods and won! It had planted Its sword in their eyes and dug Its way to their brains, then down to their hearts, where It had eaten them to empower Itself. This was just a memory! It held no power over It!

    ¡°Oh, shut the fuck up you cheap Headless Horseman knockoff!¡±

    It remembered the Court, how it had feasted for centuries on the corpse of that god, bathing in its blood and dancing at the beat of what remained of its dying heart until that, too, went still. The Court held more power here than this little memory from another world, even in its weakened state!

    ¡°And shut the fuck up about your little group of even cheaper mamuthones knockoffs,¡± continued Alice, although she was guarded.

    The barrier broke to pieces.

    And Alice swore.

    ¡°Fuck!¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t run, It will catch us. It always does!¡± shouted the boy, even though he¡¯d already started stumbling backwards.

    Then Alice remembered.

    With a vine covered hand she rummaged inside her pocket, the vines on her leg parting to let her reach in. And she felt it: the small button.

    ¡°Take my hand!¡± she shouted to the boy, who did as ordered, uncaring for the thorns piercing his flesh. Anything to stay away from the Knight.

    Then Alice pulled on the red little thread of the button.

    The Dream went dark.

    And they were gone.

    The Knight stared, completely speechless, or rather, thoughtless, at where a moment ago the young woman and the man had been standing.

    Then It felt the bindings of Its Nightmare straining and calling him back.

    Reluctantly, It did. There would be other nights, other occasions to meet them. And anyways, It had seen the girl¡¯s face. It was sure that one of the oldest masks could find her.

    <hr>

    [Conditions Met: Dream Poisoner -> Occultist of Otherworldly Traditions]

    [Occult Herbalist Class Consolidated!]

    [Occultist of Otherworldly Traditions Level 30!]

    [Skill - I Called Upon my Old Gods, and They Answered Obtained!]

    ¡°Oh, I just Leveled Up! And that¡¯s one fucking amazing Skill!¡±

    She stared at the starlit void over her head as she lay on her back, panting, as the armor of thorns slowly receded from her flesh, concentrating only around her eye, where the roots of the rose started to eat away at it.

    Someone shuffled beside her and she briefly glanced their way. The boy was there, breathless and surprised, probably because of the journey to come here. She knew that, for some reason, it was very strange, but she couldn¡¯t quite put her finger on the why.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said.

    ¡°It was my pleasure.¡±

    Silence.

    Then: ¡°Are you from Earth?¡±

    Immediately Alice froze in place, her eyes widening to the dimensions of dinner plates, before she turned towards the boy and asked, very intelligently: ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Janus, mamuthones, they¡¯re things from Earth. From Greece and Italy, if I¡¯m not wrong. So, are you from Earth?¡±

    Alice¡¯s mouth hung open, her fox mask letting her tongue lol out in sheer surprise.

    Then: ¡°Yes. Are you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m from England,¡± said the boy, numbly.

    A moment later Alice, without even realizing it, flung herself at the boy and hugged him. For some reason she began to cry, but the tears were drunk greedily by the rose that had decidedly taken her eye¡¯s place.

    They hugged and mumbled, then blubbered and tried to say things but they were both too emotional and they couldn¡¯t say anything that the other could understand, and all the while they hugged and hugged and -

    And then Isse appeared together with Siidi, a confused frown on her face.

    ¡°Garda, who¡¯s this guy and why are you crying and hugging him?¡±

    It took her a while to clear out the snot from her nose and get her voice under control, blocking the manic giggling in her throat, as she answered: ¡°He¡¯s from home. My home. The one I was born in.¡±

    ¡°England,¡± mumbled the boy.

    Mumbled Liam, although the two girls didn¡¯t know that yet.

    But at the mention of England Isse¡¯s mouth unhinged open as her eyes widened.

    And then there were three teens (or young adults) bawling their eyes out and hugging in a blubbering mess.

 Chapter 46: The Meeting

    You know, it¡¯s¡­ strange, how things can change without ever changing.

    Impossible, you say? Ha. And yet it happens all the time. Look at the Earth of today, at what it¡¯s become: a little nest of rats, scurrying this way and that, scrounging up anything and everything they can while they feed their overfed and obese rat kings and rat queens who keep on asking for more more more more while giving nothing back, and all the while the little rats slowly begin losing weight and dying of hunger, and because of that the big ones keep asking for more and more out of the ones that remain, not understanding that, one day, there will be no one left to feed them and they¡¯ll just die of hunger because they never learned how to scavenge for their own food.

    That is, if the world these rats live in doesn¡¯t die on them first, for the scavenged food must come from somewhere and, seeing how everyone¡¯s being forced to work so fast, to keep them from thinking, nobody has the time to stop and truly look at the devastation that¡¯s being caused. Or care, actually, because all that matters is the hunt for more food.

    That¡¯s why I love this world, for all it is nameless and, in many aspects, similar to Earth. There¡¯s still plenty of rats scurrying around, but these ones have the chance to stop and look around, to think and decided, and if they don¡¯t like what they see they can easily go to their little kings and queens, kill them and feast of the corpse, before starting the cycle anew. Some might say that such instability is bad, that a cycle repeating itself over and over again is the worst thing that could possibly happen to the rat nest, but I disagree. For a cycle, while unchanging, is still better than a fixed point in space, more complex for sure, with more chances for something to go horribly wrong and break it, for a deviation to be born and cut it in half. How can you cut a point in half? It¡¯s simple, you can¡¯t. That¡¯s why things on Earth don¡¯t change, or rather, steadily keep getting worse every year.

    Change, even when violent, is always better than stagnation.

    The Pillar of Change, sitting in the Web with the Spider and the Pillar of Creation, sipping coffee, understood this a very long time ago in her palace at the edge of Nothing.

    But why are you going on such a tangent now, Author? you may be wondering. I can hear your questions, dear readers, do not deny it. Some of you can be so predictable at times. It is, at least, the good kind of predictable, unlike the actions of the rat queens and kings.

    Now, let me answer your question: because right now, in a Mind Castle hidden somewhere in the depths of the Land of Dreams, three people are hugging each other and crying, and these three people¡­ are Change. They are the deviation, the something that can go horribly wrong which breaks the cycle. They are the tidal wave that covers the coastal city and drowns everything in its way, unstoppable, impossible to deal with. The gears are in motion, they have been for a long time now, and nobody noticed¡­ or rather, some did, but they decided to wait because they couldn¡¯t understand, they couldn¡¯t see the whole mechanism, the whole story, only the singular, disconnected, gears, floating alone in the air.

    And so, while Shadows plot and scheme in the darkness and in nightmares, while a different kind of shadow walks on the surface for the first time in centuries during Winter, while the Game prepares for wars and hunts to come, while the College attempts to do the work it has done for millenia, now more and more hindered, while the Gods plot and while old powers lie in wait for a single man¡¯s promised future to come, the three people who represent this promise hug and cry.

    Alice had expected many things when she¡¯d first come to this world, but meeting someone else from Earth? She¡¯d thought she was the only one blessed with such a thing, and that had saddened her to no end.

    Liam, on the other hand, had expected the opposite: that others had been called into this new world with him. There was no way in Airm that he had been the only one, the probability was just too low. He just hadn¡¯t expected it would take so little time.

    As for Isse? She had expected nothing. The moment she¡¯d arrived in this world she¡¯d had to deal with Siidi, and after that problem had been solved¡­ she had stopped caring about Earth and matters related to it, just enjoying the second chance at life she¡¯d been given, spending time with her sisters and, afterwards, with her soulmate. Everything else had stopped mattering and, truly, she would¡¯ve been happy to remain in that forest all her life.

    Then the [Soldiers] had come and taken it all away.

    But this? This nobody could take from her.

    Unless someone killed her, that is, but she was sure that now she was much harder to kill than she¡¯d been in the forest. And if they succeeded still, well, in that case she would lose everything, so it didn¡¯t matter.

    ¡°Could someone explain to me what¡¯s happening?¡± asked an increasingly confused, and slightly moved if the tear in the corner of her left eye was a sign, Siidi.

    Isse tried to tell her, to answer the question, but all she managed was a blubber of random words that meant nothing. So instead she sent a series of images as an explanation and suddenly understanding dawned on Siidi¡¯s features as she sat down, looking calm again, and smiled fondly at the trio.

    It took an interminable amount of time for the three to go back to a semblance of calm, eyes red and noses still a bit runny, although Alice solved that problem by creating some tissues out of thin air. They were slightly green for some reason, and fresh, as if they were made from leaves, but it didn¡¯t matter. Noses were blown, eyes dried, throats cleared, and suddenly there was an expectant silent all around them.

    The three looked at each other, trying to decide who should start and unable to.

    Then Alice reached up towards her face and removed her fox mask. The rose sprouting out of her left eye clung to it for a second, then, as flesh parted from flesh and turned to wood, it passed through the mask¡¯s eye socket, again solidly anchored to her eye.

    She looked at the padded insides and, after a moment, nodded.

    ¡°My name is Alice. I¡¯m Italian but, when I was brought to this world, I was in England studying pharmaceutical sciences and chemistry. I don¡¯t know how it was for you, but the¡­ transition, yeah, let¡¯s call it that, was sudden. One moment I was sitting in my apartment waiting for my tea to be made, the next I was falling on the grass in the middle of a forest.¡±

    She put her hands down, a seed in her hands disappearing into the strange black, featureless, ground, as she recited a small prayer in the back of her mind: In Narcissus¡¯ name, I call upon thy remembrance of all the sights of luck and death and beg of thee, show me their truths and lies.

    A sapling sprouted under her hands, a small, yellow, daffodil that she cradled in her hands, hiding it and, at the same time, hugging it in a show of love. After all, daffodils were vain flowers.

    After a moment more of silence Liam sighed and nodded: ¡°My name is Liam and I was born and raised in England. Oxford, to be precise. I¡­ was nobody important, didn¡¯t even really go to uni, I just did half a year of psychology and retired, didn¡¯t like it. I was beginning to learn carpentry from my grandpa before, well, all of this. As for my transition¡­ by the way, I like that word Alice; anyways, I was walking down a street, then I blinked and, well¡­¡±

    He seemed to hesitate, his face going slightly pale, before he took a shuddering breath and nodded: ¡°I found myself in the middle of a battlefield. I - I¡­ I had to kill a man to get out, and in the end a horse trampled me and, apparently, pulverized my ribcage. A [Necromancer] fixed me up though, so that¡¯s lucky,¡± he chuckled, although there was no cheerfulness to the sound, a hand going to the back of his head.

    Unnoticed by the two other girls he had turned one of the rings in his hand so that only he could see the stone embedded in it. It was the one enchanted with the [Detect Truth] Spell and, when Alice had spoken, he had seen it shine green all the way through. He didn¡¯t know it but he was lucky this conversation was happening in Isse¡¯s Mind Castle, because it was more anchored to reality than the Dream. In the Land his ring would¡¯ve probably been useless.

    As for Isse, she kept on casting [Detect Truth] Spells during both of their conversations, checking that the two were indeed telling the truth.

    They were friends, the three of them, bound by the commonality of originating from the same dimension, but they¡¯d been in this world long enough (actually, they¡¯d also been on Earth long enough) to learn to ¡®trust, but verify¡¯.

    Then Alice and Liam turned to look at Isse and she¡­ smiled: ¡°Ah, my name is Issekina Silksoul and, well, as you can see I¡¯m no longer human. I and Alice already know each other, although I knew her by her nickname, Garda.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    ¡°Unlike the two of you I came to this world after¡­ after I died.

    ¡°I was ill for years before coming here, couldn¡¯t leave my bed in the hospital, could barely move. The nurses had to help me with basically everything. And then¡­ I died. It was painful, the coughing hurt like a bitch -¡±

    ¡°Language!¡± shouted Siidi from the side with a small smile on her face.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you start with your half assed Grandmother imitations!¡± shouted back Isse, although when she turned around she seemed a lot less saddened.

    ¡°Anyway, point is, I died, then some words appeared in front of me saying that I was being given total immunity to diseases and poisons for some reason, before saying it there was some kind of error with my species. Then apparently the problem was solved and, well, here I am.

    ¡°I was reborn in this body with this dumbass,¡± she pointed behind herself at Siidi, who shouted ¡®hey!¡¯ and acted offended, ¡°in my head and very angry about it. Now we¡¯re friends though.¡±

    Silence fell on the three for a moment more as they both felt awkward for no reason and, at the same time, checked their methods of telling if someone was lying and saw that nothing but the truth was being said.

    That was when Alice piped up again: ¡°So, you said your name¡¯s Issekina, or rather, Isse as you like being called. But that¡¯s, like, your name in this world. What were you called in the old one?¡±

    Isse tilted her head to the side: ¡°Does it matter? I¡¯m not that girl anymore. She¡¯s probably buried somewhere underground now.¡±

    ¡°While I do like the image and the whole ¡®new self¡¯ thing, it¡¯s just curiosity. What was your name? And where are you from?¡±

    Isse shrugged, opening her mouth to answer that¡­ only to close it a moment later, an expression of pure confusion on her face. She frowned, a hand unconsciously going to her chin as she dredged up her memories from Earth¡­ and failed to find the answer.

    ¡°I¡­ can¡¯t remember¡­?¡±

    She herself wasn¡¯t certain if it was a question or an affirmation.

    Stars, she wasn¡¯t even sure if she was just having trouble remembering - no, that was impossible, no matter how long she had spent in this world, she couldn¡¯t just forget her old name. Right?

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± asked Liam with a raised eyebrow. His Truth Stone shone green though: she really couldn¡¯t remember her name and where she was from.

    ¡°I just¡­ c?????????????????a??????????????????n??????????''?????????t???????.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t remember your name? What about your parents¡¯ names?¡± asked Alice, clearly worrying. S????o????????m???????e??????t????????h????i???????n???????g???????? ??????w??????a?????s?????n????''??????t???? ???????r??????i????????g????h???????t????? ????????h???????e???????r????e??????.?????

    Isse tried to think but she couldn¡¯t remember her parents¡¯ names either. She remembered their faces, her home, the tree she¡¯d climbed up so many times as a child, her old room and the clothes in it, her favorite food, everything, but the moment she tried to concentrate on her parents¡¯ names h????????e??????r??????? ??????m???????i?????n???d???????? ????t????u??????r???????n???????e?????????d???????? ??????u?????p?????? ?????a???? ?????????b???????l?????a????n?????k?????.???????. As if someone had simply f????????o???????r????????g???o?????t?????t????e??????n??????? ?????t??????o????? ?????w?????r?????i?????t????????e???? ????????i????????t?????? ????????d?????o?????w????????n???????.????? ?????O???????r??????? ??????n??????o???????t???????? ???????c????a??????r???????e????????d???? ?????????e???????n?????o?????????u??????g?????h?????????.???????

    ¡°What about your disease? What killed you?¡±

    B???u?????t?????,????????? ?????a??????g????????a??????i???n?????,?????? ????t????h?????e???????r??????e?????? ???????w???a???????s???? ?????n???????o??????t???????h??????i??????n?????g?????? ?????m?????o?????r????e????????? ?????t????h??????a????????n??? ?????a???????? ??????b???????l???????a???????n?????k???????.??????

    She opened her mouth to talk, tears in her eyes, because she didn¡¯t understand. What was wrong? What had happened? Why? Why couldn¡¯t she remember a?????????n????y??????t????h???i??????n?????????g??????????????

    ¡°Isse, wha -¡± began Siidi.

    [Sta??ze Nar?ti?]

    The three of them had been talking for nearly half an hour now. The first had been Alice, who¡¯d explained her arrival to the city of Gunsee (she¡¯d decided to reveal the place she lived in, saying that if they somehow managed to get there she¡¯d gladly meet them), how she¡¯d found a good paying job through which she¡¯d obtained a Potion of Greater Sleep to help with her insomnia and how that had helped her become a [Dreamer]. She even went as far as telling them about her first encounter with a Nightmare, although she decided to keep secret the fact that she had saved the life of a member of the College of Memoirs, even though he was a traitor. After all, who knew what Isse would do if she knew that one of the people who was part of the group that caused the end of her clan had been helped by her.

    Then Liam¡¯s turn had come,, where he¡¯d told them about Rodar and Pemos, the capital city of the Kingdom of Nagid, where he lived now and was training to become a better [Mage Crafter]. He explained in depth the matter of his Condition, [Dreams Painted Red], then proceeded very fast to change subject and talk about his project for a gun that could shoot forever.

    ¡°So, you created gunpowder and now you want to make a gun? Do you want this world to become a sort of Earth 2, Electric Boogaloo or some shit like that?¡±

    ¡°Nothing of the sort. Apparently the dwarves already knew about gunpowder anyway. And as for my gun, I¡¯d dare anyone to try and replicate it¡­ whenever I succeed at making it. If I succeed.¡±

    Alice shrugged: ¡°I don¡¯t know jackshit about the technicalities of magic. I¡¯m an [Occultist] and I work with plants after all. You know anything Isse?¡±

    ¡°Nope. I do Spells at most, and even then not that many for now.¡±

    That ended that conversation.

    Then it was Isse¡¯s turn and she told them about how she¡¯d arrived in this world, of the initial struggle with Siidi and the Trials they¡¯d gone through.

    ¡°Woah, that Grandmother was a piece of shit. I would¡¯ve loved to know her. Doing what has to be done to help someone else no matter what sounds like a cool thing.¡±

    ¡°Yes, well, she was indeed a piece of shit about it, but¡­ it helped, am I right Siidi?¡±

    The other arachne, who¡¯d mostly stayed silent, letting them talk among each other, nodded: ¡°It helped, yes, although it hurt like Airm.¡±

    Then she went on, talking about the magic lessons, about her soulmate and, in the end, about the fatidic night that had brought an end to her life of happiness.

    ¡°Now I live in -¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t say it.¡±

    ¡°...What? Why?¡±

    ¡°Just don¡¯t. It¡¯s safer if we don¡¯t know where you are Isse, since apparently anyone who finds out would want to see you dead.¡±

    ¡°Well, not everyone, but close enough.¡±

    ¡°Yes. So, don¡¯t. You know where we are, and you know we could help. Each of us can help the other if it comes down to it. That¡¯s all we need to know. Alright?¡±

    ¡°Alright!¡± said both Liam and Isse in chorus.

    Then they talked about other things, mostly memories from Earth, things they missed from their old world and things they absolutely did not.

    Then Alice stood still for a moment and looked around: ¡°Guys, I can feel heat on my face. The sun¡¯s rising, we¡¯ll be waking up soon. Liam, take off that amulet around your neck, it¡¯ll let your necklace work its magic on your brain again. But¡­ I suggest you find a solution to that problem, and fast. That¡­ thing, the Headless Knight. It¡¯s not your typical Nightmare. It wants things, it has desires. I fear it¡¯ll be able to do something about this trick of yours sooner or later.¡±

    Liam nodded, a bead of sweat traveling down his back. He hadn¡¯t told them about his latest Skill: [Bound Item:The Knight¡¯s Bag of Holding].

    Then Alice turned towards Isse and, after a moment of them looking each other in the eyes, hugged her: ¡°Take care of yourself, you little spider girl knockoff.¡±

    Isse hugged her back and chuckled in her shoulder: ¡°You do that too, you Mad Hatter knockoff.¡±

    Then they disentangled and Alice took out a needle from a pocket in her nightgown, pricking Liam (after receiving her flowery charm back), whose eyes were already beginning to go blank, and then herself when he disappeared.

    Then Isse, too, woke up.

    <hr>

    As Liam opened his eyes he could hear words resounding in the back of his mind.

    [Condition: Dreams Painted Red]

    He didn¡¯t know what the fuck was happening, but he wasn¡¯t against it.

    <hr>

    When she opened her eyes Isse immediately felt that something was off.

    She felt hot all over, as if she had a small fever, but the heat concentrated mainly deep inside¡­ her lady bits.

    She groaned, face planting in her cushion.

    I¡¯m in heat. Fuck!

    Fuck indeed, tried to joke Siidi, with little success if the grumble she got back as response was anything to go by.

    Weren¡¯t arachne supposed to go in heat, like, once a year?

    Normally, yes, but I¡¯d wager your [Improved Breeding] Skill is playing a trick on you.

    Isse groaned even louder in her cushion.

    This would be a complex one to explain to Albert.

 Chapter 47: Heat and Magic

    ¡°Isse, come on! It¡¯s time to get up.¡±

    That was Albert¡¯s third attempt at making Isse get up and out of the room.

    ¡°Noooooooooo!!!¡±

    And that was Isse¡¯s third response.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t make me come in Isse, you have a busy day ahead of you.¡±

    ¡°The day can wait¡­ for a week.¡±

    ¡°Isse you¡¯re starting to worry me. What¡¯s happening?¡±

    ¡°N - No - Nothing!¡± she answered all too fast, her cheeks flushed as she tried to hide inside her hammock, unconsciously producing webbing from her abdomen and weaving it into her ¡®flying bed¡¯, slowly turning it into a cocoon.

    ¡°Alright, I¡¯m coming in, please be decent,¡± said Albert with a sigh as he turned the doorknob¡­ and found he couldn¡¯t open the door, because Isse had had the presence of mind to block it with her webbing using a simple system of pulleys that allowed her to use her spidery legs to keep it shut with minimal force on her side.

    ¡°Isse, please, open the door. I promise whatever¡¯s happening I can help.¡±

    ¡°You probably could, but it would be a bad idea. Just¡­ leave me alone.¡±

    ¡°Isse, please, tell me what¡¯s happening. If you don¡¯t give me an actual reason I will enter.¡±

    Isse stayed silent as she put her face in her cushion and screamed a little. Why was this so embarrassing? She wasn¡¯t some kind of blushing virginal maiden. She¡¯d done and said much worse in her life, both back on Earth and here. Airm, she wasn¡¯t even a virgin anymore! So why was this so hard?!

    Siidi, a little help?

    I don¡¯t know sister, never had the problem, I was always among arachne, and the dwarves didn¡¯t ask questions.

    Fuck!

    Again, that¡¯s probably what you¡¯ll want to do in a bit.

    ¡°Ok, I¡¯m coming in,¡± he said.

    She sighed and tensed her spider legs, making sure that the door wouldn¡¯t open no matter how much strength Albert applied, unless he had a Skill that amplified it.

    Then she heard him whisper something through the door: ¡°[Sanctuary: No Door Unopened].¡±

    A shiver went down her spine as she heard something wrong, something sick, emanating from the words, as if some slimy monster had come out of the old man¡¯s mouth and had just tried to crawl on her, biting and tearing but only managing to get a single drop of blood out of her¡­ in her mind. Then the sensation solidified and she felt it: there was blood in his words. He had a Red Skill.

    The door to her room opened, gently, slowly, and it didn¡¯t matter how much she strained the biological pumps in her spider legs, it wasn¡¯t enough.

    Then the door was open and Albert stepped in.

    Immediately she hid inside her hammock, only now noticing that she¡¯d actually nearly cocooned herself in.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Isse, but you wouldn¡¯t explain things, and don¡¯t think that hiding inside your¡­ well, it¡¯s no longer a hammock I think, but whatever, will protect you. I promise, whatever you did, I won¡¯t get angry.¡±

    ¡°Do - Don¡¯t come close,¡± she said, her cheeks on fire as she tried to burrow even further in her cocoon, some ancient instinct deep inside her finding the feeling of being surrounded and hugged on all sides by something very comforting.

    ¡°Then tell me what¡¯s wrong!¡± his voice didn¡¯t get any louder but she could clearly feel both the impatience and worry in his tone.

    She stayed silent for a moment more, battling with her fucking needless anxiety, before she whispered: ¡°I¡¯m in heat.¡±

    Albert blinked: ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I said I¡¯m in -¡±

    ¡°No no, I heard that, I¡¯ve got Skills to enhance my hearing. I mean, what does it mean? Is it like with animals that go baby crazy every few months.¡±

    Isse¡¯s face turned the same red as fresh lava pouring out of a volcano at his words and her head shot out of her cocoon: ¡°DON¡¯T PUT IT LIKE THAT!¡±

    He stumbled back a step in surprise at her rather explosive reaction, before chuckling: ¡°I¡¯m sorry dear but that was the politest way I could put it.¡±

    Isse opened her mouth to say something, then closed it as she noticed something: she was looking at Albert, a male, but didn¡¯t feel the need to jump his bones and then turn him into actual bones to feed her growing young.

    Siidi, wasn¡¯t I supposed to want to fuck anyone that was a male?

    Technically, yes. Practically it¡¯s a bit more complex. Our instincts recognize friend from foe and we can also usually feel if, by mating with someone, our children will be stronger or weaker.

    So, basically, you¡¯re telling me Albert is safe because he¡¯s old.

    Yes, probably. And because you consider him as someone important to you. Like some sort of father figure.

    That one struck a chord in her heart and she withdrew slightly in her cocoon. Because it was right. And because she feared what it would mean to admit it. What would happen if she lost him too? What then?

    She said that, but there was another thought deeper in her mind, one she had no desire to acknowledge, and it went more or less like this: What would happen when he inevitably dies? Because he will die, and it will be our fault.

    For once Siidi hadn¡¯t been fast enough in killing the thought and Isse felt its presence and what it said.

    ¡°So¡­ can I help?¡± asked Albert, bless his kind heart (and oh how he would¡¯ve laughed at that one. Him? Kind? He considered himself many things, but not kind), distracting her from the spiraling thoughts and giving Siidi enough time to put an end to them.

    ¡°Apparently you¡¯re safe but¡­ it would be better for everyone if I didn¡¯t stay around other men. Unless you feel like having grandchildren and a body on your conscience.¡±

    He chuckled: ¡°While I¡¯m not against the idea of being the ¡®cool grandpa¡¯, I¡¯m rather scared about the body part, mixed together with the fact that you¡¯re too young to have kids.¡±

    That caused another blush to appear on Isse¡¯s cheeks, or rather, it caused the one she already had to intensify, but it also made her giggle slightly down her throat, a sound she suppressed because it would only have caused more embarrassment.

    ¡°Well, alright, I guess you¡¯ve got yourself a vacation from both the clockworking and violin lessons then. Would you like me to bring your food here?¡±

    Hesitantly she nodded her head, before saying: ¡°Thank you Albert. For understanding.¡±

    He smiled and, for once, he looked his age: like a kindly old man who¡¯d seen a lot and wanted nothing more than to help in any way he could the coming generation. A sort of grandad, truly. His eyes crinkled up and for the first time Isse noticed the wrinkles on his face.

    How many years does he have left to live? she wondered. And had she known the answer she would¡¯ve probably cried, for they had recently become nine because of a sacrifice he had made.

    Nine years. Plenty of time for most people to do anything they wanted, no time at all for many others. Albert knew he could¡¯ve gone for more, lived longer. Airm, he could¡¯ve lived forever. But he was tired. So, so, tired. That was why he had decided to put a timer on his life: to have the certainty that things would end.

    And that knowledge made every single thing he did so much sweeter, so much better. Every bite of food tasted like the first time he¡¯d ever stopped to taste what he was eating as a child; every sip of wine felt like he was drinking from a bottle of the finest brew to ever be made; every night he fell asleep and knew for certain that tomorrow was another day, that he would wake up, and that he would get to experience it all again. And who cares if he decided to spend most of that time making, repairing and selling clocks to people? He hadn¡¯t had the chance to do what he wanted for all of his life, so every gear he put inside a mechanism felt like a personal accomplishment, reminding him that he had gained the right to this more than anyone else.

    He knew that, one day, he would go to sleep and not open his eyes again, that someone would sooner or later come to check on him and find his dead body lying on his comfortable mattress, a smile on his lips. Maybe the night before he would get blackout drunk, talk to people, give away his fortune to some random beggar or lucky passerby, because he knew there would be no tomorrow for him to wake up to.

    It was beautiful.

    It was why he had the Class he had.

    His actual Class. The one his ring hid as [Clocksmith].

    The Class he¡¯d gained through countless years of working to reach the point he was at right now, a path that had been, paradoxically, simplified by a very bad mistake he¡¯d made in his younger days.

    His true Class: [Timesmith].

    A Class that had allowed him to finally, finally, shape his destiny, shape the time he had left to live, giving him a reason to exist.

    So he smiled and looked at the last gift he would give to himself and, maybe, to the world: a daughter, even if she didn¡¯t know he considered her as such, who could understand passion and sacrifice, who could have a bright future ahead of her, one without hatred and fear and true sadness. One last gift.

    [The Favour the World Owes Me], he thought.

    He would do anything for her. Even give up one of the ten years of life he had left to live.

    ¡°It¡¯s my pleasure dear.¡±

    Then he turned around and left the room, going to the kitchen to get breakfast ready.

    <hr>

    What do you do when you decide to quarantine yourself in a room?

    The answers are many and extremely variegated and, ultimately, aren¡¯t answers at all, because no matter what, boredom will eventually set in.

    Isse found that out after her first day of doing nothing but reading.

    The morning of her second day in her room she took the book she¡¯d been reading yesterday in her hands, opened it up to where her silk line she used as bookmark lay in wait and proceeded to read exactly seven pages before closing it and groaning.

    ¡°I don¡¯t wanna read.¡±

    Well I do, so open that book and let me, you can just lay there and watch the ceiling.

    A smile crept on Isse¡¯s lips as she opened the book again and waited a bit to let Siidi finish reading the page before turning it. She¡¯d long since found out that the arachne living in her head read just as fast as her and she knew her rhythm well.

    Meanwhile she did as she¡¯d said and stared at the ceiling, wondering what she could do to pass the time. Reading was out of the question for now, she¡¯d clearly exhausted herself, and her little spiders were being more skittish than usual these last few days, as if something was worrying them.

    She looked up at the ceiling covered in white webbing and let her mind wander, thinking that maybe she could start fantasizing about¡­ anything, really, and lose herself in the images. She used to do that a lot when she was a child after all.

    Sadly she¡¯d also grown out of that phase (or so she called it), and so her mind instead wandered to her memories. In particular the memory of a place that was just as white, no, whiter than her room, with a ceiling made of white webbing that covered the sky completely, hiding it from sight.

    Grandmother¡¯s clearing.

    She closed her eyes and, behind the eyelids, saw that incredible shade of white, like freshly fallen snow in the morning before people started throwing salt all over it and shoveling it off the roads.  She¡¯d never realized just how white it had actually been. How funny!

    In the darkness behind her eyelids, lit by that white and a ghostly light, she turned around and looked everywhere, seeing the colorful trees in the distance and¡­ an ice statue.

    Grandmother¡¯s statue.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    It stood there, a sad smile on her face as she looked in front of her, in the distance, where her last hope for her species was running away.

    Isse didn¡¯t know it, but this was the moment before the giant fireball that had killed all of them, the moment when she¡¯d accepted her death happily because she¡¯d done it: she¡¯d destroyed the last remnant of the Hunters¡¯ power.

    She looked at the ice statue and¡­ didn¡¯t cry. Instead she bowed her head.

    I didn¡¯t like you, but you were a good person, one who would sacrifice anything for a glimmer of hope. Thank you.

    Wind whistled through the countless threads of white, creating a sound like a distant sigh.

    Then the statue crumbled.

    And meanwhile, amidst the ashes covered in snow of what had once been the Forest of Tusca, the ice statue of an ancient arachne that had stood against countless attempts at being destroyed, be it with magic or swords or hammers, a statue that was now surrounded by countless others that had once been soldiers, the ice made a grinding sound imperceptible to most ears as the lips on her tired face twisted slightly upwards and something in its eyes seemed to change, making her look happy and, finally, at peace.

    Anyway, Isse opened her eyes and looked back up at her white ceiling.

    And decided to try to create a Spell.

    <hr>

    The threads of people¡¯s lives slowly disappeared in her vision, leaving only the white room around her with her toys and decorations, all of it covered by a strange, whitish, fog, thin enough that it could be ignored, but still there. That was what she really needed right now: mana. The world¡¯s soul.

    She raised a hand and made to pluck something in the air, getting it close to her face. From that point and up to her fingers a single thread extended, thinner than an actual thread and sort of shiny for some reason. A thread of mana. Grandmother had spent an entire lesson just teaching her how to pluck them right, and another one afterwards to teach her how to weave something that didn¡¯t exist the same way everything else did. Turns out that using reality itself as your loom was surprisingly easy, you just had to tie a knot in the fourth dimension! Or so she had started to call it. Grandmother had said something about tying a knot ¡®on the other side of the first Anchor¡¯, whatever that meant.

    Anyways, she looked at the single thread and tried to think about what she could do with it. Grandmother had told her that weaving magic like they did was usually a matter of imagining what she wanted to do and letting instinct guide her, but the last time she¡¯d tried that had resulted in her attempts fizzling out into complete nothingness.

    ¡°It¡¯s because you¡¯re too inexperienced. Give yourself time, young one.¡±

    That was what she had said.

    Well, now she was a lot less inexperienced. And sure, her magical studies had been stagnating ever since the fire, but she¡¯d also gained some Levels in her [Soul Shaper] Class, even managing to upgrade it.

    Surely it would work now, right?

    Only one way to find out!

    Closing her eyes she thought about what kind of Spell she¡¯d like to have and, after but a few seconds, the idea blinked on in her mind: Fireball. The dream of any and every person who¡¯d ever thought of magic since the creation of D&D, the most perfect Spell to ever be invented!

    Then she remembered that arachne had a¡­ shall we call it natural enmity? Yes, a natural enmity with fire. After that fatidic night she understood well why.

    Still¡­ childhood dreams will stay childhood dreams and she wanted the ability to throw fire at her enemies, so to Airm with it!

    Now, do you ever have a feeling like you have something in your mouth and all you can think of doing is bite down and try to break down that piece of nothing into smaller parts until they disappear? No? Never? Well alright then, how about this then: have you ever felt a sensation like something pulling you towards a specific location or action? Like when, as a kid, while answering a multiple answers test, you didn¡¯t know the answer and after a while of staring at the page you got this strange pulling sensation towards a specific letter? Now that, that was the feeling that pervaded all of Isse¡¯s movements.

    Looking at that one line in front of her she slowly began feeling like her hand was being pulled towards her left, so she followed the direction, pressing her thumb on the thread in the place where she¡¯d stopped before and pushing, changing her perspective slightly for but a moment as she saw the thread enter a hole that had always been there and, as it closed, remaining trapped on the other side.

    She did this for a while, watching as a strange pattern formed in front of her eyes, just as nonsensical as the other times she had tried this.

    Soul Magic was the magic of the world, the magic that manipulated it and forced it to create what one wanted. It was, in short, the basis of all the schools of magic in the world. It was magic at its most unrefined state, completely wild and, therefore, much more prone to backfiring horribly¡­ although arachne had been gifted by Death with the innate ability to¡­ suppress that problem.

    To put it in another way, do you remember how Isse said that the few times she¡¯d attempted what she was doing now the Spells had fizzled out? Well, for any other [Mage] attempting what she¡¯d been doing the ¡®fizzles¡¯ would¡¯ve been a full on explosion of mana taking whatever form it wished. You couldn¡¯t even attempt to guess what would come out. That was actually how magic was first studied: random people being sacrificed to make random spellforms and then people with [Thought Acceleration] Skills seeing the Spell¡¯s Matrix as it formed and writing it down.

    A method that worked perfectly, caused the deaths of dozens of people and allowed the advancement of magic as a whole for centuries¡­ until people found out that to cast even more complex Spells you needed to be able to write spellforms in the fourth dimension (although they didn¡¯t call it that. Instead they just said that a [Mage] had to ¡®write upon Time herself¡¯).

    As for the part of that magic school that allowed one to manipulate actual souls¡­ well, the reason for that is simple enough: souls are made of mana. Very complex formations of mana (self replicating mana to be exact), but still just that. That was why it was easy for the gods to recycle them.

    Anyway, when Isse was finally done she looked at the spellform with squinting eyes, trying to get a feel for whether this was going to work or not and, when she was sure, she allowed the threads of mana to absorb her mana, activating them. Because that was another thing to remember: just ¡®drawing¡¯ the Spell wasn¡¯t enough because, at the end of the work, it was still made from mana that was on the same level of power as the world¡¯s, something that could work on simple things like basic [Light] or [Candleflame] Spells, but not with anything else. Using one¡¯s own mana though allowed to separate the spellform, turning it into a spell matrix, from the ambient mana, then casting it.

    She let her mana go and watched as the Spell finally, after all this time¡­

    It fizzled out again.

    ¡°FUUUUUUCK!¡± shouted Isse in frustration, her legs flailing around wildly.

    ¡°Language!¡± came Albert¡¯s muffled voice from the floor below.

    Does that man have [Detect Cuss Words] among his Skills? asked Siidi when she finally managed to stop laughing.

    Isse groaned and closed the book.

    Hey! I was reading that!

    If I¡¯m bored you¡¯re gonna be bored too, decided Isse.

    Fuck off! Oh, well, I can binge watch the TV series you still remember.

    ¡­Can you share?

    Fall asleep and I will.

    What followed was an intense session of ¡®attempting to fall asleep in the middle of the day on command¡¯, which, as you know, is an extremely complex activity that often results in failure. Luckily, for once, Isse managed it and, in about half an hour, she was fast asleep and sitting beside Siidi, looking into the screen of an old cathode television at the first episode of, very appropriately, ¡®The Magicians¡¯.

    They huddled up together and watched, all the while Isse tried to ignore the heat building up in her belly.

    <hr>

    When she woke up next she groaned.

    The world was too much.

    The smells were too strong, the lights and colors too bright, the sounds from outside too loud and the smells too¡­ smelly. No, seriously, she thought she could smell the sewage water from underneath the street.

    Her only sense that didn¡¯t feel overwhelmed was her touch, her spidersilk caressing her skin gently whenever she moved.

    In a desperate attempt to escape the world she burrowed back into her bed turned cocoon and tried to shut everything out, succeeding, but only slightly.

    It wasn¡¯t this bad last time, she whined internally.

    Last time there were no men anywhere nearby and you had Anda to help. Now you¡¯re in a big city and there¡¯s tons of men walking just outside your window. Your body knows that.

    Can I make it stop?

    I don¡¯t think so. You¡¯ll just have to endure it for a week.

    If it¡¯s this bad just now I don¡¯t know how bad it¡¯ll be in a week.

    Probably no worse than this, lied Siidi in an attempt to console her sister.

    Come on, try making some magic again. It¡¯ll distract you.

    At this point Isse felt desperate enough to try it.

    So she twisted and turned in her cocoon until she felt comfortable enough, before raising her hand and doing the same thing she¡¯d done¡­ yesterday, at this point. She and Siidi had spent the entire afternoon and night watching her memories of the TV series.

    She twisted her perspective for but a moment, allowing her fingers to hook a small amount of mana, turning the world¡¯s soul into her loom for her to craft threads out of. Then she pulled and saw the slightly luminous thread of mana extend from nothing towards her pointer and thumb.

    She set to work, trying to feel that instinct from the other times that should¡¯ve helped her craft a new spell, but she failed.

    Again.

    And again.

    And again.

    And again.

    And every time that instinct seemed to become harder and harder to grasp at.

    Until, after her latest failed attempt, she just groaned and let her arm fall. At least this had been a helpful distraction.

    She also felt tired, probably because of all the mana she¡¯d wasted.

    She closed her eyes, promising herself she¡¯d only take a short nap, but when she opened them again the sun outside her window was up high in the sky and Albert was knocking at her door, bringing lunch. She ate it ravenously, thanking the old man all the while and asking him how things were going. He answered that all was well and that she shouldn¡¯t worry about him, before leaving her with a new book and a warning to get better.

    Then she burrowed back inside her cocoon and tried to isolate the world outside anew.

    It was getting worse: she could smell them now, the men walking outside the house, in the streets, and every time she caught a whiff of the scent the fire in her belly seemed to burn just a little brighter.

    Calm the fuck down you dumb uterus. I don¡¯t want children.

    Her body seemed to disagree as the sensation flared slightly.

    Fuck it, let¡¯s try some magic again.

    And she started working anew.

    Only this time even her concentration wasn¡¯t enough to distract her from the fire burning inside her. She didn¡¯t feel aroused gods dammit! It felt more like a needy child constantly prodding at her and telling her to do something and she couldn¡¯t make it stop! A nuisance, that¡¯s what it was.

    Oh, so that¡¯s what they meant: men are for breeding, women are for loving.

    Yeah, ok, now it made a lot more sense.

    She tried again to concentrate on the spellform, on that sensation of ¡®guidance¡¯, but found that it had disappeared completely. Blinking, she tried to get a feel for it again, maybe she¡¯d just gotten distracted. But no, it wasn¡¯t there anymore.

    What was there was the heat.

    And it moved now.

    Ok, what the fuck?

    Yes indeed, the heat was moving slightly inside her, sort of like that sense of purpose that had driven her in all her attempts at making failing spells.

    Are you being serious right now? she thought, addressing her belly as if it could answer her.

    The heat only flared in answer.

    Siidi?

    I was a [Warrior] Isse, don¡¯t ask me about magic.

    Useful as always.

    Fuck off!

    She sighed and looked at the single line she had traced. Then she felt at the heat, tugging at her senses, willing her to move to the right.

    Fuck it, what¡¯s the worst that could happen?

    As it turns out, the worst that could happen was that, when she finished writing an extremely complex, definitely non-Euclidean feeling and looking, spellform, the moment she poured her mana inside it she felt like she was being drained, as if someone had filled a balloon with water and had now popped it with a pin.

    The strength left her form as, suddenly, in the darkness of her cocoon, a fire blazed to life in the form of a rather small sphere, burning right through her silk and making her shout in surprise.

    She scrambled out of her hammock, batting at the flames in a rather successful attempt at turning them off, before she ran to the window, opening it, and threw the ball of fire, no, the [Fireball], out into the open sky, watching it ascend out of her hand, following a long arch, before it exploded high enough in the air not to kill anyone or damage a building.

    She huffed in relief and passed a hand over her now sweat-beaded forehead.

    Then she heard a gentle cough to her side.

    She turned, half expecting to see Albert standing on the porch roof of the shop, only to see Tobias standing there with a raised eyebrow and looking at the hand that had been holding the [Fireball].

    ¡°You never told me you could cast powerful Spells,¡± he said with a small smile.

    She just stared at him, the heat in her belly raring up with a vengeance. Compared to what it was now, the heat had been more like a gentle campfire before.

    ¡°So, Albert told me you weren¡¯t feeling well when I came this morning, said nobody could visit you. So I decided to check up on you the old fashioned way. But since you can throw around [Fireballs] of all things I get it you¡¯re feeling better¡­ Isse, why are you staring at me like that?¡±

    There was no resisting the heat.

    So she just gave in.

    She smiled sweetly at her friend, then, without saying a word, moved forward, grabbing at Tobias slender form with one arm while with her other hand she went for his neck, bringing him close and dragging him through the window, closing it behind her with one of her legs.

    Then she kissed him.

    And bit down, her third set of canines coming out of hiding and injecting him with the aphrodisiac fluid all arachne were born with. Tobias gasped in surprise at the sensation, but she didn¡¯t give him the time to think or say anything more as she deepened the kiss and waited for the ¡®magic liquid¡¯ to do its job and get him ready. He would father some great spiderlings, she could feel that.

    <hr>

    Dear readers, nothing more will be said of what happened next, because we all know for sure what it was. I won¡¯t sweeten the pill and say that, at the last moment, when Isse was certain she¡¯d been fertilized, she came back to her senses and let the boy go. Of course she didn¡¯t, she was an arachne after all: by the time he was done she¡¯d already wrapped him up in a cute little cocoon, bound tight to keep everything inside but not to the point of discomfort. When the act was done a new instinct overtook her and it shouted something along the lines of this: The kids need to be fed.

    And so she did just that: she went up to Tobias¡¯ neck and injected him with digestive fluids (which she¡¯d produced a lot more of than usual), her teeth easily passing through her webbing and finding his soft, warm, flesh.

    Then, after just thirty minutes of lying in wait, staring at her meal, she touched the cocoon, finding the contents inside soft enough, and bit in, drinking up what had once been one of her friends in this city.

    But it didn¡¯t matter, because the only important thing was the preservation of her species, the birth of more spiderlings so that they could carry on their legacy. A legacy that could, potentially, be different from that of the arachne who came before, peaceful even, although she doubted the world would be so kind with her and her kids.

    Isse placed a hand on her stomach, now slightly swollen from her meal, and then placed a hand on her spider half, over where she knew her eggs were gestating.

    There was no regret in her, only happiness at having fulfilled her purpose, joy that she wouldn¡¯t be the last arachne for much longer.

    She was grateful.

    And meanwhile, downstairs, the door to Albert¡¯s shop opened and a group of ten armed people walked in, wishing to talk.

 Chapter 48: How do [Timesmiths] Fight?

    It always comes down to this question: how does someone say goodbye?

    And you all remember what I mean by goodbye, right? I¡¯m not talking about the ones said to a friend or family before leaving for a short while. I¡¯m talking about¡­ the last goodbye. The one said with a smile as you lay in bed before closing your eyes for the final time, the one said with tears in your eyes and a heavy heart.

    There are so many different ways to say goodbye though.

    The last time¡­ it was a [Mage]¡¯s, and we saw how she destroyed something dear to the world as her way to say goodbye to it.

    But what about this time?

    Sadly, I believe, we¡¯ll have to find that out.

    <hr>

    Albert watched the ten men and women walk into his shop without seeing them.

    Instead, he looked at the world outside his front window, at the street filled with people milling around, at the blue sky overhead and the distant gray clouds that promised snow.

    And then, finally, at the dozens of [Guards] stationed along the streets and, he knew, all around his beloved shop.

    He sighed.

    Looking down, he opened his pocket watch, watching the seconds tick away as the ten undesired guests positioned themselves to cover all the exits. He had half expected someone to appear in the doorway that led to his workshop, having maybe managed to pick the lock in the back and survive the nasty surprise that would entail. But there was nobody. Rookies, the lot of them.

    Then he put on a bright smile: ¡°Why good evening! It has been quite some time since I had so many customers at once. Please, go ahead and take a look at the merchandise in stock, if you can see it it¡¯s for sale. Although I¡¯ll kindly ask you not to try and buy the furniture,¡± he faked a chuckle.

    The person in the lead of the group didn¡¯t even bat an eye at this as, calmly, she walked towards the counter he was sitting behind and, with the nonchalance that came with power, placed a gold coin on it. The same gold coin those two imbeciles had shown him not a few weeks ago.

    ¡°I call upon Remembrance, Albert Sirion. If that is even your name.¡±

    He sighed, pinching the coin between two fingers, as if afraid that it would infect him with some unknown disease, and looked at the side showing a crown without its king.

    Putting it down, he shook his head: ¡°It is my name. I was part of the Game since my birth, so I saw no reason to get myself a new one, and when I left I did so for good, so I saw no need to change it.¡±

    He raised the sleeve of his shirt and showed the woman the tattoo of a bishop¡¯s hat on fire.

    ¡°It is the real thing,¡± he said.

    ¡°Let¡¯s make sure now, shall we?¡±

    The woman took out a monocle from her front pocket and looked through it at the tattoo. He knew what she would see: a layer of shining lines, for the ink had been imbued with mana of a particular type, he knew not what, that would shine through some specific enchantments.

    A moment later the monocle was put away and the woman nodded, satisfied: ¡°It would seem you indeed completed the Pilgrimage of Eights.¡±

    He nodded: ¡°I did, which means I am free. The Game shouldn¡¯t be allowed to even interact with me.¡±

    The woman sighed: ¡°Look, Albert, I understand, it¡¯s against the rules ¨C¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s against every Tradition and Law of the Game is what it is,¡± interrupted the old man.

    ¡°Yes, yes, I know, but I¡¯ve got orders, I can¡¯t do anything about them.¡±

    ¡°Oh, but you sure can. Used to be Bishops like you would assassinate their Kings when they started to do stupid things. Or would try to become their Queens. But no, nowadays people seem to have lost the ability to think for themselves, while the Game has become nothing more than an over glorified assassin¡¯s guild. At least the Gardener and her people know what they are, while the Game has forgotten its original purpose.¡±

    The Bishop seemed surprised for a moment when he mentioned her role, but she shrugged it off in an instant and went on: ¡°You talk as if you knew the Game¡¯s purpose.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t, and I never really found out. That¡¯s one of the many reasons I left. How can you support a cause when nobody knows why the cause exists to begin with?¡±

    They both knew that this banter was useless and wouldn¡¯t change anything, but the Bishop feared Albert too much not to give him the chance to talk, and he respected the hard work it had taken her to become her King¡¯s right hand woman too much not to allow it.

    Still, they ended up staring at each other as the people around them started shuffling nervously.

    Then: ¡°Albert, please, it¡¯s just one last mission.¡±

    ¡°I. Don¡¯t. Care. It¡¯s always ¡®one last mission¡¯ and ¡®one more, you can do it¡¯. I completed the Pilgrimage, I¡¯m the first person in five centuries who managed to do it, even when they sent me to steal an artifact from a dragon. I did it. I did my ¡®one last mission¡¯. The King in Disia, north of here, assured me of that. I am not coming back.¡±

    The Bishop sighed, shaking her head, before looking back, out of the window and into the streets slowly filling with [Guards].

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Albert, I didn¡¯t want to do this, but I have orders.¡±

    She looked back at him, pleading with her eyes, asking him, nearly begging, to change his mind. He just crossed his arms and stared her down, the weight of decades falling on the woman¡¯s shoulders.

    Then¡­ she spoke again, and it felt as if something left her: ¡°We know of the arachne in your home. She lives in the first room right in front of the stairs to the first floor. Her room is filled with webs and toys and other knick knacks hang from the ceiling. She has a hammock and our Rook says he thinks he saw a book on a pillow.

    ¡°If you won¡¯t come with us¡­ well, you know how blackmailing works, you used to do a lot of that.¡±

    That was more or less when Albert¡¯s world fell to pieces.

    <hr>

    ¡°We struck the motherlode Albert! This is fucking amazing! Look at this! There must be hundreds of Skill Scrolls here! We¡¯ll be rich!¡±

    That was Oria, Albert¡¯s closest friend in life. She was a bubbly and hopeful Pawn, just like him (without the bubbly part), who loved playing card games. As in, she constantly carried around a deck of cards and never lost a chance to play a game.

    ¡°Language Oria!¡±

    ¡°Oh shut the fuck up you, just because you¡¯re getting more training for spywork in high society doesn¡¯t mean you always have to be so prim and proper.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not being prim and proper, it¡¯s just basic decency.¡±

    ¡°Exactly, prim and proper!¡±

    Albert sighed: there was no way to change her mind when she became like this.

    Instead he decided right now was the moment to throw at her the bucket of frozen water that was reality: ¡°And anyway, this isn¡¯t going to be ours. We¡¯re just mere Pawns, they¡¯ll give us a pat on the shoulder, maybe give us some points to get us closer to a good promotion, then take all these Scrolls away to some King¡¯s vaults where he¡¯ll keep them and give them away to his most loyal Pieces.¡±

    Oria¡¯s bright smile remained locked in place for a few moments, before it disappeared completely and she started acting like the grumpy teenager she actually was, putting her hands in her pockets and pouting towards the ground.

    ¡°I know, but did you have to crush reality on me like a dwarf¡¯s hammer?¡±

    ¡°If you hadn¡¯t called me ¡®prim and proper¡¯ I would¡¯ve given you five more minutes.¡±

    ¡°You ass!¡±

    He chuckled and, for all Oria tried to keep looking grumpy, she couldn¡¯t stop the smile forming on her face. They were very close friends.

    Then she brightened back up and looked at him with a mischievous smile as she stepped closer to the walls holding the dozens upon dozens of Skill Scrolls.

    ¡°Hey, I¡¯ve got an idea: why don¡¯t we use a few of these? Like, they won¡¯t notice if a few are missing.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but they will notice that we suddenly have a few new Skills.¡±

    ¡°Nah, don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll just take one each.¡±

    ¡°None of these Scrolls have been appraised though.¡±

    She waved him off: ¡°Oh don¡¯t worry so much! This used to be a vampires¡¯ lair, there must be great Skills in there. Worst case scenario you get something useless, but imagine if you get one of their most powerful Skills! It¡¯s like ¨C¡±

    ¡°I swear to the gods if you compare this to a game of cards I will slap you until we get out.¡±

    She pouted: ¡°You¡¯re no fun!¡±

    He sighed but¡­ he had to admit that she was right: Skill Scrolls always contained some kind of Skill, more or less useful, and they were talking about ones coming from vampires! They¡¯d been known for having some of the most powerful and honorable [Knights] to ever exist, for their ability to turn the places they called home into deadly traps for their enemies and for being some of the strongest people in this world. They could¡¯ve probably conquered entire continents, instead they¡¯d chosen to stay in their own little kingdom in Eva¡¯s north.

    ¡°Alright. One Skill Scroll each. Only one!¡±

    Oria nodded and beamed at him, going for a tackle hug and not missing. Albert was agile, but he was nothing compared to her, who was receiving intensive training for infiltrating high security locations.

    ¡°THANK YOU! Now, eeny, meeny, miny, moe, I choose you!¡± she pointed at a random Scroll and grabbed it¡­ carefully. They both looked around the room, expecting another trap. Getting here had been very, very, very difficult, because the place had still been riddled with traps of all sorts. More than once they¡¯d risked their lives, but they made a great team and so, in the end, they¡¯d managed it and gotten here.

    As they waited in silence for something, anything, to happen, they looked around.

    Nothing.

    ¡°Phew, seems like we¡¯re out of the danger zone.¡±

    ¡°Seems like it,¡± agreed Albert.

    He, too, chose a Scroll at random and took it in his hands.

    It was surprisingly light: one would expect that something powerful enough to contain a Skill would be heavy with¡­ he didn¡¯t know. Power? Sin? Something?

    Instead it looked exactly like any other Scroll one could find in a shop. The only thing that was different really was the feeling the paper gave off, a deep sensation that there was something in the pages, something powerful.

    Without further hesitation, and with a bit of trepidation, Albert unrolled the Scroll and managed to read the first few words on the paper: ¡®I, the Crimson Countess Mirelia Everan ¨C¡¯

    Then the world went white.

    And then black.

    And then he was standing in that blackness, a woman¡¯s figure in front of him.

    ¡°Ah, at least we managed to make the process more comfortable. Good to know.¡±

    She wore a beautiful black and red dress, simple in design, with no frills and decorations. It clung to her figure, revealing her forms, but looked surprisingly¡­ practical. Then he saw that, on the side of the gown, which reached just barely her mid calf, there was a long cut. He also saw that she was wearing riding boots. It was as if she¡¯d been ready to go for a cavalcade with a lover.

    Or, if her mussed hair and the tension in her lineaments was anything to go by, to run away from something.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry boy. Our enemies should¡¯ve found this place first and fallen to the traps or to our final trick.¡±

    She chuckled mirthlessly: ¡°We had never expected our [Knights of Lifeblood] would¡¯ve managed to kill so many of the [Vampire Hunters], nor had we expected the traps would¡¯ve done quick work of the ones who remained.¡±

    Sighing, she looked around in the darkness: ¡°The library of Scrolls you found, it contains no Skills. It contains our Conditions, our hungers and our weaknesses. It is no treasure, just another trap. I¡¯m sorry an innocent like you had to find it.¡±

    She stepped forward and, meanwhile, Albert stood there, frozen in place, incapable of moving.

    The woman, the vampire, approached him and, seemingly out of nowhere, she took out a simple glass chalice filled with a deep red, moving it towards his lips: ¡°Drink. You have no other choice. And¡­ I hope you¡¯ll find a way to deal with it. The blood of animals will manage to sustain you. If you¡¯re intelligent and value your sanity you shouldn¡¯t drink the blood of other intelligent races, for some reason it tastes better, more addictive.¡±

    She tipped the glass to his lips and he got his first taste of blood.

    For some reason it was sweet and spicy, truly wonderful, and he immediately wanted more. A new part of him screamed for more, wanted to jump onto the woman and sate this newfound hunger, but his more rational side won through sheer force of will, managing to squash that side.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said the woman one last time, before disappearing.

    [Condition - Vampiric Thirst Contracted.]

    He opened his eyes, the Scroll in his hands dissipating into smoke, but he cared not for that as he turned around and, with a glance, saw that Oria hadn¡¯t yet opened her own.

    [Fast Draw]! he thought as his hand rapidly took one of the throwing knives on his chest and he immediately threw it, managing to nail the Scroll out of his friend¡¯s hands.

    ¡°It¡¯s a trap Oria! They all give Conditions. Each and every one of them!¡±

    Then he fell to the ground as his stomach growled and twisted, his eyes turning red as an unfathomable hunger tried to take over him.

    ¡°Albert, what ¨C That¡¯s impossible!¡±

    ¡°Do I look like I¡¯m suffering from something possible?¡± asked Albert, curling his fingers into claws as he resisted the hunger.

    ¡°What can I do?¡±

    ¡°Blood. I need blood.¡±

    He felt as if he hadn¡¯t eaten in centuries.

    And, in truth, he hadn¡¯t. The Condition had been starved in the time it had spent in the Scroll.

    A moment after he had said that he felt something warm touch his lips, followed a moment later by something wet and just as warm. Immediately, without thinking, without realizing where the blood was coming from, he latched his lips on the source of what he desired so deeply and started sucking. The taste was heavenly, the best drink he had ever had. No words could describe it, so he imagined this was what the gods drank during their banquets up in their palaces in the skies.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    Slowly, very slowly, he began feeling full, and together with this feeling the hunger abated.

    He regained control of himself and realized what he had been sucking on all this time: Oria¡¯s arm. She¡¯d used one of her knives to cut herself and allowed him to drink. It said a lot about how much she valued his words, of how much she valued him, that she¡¯d cut herself to allow him to drink after just a few words, without doubt or hesitation.

    Looking up he saw that she was a lot paler, but still she smiled.

    ¡°It¡¯s so like us. We find a ton of Skill Scrolls and all they contain is a bunch of Conditions, which should be impossible, and the first thing you do is get one of them. Just our luck.¡±

    After a moment in total stupor Albert felt tears falling from his eyes and, fast as lightning, he hugged Oria. She immediately hugged him back, promising they¡¯d find a way.

    Indeed, he found it, years later.

    Alone, but he found it.

    <hr>

    Oria had died seven years later during one of her missions. They never told him how and at whose hand, said it would only spurn him to seek useless revenge (which was true) and that such things weren¡¯t useful in the Game. She had failed because she hadn¡¯t been good enough, that was all.

    That had been one more reason to leave the Game in his ever lengthening list.

    And now he stood in front of people who reasoned just like the ones who¡¯d told him that the love of his life just ¡®hadn¡¯t been good enough¡¯.

    He wanted to laugh.

    He wanted to cry.

    He wanted them all to die.

    No, calm down, deep breaths.

    Of course he didn¡¯t breathe deeply, that would¡¯ve been too much information.

    ¡°Ah, so you didn¡¯t already tell to the [King] of Scasce that there¡¯s an arachne in this city.¡±

    ¡°Of course not, then we¡¯d lose our only bargaining chip on you,¡± promptly answered the woman.

    Albert nodded sagely: ¡°Ah, so would you mind telling me how in Airm you managed to get all the [Guards] currently staying around my shop?¡±

    The Bishop shrugged: ¡°My King pulled on some strings.¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes, he pulled on some strings. Right, right. But, you see, I met the [King] once upon a time. Well, he didn¡¯t know it was me, but that matters not. I met him, and I know the man, and I also know that, for all that he¡¯s just¡­ mediocre, yes, he doesn¡¯t really allow the Game to toy with him. That¡¯s probably one of the main reasons this Kingdom is still standing, and why maybe calling him mediocre would be a disservice. So, yes, he¡¯s a good enough [King].

    ¡°And I just can¡¯t imagine him agreeing to send what must be dozens of [Guards] to surround a simple [Clockworker]¡¯s shop, for all that he may be old, for something so simple.¡±

    ¡°Why would that be so difficult to believe? I heard that you could once move nations by calling in on a favor.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but that¡¯s because I had a Class that specifically hinged around that. Your King on the other hand? He¡¯s merely a [King of the Great Game]. Basic Class, not even an Uncommon one. That¡¯s how bad he ¨C¡±

    ¡°How do you know my King¡¯s Class?¡± asked the Bishop, suddenly more guarded.

    ¡°I met him too. He gave me the mission for my Seventh Pilgrimage. I got lucky and managed to glimpse through his protective items at his actual Class. And sure, many things can change in two decades, but I find it hard to believe that he gained a better Class, especially seeing your reaction.¡±

    He smirked at that and now the Bishop understood why he had been so feared and respected in the Game. She also understood why her King wanted him so badly.

    ¡°So, the only reason I can see for the presence of all these [Guards] is that your King revealed the presence of the arachne living over our heads to Carmine. So, basically, you¡¯ve got no bargaining chip against me.¡±

    A smile graced his lips, a very tired smile.

    Then, very slowly, as if his muscles had been covered in lead weights, he lifted his right arm and placed a mythril knife on the counter, his hand around the grip.

    ¡°And you¡¯ve just taken away my main reason to live. For the second time. Now, I¡¯m not a man prone to wrath, but I¡¯ve lost too much to the Game, so how about I repay you in kind?¡±

    The Bishop took a few steps back, her hands raised placatingly: ¡°Now now now Albert, let¡¯s not do anything rash. You may be right, and I¡¯m not saying you are because even I don¡¯t know everything my King does, but that just gives us the chance to make a deal. How about we¡­ protect her, yes. We could take her ¨C¡±

    She didn¡¯t manage to finish the sentence as the knife Albert had been holding suddenly flashed towards her.

    [Fast Dodge]! she shouted internally as her body blurred down, under the knife, no, the dagger. The person right behind her wasn¡¯t so lucky as the blade struck them in the face, right between the eyes, ending up hilt deep into his cranium. She realized, right then and there, that Albert hadn¡¯t been aiming at her. He knew that she¡¯d dodge, it was a certainty, because she was a Bishop. So he¡¯d just killed an enemy and made her waste a Skill.

    As these thoughts processed in her mind and the rest of the room froze in shock he had enough time to say one last thing before Airm descended upon them.

    ¡°[Whisper in their Ear: Isse] Girl, I¡¯m sorry. You have to run. Run away from this city as fast as you can. They found out. I¡¯ll keep them at bay and help you along the way. I¡¯m sorry¡­ I love you.¡±

    Then he looked back at them and extended his hand towards the dead Pawn: ¡°[Recall Weapon].¡±

    The dagger flew back into his outstretched hand, where he twirled it around until his grip felt sure. It had been decades since he¡¯d last used his dagger, but muscle memory was an Airm of a thing and he felt like it had been just yesterday. It saddened him that he could still remember perfectly how to use his weapon of choice but, sometimes, didn¡¯t know how to cook a simple dish. So many chances to learn different things, all thrown down the gutter.

    Everyone looked at each other as weapons were drawn out, from simple throwing knives to short swords and shields to wands. It was nine against one, plus the dozens of [Guards] outside who were getting ready to bust in from what he could see, and he didn¡¯t have the element of surprise on his side. That had always been his main weapon back in the day.

    Luckily for him now he had another Class that he didn¡¯t have back in the day.

    Before it began though, he had¡­ one last thing to do.

    ¡°[Call Them All In]. Protect her. Help her survive, at all costs.

    ¡°[Call the Favor In]. Old Crow, please, take care of her better than I did. I trust you. Goodbye.¡±

    There¡­ he¡¯d done it.

    He¡¯d called in every single favor from every person in the world he¡¯d ever done a service for. Hopefully his Levels would be enough to force them into compliance.

    Still, there was not enough time left to dwell on such worries. There was no time left at all. He¡­ wasn¡¯t planning on surviving the night. He¡¯d be lucky to survive the next ten minutes.

    They stood there, looking each other in the eyes, a standoff not unlike the one between two [Knights] ready to fight in a duel, waiting to see who would attack first and how. It was a waiting game, and he¡¯d always been good at those, especially now in his twilight years.

    He examined the weapons at his enemies¡¯ disposal. The people who worried him the most were those with throwing knives: for all he was good with those, no, especially so, he knew all too well how fast they could be thrown and how difficult it was to notice them until it was too late. The men armed with short swords, on the other hand, would be an annoyance at most, considering there was little space for them to actually move well. Finally, the people with the wands he wasn¡¯t worried about at all. They¡¯d probably do more harm than good to their own sides, especially if they were trigger-word-happy.

    No, the real problem would be the numbers, especially of the [Guards] outside.

    Then the Bishop managed to surprise him: ¡°[Board: Flatten the Field].¡±

    And immediately every object around him, every piece of furniture, every clock¡­ it looked like someone had taken a hammer to reality and comically splattered everything to the ground and walls, leaving behind only a flat surface.

    Well, let¡¯s change our assessment, now the people with swords are useful and I can¡¯t find cover behind the furniture to fight off the throwers.

    ¡°Interesting Skill young lady. How long does it last? A minute? Five?¡±

    She didn¡¯t answer.

    Instead, she attacked, taking a foil out of her bag of holding and lunging towards him.

    Albert didn¡¯t even have to try to dodge it, batting away the attack with the flat of his dagger nonchalantly.

    Then he moved his head back as a throwing knife flew past his nose, only to then step aside to dodge a sword attack that had looked rather clumsy to him.

    And all the while he talked: ¡°Bishop, your attack was sloppy, work on the footing. Thrower, you twist your body around too much, wasting time. And you, sword guy, are as graceful as a sand worm in water.¡±

    The fight was on.

    They didn¡¯t waste time, they knew that, at this point, he wouldn¡¯t join them no matter what and, after what they¡¯d done, he¡¯d make sure to kill them (or so they thought. He would¡¯ve escaped if they¡¯d run). So the only way out of this was for Albert to die. The problem was¡­ he was too fucking fast! How in Airm could an old man like him move that fast? And he wasn¡¯t using Skills, she could tell.

    Well, to answer that, he was actually using a Skill, a Passive one: [Vampiric Vitality].

    And, currently, he was pushing it to its limit, consuming blood in exchange for enhancing himself even further.

    There was a problem with that though, although for whom that problem sussisted was yet to be decided. Because Albert had another Skill, the Capstone Skill he¡¯d gained when he¡¯d hit Level 50 in his [Timesmith] Class: [Blood is Time].

    A Skill so simple and yet so powerful. A Skill that converted blood into time. The Skill that had allowed him to decide how long he had yet left to live. A Skill that was consuming the years he had left to live to allow him to fight like this.

    Hopefully he¡¯d have enough and there would be no need to feed.

    The man with the shortsword attacked again and, this time, as Albert dodged, the sword changed trajectory, redirected by some unseen force towards him.

    Ah, a Skill. [Redirect Momentum]? Probably. In that case, his thoughts whirled as these words formed and he let himself drop to the ground back first. The impact didn¡¯t punch the air out of his lungs, after all he did have [Improved Back Muscles]. From the ground his hand flew out at the man¡¯s feet, his dagger cutting the tendons of the closest one. Immediately he screamed in pain and fell to the ground, where his throat had a swift encounter with Albert¡¯s blade, ending the man¡¯s life with a brand new very big smile.

    Then a knife managed to find its way into Albert¡¯s dagger arm.

    With a grunt he shot up to his feet, his abdominals contracting and helping him dodge a second knife before he had to sidestep a lightning bolt that scorched the wall behind him slightly.

    Ok, gotta put someone behind me so that they¡¯ll kill themselves with friendly fire.

    His [Dangerses] screamed and he looked back in time to see Bishop¡¯s foil coming for his face. His feet moved before his mind realized it and positioned him in the perfect position to dodge. Naturally she corrected the direction of her attack, but that lost her some momentum, enough for Albert to put his dagger between them and redirect the attack, the two blades sliding against each other, the metal of the foil sparking as its edge was damaged by the much stronger mythril.

    In that moment he saw one of the Pawns with the wand, probably the same one who¡¯d attempted to shoot him before, raise it and pronounce the words to activate the Spell stored inside.

    He was faster though as he grabbed the Bishop¡¯s arm and thrust her between him and the Spell. Not a second later lightning struck, of all things, the foil, the charge moving through the metal and up into the woman¡¯s hand, arm and, finally, the rest of her body, grounding itself back into the ground faster¡­ well, as fast as lightning. Looking at the metal he clearly saw that the blade, while slightly smoking, hadn¡¯t changed color or deformed, which meant that the wand only had a [Minor Lightning] Spell grafted on. He¡¯d actually had the displeasure to see the effects of a [True Lightning] Spell on someone¡­ it hadn¡¯t been a pleasant sight. The poor sod had survived, but his armor had melted onto him in a few places.

    Still, no time to lose, he had the main enemy in his hands! His dagger flew towards Bishop¡¯s throat, ready to end her life, but a moment later, instead of her, he found himself holding the man with the wand, his dagger slicing his throat instead of the woman¡¯s.

    She stood in his place, panting heavily and trying to step away from him as much as she could.

    Now that, that was ¡®role appropriate¡¯. Bishops attacked only when it was safe to, letting the Pawns whittle the enemy¡¯s numbers down, not the other way ¡®round.

    The man fell to his feet, clutching at his new smile.

    And Albert realized that he¡¯d lost six months of life just by doing all of this.

    Well, it¡¯s all or nothing, he told himself, a stupid excuse for all that was happening. He had never wanted any of this. He¡¯d hoped against all hope that, truly, the Game would abide by its own rules, but how could you force a player of a game to abide by the rules they themselves made when given the chance to change them? The temptation was just too much.

    As fast as he could he took out the blade sprouting out of his arm, keeping it in his left hand.

    Thanks for the ammunition, he thought to himself as he activated the Skill [Stem Bleeding], reducing the amount of time he was losing each second.

    Two down, eight more to go.

    He just hoped the [Guards] outside would keep dilly dallying for a few minutes more: the only real threats for Isse were in this room with him, for all they were incompetent fools.

    Everyone stood stock still, nerves on the edge of a very thin knife, looking at him and waiting for his next move.

    After a few seconds of this Albert spoke: ¡°You know, I won¡¯t be the first to move, you might as well attack and see what happens.¡±

    He didn¡¯t offer them to run. At this point it would be counterproductive.

    A moment later another idiot with a wand pointed his weapon at him and unleashed, of all things, an [Arrow of Light]. No, wait, the light was too bright, the shape too well defined. So an [Arrow of Radiance]. Where in Airm had they gotten something so good? Those were usually used only by [Paladins] of Flato.

    Still, it didn¡¯t matter: an [Arrow of Radiance] may have been more dangerous, its shots more powerful and capable of passing through enchanted armor like a hot knife through butter, but the speed was the same as a normal [Light Arrow], which meant that¡­ it was easy to dodge if you were expecting the shot. That¡¯s why such armaments weren¡¯t popular among adventurers (unless they were in big parties): to deal some real damage with these you had to have numbers on your side. Just arm as few as as ten people, and watch them shoot in different directions with such a weapon and you still had a guaranteed hit. Less though, and your chances dropped. Only one? The chances were close to zero.

    Albert sidestepped and, this time, managed to redirect the knife thrown his way.

    ¡°You gotta try harder, you damn nuisances. I¡¯ve met recruits back in my day who were better than you.¡±

    One thing he had to give them: for all he tried to egg them on, to make them lose their patience and make a wrong move, they kept their calm. Even after he¡¯d killed two of their people.

    So they still teach them that Pieces are just Pieces, useful until they can no longer do their job. Hah, so the good is forgotten and the bad just keep on increasing.

    It was so tiring.

    Hadn¡¯t it been for Isse he would¡¯ve already given up, sat on the ground, maybe drunk something, before either letting these imbeciles kill him or doing it himself.

    ¡°Albert, we can still ¨C¡± tried for the hundredth time Bishop.

    His arm flashed forward, the throwing knife going for her face. But obviously she dodged it.

    His [Dangerses] pinged him again and he turned around just in time to see one of the men with shortswords going for his head.

    ¡°[Power Strike]!¡± he shouted.

    A Common Skill? Against me? Really?¡±

    Unfazed he raised his arm, knowing full well that this time he couldn¡¯t use the same trick as before since the man would expect it.

    [Arms of Brass], he recited. Nothing changed¡­ outwardly, that is. But the moment the blade met his arms a clang was heard and it just¡­ bounced off. The Pawn looked first at his blade, then at Albert, and then at nothing else as his head flopped backwards, kept in place only by his spine and a bit of flesh.

    Then it was chaos.

    Everyone started attacking him all at once, but every single time he managed to dodge and weave between the attacks. The next to go down was another of the knife throwers, one of the [Arrows of Radiance] piercing through his heart. Then came the turn of the Pawn with that wand, which he took out by using the dead man as a dummy shield kept moving by his Skill [Illusory Clone]. He kept the wand and used that instead of the multiple knives being thrown at him.

    And all the while he attempted to dodge every single lunge and attack from the Bishop, who looked steadily more and more panicked as she finally realized, truly, that she¡¯d bitten off more than she could chew.

    That isn¡¯t to say that he didn¡¯t get wounded. On the contrary, he was down to five years left to live.

    In the end they were the only ones left in the room: him and the Bishop. He checked his clock, noting how much time he¡¯d lost. Too much. But, seeing how the [Guards] outside hadn¡¯t yet walked in since the fight had started, maybe, just maybe, he had a chance to survive this.

    ¡°Well, this wasn¡¯t pleasant at all,¡± he said, closing his pocket watch, ¡°I¡¯m glad it¡¯s ended. Now, kindly, leave, or off yourself, whichever has less consequences for you. I¡¯m telling this as a professional kindness: you won¡¯t like what I¡¯ll do to you if you choose to stay.¡±

    He was thirsty. Only slightly, but it had been quite literally decades since he¡¯d last felt thirsty in any way that mattered.

    She lunged at him in desperation, screaming both in rage and agony from the wounds he¡¯d managed to inflict to her. He, too, was in pain, although not as much: he¡¯d been conditioned to ignore the sensation from when he¡¯d been eight and decades with a sword¡¯s shard in his flank had only enhanced it.

    He tried to dodge and, like before, she changed direction, trying to skewer him through his eye.

    And, just like the first time, he dodged that too, grabbing her arm. The girl really hadn¡¯t learned from the first time. Only, this time, instead of trying to slit her throat with his trusty dagger, he sank his teeth in her neck and clenched.

    [Vampiric Fangs], he recited, before sinking now long teeth into her exposed neck, breaking skin and reaching for the artery in her neck.

    Blood pumped into his mouth and down his throat, although he didn¡¯t taste a drop of it: there was just too much on his mind to even begin to think about enjoying any of this. Instead he drank and, quite rapidly, felt the time he had left to live begin to replenish. Which was good, he¡¯d probably need every second.

    The girl in his grip moaned in discomfort and pain, slowly becoming paler and paler, until her breathing became ragged and her heart began to fail. Finally, an entire minute later, she stopped moving at all.

    He threw the body down and looked outside.

    A chuckle escaped his lips.

    The [Guards] were getting ready to charge in.

    It was so, as his shop went back to normal, every flat surface growing back the furniture it had absorbed, that he walked upstairs, for that was the best place to entrench himself.

    He would soon find out though that someone else had had the very same idea as, when he opened the door that led to the first floor, he found himself facing a dozen men. There were already dead bodies scattered around, killed by his Skills and traps.

    He sighed.

    And got ready to die.

 Chapter 49: Of Debts and Favors

    I¡¯ve been around¡­ for a while now. Nothing to do about it, can¡¯t be changed, but at least I¡¯m different: I lost that part of myself that, after a while, thinks ¡®I¡¯ve seen enough¡¯ or ¡®It¡¯s too much¡¯, that essentially human part that makes us long for death and an ending. And all it took was for my mind to be erased, destroyed by the Nothingness that I allowed inside, and for it to be rebuilt by a living Paradox.

    Ah, but I¡¯m getting ahead of myself here.

    It¡¯s just¡­ I don¡¯t know how to start this.

    That, more than anything, should tell you¡­ nah, there¡¯s nothing that should tell you. It¡¯s meaningless.

    It¡¯s everything.

    It¡¯s¡­ it just is.

    Still, what I¡¯m trying to say, what I tried to say other times too, is this: I¡¯ve been around. I¡¯ve been around so long that at this point I could answer ¡®Been there, done that¡¯ to anything you say. Well, anything positive, and most of the negative that doesn¡¯t involve murder for the pleasure of it.

    And sure, Time in the Web may not exist, but, well before I became the Proprietor of the Caf¨¦ I traveled around. A lot. Spent probably centuries in so many different worlds and¡­ it was wonderful.

    But still, even in the best ones, even in the Utopias where nobody had to work for anything and everybody was just happy and could do whatever they wanted, even then, there was one constant: Death. Some places fought her, others accepted him (by far they were the happiest of the bunch), others still¡­ well, some stories are not worth telling.

    Still, it is always there. Death.

    And, for all that I¡¯m different from the simple human I once was, for all that my clock stopped ticking, and for all that I technically died, I still haven¡¯t forgotten her. And I know that, at the end of Everything, she¡¯ll be there to greet me with a warm hug and a goodbye, goodnight, sweet dreams, we¡¯ll see each other again when the Roses bloom anew.

    Sometimes¡­ I honestly crave that moment. Other times, I cry thinking about it, although I never understand if the tears are of joy or sorrow.

    ¡­

    I¡¯ve wasted too much of your time. I¡¯ll ask you to forgive an old man, for I don¡¯t know better.

    Now, let me begin recounting you the story of how Death and the Clockmaker met.

    <hr>

    Isse laid in her hammock, cradling her belly and smiling, feeling happier than she¡¯d had since her arrival in this city.

    Because she wouldn¡¯t be the last of her kind for much longer. In a few days the eggs would reach maturity and she would lay them, and after that, in a week, they¡¯d reach maturity and she¡¯d be able to embrace her kids.

    For a moment her mind wandered, remembering Tobias, but she honestly didn¡¯t feel sad about what she¡¯d done to him. If anything, she was¡­ grateful. Had the arachne who¡¯d come before her ever felt such an emotion when breeding with their males, or was she the first one?

    At that question a pang of sadness hit her: she would never be able to get an answer to that.

    Ah, raising them would be such a hassle.

    The thought brought a chuckle both from her and Siidi, who was also basking in the afterglow of their joy.

    It was going to be difficult because she didn¡¯t have any [Carers] to help her out, nor could she and Albert allow themselves to get one since they didn¡¯t want anyone to find out that she was an arachne.

    It didn¡¯t matter though, because she wouldn¡¯t be the last one anymore!

    So they both thanked Tobias for his help, remembering fondly the moment of breeding and even more the taste of his flesh and blood, for all they¡¯d become a goopy amalgama in her cocoon. She was sure he didn¡¯t care much about it at that point though, and she¡¯d made sure to make it pleasant for him until the very end, so¡­ no hard feelings!

    She did hope her spiderlings would take something from their father though. Maybe his apparent proficiency with shadows and magic? That would be good.

    That was more or less when she heard it.

    A disembodied voice coming from nowhere and saying in her ear: ¡°Girl, I¡¯m sorry. You have to run. Run away from this city as fast as you can. They found out. I¡¯ll keep them at bay and help you along the way. I¡¯m sorry¡­ I love you.¡±

    And the world came crashing down on her.

    <hr>

    In a distant city on Eva a King opened her eyes, waking up from her afternoon nap.

    The naps were a rather recent addition to her daily routine, but alas, she was seventy nine and would be turning eighty come spring.

    She¡¯d been very opposed to the idea when her [Healers] had suggested it, thinking that she¡¯d be losing too much precious time, that her enemies could do something and if she wasn¡¯t ready she¡¯d lose more than just mere Pawns.

    Then, a few months later, she¡¯d actually lost said ¡®more than just mere Pawns¡¯ during a conflict. Her best Knight¡¯s head had been brought to her, gift wrapped and everything, together with a [Rune of Fireball] inscribed in the back of the poor man¡¯s head.

    Had she not been tired at the time she could¡¯ve prevented both her best courier¡¯s death and the scorching of half her face.

    So now here she was, sleeping in her bed after lunch, when she felt something¡­ off.

    It was a nagging sensation, like someone constantly tugging at a thread coming out of her chest.

    With a groan she opened her eyes, blinking her [Catkin Eyes] into focus and looking at the room around her for anything that could be causing the disturbing sensation.

    There was nothing.

    And yet there it was again, that feeling of a thread in her chest tensing to attract her attention.

    Then¡­ she heard the one thing she dreaded most of all: his voice. The voice of the man who had helped her all those years ago, the man without whom she would¡¯ve died in that ditch. The man who had saved her life and asked, in exchange, nothing more than a favor owed. The only person in this world who could claim she had a debt with him.

    His voice whispered in her ear: ¡°Protect her. Help her survive, at all costs.¡±

    And, together with that, she saw who he wanted her to protect.

    She saw a¡­ an arachne.

    Fuck. She closed her eyes, hoping to unsee everything, but the image was imprinted in her mind¡¯s eye so she saw the girl¡¯s smile, her chestnut hair and the chestnut colored fur of her spider half, long legs skittering in place as, in that projected memory, she shuffled nervously. She saw her kind brown eyes too, and that broke her heart slightly.

    Still, she rebelled, grasping for that thread and trying to break it.

    ¡°I can¡¯t! Helping her would turn the College against me! They¡¯d kill me for Crimes Against the Preservation of Life!¡±

    And yet the thread didn¡¯t yield, not even when she used all her Skills through the connection in an attempt to burn it or even, in a moment of desperation, hurt the person on the other side. Albert couldn¡¯t exact her debt if he was dead, right?

    Well, she was wrong, but she couldn¡¯t know that.

    Still, before any of the Skills she wanted to use could reach the old bastard, something stopped them.

    No, wait, that didn¡¯t feel like a Skill or some other influence. It felt alive.

    And it felt angry.

    Furious.

    In front of her the world seemed to unfold as an angelic, beautiful and otherworldly visage, there but not there, appeared. The woman was the most breathtaking sight she had ever seen and, had she not been frozen in shock and a bit of horror, she would¡¯ve tried to carve her eyes out of their sockets, for nothing in this world could¡¯ve ever come close to comparing to this.

    Then the small amount of horror turned into panic as the woman¡¯s smile dropped, disappearing into a sneer that would¡¯ve made the devils of Airm run with their tails between their legs.

    A favor must be repaid.

    So said the woman without opening her mouth. Her fingers danced on the string that connected the King to Albert, playing it as if it were a harp, and every pluck sent shivers of pain into her chest, down to her heart.

    She gripped it, feeling her old muscle begin to give out.

    ¡°I can¡¯t ¨C¡±

    Another pluck, another pang of pain.

    Favors must be repaid. That is my will, the Fae¡¯s will.

    The King knew not what the woman was talking about: she¡¯d never heard of these ¡®fae¡¯. Was it a Skill? Was Albert doing this?

    Another pluck.

    Her heart stopped beating for three seconds.

    Thrice you were warned. There won¡¯t be a fourth.

    ¡°Ok ¨C¡± she managed to wheeze out, ¡°I¡¯ll do it. I¡¯ll do it!¡±

    The woman smiled sweetly, caressing her face with a now gentle hand, and suddenly the King felt herself relax, her body¡¯s aches receding.

    Good girl, she said with the same tone one reserved for a puppy.

    Then there was nothing.

    Only the room, herself, her Rook, who managed to finally burst into the room (he told her later that the door had become immovable, as if made from the finest dwarven steel. Seeing what the mysterious woman had done, she wasn¡¯t surprised in the least), and the image of the arachne still locked in her head.

    She spoke then: ¡°Gloria.¡±

    ¡°Yes, my King?¡±

    ¡°Send a message to our contacts in Tedam. Tell them¡­ that there is an arachne. And that we will have to defend her from anyone attempting to kill her. Tell them that they¡¯ll have to die for her.¡±

    The Rook looked at her in utter shock: ¡°My King, but ¨C¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± she interrupted her, ¡°I don¡¯t have a choice. Believe me¡­ I don¡¯t.¡±

    <hr>

    A dragon slept in his lair.

    Or rather: a dragon hibernated in his lair. Not because dragons had any problems with winter, far from it (especially this dragon). It was just that most, if not all, dragons had a tendency to go to sleep for extremely long periods of time when they didn¡¯t feel like doing anything. And, seeing how their kind was treated in this world nowadays and how little of them there were left, they did that a lot.

    This dragon in particular had been asleep for exactly twenty-three years, eleven months, thirteen days, seven hours, forty seven minutes and thirty nine seconds¡­ forty¡­ forty one.

    He was a dragon that liked counting things, especially the passage of time, so much so that he could do it in his sleep.

    No Skills there too, just sheer ability.

    This dragon was also, among his peers, considered one of the most powerful in the world. Why? Because he was Level 12! Could you imagine it? A Level 12 dragon! Their race hadn¡¯t seen something like this since the days of Eretrogarmieraner Sclaptodron XII, the most powerful dragon to ever exist, being a Level 24 [God of Drakes]. Not that he had actually been a god, naturally. No, it was just that the drakes, those poor, inventive, greedy, lovable fools, had called him one, and the System had listened.

    What was his Class? Why, he was a [Clockwork Dragon]!

    Not that his heart or any other important part of him was made of clockworks, he was still very far from achieving such a thing, but before falling asleep he¡¯d been working on something special: a mechanical arm. He still wasn¡¯t sure on how he would manage to make it move, but that was good: it was a challenge, and challenges brought Levels. He was sure that, the day he would complete this project, he¡¯d gain at least one.

    Until then though¡­ there was a lot of time. He¡¯d been around for hundreds of thousands of years (well, merely tens of thousands actually, the world wasn¡¯t that old), he¡¯d still be around in a few decades. And sure, he had spent more than half that time sleeping, but who could judge him?

    So he was lying there.

    That is, until he felt that string tugging relentlessly at his heart.

    Slowly, grumbling more than a volcano ready to erupt, the red dragon opened his big eyes, a spark of annoyance igniting in them as he looked around the room for the intruder who dared to wake him up. He¡¯d enchant the poor bastard¡¯s body with [Fire Resistance] and then watch him or her burn slowly under the heat of his flames, the enchantment slowly failing because it wasn¡¯t powerful enough.

    Then the string tugged again, repeatedly.

    And he remembered.

    ¡°Ah, [Clocksmith], man of favors, what do you want?¡±

    That was when he heard the words: ¡°Protect her. Help her survive, at all costs.¡±

    With the words came a memory, the vision of an arachne.

    The dragon sighed: ¡°Ahhh, you poor things. How long have they been hunting you now? And you still aren¡¯t giving up.¡±

    Sometimes he honestly envied the arachne. When the dragons had been in their same position, being killed left and right by the species of the world because the gods had ordered it, they¡¯d gone into hiding for centuries, fearful of returning to the surface. A few of his people had gone to beg the Kraken for mercy and refuge in the depths of the water, another had fallen asleep under a volcano, others still had gone among the stars. Most though had hidden themselves in the depths of the earth, in places nearly impossible to reach or, like he had done, hidden themselves in plain sight using powerful magics.

    ¡°You want me to help her?¡± asked the dragon to the string coming out of his heart, binding him to the man who had given him a new path to follow, the man who¡¯d helped him gain two Levels, the first he had gained in millenia. A favor that he had sworn he would repay in any way he could.

    So, sighing, he considered his options while casting a [Phantom Hand] Spell and using it to rummage around his food storage, taking out a few fully grown krimou and devouring them all in one go.

    ¡°I won¡¯t be casting Spells on her old man, it would be too flashy and someone could trace them.¡±

    The string tensed, although he couldn¡¯t feel the old [Clocksmith]¡¯s will behind it, not in its entirety. That meant he was busy, and from his experience when that man was busy it meant that people were having a bad time.

    Still, he knew the importance of upholding promises and repaying favors: he¡¯d met, once upon a time, a Fae of the Seelie Court. One of the worst encounters of his life, he could still remember how that little servant (yes, a mere servant, a maid) had beaten him black and blue (as in, his scales had changed color) after she¡¯d overheard he¡¯d made a promise and not kept it. They may be gone now, maybe even forever, but some things just couldn¡¯t be forgotten.

    So he considered his options: he couldn¡¯t send Spells to help the arachne and he had no Skills that could be useful to her since he was just Level 12.

    Again, he sighed internally: the problem with being a near omnipotent being capable of impossible feats of magic and with a body that was nigh invulnerable to most damage was that it was hard, nearly impossible, to find adequate challenges to Level.

    Then, suddenly, he was hit by a revelation: if he couldn¡¯t help her personally, he could find someone to do it for him.

    ¡°[Dragon¡¯s Eye View],¡± he activated the first Skill he¡¯d ever gotten, one that allowed him to, from a distance, observe anything he wanted. Concentrating, he looked at Tedam and saw the streets were filled with [Guards], [Mercenaries] and [Undead] trying to corner a little figure running around.

    So that¡¯s our arachne. You poor thing.

    Then he zoomed out. He¡¯d need to find something useful that was possibly nearby, or close enough to be able to reach the city in as little time as possible.

    But there was nothing: night was approaching, people were going back to their homes and, while he saw a few camps of adventurers here and there he couldn¡¯t find anything of actual use.

    That is, until he felt a hand appear seemingly out of nowhere on his head to guide his eyes.

    Jumping in place he whipped his head around, but all he saw was Irevia and the skies above it.

    Then the hand appeared again, this time taking better hold of him and not letting go as, somehow, even though he tried to keep his head firmly in place, the muscles under his scales bulging with effort, his vision was directed towards something moving through the clouds.

    It was¡­ an airship. One of those boats with big balloons over them to keep them afloat amidst the skies. Crude designs he¡¯d always found amusing. Although this one appeared to be, in some ways, both cruder and¡­ not. He could see that the ship¡¯s body, which normally was made with wood, was instead crafted out of bones and chitin. The balloon was made of some kind of animal skin, connected to the ship by, of all things, lianas.

    Have the [Flesh Shapers] come back from their sleep? He wondered for a moment, before his eyes zoomed in on the apparently rickety airship and he saw that no, the person at the helm was just a human woman.

    The hand on his head was gone now, although it had been forgotten in the face of what he was looking at.

    Then he noticed how close the airship was to the city and, immediately, he began casting Spells.

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°[One-Way Long Range Communication]. [Change Voice]. Testing, testing,¡± his voice sounded high pitched now, more feminine and very youthful, like a child¡¯s actually.

    ¡°Hello, can you hear me?¡± he asked.

    In his vision the woman at the helm whipped her head around in surprise and confusion.

    ¡°Apparently yes. Good, good. Listen, I¡¯m calling you to offer you a job. You¡¯re flying near a city, Tedam I believe it¡¯s called. There¡¯s someone there who¡¯s in a spot of trouble, a girl named¡­ I don¡¯t know. She¡¯s an arachne so you most certainly won¡¯t confuse her for anyone else.¡±

    The eyes of the woman seemed to become large as saucers at these words and she opened her mouth to say something he couldn¡¯t hear.

    [Greater Translation], he enchanted in his mind and, immediately, he found himself capable of reading the woman¡¯s lips.

    What? An arachne? In Tedam? And I must rescue her?

    ¡°Yes, you must. Or you could. Naturally not for free. How does¡­¡± he looked around his lair and his eyes fell on the pile of gold he had saved up for his entire life. He wasn¡¯t willing to give up a great amount, but he could make a sensible donation to help grease up the gears of the woman¡¯s choice.

    ¡°How does 10000 Gold coins sound?¡±

    The woman attempted to perform a waterbreath attack but, since she had no water in her mouth at the moment, she only managed to look slightly ridiculous.

    Then she said: 10000? Where did you say this was again?

    ¡°Tedam.¡±

    We¡¯re on our way there.

    And the airship changed course, the woman, whose name was Moon, calling someone on the bridge to help her out. From the looks of it the helper was a [Druid].

    He sighed, already contacting the Merchant¡¯s Guild of a city in Eva to tell them to move the specified sum to the account of¡­ he checked the woman again, casting [Greater Appraisal] and finding out her name.

    ¡°This world sure is strange sometimes.¡±

    Then he curled up on the floor and continued to watch over the city of Tedam, zooming in on the arachne running through the streets.

    ¡°Hopefully she¡¯ll survive.¡±

    The hand appeared again, caressing his head gently.

    Looking up in surprise while disabling his Skill he saw¡­ her.

    ¡°Your Highness, Our Queen Titania, Lady of the Seelie and Unseelie. I bow to you.¡±

    He immediately bowed his head but the woman, the Queen of the Fae, raised it and looked him right in the eyes, a kind smile on her lips.

    You remembered your lessons.

    He couldn¡¯t contain the chuckle from escaping his lips: ¡°One doesn¡¯t forget a beating like that. May I offer you anything, My Queen? I have old wines, great honey meads and a barrel of captured moonlight.¡±

    The Fae Queen shook her head: I appreciate your hospitality, o¡¯ old dragon, but my presence in this world is weak. I shall take you up on your offer when I am back to full strength.

    He bowed his head slightly in reverence: ¡°Ah, My Queen, I understand. It is a pleasure greater than any I had in the last few millennia to see you again. But¡­ if I may, how did you come back? Your stories have been mostly forgotten, remembered by too few to allow you entrance.¡±

    The Queen of the Fae smiled at that: Someone on the continent of jungles and shadows brought back my tales. They are beginning to spread anew, and her belief is strong.

    Goodbye for now, dragon. May the threads of destiny let us meet anew.

    And, with that, she was gone, leaving behind only a shimmer in the fabric of reality.

    The dragon cried tears of joy.

    <hr>

    Creanza was standing behind the counter of her bar, serving drinks to her evening crowd, when she felt the string tugging at her chest.

    Ah, Albert is calling in the favor. Finally! What will it be? she wondered with a smile.

    A smile that very quickly disappeared once she heard the man¡¯s voice in her ear: ¡°Protect her. Help her survive, at all costs.¡±

    Together with those words appeared an image, a memory of Isse. Only, in this memory, she wasn¡¯t a human. No, instead of legs her lower half sported a big spider¡¯s body.

    An¡­ arachne.

    Then she understood.

    She understood why the girl always acted so differently, why every time Creanza walked behind her she found herself stepping further away, as if trying to dodge something.

    Clever girl. You managed to trick me.

    She sighed, shaking her head.

    Of all the things you had to ask back, Albert, this wasn¡¯t the one I expected. You know, little old thread, the favor I owe isn¡¯t so big.

    She put down the mug she¡¯d been cleaning and turned towards her wall of bottles of alcohol.

    You didn¡¯t save my life, you just gave me some money to start this business. I could die if I do this.

    The string¡¯s pull seemed to lessen, as if the man on the other side was giving up, knowing full well this had been a shot in the dark.

    Wait, old man. I didn¡¯t say I wouldn¡¯t do this.

    She would help the girl, if only because she was as desperate now as many of her employees had once been. If she didn¡¯t do this she would lose the chance to call herself a [Beacon of Hope].

    ¡°Everyone, I¡¯m sorry but we¡¯ll have to close early this evening! A big problem just cropped up and I have to deal with it! I¡¯m really sorry!¡±

    Everyone groaned or grumbled, but immediately people began rising and walking out: Creanza never closed early and never had problems, so if she said she needed time to fix something then it had to be serious.

    With Lavia¡¯s help and the use of her [Crowd Control] Skill they managed to get everyone out in under a minute, leaving only her staff and, of all people, Morra. She¡¯d come back early today looking extremely tired and was now looking at Creanza with doubt in her eyes.

    Now how to tell her that her friend, her best friend at that, was an arachne and had been found out, now needing to escape.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening Creanza?¡± she asked.

    The [Barista] closed her eyes and sighed. She¡¯d been talking so much more these past few months. Before Isse¡¯s arrival it was already a lot if they managed to get her to tell them what she wanted to eat.

    She¡­ she didn¡¯t want to tell her and, probably, break the girl again.

    But she also couldn¡¯t not tell her: she¡¯d find out herself eventually.

    ¡°It¡¯s Isse. She¡­ there¡¯s no easy way to put it: she¡¯s an arachne. And she was found out. She¡¯s now trying to escape from the city and Albert¡­ he asked me to help her.¡±

    Creanza couldn¡¯t read the girl¡¯s face because, as always, she wore her mask. Although, recently, her outfit had received a new addition: a yellow scarf. She¡¯d been wearing it since the night they¡¯d gone to see Virgo play and, while it clashed in an absolutely horrendous way with her typically dark attire, Creanza would¡¯ve knifed someone in the leg if they¡¯d told her to remove it, because it was a sign that something had changed for the best.

    Then Morra said something she hadn¡¯t expected, something that was maybe much too mature for a girl her age.

    ¡°Then let¡¯s help her.¡±

    Morra didn¡¯t care about whether Isse was an arachne or a human. For all she cared she could¡¯ve been a dragon in disguise. No, the only thing that mattered to her was that Isse was her friend and had done everything in her power to help her.

    Creanza looked at the girl, her daughter in a sense, and smiled.

    Then she turned towards the door leading to the back of the building, to the place where Grazia, their [Teamaker], spent most of her time.

    To the place where the files were kept.

    The woman, the [Barista], stepped inside, and as she did she seemed to change: no longer just a woman serving drinks, she became the one who had created the Boneless Dancer to save people, to change the world. She became, again, the [Incognito Necrobarista].

    Everyone in the bar felt it; everyone in the bar who knew her story, who had seen the other side of Creanza the Twice-Left Footed, Creanza the Drinkmaker, Creanza the Sore Loser, turned towards that room and grimaced sadly. For, every time Creanza the Necromancer came back to say hi, it meant that things were bad. Very bad.

    Her [Kitchen Boss], Premi¨¦, began sharpening the knives in the room, while Lavia stretched her wings and the rest of her body; she may have lost the ability to fly, but one would be surprised at just how useful gliding could be, and she had Skills to help.

    Grazia felt it too and immediately began putting away her mixes of leaves and flowers, giving the woman space to do her thing.

    Finally, the half-devil [Server], who was the last person on the serving staff left in the establishment, looked around uncertainly, feeling uneasy.

    ¡°Premi¨¦?¡± she asked.

    The Chef looked up from his sharpening and smiled kindly, something he nearly never did: ¡°Acria, I suggest you take the rest of the evening off. Things¡­ are about to get messy. Don¡¯t worry, tomorrow everything will be back to normal. That is the promise she made to all of us,¡± he said, nodding his head towards Creanza.

    And, with that, he went back to his sharpening, looking for all the world as if he was getting ready for war.

    Considering this man had once been a [Soldier], it wasn¡¯t too far fetched.

    So Acria did exactly as she¡¯d been told: she walked into the back of the bar, to the staff room, and changed into her outside clothes. Then she walked out of the Boneless Dancer, hoping it wouldn¡¯t be the last time she did it.

    And Creanza?

    She stood over a set of folders, a [Light] Spell illuminating the pages filled with serial numbers and dates.

    Finally she came to a decision: ¡°These ones. Hard Labor Undead, Skeleton Class Abominations. They were near their decommissioning date anyway.¡±

    ¡°Near?¡± asked Morra, looking at the dates, ¡°They¡¯ve still got a good year in them.¡±

    Creanza smirked: ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    She passed her hand over the page, activating one of her Skills from her [Beacon of Hope] Class: [Falsify Document].

    And suddenly the date on the page had changed and the document clearly stated that the undead they used in place of their beasts of burden were one month away from the law approved decommissioning.

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Morra, who, like everyone else, didn¡¯t know Creanza had this ability, ¡°So that¡¯s how you managed to get all my documents in order.¡±

    The [Necrobarista] smiled, ruffling her hair: ¡°Anything for the people I care about.¡±

    ¡°But you care about everyone,¡± she shot back, squinting and trying to get her hand off her head.

    ¡°And the world would be a much better place if everyone cared about everyone.¡±

    Then she let go of Morra and sat down, closing her eyes.

    [Undead Sight]. [Form Horde]. [Undead: Aspects of Independence]. [Undead: Strengthen Skeletal Structure]. [Undead: Ignore Civilians], she rattled Skills inside her head.

    And when she opened her eyes they had become pits of darkness, blacker than tar and twice as scarier, for they made Creanza look like the [Necromancers] of old, the ones who would go insane when that which was most precious to them, their loved ones, was taken from them just because of what they were.

    ¡°I am not to be distracted, Morra. Get ready, I will give you control of your own undead.¡±

    With that, Creanza went to war.

    <hr>

    Isse ran on the roofs of Tedam. There had been no alternative with how many [Guards] had appeared around her home without her noticing.

    So it was that, while cradling her bag of holding containing the items she cared about the most, she¡¯d been forced to escape on the roof, arrows flying at her back from both bows and arrows.

    ¡°Inform the Adventurer¡¯s Guild and the Mercenaries¡¯ Guild, we¡¯ll need every pair of hands!¡± shouted someone from underneath her as an arrow nicked her thorax.

    Instinctively, she hissed downwards: that could¡¯ve hurt the spiderlings if it had actually struck her! She cared not if they hurt her, she could survive, she had potions, but the spiderlings? They were the ones most at risk here.

    What do we do? she asked Siidi.

    We run like Airm and throw [Fireballs] until they change their mind or, more probably, have to regroup.

    Seems like a wonderful plan.

    And so, using her newly acquired Spell, she moved her hand down towards the [Guards] running beside her and trying to hit her with crossbows, casting her first [Fireball] of the evening.

    A flaming ball appeared over her hand, hovering there for a few moments before zipping quite fast towards the men and women who were trying to kill her.

    ¡°Spell incoming!¡± shouted one of them.

    ¡°On it! [Spellbreaker Slash]!¡± shouted back someone else, a man wearing heavy armor jumping out among his companions and raising his sword, somehow managing to cut right through her Spell, cleaving it in half, at which point it dissipated harmlessly.

    Well, fuck!

    Come on, keep throwing them! So what if he has a Skill? That has a cooldown, a Spell¡¯s only limitation is your mana.

    So she did just that. She threw first one, then two, the three and four [Fireballs], a strange feeling of emptiness rapidly creeping up on her, but it didn¡¯t matter because now the [Guards] were running away and trying to find cover, unable to stop her barrage of Spells, unable to hurt her children anymore.

    Truly, an arachne¡¯s motherly instincts were ramped up to unimaginable levels.

    Ok, calm down, you killed a few of them, the others are hiding, now run away and try to hide.

    Alright.

    And try not to use too many Spells or your mana will run out.

    Alright.

    Silence.

    Then: Isse, we¡¯ll make it.

    But¡­ Albert?

    ¡­ I don¡¯t know, Isse. I don¡¯t know.

    They ran on.

    <hr>

    A [Runner] burst through the door of the Adventurer¡¯s Guild, face red not with exertion but with panic.

    ¡°Message for the entire guild. An arachne has been found in the city. The [King] himself has put up a bounty of twenty thousand gold coins to the man or woman or group of adventurers who manage to bring him her head. Each.¡±

    The guild, which was really a glorified tavern with a few desks manned by [Receptionists] and a notice board for quests of all sorts from all around the city and, sometimes, the entire kingdom or neighboring ones.

    As the words left the boy¡¯s mouth the room fell silent and everyone turned to look at him.

    Then someone in the crowd spoke: ¡°An arachne? What in Airm is that?¡±

    The boy wanted to answer but the truth was¡­ he wasn¡¯t sure himself. He¡¯d never heard stories about them. The only reason why he was panicked was because the Captain of the Guards, Arnus, had taken him aside personally and told him to tell this message to all the major guilds in town, his face a mask of seriousness.

    ¡°Well, whatever, for that money I¡¯ll fight it,¡± said the same man from before.

    ¡°Sit down idiot, an uninformed adventurer is a dead one. Hey, [Receptionist], what¡¯s an arachne?¡±

    One of the women, who had already been paging through a book, frowned: ¡°There ¨C there¡¯s nothing in the books. I already looked twice.¡±

    And as confusion and doubt went through the crowd, the only person to remain calm and attentive was, of all the people, a dwarf.

    He was a member of an adventuring team, a Mid Depth Miner going on a few decades of vacation after serving in the mines for a century. His boss had basically forced him to take some time off, and so he¡¯d decided to go out and explore the wide world. His name was Dorian Ironborn and, again, while his team, like everyone else, tried to find out the answer, he just sat very still and observed everyone, a hand going for a Speaking Stone hidden under his beard, a direct connection with the Grandfather back home. All dwarves that left Mountainhome were given one to use in case of grave emergency.

    So he caressed the stone while he hoped that nobody would find the answer to that question: ¡®What¡¯s an arachne?¡¯

    Because, if nobody did, then nobody would go after the little one (because it most certainly was a young one).

    That was when the Guildmaster herself walked down into the room, her sword drawn and her eyes set. She was¡­ probably around her fifties, a human with whitening hair and green eyes, her face set and all hard lines. Immediately, again, silence fell all over the room.

    When the woman was finally sure that nobody would try to interrupt her, she spoke: ¡°The information on arachne was purged a very long time ago and left only to people in charge of this Guild per an old agreement with the College. We are never to reveal what arachne are unless the information is needed. Like right now.¡±

    Dorian sighed and rose, his teammates glaring at him and motioning him to sit back down, but he didn¡¯t care.

    The jolly, rather young in dwarven years, dwarf slowly stepped towards the door that led outside the guild, standing near it, his axe leaving his bag of holding as he used it to prep himself up.

    And meanwhile, the Guildmaster explained: ¡°Arachne are monsters unlike any other you¡¯ve ever encountered. They are capable of Leveling and are great warriors or great mages, sometimes both. Their bodies are half human and half spider and they were made by Death himself to destroy all life on this world.

    ¡°Killing them when they¡¯re young or newborn is incredibly easy, although usually made much more complex by the presence of adults protecting them. As they grow they become more and more dangerous.

    ¡°As newborn they¡¯re categorized as a Silver Rank Threat.¡±

    The room was filled with murmurs of surprise, although they were stopped immediately by the woman raising her hand.

    ¡°As juveniles their threat level was assessed as High Silver or Lower Gold Rank. Fully grown adults are a Gold Threat. Apparently there¡¯s another stage afterwards, the Elders, which are a Mythril Rank Threat and should not be fought even if one has that rank in the Guild.

    ¡°I would like to underline that this ranking is used to refer to single individuals. The moment they start growing in number the only solution is to call for an army and the College. Apparently we¡¯re quite lucky: this is a juvenile and it is alone. Now, with this information, who¡¯s willing to go kill that beast?¡±

    Dorian took the Communication Stone in his hand and brought it to his mouth, activating it.

    ¡°This is an emergency message from Dorian Ironborn, Mid Depth Miner, Undersky Identification Number 34095.¡±

    A few seconds later a voice answered back: ¡°Dorian Ironborn, you¡¯ve been identified. This is Grandfather Miklish speaking. What is the emergency?¡±

    Dorian couldn¡¯t help the smile forming on his lips. Of course it would be Miklish answering him. The old bastard had been the one to suggest he become an adventurer for his vacation, telling him to take it slow with the ¡®simple outsider monsters¡¯. He¡¯d been both wrong and right: compared to what lived under the mines in Mountainhome, many surface monsters looked like bugs to him, while others¡­ others had been a lot worse. He still shivered whenever he remembered their encounter with the Reveler Ants in the jungles of Eva.

    ¡°I am about to repay our oldest debt,¡± he answered simply.

    Silence from the other end of the line. Then¡­ a well hidden sob.

    ¡°Understood. Will you require support?¡±

    They always asked that apparently. It was protocol, and dwarves were all about protocols.

    And traditions.

    So, as per tradition, he answered: ¡°Only that which could not be traced back to Mountainhome.¡±

    He stood there in complete silence, before adding: ¡°Just¡­ try to get my body back when all is said and done. I would like to be buried among my brethren.¡±

    ¡°...Understood. Support Skills incoming. You will not be forgotten, Dorian Ironborn.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. Goodbye. It was a pleasure while it lasted.¡±

    And, with that said, he let the stone fall to the floor and crushed it under his foot.

    The Guildmaster had just stopped explaining and the room was filling with the sound of people talking and coming to a decision. In the end, the most ¡®adventurer¡¯ philosophy of them all prevailed: strength in numbers. They may be fighting against a Silver Rank threat, but there were dozens of them, plus the [Guards] and, apparently, the mercenaries. They were surely going to win this!

    Nobody talked about how the gold would be split up. That was a problem for the future. A probably very bloody problem.

    Dorian stood by the door leading outside and felt Skills reaching him, enhancing his skin, making it harder to breach, and stamina, together with his reflexes and strength. Then he felt something else: a binding, a chain, one that had always been around his soul by choice¡­ break. The debt. The ancient debt the dwarves had towards the arachne for the help they¡¯d been given millennia ago. The debt each dwarf was given a choice about: they could take it upon themselves, carrying it on for one more generation, or not. Always, they chose to carry it on.

    And now¡­ he had been freed. Because he was about to repay it with his life.

    A man, an adventurer he knew a little, with whom he¡¯d drunk some poor quality ale a few times, reached the door.

    Fast as lightning he drew his axe up and chopped his head off.

    The room fell in total, shocked, silence.

    But, before anyone could come back to their senses, Dorian began moving, killing as many people as he could. There were dozens of adventurers and only one of him, so he had to do the best he could.

    And all the while he kept repeating the same thing: ¡°DWARVES NEVER FORGET THEIR DEBTS!¡±

    <hr>

    Albert stood in the corridor of his home¡¯s first floor, staring Arnus right in the eyes.

    Then: ¡°I suppose you¡¯re not here for pleasure, eh?¡±

    The [Guard Captain] shook his head.

    ¡°I guessed as much by the [Guards] in my home.¡±

    Someone downstairs tried to climb up and was impaled unceremoniously on iron stakes that appeared out of nowhere from the wood.

    Nobody batted an eye.

    After an entire minute of this staring contest with other [Guards] around them looking around nervously, weapons drawn, Arnus spoke: ¡°Albert, you¡¯re hereby being arrested on charges of Crimes against the Preservation of Life. You housed an arachne in your home. The punishment for such a crime is death. It will be administered here, by me. Surrender and I will make this quick and painless.¡±

    And at that, Albert laughed. It was a long sound, filled with bitterness and sadness, a sound that sent chills down everybody¡¯s spines in the corridor and the adjacent rooms.

    When, finally, he calmed down, Albert smirked. It was such an unusual expression, so out of place on his face, that even Arnus took an involuntary step back.

    ¡°Arnus¡­ how many people did you lose just by trying to break into my home? No, wait, you don¡¯t need to tell me, I already know. Eight. Eight of your men died while trying to just enter from the windows in my house or walk through the wrong room. I¡¯m quite literally on my home turf and, at this point, have nothing to lose.

    ¡°So¡­ I think I¡¯ll take my chances with killing you all.¡±

    He smiled up at Arnus and, this time, there was an endless sadness in the gesture: ¡°It was a pleasure while it lasted, Arnus. You are a good man living in a bad world.¡±

    Then he flashed out his dagger and all Airm broke loose.

 Chapter 50: A [Clockworker]s Goodbye

    There were people on the roof ahead of her who didn¡¯t look like [Guards]. They wore heavier armor and carried around much heavier weapons, for starters. They also weren¡¯t wearing the kingdom¡¯s flag as an insignia on their shoulder.

    It doesn¡¯t matter, let¡¯s attack them, said Siidi.

    Agreeing Isse raised a hand and used¡­ one of her soul half¡¯s Skills: [Summon Lightning (Minor)].

    She could do it thanks to another Skill Siidi had obtained nearly a month ago: [Soul Half: Share Skills]. With it, they¡¯d found out, they could use each other¡¯s Skills, which had prompted both of them to experiment with them in the most improbable ways, from painting the webs in her room in the colors of the rainbow (and then inevitably turning everything back to white because it had been horrendous, completely unlike anything Aru could¡¯ve done) to learning a bit of fighting techniques from Siidi, although she hadn¡¯t gained any new Classes out of that.

    A ray of lightning formed at the tip of her index finger and shot towards the men in front of her.

    Of course they dodged, but that was alright, she had planned for it as, immediately, she pointed her other hand towards one of people who¡¯d just moved away and shot a [Snow Arrow], while with her other hand she cast a [Fireball] towards another group. Her former attack was dodged, again, while the explosion from the latter managed to hit the group since it had a much wider area.

    Then, since their Skills had been consumed, she threw another [Fireball] at the remaining group and watched, smiling in glee, as they screamed, too late to move aside. Someone from underneath shouted for help, but that which amused her the most were the people screaming questions like ¡®How in Airm hasn¡¯t she exhausted her mana?¡¯

    The answer to that was, naturally, that she had the Mana Pool of two people combined inside her body, meaning that she could cast twice as many Spells as most other people her Level.

    Although she was quickly starting to feel the strain.

    So she ran.

    Why did Albert have to buy a shop so close to the center of the city?

    Probably because it would make it easier to sell his stuff, answered Siidi.

    In front of them the space between two houses allowed the formation of an alley, and quite a large one at that.

    Now, here¡¯s a fact about arachne: they were bad at jumping. It¡¯s not even hard to believe considering their dimensions, weight and how short their spidery legs actually were. They just couldn¡¯t boost themselves up. Now, normally that wasn¡¯t a problem since they could just, you know, climb anything that posed such a problem. That, though, wasn¡¯t possible here.

    Ok, we can still do it, it¡¯s not that much, thought Isse.

    She skittered forward faster, passing by the downed (and dead) men, before leaping for the gap between the houses and using Siidi¡¯s Skill [Lengthy Step] in mid air. She managed to gain two, maybe three meters, but that was enou ¨C

    A crossbow bolt struck her in the shoulder.

    With a scream of agony as she felt the sharp steel tip embed inside, tearing through muscle and bone, she curled up, messing up her trajectory and ending up body first into the wall, just a few inches away from the top of the roof.

    Then, unable to put her legs under herself, she began falling.

    The only thing that saved her from a ruinous fall was Siidi¡¯s screaming, which prompted her to do just that.

    And she was on the ground, the excited voices of both [Guards] and [Mercenaries] shouting that she¡¯d been hit and was now grounded.

    She turned around, ready to run again, the pain fogging up her mind as she stumbled backwards¡­ into something wooden.

    Turning around faster than she¡¯d ever done in her entire life she raised her hand, ready to cast a Spell, any Spell, the words already on her lips, but she managed to stop when she saw it was, of all things, a middle aged man pushing a wooden cart with a little roof overhead containing¡­ cabbages. Lots of cabbage. For the matter he was also wearing clothes of the same green as the cabbage, as if he was attempting to become one with it.

    ¡°Go. I¡¯ll distract them,¡± he said with a face that was saying he would rather be doing anything else in the world than be here, his fear shining to her Skill enhanced senses. Fear and resignation. As if he didn¡¯t have a choice.

    Still, there was no time to dwell on these things as she stepped around him, climbing on the wall so as not to touch him or his cart, and ran away.

    As she got further away she heard the sound of crashing wood followed by angry shouting, although that was quickly overshadowed by the man¡¯s scream of pure horror: ¡°MY CABBAGES!¡±

    <hr>

    Albert struck forward, his blade reaching for Argus¡¯ throat, but naturally the man dodged because, really, who would be stupid enough to attempt to parry such a short blade in the hands of an old man with many more Skills than you.

    ¡°Give up Albert, I know your strongest weapon was always the element of surprise. You¡¯ve lost that and we¡¯re prepared to fight you.¡±

    Albert laughed unsettlingly again, causing shivers to crawl down every man¡¯s spine.

    ¡°And you think an old man like me wouldn¡¯t have a few tricks up his sleeves? I fought worse than you and your men Argus. Much worse.¡±

    Granted, he had also been thirty years younger at the time though, and for all that he had his [Vampiric Vitality] keeping him in good shape, he couldn¡¯t deny that his mind was slower than it had once been, his body beginning to ache in a few places as his time ticked away. He was very far from his prime and knew very well his many limitations, which was his greatest advantage at the moment: Argus and his people knew nothing of him, of how far he could push himself and how he could use said limitations.

    Because yes, even one¡¯s limits could be used to their advantage. For example, he¡¯d once met a [Chef] in the city of Salvezza, a grizzled man who seemed to be more wrinkles than flesh, who used the trembling of his hands to cut and dice things.

    Everything was useful if you had enough fantasy.

    So he stood there and looked them in the eyes, position relaxed, hands raised and holding his dagger as he positioned himself with his shoulders to the wall behind.

    Then, as if by unspoken command, they all attacked.

    Eight men, that¡¯s how many tried it, plus Argus, who unsheathed a shortsword and launched himself in the mix.

    Albert kept on smiling, for what did he have left to do? He already knew he was going to die, now it was only a matter of how many people he could bring down with himself to Airm. So he smiled and greeted Death that way, in his half closed eyes a single question: Will I see her again? Will I be given that chance? To meet the love of my life one last time.

    Always, the answer to such questions was¡­ yes.

    And that was all he needed to hear as he moved out of the way of a sword and dodged a crossbow bolt that curved around to try and reach him still, failing for they were too close.

    Crossbows in close quarters. Bah. Would be more useful if there weren¡¯t so many of you.

    His dagger moved and cut right through a man¡¯s armor deep into his arm. A scream of pain escaped him as blood began flowing freely. Much freer than it should.

    [Weapon: Cuts of Exsanguination].

    Another Skill, one he could rarely admire the effect of, for his victims tended to die on the spot with their neck or spine cut.

    As he thought this his [Dangersense] spiked and he turned by a few degrees, seeing Argus attack coming. He parried, naturally, letting the weapon slide against the blade of his dagger as he changed his feet¡¯s positioning to allow him to bend down and knife the man¡¯s gut.

    Or rather, that was his plan, until he heard Argus say: ¡°[Disarming Strike].¡±

    Immediately he felt his weapon slipping out of his grip as an unfathomable force wrenched at it. Unable to hold on he simply let go and crouched, charging into Argus shoulder-first. Naturally he was bigger than Albert, but he had the advantages of surprise and gravity on his side.

    So, when they impacted, Argus fell with him.

    ¡°[Recall Weapon],¡± whispered Albert, his dagger flying back into his grip as he went for a throat cut ¨C

    Only to then be forced to roll away, his shoulder screaming in protest, when a [Guard] charged at him.

    There were just too many of them, all defending each other without leaving him a good opening for long enough to use it.

    Argus got back to his feet with a grunt and a nod of thank you to the man who had saved his life.

    Then he stepped back: ¡°[Unit: Enhance Armor], [Unit: Enhance Close Combat Proficiency], [Allies: Ghostly Crossbow Bolts]. Albert, the Brothers Two visited this city a few months ago and brought black with them. I won¡¯t allow this city to fall. Now, get him! I want to see him dead.¡±

    And with that the now enhanced [Guards] charged at him, ready to kill.

    Albert assessed the situation and, rather quickly, came to a very simple conclusion: I won¡¯t be getting out of this unscathed.

    He heard voices coming from the stairs and felt his trap there getting methodically destroyed.

    So¡­ the elegance goes out of the window I guess. Sigh.

    ¡°[Blood is Time].¡±

    And he stepped into the battle.

    <hr>

    They were behind her, shouting orders and Skills, trying to corner her in an alley or shoot her dead. Well, good fucking luck with that! You try to corner something that can climb walls and, as for the sharpshooters, she had this thing called magic that could help her!

    Or rather, it would¡¯ve helped her if it wasn¡¯t for the fact that she was starting to run low. Apparently shooting a dozen [Fireballs], no matter how small, consumed a lot of mana.

    Had she said that to any [Mage] from the Tower Academy they would¡¯ve laughed themselves silly and then agreed because that Spell was the most unoptimized one in existence. It had long since turned into a strange hazing ritual to make people fall in love with the Spell and let them learn it¡­ only to realize just how useless it was for low Level people with underdeveloped Mana Pools. Now, Isse was lucky in that department, but everything had a limit.

    With her right hand clamped over the arrow still in her shoulder (Siidi had told her not to take it out because the damn thing, apparently, was barbed, and getting it out would¡¯ve caused more damage than keeping it there) she pointed back and watched as, immediately, people jumped out of the way, expecting a Spell that didn¡¯t come. Instead she just used [Summon Lightning (Minor)] and managed to hit a woman.

    Turning her head back forward she noticed too late the [Guards] gathering in the street in front of her, forming a wall of flesh, armor and raised swords with a few spears mixed in.

    She immediately turned towards the closest wall but that was when someone shouted: ¡°[Freeze, Criminal]!¡±

    Her muscles locked up, stopping her in place.

    Desperation and panic filled her mind, the men closing in on her, their eyes filled with bloodlust.

    Step.

    Step.

    Step.

    Closer and closer they came.

    She tried to move, her muscles bulging in her upper half while the pumps in her legs strained for nothing. She couldn¡¯t budge, no matter how hard she tried!

    Tears began flowing from her eyes while Siidi screamed in fury.

    She wanted to do nothing more than hug her belly one last time (even though she knew that her children were developing in her spider half, but the thought was what mattered), to console Siidi and tell her that they¡¯d had a good run, that they¡¯d been extremely lucky.

    But then something unexpected happened: people appeared on the roofs, little more than shadows against a darkening sky, more like stars Observing the people advancing on the lone arachne in their midst.

    Then¡­ they dropped.

    One by one they jumped off the roofs, weapons drawn, and fell upon the [Guards] below, the impacts of their bodies together with their blades basically decimating the men. One of them even got lucky and killed the person who¡¯d used the Skill locking her in place and so she suddenly found herself free to move again, using this chance to start blasting at every person she could see that wasn¡¯t one of these shadowed figures.

    After a moment though one of them shouted at her: ¡°Run the fuck away you imbecile, we won¡¯t get ourselves killed just for you. Boss gave us orders, but that¡¯s as far as we go.¡±

    Glaring, she nodded her head in thank you and skittered up a wall, then back down the moment an arrow nearly pierced her head, and ran away.

    <hr>

    Albert panted, his body was covered in bleeding cuts.

    But that was acceptable, because he was surrounded by the bodies of over a dozen [Guards], most of which he¡¯d drunk some blood from. He was still down to five years though, and steadily getting lower.

    In front of him, occupying the width of the corridor, were dozens more of men, Argus standing at their center and guiding them in their so-far failed attempts at killing him.

    Currently the [Guard Captain] was looking him deep in the eyes, his lips set in determination as he analyzed the situation.

    ¡°What? Got no more of them fancy Skills to protect your boys? Gonna have to resort to swamp me with people until I make one too many mistakes and die?¡±

    He was egging them on, naturally. An angry man was an irrational man, and he could use that.

    For a moment his mind wandered back, to a time when he¡¯d met a [Berserker] from the City of Warriors with the ability to actually control his anger. He had looked like any other [Warrior] born from those ancient walls, jolly and always ready to throw hands, but serious to a fault in battle, but when he¡¯d unleashed his inner rage during a fight against a monster¡­ Albert still remembered the sounds that poor creature¡¯s body had made, its bones breaking and pulverizing under the [Berserker]¡¯s grip as he tore it limb from limb with an efficiency that would¡¯ve made a [Butcher] hang his knives.

    Then he blinked and was back in the present.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    His memories of the past were coming back to haunt him and they were too lucid. Probably a bad sign.

    ¡°You won¡¯t trick me into rage Albert, you know me better than that.¡±

    He chuckled and the sound was wet: ¡°Yes, well, your men aren¡¯t as disciplined as you.¡±

    Argus narrowed his eyes before saying: ¡°[Keep Your Cool].¡±

    And suddenly all his men, who¡¯d been tenser than a violin string, relaxed slightly, their grips on their weapons surer.

    ¡°Oh come on, that¡¯s cheating,¡± said Albert with an expression of pure annoyance.

    ¡°Says the man who can apparently use blood to not die from his injuries like most common mortals.¡±

    Albert raised an eyebrow: ¡°You came here expecting a fair fight?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡±

    And with that he motioned his men forward.

    The old man, the [Spymaster of Favor], sighed and tried to move in the most optimal combat position he could take right then, but his body didn¡¯t respond like he wanted it to, being much too slow. His joints ached, his body getting older by the second as Time caught up with him, smiling sadly.

    Not yet. I can still take them on, at least most of them.

    Time¡¯s smile didn¡¯t change. In fact, it probably became more pitying. She sighed and looked down, hiding a slow tear escaping her eye. The problem with clockworkers was always that they knew how much of Herself they had left and they never gave up a single second of it, for they cared too much about Her gift.

    So she looked up and smiled, this time managing to make it look kind.

    Yes, she thought, she could give him some more of Herself, just this once. After all, she was bound by no Laws, for she was a Law.

    So She snapped her fingers, a soundless snick that nobody but her heard, and watched as Albert¡¯s clock ticked on¡­ without touching him. She would come for him, that was inevitable, but Her presence in him wouldn¡¯t hinder him.

    Albert¡¯s muscles and joints suddenly felt a lot more responsive, so much so that he nearly lost his balance, although he regained it just as quickly. He hadn¡¯t felt this good since¡­ since his first mission for the Pilgrimage.

    But there was no time to marvel: the men were on him.

    And, for all that his body felt young again, he was still going to run out of Time in a matter of minutes if things went on this way.

    That was why¡­ he decided to finish things. Fast. Maybe, if all went well, he¡¯d have enough time ¨C and enough of himself ¨C left to help her some more. He knew that everywhere all over the city people were trying to resist him, to stop him from calling in on the favors they owed him, and failing miserably since the [Guards] and [Mercenaries] were being slowed down. For some reason he also wasn¡¯t seeing any [Adventurers] around, which was a best case scenario: they were the real wildcard.

    ¡°[Absorb Blood],¡± he whispered.

    They attacked.

    He dodged, moving as fast as he could, cutting them everywhere he could and managing to draw blood from many. They grunted in pain and went to attack again, but many of them stopped in shock as they saw their blood¡­ not fall to the ground. Instead it seemed to flow towards the old man in front of them, seeping into his skin and giving him a healthy flush.

    Meanwhile the idiots who stopped in surprise found their throats cut and fell to the ground, their blood disappearing into Albert.

    Albert¡­ who felt like he¡¯d just sniffed some good old Elven Dust. Well, not that he¡¯d ever actually done that, he¡¯d never been into drugs, but he¡¯d been forced to hear the sensations being described by some colleagues of his who¡¯d given up, and this was pretty close: his senses were enhanced, the world seemingly slowing down as everything came into beautiful focus.

    The [Guards] falling to the ground, clutching at their throats, their companions shouting their names but not doing anything more because they knew that any distraction could and would be exploited against them; Argus thunderous frown looked limpid to him ¨C had his eyes begun to develop some cataracts without him noticing before? ¨C and the smell¡­ oh, the smell, it was wondrous, perfect, beautiful, the best thing he¡¯d ever smelled. How had he never noticed how great blood smelled?

    A man managed to cut his arm, deep, but he lost his arm for the trouble and Albert kept going, the wound already starting to close down.

    His feet moved following a mysterious rhythm only he could hear, a song written in the beating of the hearts around him and his own, faltering, heartbeat. A song written in screams and shouts, in order given and answers received, in the snick of blade on flesh and the clang clang clang of mythril and steel.

    He danced at these sweet notes and people died around him, and he with them.

    How many had died now? How much blood had he absorbed? How much more could he? His eyes were crying blood and his ears were bleeding, although none of that stopped him for the song was still going on, even though there were now a lot less heartbeats.

    His body died.

    His mind faded.

    And he danced on.

    <hr>

    Everywhere she ran Isse encountered [Guards] and [Soldiers] and [Mercenaries], and every time they came close enough to do some real damage someone appeared and helped her.

    Sometimes it was something as simple as a woman throwing a potted plant out of her window and hitting a [Guard] right in the head, while other times it was [Merchants] at their stalls accidentally spilling all of their wares on the street and onto her pursuers.

    But still it wasn¡¯t enough. For all the distractions that were thrown at her enemies there were a dozen more [Guards] going after her from somewhere else, as if they could locate her. Which¡­ was exactly what was happening. Because, the moment he¡¯d seen her crawl out of her window, [Guard Captain] Argus had used a Skill to [Mark] her, so as long as she stayed within the confines of the city, he and his subordinates could know her position at all times.

    As she turned another corner into a small alley, for a single moment, she thought she saw something yellow fluttering in the air in front of her.

    But then she blinked and it was gone.

    On she ran.

    The walls were so close she could see them clearly. So close yet so far. How would she even get through them? She was sure that the moment she started climbing them she¡¯d be shot down unceremoniously, but she couldn¡¯t get out from the main gates because there would probably be an army waiting for her.

    One thing at a time. For now we must worry about the people following us, said Siidi in as reassuring a tone as she could.

    Isse nodded and kept running.

    <hr>

    Albert took deep breaths.

    He felt like he wasn¡¯t breathing in enough air, like his lungs weren¡¯t expanding enough to feed his hunger.

    What remained of the rational side of his mind knew that this was going to happen, but the wild part of him, the vampire in him, the feralthing that hadn¡¯t been fed properly in decades, cared only that this body wasn¡¯t ¡®up to standard¡¯.

    Still, the rational side of Albert had tried to [Call the Favor In] on Argus, hoping to maybe force him to stop the fight or give out the order to stop to his men, but every time he failed, his will, still strong even though fragmented, slamming against a wall of will that was reinforced both by how small the debt Argus had with him was together with the desires of, of all people, the [King] of Scasce.

    He wanted to laugh, but all that came out now were wet sounds.

    Still, in his mind, he laughed, because that bastard of a man was really living in a nightmare these last few months: first it was an entire Clan of arachne, or Nest as they called it, and now he had one in his city, running around and getting people killed. Truly hilarious.

    ¡°Getting tired there, Albert?¡± asked Argus as stood unsteadily there, his hand going for a healing potion in his bag of holding since the old man had broken all the ones he kept on his hip for easier reach.

    Albert himself would¡¯ve gone for one but he had none.

    ¡°You know, this could¡¯ve been so much easier. I could¡¯ve made this painless for you,¡± continued the [Guard Captain] as he drank down the reddish liquid, grimacing slightly at the taste and then taking a deep, relieved, breath as his wounds closed.

    Albert¡¯s only answer was a blood gurgle coming from his throat caked with blood. Actually, that was probably one of the reasons why he couldn¡¯t breath well.

    ¡°Instead you had to be a stubborn piece of shit and get so many good men killed.¡±

    The old man checked his pocket watch, the only thing he had left on that wasn¡¯t tattered or broken.

    ¡­ a few minutes. I hope it¡¯ll be enough.

    His pocket watch showed he had five minutes left. Five minutes!

    Five¡­ minutes¡­

    Five¡­

    Ha. Hahahahahahahahahaha!

    Five minutes! The perfect number! The number of stories!!! Hahahahahahahahahahaha! He had the world on his side now, one of the oldest Traditions of this world to help him!

    Five minutes!?

    He better make them count.

    He stepped forward.

    <hr>

    She turned into an alley.

    There were people there.

    A [Mage] threw a [Fireball] at her, using her own new weapon against her, so she tried to climb up, but an arrow nicked her leg and, in fear she went down.

    With wide eyes she watched as the flaming ball of death and doom flew towards her, time seemingly slowing down as she huddled in on herself. Maybe if she made herself small enough the damn thing wouldn¡¯t hit her¡­ too much.

    She closed her eyes, waiting for the end, her shoulder screaming in agony as she lay on it.

    She could feel the heat.

    Then the explosion.

    ¡­

    And she was still there.

    Opening her eyes in astonishment she looked around, wondering how in Airm one could miss with a [Fireball] in an enclosed space like a fucking alley! Not that she was complaining.

    When the smoke and dust cleared slightly her eyes alighted on something off white and yellowish that was standing in front of her, covered in reddish dust from the bricks around her. The thing stumbled around for a bit before it shook heavily and stepped forward.

    ¡°Skeleton Abominations! They¡¯ve gone feral! Call the [Necromancers]!¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no time, just fucking blast it to pieces!¡±

    More Spells were flung at the¡­ skeleton. Yes, it was a skeleton, and it was moving around. Its body was covered in bone plates that didn¡¯t allow anyone to see the insides, only letting them see the legs, which were made from thick bones with lots of joints, giving it a great movement range and enough strength to kick in a wall, as it was showing the men in front of her.

    The last thing she noticed was the head, which reminded her of, of all things, a cow, with big pointy horns covered in blood that it had used to skewer several of the [Guards] behind her.

    So these are the undead labor Albert told us about a while ago, said Siidi, nodding in appreciation in the back of her mind.

    Why are they here?

    They went feral, probably. They¡¯ve clearly been around a while and, from what I remember, undead tend to become more¡­ independent as time goes on. Even [Necromancers] can¡¯t keep the same undead around for too long unless they want to be killed in their sleep after a few years.

    This¡­ is awfully convenient.

    Don¡¯t look a gift pegasus in the mouth. Now run!

    She did just that, climbing the wall and managing to reach the roof without anyone shooting arrows at them since every single [Guard] was concentrated on the undead bulls or whatever they were that were attacking everyone.

    So close¡­

    <hr>

    Albert gasped on the floor, bleeding out.

    Argus, too, sat on the floor, his body a mess of cuts, his left eye gouged out.

    They were staring at each other.

    Then Albert rose.

    One minute. Just one minute.

    His legs trembled and he looked pale. There was no more fresh blood to absorb around him and he was steadily losing every drop he¡¯d gathered so far. But that was alright. He only needed to kill Argus. If he died then¡­ she¡¯d have a better chance at escaping.

    He stepped over a corpse but lost his balance, falling face down on the wet floor.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± he said.

    Argus shuffled back, stopping only when he heard Albert chuckle.

    Then he said: ¡°Hah, seems like I lost the bet¡­ Isse. I said a bad word.¡±

    His voice was becoming fainter by the second.

    Still he rose, or rather, he crawled onwards, on his hands and knees now.

    ¡°[Weapon: The Naga¡¯s Coating],¡± he said, closing in on Argus who could no longer move, too tired from the fight.

    Twenty seconds.

    More than enough. Yes, more than enough.

    Time walked by his side, crying hot tears and smiling, telling him that he could rest in a few moments. He wanted to tell Her thank you, but there was no voice left in his throat, no air in his lungs for they had been punctured. The only reason he could still talk and move was because of his Skills that were keeping him alive, but not for much longer.

    There was probably pain somewhere in there but he¡¯d long since learned to ignore it.

    Fifteen seconds.

    He stood close to Argus, who raised his sword with trembling hands, trying to ward him off by stabbing in his general direction, but his muscles gave up before he could do any real damage and his sword fell to the ground.

    So close¡­

    Ten seconds.

    He planted his dagger in Argus¡¯ chest, plunging it hilt deep. He didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d hit, but it didn¡¯t matter. Either way, the man in front of him would be dying, be it from blood loss or poisoning.

    Seven seconds.

    Heh, the number of luck. But Luck was dead, so what was it now?

    ¡°You know,¡± coughed out Argus, a smile on his face as he resigned himself to the inevitable, ¡°I liked you. You were a bastard, but a good one, until this. So¡­ goodbye, Albert.¡±

    He chuckled.

    Four seconds.

    ¡°I liked you too. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Three seconds.

    Goodbye Isse. Goodbye Siidi. I¡¯m sorry, I won¡¯t be there for you.

    Two seconds.

    [The Teacher¡¯s Legacy].

    The dagger in Argus¡¯ chest disappeared. One last gift for her. A gift he hoped she would never need to use but, sadly, was sure she would.

    One second.

    ¡­

    The world stopped.

    Everything turned a shade of gray and white and black.

    He felt¡­ lighter. So much lighter.

    With a ¡®hup¡¯ he rose from the floor and looked around.

    And right there, standing by his side, was a shadow. A shadow with white circles for eyes, like two stars in the night sky.

    Beside him stood Time, glaring at the shadow slightly while also looking¡­ saddened.

    The shadow spoke in a light voice filled with the weight of age. Albert had come to know it a lot in his life: it was the same way Master spoke during his final days, before his mad attempt at leaving the Game by performing the Pilgrimage of Eights.

    And this shadow¡­ it had so much more of it.

    ¡°Hello, Albert Sirion.¡±

    He stopped, seemingly hesitating, but the old man couldn¡¯t tell for sure since he couldn¡¯t see any features on the shadow¡¯s face.

    ¡°Thank you. I¡¯m¡­ sorry, but¡­ it was necessary. She¡­ she¡¯ll be safe, know that. Thank you again.¡±

    Albert didn¡¯t know who this shadow was but he could feel the gratefulness in his tone, so he nodded in understanding.

    ¡°...You¡¯ll be going to Airm, you know that, right?¡±

    Albert couldn¡¯t help it: he chuckled.

    ¡°Yes, I was expecting as much.¡±

    ¡°...I can promise you this then: not for long.¡±

    ¡°And who are you that you could deny the will of the gods?¡±

    The shadow shrugged: ¡°I am nobody. A mere shadow in the dark. And yet they fear me.¡±

    The old man didn¡¯t understand the meaning of that answer, but for some reason he found it satisfying, so he nodded.

    Then Time hugged him.

    She told him it was alright, that he¡¯d done everything he could and succeeded, her little clockmaker of wonders and chances. She told him that he was a kind man, even though he protested, and she told him that he would, sooner or later, find his happiness again. She gave him a peck on the cheek and then¡­ she was gone.

    Only the shadow remained, sitting and looking at him.

    And then Death stood by the shadow¡¯s side, offering a gentle hand to Albert.

    I¡¯m sorry, old one. There will not be peace awaiting you on the other side. But I¡¯ll allow you some time by my side, if you wish. Sit with me by the first fire, rest, and get ready.

    Albert looked at it, at Death, at the extended hand.

    Then, with a weary sigh, he took it.

    Peace flowed through him, like a sensation of nothingness as, suddenly, he no longer just felt light, but downright weightless.

    He smiled, genuinely.

    Then Death embraced him, letting him sink under the protective darkness of its cloak, where it was warm and peaceful and¡­ a fire glowed in the distance.

    He walked towards it, the flames getting closer and closer.

    Until he reached it.

    And there, by the flames, sat a single, lonely, figure. A figure he would¡¯ve recognized anywhere in the world.

    Oria.

    The love of his life.

    She looked up from the flames, her eyes alighting on him. A smile appeared, then she flung herself at him and they embraced, tears trying to flow from their eyes but not managing to because they were only souls.

    ¡°Took you long enough, Albert.¡±

    Then they sat down and talked.

    Death had never said how much time was ¡®some time by its side¡¯.

    <hr>

    How does a [Clockworker] say goodbye then?

    It¡¯s simple: by stopping a hundred clocks together with his own.

 Chapter 51: On Wings of Chitin

    Isse ran and, where she did, chaos unfolded everywhere.

    People threw things at the [Guards], undead skeletons appeared seemingly out of thin air and started attacking her enemies, barrelling through them like bulls towards red flags.

    Assassins or whatever they were flew down from roofs and killed people and¡­ it was just that: chaos. Pure, unadulterated, total, chaos, that somehow didn¡¯t end in incredible amounts of property damage.

    She ran and ran and ran and she didn¡¯t notice the thread that connected her to Albert slowly beginning to deteriorate until¡­ it snapped.

    She kept running because that was the best thing she could do now.

    Nearly out of mana and stressed beyond belief, her shoulder aching because of the arrow still stuck there, she was very close to being desperate. Luckily for her at least, the amount of adrenaline going through her system was keeping her from feeling the full breadth of her pain. Just as luckily, the arrow hadn¡¯t hit anything too important and was keeping most of her blood from getting out through the wound. Already her body had formed a clot there and was trying (and failing) to repair the damage.

    Then, finally, she saw them: the gates.

    Big as she remembered, made of some kind of wood with steel bands reinforcing it completely, they were slowly closing.

    Fuck! she thought.

    They wouldn¡¯t make it in time!

    It was as she thought this that she heard something completely out of place: a song.

    A violin¡¯s song.

    For a moment she thought it was her violin coming to life like it sometimes did at night, playing lullabies to lull her to sleep, but no: this song felt distinctly more complex, different in style from anything and everything her instrument had ever played and, most important of all, it was somewhat¡­ familiar.

    She blinked, looking around, trying to find out where the music was coming from.

    She blinked again.

    And the world was yellow.

    People looked around at everything, clearly confused, some even scared. The [Guards] stopped in their tracks for a few precious moments, not understanding how whatever was happening could be possible.

    For they were no longer in their city but among the corridors of a grand palace, the walls reaching higher than the clouds, the sky, the stars themselves, disappearing into eternity and infinity both. Where there had been homes now were open doors that led to rooms filled with improbable decors and decorations, some smaller, some bigger, some reaching higher than the gates Isse had passed through to enter this city.

    And the people around her had changed too: no longer were there mostly humans with additions of some more exotic species of beastfolk: now there were undead monstrosities, actual slavering monsters, beautiful and ethereal beings, giants of flesh and steel and much, much, so much more!

    She blinked.

    And the [Guards] had changed too.

    Now they all looked like little toy soldiers made of tin and wood and iron and roses and spikes and tears and the earth that had been trodden upon by the first Court of Masks and the warmth of her mother¡¯s womb.

    They all wore the same yellow armor and all had little strings coming from their joints and connecting them to something in the distance, ahead in this endless corridor.

    Looking up up up and up she finally saw the source of the song.

    A little man wearing a golden crown, standing on a balcony, a violin in his hands, playing the instrument like his life depended on it.

    Or rather, the life of his apprentice.

    ¡°Go, Isse. Let me take care of this,¡± he said in a whisper of concentration as the notes from his song formed a meaning, the meaning that had driven his life for so long: All Shall be Allowed in Spite of Belief¡¯.

    Only, this time, she could hear another message as well, more words hidden behind these ones, no, that was wrong, not hidden, they were making them.

    And the words that were its grammatical basis were these: All Shall be Well.

    So she ran ahead, and Virgo, the King in Yellow of <Unnamed>, the copycat who¡¯d been allowed this privilege for having witnessed the actual King in Yellow, as well as hearing his words of praise for his abilities yet-to-be-unleashed, followed by the gift of a promise, the same promise he told everyone every time he played. That man called upon his most powerful and most dangerous Skill.

    ¡°[In Hastur¡¯s Name]!¡±

    And suddenly the Court, for that was what he had done, he had called upon his beloved Court, warped.

    He heard more than saw the creature, the old God that wasn¡¯t a God but something more ancient, appearing behind and beside him in a flutter of yellow clothing, a smell of sweet cinnamon and tea wafting downwards from the being¡¯s mask-covered face and to the ground.

    Hastur, the King in Yellow, the Unnameable, the Priest Whose Face is Unknown (priest to himself, ha!), the Puppeteer, the Director, the Playwright, the King Hanged in Glory, he had so many titles both known and unknown that the list would¡¯ve managed to go around his entire plane of existence and reach back to where it had started.

    The King looked down at him but Virgo didn¡¯t look back, instead just bowing his head in respect, but never stopping his hands, playing on, for the being behind him loved madmen and musicians and those with creative minds (even more so if they were all three combined), and hated interruptions, so stopping now would¡¯ve been a very bad idea.

    ¡°What makes you call upon me, Young Musician?¡±

    The King¡¯s voice was sweet like honey and entered his ears with the same mellifluousness of honey. Yet there was a strange edge to it, a strange¡­ unreality, as if the King wasn¡¯t really there, really speaking.

    Virgo guessed that was to be expected: after all, the King¡¯s Court, the one he had taken inspiration from to make all of this, was built upon concepts, not things. So that is what he did whenever he called upon his own Court: he turned people into their most primal concept, into what they saw themselves as deep inside.

    He looked down, down at the vision of the King in Yellow¡¯s Court he had brought to this world.

    He looked and saw that the [Guards] had started moving again, their movements more mechanical or fluid or¡­ improbable, in some other cases, but still they went on, following the [Mark] put on Isse by their [Captain]. They loved their city and would do anything to stop the monster who they thought would be their bringer of Ruin.

    He looked and finally saw them: his Court. A group of men and women of all shapes and sizes, all wearing yellow scarves around their necks, moving to stand between one of the hordes of [Guards] and the arachne. They began attacking, tearing through the armored things with a viciousness he¡¯d seldom seen but knew all too well had always been there, for only the truly broken were ever allowed to become parts of the Eternal Court. Because they knew what it was like to be damaged and they all would rather not see it happen to others.

    And, since they knew what it was like to be the broken ones, they had a good understanding of how to break others in their same ways.

    So he watched and was¡­ displeased.

    Displeased that there had ever been a need to show, of all people, these mere [Guards] the scars that made up the people he truly cared about.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    He watched the arachne he was doing all of this for and¡­ saw double.

    Ah, right, the other one. He¡¯d seen a glimpse of her when he¡¯d looked at Isse with his Skill, and again he¡¯d seen her a few times during his last concerto, but other than that? He knew nothing about her. So he watched in fascination for a moment as she took a knife, no, a rather familiar dagger out of her sister¡¯s bag of holding, and began killing as many [Guards] as she could with Isse¡¯s help.

    Of course, though, nobody died, for that was the deepest nature of the Court: it was all a play. All fake in its absolute truth.

    That was why people were always happy to let themselves go: because there were no real consequences (most of the time).

    So those who died, those who fell at the hands of the arachnes¡¯ blades and spells, to his Court¡¯s weapons or teeth or claws, didn¡¯t truly die. Like actors, they fell to the ground, slain, dripping a bit of blood, but not gone. They¡¯d get back up when the act was done and the curtain fell. Until then, though, they would no longer be a nuisance.

    Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he answered the King in Yellow¡¯s question: ¡°Your Highness, greatest of all Actors in the Play that is Life, I¡­ I¡¯ve myself become a King of a Court of my own, in an attempt to recreate the beauty of what you showed me a lifetime ago. But right now, here, I am King, but not Master.

    ¡°The threads of destiny are intricate and strange in this moment, forming a knot that would be most impossible to unbind. And, in this historic moment, others are trying to interfere, to impose their will upon the weavers. They would see the tapestry changed, reshaped, not knowing the ugliness of the final result.

    ¡°So I beg of you: help me cut away the threads of those that would see this beautiful sight changed into something darker.¡±

    The Crownless King, the Throneless Tyrant, the Observer Within, took his words into consideration for a long time and a few seconds. Time broke around him, glaring his way like a teen and pouting, for his presence alone didn¡¯t allow her the chance to look upon his beautiful Court. Virgo pitied her.

    Finally, he spoke: ¡°How I regret that you chose not to become part of my own Court when I made that proposal, eons ago.¡±

    Virgo chuckled: ¡°I couldn¡¯t keep that beauty from the people, o¡¯ Last Pretender.¡±

    ¡°True that. You have made commendable work in so little time with what little I gave you.¡±

    He looked down at the unfolding play, seeing, like Virgo, the tangled threads of fate, and seeing, in them, the threads that weren¡¯t woven by That-Which-Had-Taken-Fate¡¯s-Place.

    A moment later he spoke: ¡°I am not welcome here. This world¡¯s gods would sooner break their agreements than allow me to meddle. I cannot cut off those offending attempts at change, but I can still help the story progress.¡±

    That said, the Bastard Son of White raised a hand larger than the city itself, two fingers, made of the hands of every man and woman who had ever dared to break the rules and traditions for a dream of something better and had failed, forgotten by all and all remembered by him, moving towards the hundreds of threads that disappeared into the distance, guiding the guards.

    Two other fingers moved towards the closing doorways that led outside the Court, keeping it open a moment longer.

    And the other hundreds of fingers watched and waited, happy to see their King act upon a play once more.

    The fingers made a snipping motion.

    The threads were cut.

    The [Guards] fell face down to the ground, like puppets who¡¯d had their strings cut.

    ¡°I have done my part. Goodbye, Young Musician. Live as you would, become greater and live without more regrets.¡±

    With that, the King in Yellow, the Kindest Sovereign, the Cruelest Archivist, disappeared.

    The world, like Virgo, took a relieved breath.

    He had not expected the King to make an appearance. Usually, when he used that Skill, his Court became more real, more anchored to the world, at the price of things becoming a lot more unpredictable and unstable, oftentimes with undesirable effects.

    How that happened was, the Skill somehow took a small, really, really, really small fragment of Hastur¡¯s power, and placed its will upon the world.

    The fact that the actual King in Yellow had come this time could mean a lot of things but, most of all, it meant¡­ that the world was about to change. How? Nobody could tell: that was the beautiful thing about change, it was unpredictable!

    So he played on, his heart slowly calming down as his fingers began bleeding from the raw power he put in the song, in the Words.

    Then he saw Isse pass through the gates.

    And he stopped playing.

    Every single member of his Court went back to where they had been when the song had started.

    Actually, every living being did. Which meant the [Guards] as well. Luckily, they didn¡¯t get up: they¡¯d all lost their senses.

    Turning towards the gates he sighed: ¡°Good luck, Isse. You¡¯ll need it.¡±

    Then he started making plans to move away from this city.

    [Yellow King of Hopeful Futures Level 55!]

    [Skill - Call the Eternal Court Obtained!]

    <hr>

    Isse didn¡¯t know why Virgo had been there, nor why he¡¯d decided to help.

    What she did know was that they had been inside the city, he¡¯d started playing, and now they were out.

    Before the song had ended Siidi had also handed her a dagger, saying to take care of it, so she¡¯d put it back in her bag of holding: she didn¡¯t want to lose it.

    Now all she needed was to find a wooded area and she¡¯d be safe. Yes, she was sure that was all she¡¯d need to do. After all the [Guards] had lost her! She could find a safe place to stay in while she waited for her kids to arrive. Then they could go somewhere else! Somewhere better, somewhere safer, somewhere ¨C

    A ship flew down towards her.

    In a panic she began running away, towards¡­ she didn¡¯t know. Anywhere was better than near a fucking flying ship!

    But she couldn¡¯t outrun it, she couldn¡¯t even leave the thing¡¯s shadow!

    That was when, as she turned around to throw a [Fireball], probably the last one she had left in her, at the thing, hoping to make it crash, she saw something, a detail she hadn¡¯t expected to see at all: chitin. The ship¡¯s body was covered in chitin. The balloon that held it aloft in the air was made out of some kind of animal skins, it too covered in a light layer of chitin to protect it from harm, and it was connected to the ship with lianas.

    I remember that airship, she thought.

    Me too. Wasn¡¯t that the madwoman¡¯s ship? What did she call herself? Moon.

    Speak of the devil: the ship closed in on her and a familiar face looked down.

    ¡°Hey, I remember you! You¡¯re the girl who went to that bar in¡­ can¡¯t remember the name of the city. The child who loved my stories! Wow, you grew up fast.¡±

    Another voice from behind her shouted something unintelligible that Isse¡¯s brain still registered as being in Evarion.

    ¡°Oh, yeah, sorry. Get on girl, we¡¯re getting you out of here and away.¡±

    She threw down a rope¡­ then thought better of it and threw down some kind of rope net.

    Looking at the ropes suspiciously she turned towards Moon: ¡°Why should I trust you? I was just hunted throughout an entire city because of what I am.¡±

    The woman shrugged: ¡°A strange voice contacted me and paid me 10000 gold coins to make sure I got you out of here. If you can¡¯t trust me then you can trust my greed. But¡­ I do remember the girl you were, the child who wanted nothing more than to see my airship and couldn¡¯t stop listening to my stories. I wouldn¡¯t hurt that child, even though apparently now she¡¯s a grown woman with kids.¡±

    Isse looked at her in surprise: ¡°How ¨C¡±

    ¡°[Detect Life]. My girlfriend taught it to me. I can sense five lives in you. Congratulations are in order I guess.¡±

    She smiled warmly, then motioned her to hurry up.

    Isse did.

    And she was safe.

    <hr>

    The gods were not having a good time.

    At all.

    ¡°How did she manage to escape?¡± asked Flato, the God of the Skies, as he held his head in his hands. There was the beginning of a headache there and at the moment he didn¡¯t have a [Priest] he disliked enough to hand it over to.

    ¡°Her guardian, a certain Albert Sirion, apparently cashed in all his favors in the city to get her out. He is dead now,¡± answered Niddus, the God of Knowledge.

    ¡°I already know that you damn imbecile. It was a rhetorical question!¡±

    ¡°Well fuck you too Flato, you ¨C¡±

    ¡°Guys, let¡¯s all calm down,¡± said a third voice, a feminine one. The two gods turned towards her and saw Lorma, the Goddess of Love and Desire, sitting on her throne with a small smile.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t the time to start another of your wars. While watching your [Paladins] fight is always entertaining, we have more important things to worry about. Mainly, killing that arachne.¡±

    The three gods, for there were only three right now in their throne room, sat and sighed.

    ¡°The Right of Interference will be reset in a little less than a year,¡± said Niddus.

    ¡°In a little less than a year that arachne will have an army if she so wishes,¡± said Flato as he glared at the god.

    ¡°Yeah, well, what would you propose?¡± asked Niddus.

    ¡°We send a dream to our Priests and tell them to send armies wherever she lands. We¡¯ve got our eyes on her after all,¡± answered matter-of-factly Flato.

    ¡°Actually¡­ I don¡¯t think we do,¡± interrupted Lorma.

    ¡°What?!¡± asked both gods as they turned towards the image of the flying airship¡­ and saw only a button. A white, bone, button, with four little holes, staring right into their Essence.

    Silence fell on the room.

    Then Flato slammed his fist on the armrest of his throne and screamed: ¡°BUTTON MAN YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!¡±

    Somewhere else in the world a shadow with white eyes felt the curse reach him and chuckled. He wouldn¡¯t make things easy for them.

 Once Upon a Time... [Part 2]

    Ama sat in her bed, hugging her little devil friend and being hugged in return, as she waited for her papa to sit down and find a comfortable position to read her favorite goodnight story.

    ¡°So, dear, shall we continue from where we left off?¡± he asked, putting The Book on his lap and opening it a quarter through.

    Both she and her devil friend nodded very fast, so fast in fact that Ama¡¯s neck made a little crick sound that caused her daddy to look up at her with a raised eyebrow. Then he just smiled and settled down better.

    ¡°Alright then. Last time we stopped at Ilya and our English friend arriving in our world, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡±

    ¡°Hmm, so now I should tell you how ¨C¡±

    Papa was interrupted as, in the distance, she heard an explosion, followed by the sound of something extremely heavy and made of wood dropping to the floor, the echo resounding in their whole home.

    She hadn¡¯t seen it but her papa was already on his feet and moving towards the door, checking outside.

    Sounds of a distant commotion came through the now open door and she started to feel fear, although her friend managed to calm her down by holding her hand.

    Then papa spoke: ¡°Ama, go to your brothers and get out of our home. Now.¡±

    Ama froze in place and stared at him with wide, scared, eyes.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening papa?¡±

    He looked back at her from the door, a bitter smile on his face. She¡¯d only ever seen a smile like that whenever someone brought up his old job. Papa liked to smile a lot, so much that she¡¯d long since learned to understand what he was feeling just by the way his lips were curved. Right now, for example, there was an edge to them as only one corner of his mouth rose while his eyes looked more relaxed than usual, as if he was about to fall asleep.

    ¡°Ah, don¡¯t worry Ama,¡± he said, although the bitterness didn¡¯t leave his face, only increasing, ¡°Everything¡¯s gonna be fine. You¡¯re going to be fine. That is what was promised.¡±

    He stepped closer to her, bending down and kissing first her left cheek, then the right, her forehead, her nose, then finally giving her a peck on the lips. He did the same for her devil sister, who was looking at him with big, round eyes. Ama saw a tear going down her cheek and wondered why.

    ¡°Remember, your papa, mama and poppy love you from the bottom of their heart.¡±

    Then, with a gentle hand, he combed her hair back, behind her ear, before turning towards her nightstand, where she kept her bag of holding, and putting The Book in it.

    ¡°Keep it safe, dear. Never let anyone get their hands on it. If necessary, burn it. You remember the lessons I taught you, right?¡±

    She nodded.

    ¡°Good girl. Now go. Find your brothers and follow them, they know their way.¡±

    He began walking towards the door, stopping one last time in front of it, turning his head around to say one last thing: ¡°Goodnight Ama. We love you. Make this world better than we ever could.¡±

    And with that, he left, his devil companion, appearing from his shadow and falling into step with him, weapons she¡¯d never once seen before appearing in his hands as they began muttering among themselves.

    Ama got up from her comfy bed and ran to the door, one hand holding her bag, the other her devil friend¡¯s. When she looked out of her room papa was already gone.

    That vision of him standing in the door and those words he said before leaving would be her last of him.

    <hr>

    They called him Forzius.

    His son called him that. His son¡¯s wife did. His grandkids did. His devil did.

    Everyone called him Forzius. So he believed his name was that.

    But most of the time he couldn¡¯t remember it. Just as he couldn¡¯t remember his son¡¯s, his son¡¯s wife¡¯s and his grandkids¡¯ names. Although he did remember his companion devil¡¯s name. How could he ever forget it? They¡¯d been together since the day he¡¯d been born, a scrap of Airmish power brought in this world to keep him company until his last day, a scrap that would grow and mature together with him, just like any other child would, with the only difference being that he would have some special powers.

    His devil¡¯s name was Arkanusiel. A strange name, but he¡¯d always liked it.

    He was sitting on his wheelchair, looking into the calming flames in the fireplace, thinking about nothing at all, his mind empty of everything, just a blank void. He¡¯d learned to do that a long time ago from his father, a practice to calm the mind and keep it ready for the time when he would need it most. These days it was extremely easy on account of him having forgotten so much. He couldn¡¯t even remember his parents¡¯ faces.

    Arkanusiel, whose nicknames were ¡®Arcane¡¯ or simply ¡®Ark¡¯, sat beside him together with two cups of tea, one for himself and one for his oldest friend.

    They didn¡¯t speak: there was no need to. Even without the link between their minds, which was the only thing keeping Forzius from forgetting everything (even, he sometimes thought, how to breathe), they understood each other perfectly.

    In the end, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, coming out of his meditative trance, feeling reinvigorated and as if he had a better grip of himself. Suddenly his name didn¡¯t feel so distant, so¡­ not his.

    ¡°Ark, would you please wheel me to my bedroom,¡± he asked in a whisper. These days he rarely spoke loudly.

    ¡°Certainly, old friend.¡±

    He got up, putting down his cup of tea, and walked behind him, gripping the handles of his wheelchair and moving him towards the door.

    That was when they heard the explosion.

    It rocked the room around them and made a bit of plaster fall off the walls and ceiling.

    ¡°[Fireball],¡± instantly said Forzius, recognizing the Spell from the sound it made as it exploded and the distinct smell of ash that flooded his nostrils a few seconds later, telling him that the front door had been outright incinerated.

    ¡°Enemies,¡± added Ark with a nod of the head.

    The old man looked around at the room, noticing the way the painted plaster from the ceiling had fallen, damaging the precious fresco that had been there for centuries now, made by a Level 40 [Wondrous Painter]. The fresco represented a woman carrying a knife in one hand and a lit pipe in the other, her neck bleeding from a clearly self-inflicted cut if the blood on the blade was anything to go by. From her blood and all around her though grew new life, little plants that clung to everything they could, plants covered in nasty looking curved spines. Devil¡¯s Claw. An extremely useful medicinal plant that hurt anyone that dared touch it the wrong way. It was also his family¡¯s symbol.

    Now, though, the woman¡¯s face was missing, together with a lot of the plants around her. The light from the fire, though, played a strange trick on his eyes, for he thought that the blood flowing out of her neck was nearly¡­ real.

    That was when he remembered the words. Words that he could never forget, no matter how much of his mind became slowly crippled. Words he had clung to for decades upon decades.

    Words¡­ that spoke of his death.

    ¡°Ark¡­ I believe¡­ my time has come,¡± he said, sitting straighter in his chair, his muscled arms bulging underneath his comfortable wool sweater.

    His devil nodded: ¡°I believe it too. So be it.¡±

    Forzius cracked his neck, feeling more than hearing the many pops, then doing the same with his hands and elbows.

    ¡°Contact the Gardener. Tell him that our family is about to be eradicated,¡± he added as an afterthought. His son had already done it, but it was always good to be redundant. Redundancies had saved his life more times than he cared to count.

    For a moment he allowed himself to be surprised at how lucid he felt, but then he shrugged it off. Death came with many advantages, among which the best ones were peace and clarity. He was getting both.

    Ark scribbled something on a scroll he¡¯d taken out of thin air and, when he was done, he snapped his fingers and incinerated it.

    Meanwhile Forzius moved his hand underneath his wheelchair and took out an extremely modified crossbow with an extendable blade underneath it. He checked that the mechanisms were still oiled and in perfect working order, nodding in satisfaction when he realized that, even in its fogged up state, his mind had still remembered to execute the usual maintenance routines.

    Then he spoke the Skill he had known all his life he would be speaking one day: ¡°[The Predestined Day: Before My Death I Was In My Prime].¡±

    Immediately he felt himself relax, his limbs more limber, his legs regaining the strength they¡¯d lost all those years ago, his eyes seeing the world clearly once again as his other senses went back to their glory days. When the process was done he rose from the wheelchair, feeling like he was twenty five again, and performed a few stretches, although he could clearly feel that there was no need for them.

    ¡°Ark, you ready to die?¡±

    The devil smirked, showing off his many sharp teeth: ¡°Always, if I¡¯m by your side.¡±

    The old-man-no-more nodded: ¡°Then let us go. For a dream of hope, for our grandchildren and in the name of the Lady in Black, may her sacrifices not be forgotten.¡±

    With that he opened the door that led to the main entrance hall, seeing that it was swarming with people in heavy enchanted armor and carrying weapons that could probably cut through a tree with one sweep. They wore nothing to identify them, as Forzius had been told would happen, but sadly, for that dream of hope, they couldn¡¯t tell the Gardener who these people were. She would need to find out on her own for the future to turn out right.

    As the door opened the men¡¯s heads turned and looked at him and Ark.

    He started chanting Skills: ¡°[The Predestined Day: Skills ¨C No Cooldown]. [Devilish Reflexes]. [Armor Piercing Shots]. [Enchantment Breaking Bolts]. [Volley of the Red Baron].¡±

    And with that the [Predestined Sharpshooter Assassin] began to die.

    <hr>

    They called her the Gardener, for that was how she¡¯d started her life once upon a time, centuries prior.

    The elven woman sat in her cozy office filled with beautiful plants, staring with absolute disinterest and resentment at a small pile of documents sitting on her desk and wondering if she should do it now and be done with it (which would¡¯ve been the best choice) or leave it there for tomorrow, when she¡¯d spend a good hour asking herself the same question. At the moment she was leaning towards the latter option. She hated paperwork with a passion. Who would¡¯ve thought that becoming the leader of the Assassin¡¯s Guild and uniting all the other Guilds from all over the world under her banner would¡¯ve ended up with her having to do so much of it?

    She could still remember her younger days, when she¡¯d been barely over two hundred years old, a young adult by elven standards, spending her time merrily killing poachers who trespassed in areas they shouldn¡¯t deep in the Elven Forests (yes, not the most imaginative name, but she hadn¡¯t been around when it had been chosen) and working on her beautiful gardens.

    She still remembered like yesterday, when their local Assassin¡¯s Guild had come to recruit her, taking her in and training her, keeping her away from the [Killer] Class and honing the pleasure she felt in killing into something usable.

    A century later she was one of the best [Assassins] to ever live in her Era. A few decades after that she¡¯d managed to turn her teacher¡¯s dream of a unified guild into reality. How? Why naturally by killing the various guild leaders and claiming their ¡®thrones¡¯.

    Then she¡¯d made a lot of changes around, changes that had first brought grumbling and made a lot of people leave, but also ones that had made them more powerful.

    Then, finally, she¡¯d managed to complete what everyone nowadays called her Garden: a collection of families of [Assassins] and many individuals who lived for the sole reason of being her little gardeners to keep the world, her Garden, a relatively good place by killing the parasites that appeared now and then and trimming the plants.

    Recently though (or rather,recently by elven standards, which meant around four hundred years ago), some of her best Gardeners had left the Guild, traditionally burying a cut finger in the earth of her actual garden together with some seeds taken at random from her collection.

    The seed had sprouted, turning into a beautiful exemplar of a Devil¡¯s Claw. A great addition to her garden, one that she had vowed to protect.

    She sighed and pushed the pile of documents away: she¡¯d do them tomorrow. Or find someone to compile them for her¡­ if her dwarven [Secretary] didn¡¯t have her way. The woman already managed to reduce the amount of paperwork reaching her by a great margin, leaving her with only the strictly most important documents to check over.

    How much did she pay her?

    ¡°[Check Sum].¡±

    A number appeared in her head and she nodded. Yes, she was paid more than enough. Actually, maybe a tiny bit overpaid, but it never hurt to do that with long lived races. They could hold a grudge. Or rather, elves could and did. She¡¯d yet to meet dwarves that held grudges in all her life. Granted, even with her incredible age of one thousand, four hundred and seventy six years, she¡¯d never met many of them to begin with, but you got the gist of it.

    A knock sounded on her door, a specific pattern only her [Secretary] and a few, very, very trusted individuals knew, one that allowed her to know it was someone trusted who didn¡¯t need to fear she would kill them. Of course that was an old measure she¡¯d put up back when her homicidal instincts had been much harder to keep in check. Nowadays it was more of an inside joke that brought back fond memories of better times.

    ¡°Come in,¡± she said as she slumped in her chair, putting her legs up on the desk, dainty and uncovered feet up in the air, legs hugged by form fitting trousers that showed off her muscled calves.

    A dwarven woman opened the door and stepped in.

    The Gardener immediately understood that something was off from the look on her face.

    ¡°What¡¯s up Gorizia?¡± she asked, suddenly serious as she put her feet down and sat straighter.

    Gorizia, her [Secretary], was a short dwarven woman with black eyes and a small nose. Her cheeks were marked by laugh lines and the Gardener had come to think that she never stopped smiling. Rarely had she seen it disappear. Now was one of those times.

    ¡°We received a message,¡± she started, walking towards the desk, eyeing for a moment the unfinished paperwork on it before settling her eyes back on the elf. The lack of a remark or snarky joke about her laziness was one more sign of how serious this was.

    She sat down on a cushioned chair that allowed her to stand with her head over the desk and put down a scroll, unrolling it. At the very top was a simple drawing of a plant she¡¯d come to love in all these years: Devil¡¯s Claw. The symbol of the family that had officially left her services and changed from gardener to plant in her Garden. A family that still, sometimes, worked for her, for, they always said, the hope of a better future.

    She would¡¯ve moved mountains and burned cities for them, for she had never seen so much loyalty in anyone.

    Her eyes then moved to the text below, where a single line was written: Our family line is about to be eradicated. Send help for the children.

    Then the paper turned black.

    The original Communication Scroll had been burned.

    Immediately, as those words registered in her mind, she rose and began walking towards the door.

    ¡°Alert the Belladonna and Hemlock families. We¡¯re moving towards Devil¡¯s Rest in ten.¡±

    She wondered how in Airm whoever was attacking the Devil¡¯s Claws had found their ancestral home: it was warded and enchanted enough to keep even dragons away, or so one of them had told her when she¡¯d last been invited to the place. It should¡¯ve been impossible.

    And yet¡­

    Moving faster, she hoped she wouldn¡¯t be too late.

    <hr>

    Ama and her brothers walked down the secret passage in their room. Everywhere in the house there was one, a way to escape without being noticed, warded from [Detect Life] Spells more and less powerful but, sadly, not against Skills.

    As they¡¯d reached the ground floor she¡¯d heard someone shout ¡®They¡¯re inside the walls, get them!¡¯ before hearing a strangled cry and a scream like an enraged banshee¡¯s, her mother¡¯s attacks.

    ¡°Faster Ama, we have to go faster,¡± said the oldest brother, Harius.

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    She nodded, her hand gripping his more as their steps got faster.

    And all the while she tried not to think about what was happening: they were under attack. Her parents and, probably, poppy, were fighting them all off.But how? From the sounds coming from the other side of the wall there must¡¯ve been dozens of people, and there were only three of them.

    The answer to that lay in their Death Skills.

    [The Predestined Day].

    They had known this day would come. They¡¯d known for generations now and had accepted it a long time ago, all for the hope of a better future. It was thanks to that acceptance that they¡¯d gained these Skills, ones to be used on the day they would die to even the grounds a little.

    That was how the three [Assassins] were keeping up with the dozens of heavily armored and enchanted fighters.

    Ama didn¡¯t know any of that, just like her brothers.

    All she knew was that the situation was dire and she didn¡¯t want to think about it.

    So, closing her eyes, and allowing her brother to guide her through the secret corridors and tunnels, she remembered the stories her papa had told her so many times.

    <hr>

    Alexander Smithsons woke up with a gasp.

    He tried to sit up in bed and look around.

    His last memories were of an explosion, of fire and screaming and pain, then of a voice, and finally nothing.

    His hands flew towards his chest and he realized he still had both hands to do that. Looking down he also saw he had two legs again.

    ¡°Did I end up in Heaven?¡± he wondered.

    A knock from the door made him look up, away from his body and at the room he was in.

    Where am I? This isn¡¯t London, he thought.

    The room would¡¯ve fit more in a medieval village from the history books he¡¯d read than¡­ anywhere in the city. Sure, there were places that could, if you were feeling particularly inclement, be called ¡®slums¡¯ that were in bad shape, but this was beyond that. The walls were made of wood, just like the floor and the slanted ceiling; there was a window near his bed and he could see that it had shutters but no glass. The bed itself, while comfortable, looked extremely simple.

    ¡°Are you awake?¡± asked a voice from the other side of the door.

    Alexander froze, his head snapping around towards the familiar words coming from an unfamiliar voice. At least whoever was on the other side was english, an ally, and not one of the nazis.

    Hesitantly, he answered: ¡°Yes.¡±

    A moment later the door creaked open, a man walking in. He wore medical garbs that seemed both modern and ancient, in that they were white, pristinely so, and covered his entire body, a white cloth mask around his mouth and glasses over his eyes. Yet the clothes were made from leather of all things (how the man had managed to get the color changed to white was a mystery to him).

    ¡°Where am I?¡± he asked, hesitation in every word for he didn¡¯t understand how he could still be alive after the bomb.

    ¡°You¡¯re in a room of my clinic in Dusklark, on Eva. You appeared out of thin air in the middle of the street, nearly got yourself killed by a passing carriage and then everyone realized you were screaming not out of fear but because half your body had been a step away from being charred.¡±

    The man, a doctor apparently, stepped closer and gave him an once over.

    Then he said: ¡°[Check Parameters].¡±

    Alexander frowned. Why had he said those words as if they meant¡­ something?

    ¡°Ok, I¡¯ve got good news and bad news. Which one do you want to hear first?¡± said the man.

    Well, at least some things never changed it seemed.

    ¡°Good news first.¡±

    ¡°Well, you¡¯re alive and will stay that way. I managed to get you in time and the High Grade Health Potion I had got you back on your feet, albeit after a week.¡±

    Health potion? What the hell was that?

    ¡°Bad news is, I had to use an Accelerant Class on you; it was all I had on me. And, apparently, there was something wrong with your lungs. Some kind of disease, I am not sure. But¡­ there¡¯s no simple way to say this, but you¡¯ve got Bloody Lungs.¡±

    Alexander looked at the supposed doctor as he wondered what in tarnation he was hearing. Accelerant Class? Bloody Lungs? What kind of disease was called Bloody Lungs? Who the hell gave it that name? What the ¨C

    He took a deep breath, feeling, for some reason, his throat hitch up.

    A small cough escaped his lips.

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s what I was talking about.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just a ¨C cough cough ¨C little cough. You said that I was¡­ charred? However impossible that sounds, since I¡¯m here. I¡¯d guess that would have some effects.¡±

    ¡°I assure you, the healing potion I used on you may have been a mere accelerant but it was of high quality. It healed your body completely and helped regenerate your limbs, although I wouldn¡¯t start walking around for a while still: your muscles are going to be weak.¡±

    He finally managed to stop coughing and looked up with a raised eyebrow: ¡°Please, stop shitting me: what in hell is a healing potion?¡±

    The man looked baffled for a moment, his eyes widening slightly.

    Ha, so he¡¯d been right and this was some kind of fucked up joke.

    Then the man said something he hadn¡¯t expected: ¡°So you¡¯re one of them¡­¡±

    A moment later he took out a knife, no, a scalpel, from a bag at his side, and used it to cut his hand. It was a deep cut and it bled profusely.

    ¡°Why did you ¨C¡± started Alexander, but he was stopped by the man showing him his bleeding hand while, with the other, he took out a vial of some kind from the same bag. It contained some sort of red liquid which seemed to shimmer slightly as it passed through a ray of light that managed to pass through the shutters.

    He uncapped it, the wet popping sound resounding in the silent room, then proceeded to drink just a sip.

    And then Alexander watched in fascination as the wound in the doctor¡¯s hand started to close, flesh knitting back in place in real time, until not even a scar remained.

    Silence fell on the room as the doctor put everything back in place, except for the knife, which he put on an iron tray he took out from that same bag, even though it was too small to contain it.

    ¡°That was a healing potion. Although, I think, those don¡¯t exist where you¡¯re from, am I right?¡±

    Alexander just kept on staring at the man as if he¡¯d just sprouted horns and wings.

    ¡°What sort of black magic is this? Did I die and end up in hell?¡± he asked, trying to move away as fear entangled his heart, but he realized only then just how weak his arms were, so much so that he couldn¡¯t move away.

    ¡°Not magic. Alchemy. Although some may argue that they can be the same thing. I¡¯m not a [Philosopher] though, just a [Doctor].

    ¡°But, to answer your question, you did die. In your original world, you died. And then you were brought here. I don¡¯t know how, I don¡¯t know why, but you were. You were brought in as you were the moment you died though, which shouldn¡¯t happen as far as I know.¡±

    Alexander stared at the man as horror dawned on him.

    Swiftly followed by confusion.

    ¡°But¡­ I¡¯m not dead. I don¡¯t feel dead.¡±

    ¡°Because you aren¡¯t. Again, I don¡¯t know why it happened, or why this is a thing at all, but sometimes people are brought to this world. It¡¯s¡­ not common knowledge, but anyone who can read and likes to go to libraries eventually finds out.¡±

    O?????????h????????,?????? ????h??????o???w??????? ????t??????h????i????????n??????g????????s????? ????????h??????a????????v????e??????????? ??????????c?????????h??????a????????n???????g???e?????????d?????? ?????????s?????i???????n???????c?????e?????? ????t?????????h??????e??????n??????.

    ¡°So¡­ I¡¯m not in Hell?¡±

    ¡°...What is Hell?¡±

    The conversation had become so crazy that he didn¡¯t even stop to wonder how someone couldn¡¯t know what ¡®Hell¡¯ was and he explained.

    In the end the doctor just shook his head: ¡°What you¡¯re describing is similar to what we here call Airm. Anyways, the important part is, you¡¯re not there. You¡¯re in Creation, the world of the living. Although, for how long, I¡¯m not sure.¡±

    Alexander hesitated: ¡°You talked about a Bloody Lung. What¡­ what is that?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a disease where the person¡¯s lungs slowly collapse. It starts with coughing, tiredness and general weakness and slowly develops into bloody coughs. Eventually you¡¯ll probably die. The good thing about my involuntary mistake is, well, that we know for certain what your disease is. The bad thing is, there¡¯s no known cure.

    ¡°The only thing capable of keeping it at bay are small doses of Purifying Class Healing Potions, and they¡¯ll only manage to give you time, not cure you.¡±

    It took a while for the man to explain the difference between the two potions and even longer for Alexander to understand the gravity of his situation.

    Seeing the desperation beginning to build up in him the doctor rummaged around in his bag and took out, after a moment, a pipe, offering it to him first, then thinking better and just putting it in his mouth, beginning to stuff it with tobacco¡­ or something else. The color was wrong to the boy.

    ¡°So, what did you get?¡± asked the man.

    ¡°...What?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re one of the Wishers. You all get one wish when you¡¯re brought here, a wish that translates into a Class or useful Skills. What did you get?¡±

    For a moment Alexander wanted to say that he didn¡¯t know what the man was talking about, that he hadn¡¯t gotten anything, but then, in the back of his mind, he felt¡­ a presence, a weight that could not be removed (not easily at least). The weight told him this:

    [Writer Level 1]

    [Read All Languages]

    ¡°I¡­ am a [Writer].¡±

    He batted his eyes: he could feel the square brackets.

    ¡°And I¡¯ve got this thing that says I can¡­ [Read All Languages].¡±

    The [Doctor]... why did he suddenly think of the man¡¯s job in square brackets!?

    Anyways¡­ the man seemed rather nonplussed: ¡°Well, your wish was really unlucky. [Writers] aren¡¯t liked that much by governments in this world. Although, that other Skill, because that¡¯s what it is, is quite good. You can read any language in this world it would seem.¡±

    Alexander frowned: ¡°Why would that be useful? We¡¯re speaking in english.¡±

    The man chuckled: ¡°English? Ah no, my boy, we aren¡¯t speaking that language. We¡¯re talking in Evarion right now, one of the four languages of this world.¡±

    And that led to another rather lengthy explanation on the four continents, their languages and some of their most recent history.

    ¡°So, you¡¯re telling me I¡¯m fucked.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re all fucked boy. It¡¯s all a matter of finding a way to fuck the world back. Your path will most probably be much more difficult, but I want to believe that, since you¡¯re from another world, you¡¯ll be quite good at that.

    ¡°Now, why don¡¯t you tell me about your world? I¡¯d like to hear a first hand account.¡±

    He was clearly trying to distract him, that much was clear, but Alexander was more than grateful for it.

    Before he could start, though, the [Doctor] slapped his forehead: ¡°Oh, how improper of me. I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t tell you my name. I¡¯m Urso Grabini. A pleasure to meet you. I¡¯ll help you settle down in this world, consider me your first friend and ally.¡±

    ¡°Ah, right. My name is Alexander Smithsons. And¡­ thank you, for everything.¡±

    They shook hands.

    And he began telling him of Earth and the war they were fighting.

    <hr>

    Forzius and his devil lay dead on the ground, surrounded by a dozen corpses, both their heads cut off by what he guessed had been a [Rogue].

    Barius, better known as ¡®papa¡¯, stood over the corpse of the man who¡¯d killed his father, taking his dagger out.

    He looked around at the men surrounding him, hearing his wife in another room shrieking and, probably, rupturing a few ears and organs. He wanted to join her but between them there were far too many people.

    So he stood there, examining the situation.

    [The Predestined Day: The Planner¡¯s Minute]

    The world stood still, sounds muting, and he thought. He had one minute to do just that, to think up a good strategy.

    The problem was, strategy only worked so far when you were one man fighting against a small army of heavily armored and enchanted people.

    He already knew, though, that he would lose. Now it was only a matter of how many people he could bring down with him.

    So he thought and thought, various tactics going through his head, most of them discarded for being too inefficient. Murdering was all about that: efficiency. You lost any of it, you were killed, or worse, caught.

    The minute passed.

    And the [Predestined Planner of Death], together with his devil companion, moved, smiling at death.

    <hr>

    Her name was Ilaria, although, just like her husband, she liked it more when her sons and daughter called her ¡®mama¡¯.

    The circumstances of her becoming part of the Devil Claw family were strange and lengthy to explain, but one could say this: it had been the best choice she¡¯d ever made. Sure, she¡¯d found out that she would die in a matter of years, but she¡¯d gotten out of it the best marriage a woman could ever imagine, an inseparable companion that had been summoned and bound to her through means she had never quite understood, and a family that was¡­ lovely didn¡¯t even begin to describe it.

    She would¡¯ve turned a mountain to dust with her bare hands for them though.

    Or, more simply put, died for it.

    She was dying.

    But so were the people around her.

    For all that she¡¯d been a [Poisoner] when she¡¯d first joined the family, a Class that would¡¯ve clearly been at a great disadvantage in this fight, she¡¯d gained many Levels and Skills in the years she¡¯d spent with her husband.

    Skills that had rendered her especially useful in this fight.

    [Banshee¡¯s Scream]. [Enhance Vibration].

    And just like that three men in front of her fell to the ground as her scream resonated with their armors, the vibrations passing into their bodies, and with their organs inside, creating harmonic waves that caused their insides to rupture and turn into gory scraps.

    Still, there were many of them, too many, and every time she used her Skill her throat got bloodier and bloodier.

    But it didn¡¯t matter: she knew she was going to die. Now all that mattered was that she¡¯d gain enough time for her children to escape.

    [The Predestined Day: My Pain Enhanced My Songs]

    With that she sang again the songs of the banshee¡¯s, songs that hadn¡¯t been heard for millenia now, for they had disappeared together with the Fae, although she didn¡¯t know that.

    And the [Predestined Bringer of Death¡¯s Song] sang for herself as much as her enemies.

    <hr>

    And all the while, as they died, they remembered that story.

    <hr>

    It had taken Ilya a while to understand what was happening and where he was.

    The bullet that should¡¯ve killed him was gone, together with the battlefield, the tanks, the screaming nazis approaching them through the morning fog and their bullets, together with his own rifle.

    Now, naturally that hadn¡¯t been enough to stop him from screaming when he¡¯d opened his eyes and found himself in a jungle.

    Nor had he stopped screaming when some snake people had appeared out of the trees and started talking.

    He¡¯d tried to attack them but had failed miserably and, as they tried to calm him down, he¡¯d just blacked out.

    When he¡¯d woken back up again he¡¯d found himself in a hut, another one of those lizard people staring right at him.

    This one, though, looked¡­ older. The scales were gray in many places, flaking off completely in others, and one of its eyes was distinctly rheumy.

    ¡°You calmed down, Wisher?¡±

    He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, shook his head, then asked: ¡°Have I gone insane?¡±

    The snake person shook its head: ¡°No, you haven¡¯t. We checked. Luckily, I¡¯d also say. You clearly were a soldier fighting somewhere¡­ bad.¡±

    Ilya shivered, nodding.

    ¡°Well, you¡¯re safe here, Wisher. I imagine you have a lot of questions, I¡¯ll try to answer them.¡±

    Ilya wanted to know a lot of things, but the first question he managed to get out was: ¡°Why can a snake talk?¡±

    That¡­ caused the thing to burst out into laughter.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a snake, Stars above I¡¯m not. I never managed to evolve into a lamia, sadly, and at this old age of mine I certainly won¡¯t.

    ¡°Still, I¡¯m a lizardkin, one of the many races of Eva. Ah, but you wouldn¡¯t know that. Let me start from the beginning, young man.¡±

    She stopped, then added: ¡°And by the way, my name is Vagrasifiza, even though most of the people in the village just call me Elder.¡±

    ¡°My name is Ilyiushin Kustov, but everyone calls me Ilya.¡±

    He stopped, before adding: ¡° I¡­ I died, right?¡±

    The Elder nodded: ¡°You did. But you were given a second chance. If you want to hear an old woman¡¯s tip, don¡¯t waste it.¡±

    A very long conversation and a few days later he was in the local [Woodcarver]¡¯s home, trying his hand at creating a violin.

    After all, he¡¯d received the [Musician] Class.

    He would need something to play.

    <hr>

    Ama and her brothers ran outside their home, deep in the woods surrounding it.

    She was crying, although she couldn¡¯t tell why.

    Their demons, too, were crying.

    Her brothers were the only ones who were strong enough to keep going without tearing up. That, or they were hiding it well.

    Suddenly they heard the sound of a branch cracking and they whipped their heads towards that direction.

    A figure stepped into view.

    A slight but well muscled one with pointy ears and a face obscured by a tricorn hat.

    ¡°You¡¯re Barius¡¯ kids. Stars, you¡¯ve grown.¡±

    The figure stepped closer and took off its hat.

    ¡°Come on, I¡¯ll get you out of here,¡± she motioned them close hurriedly, looking around, as if expecting someone to appear out of nowhere. It wouldn¡¯t happen: they hadn¡¯t been followed.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± asked her brother.

    ¡°I¡¯m the Gardener, one of your father¡¯s friends. The leader of the Assassin¡¯s Guild. He¡­ he asked me to get you out of here safely.¡±

    That was when Ama piped up: ¡°There won¡¯t be any need for that, miss Gardener.¡±

    She still remembered meeting the old elf a few years ago, when she¡¯d come to visit them. She¡¯d brought her a stuffed toy!

    ¡°Papa, mama and poppy will take care of the baddies. We just have to stay here very quietly and wait.¡±

    Why couldn¡¯t she stop crying?

    The Gardener cautiously stepped closer, looking towards her brothers, her eyes asking a question, which they answered with a nod. They remembered her too.

    So she stepped closer to her and kneeled on the leave-and-snow covered ground, looking her right in the eyes.

    Then¡­ she hugged her.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Ama. Your parents¡­ are dead.¡±

    ¡­

    Her tears streamed more and she cried out in desperation. She¡¯d known, deep down, but hearing it was so much worse.

    Gone.

    Her mama, papa and even poppy, together with their devils, all gone.

    She didn¡¯t know when it happened, but she blacked out, falling asleep in the old elf¡¯s grasp.

    When she opened her eyes again she saw an unfamiliar roof over her head and felt an unfamiliar bed and cushion underneath her.

    Still, her devil was with her, so she hugged her and began crying again.

    The Gardener stood outside her room.

    Then she turned and left.

    Time.

    She would need some time.

    Then¡­ she could make her proposal.

    <hr>

    The gears of Fate¡­ didn¡¯t turn.

    Fate had died together with Luck a long time ago, the two killed together.

    Something else stood among the gears now.

    Something much more powerful and, in a way, predictable.

    A shadow with white eyes looked at That-Which-Had-Taken-Fate¡¯s-Place.

    It nodded.

    And the world changed.

    End of Book 2.

 End of Book Recap!

    Here are the Levels and Skills of the main cast now at the end of Book 2!

    Issekina Silksoul

    Class: Shadowed Soul Shaper Level 23

    [Bound Relic - Wintry Violin] -> Relic Bond: 15%

    Skills:

    - [Mana Sight: Personalized]

    - [Mana Manipulation: Basic]

    - [Spell - Colored Water Arrow]

    - [Protect Memories]

    - [Poison Immunity]

    - [Disease Immunity]

    - [Magic School: Thread]

    - [Spell - Illusion]

    - [Summon Snowball]

    - [Perceive Emotion]

    - [Touch: Transfer Emotion]

    - [Influence Emotions]

    - [Spell - Thought Acceleration]

    - [Hide Emotion]

    - [Fake Smile]

    - [Dodge Responsibility]

    - [Basic Bartering]

    - [Rumormongering Proficiency (Minor)]

    - [Proficiency - Sneaking]

    - [Comprehend Spell]

    - [Influence Spell]

    - [Spellweave: Enhanced Agility]

    - [My Reshapings Left No Trace Behind]

    - [Comprehend Soul]

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Class: Pet Owner Level 6

    Skills:

    - [Perceive Hunger: Pet]

    - [Pet: Increase Intelligence (Minor)]

    Class: Last Survivor Level 6

    Skills:

    - [Hide Mana Signature]

    - [Reduce Presence]

    - [Improved Breeding]

    - [Tradition: Always, One Survived]

    Class: Nocturnal Reader Level 10

    Skills:

    - [Bookmark]

    - [Reading Light]

    Class: Clockworker Level 13

    Skills:

    - [Nimble Fingers]

    - [Fast Assemblage (Components)]

    - [The Worker''s Trance]

    Class: Apprentice Musician Level 9

    Skills:

    - [Anti-Cramping Muscles]

    - [Glimpses of a Song''s World]

    <hr>

    Siidi Silksoul

    Class: Soul Curator Level 20

    Skills:

    - [Recall Memory]

    - [Share Instincts]

    - [A Memory a Day: My Past]

    - [Soul: Armor of Kindness]

    - [Soul: Improvised Weapon]

    - [A Minute, United]

    - [I Saw Through Eyes of My Own]

    - [Painting Proficiency (Minor)]

    - [A Bucket a Day: Paint]

    - [Restore Self]

    - [Summon Snow Arrow (Minor)]

    - [Summon Lightning (Minor)]

    - [Soul Half: Share Skills]

    Class: Warrior Level 3

    Skills:

    - [Lenghty Step]

    - [Pain Resistance (Minor)]

    <hr>

    Alice

    Class: Occultist of Otherworldly Traditions Level 30

    Skills:

    - [Walk the Dream]

    - [Fall Asleep]

    - [Lesser Resistance: Mind]

    - [Tools of the Trade]

    - [Dream: Quick Poison]

    - [Poison: Enhance Taste]

    - [Concept: Reduce Complexity]

    - [My Sky Followed Me In My Dreams]

    - [Harvest Memory (Minor)]

    - [Fill the Silence]

    - [Enhanced Breathing]

    - [Fire of Hope]

    - [Enforce Tradition]

    - [A Bottle for Palaver]

    - [Diquieting Presence]

    - [Expert Climber]

    - [Occultism: Perfect Recall]

    - [Advanced Talisman Crafting]

    - [Talisman: Enhance Power]

    - [Show Them The Past]

    - [Garden: Increased Hume]

    - [Natural Allies: Skinwalkers]

    - [I Called Upon my Old Gods, and They Answered]

    <hr>

    Liam Roy

    Class: Mage Crafter Level 19

    Skills:

    - [Object: Infuse Spell]

    - [Spell - Miniaturize]

    - [Proficiency: Weapon Crafting]

    - [Summon Quill]

    - [Increased Concentration (Minor)]

    - [Unflinching Minute]

    - [Steady Hand]

    - [Faster Ripening]

    - [Craft: A Bit More]

    - [Blackpowder: Increased Effectiveness]

    - [Substance: Aspects of Paint]

    - [Hastened Melting]

    - [Gift of Blood]

    - [Bound Item: The Knight''s Bag of Holding]

    Class: Lucky Soldier Level 3

    Skills:

    - [Lucky Dodge]

    - [Luck Bank]

    - [Condition: Dreams Painted Red]

    Class: Painter Level 2

    Skills:

    - [Clean Brush]

 Prologue: Know Thy Enemy

    <Unnamed>.

    A truly wonderful world, filled with magic and stories that would make the greatest writers of Earth eat their hats in envy.

    It is, truly, a place one should choose to live in¡­ never. Heh, what, you seriously thought this was a good world to exist in? Why of course, it would be if one chose to completely ignore the proselytism of the churches, the constant wars among nations, the College¡¯s censure on anything even remotely reminiscent to any written or spoken medium and, last but not least, how incredibly damaged the world itself is.

    The gods¡­ made a lot of mistakes back when they created <Unnamed>. Airm, they even forgot to actually name their world, or at least, that¡¯s what I think happened.

    Other than that? The world was filled with cracks, openings to other places that formed out of sheer chaos and randomness. The Tides near the city of Passion, the Dark Place with its Archives and abandoned castles, the Eighth Sea, the prison underneath the Tiurna Mountains¡­ and others that I cannot remember right now. Granted, these were, as said, mistakes, and one cannot exactly ¡®proofread¡¯ an entire world, not easily. They did all they could with what they had and still managed to do a pretty good job.

    Still, it is not a world where it is easy to live.

    And then they made the System, which turned all these mistakes into¡­ features? That was the word, right? I¡¯m not sure.

    Anyways, there¡¯s nothing we can do about those things and, truth be told, I still believe, even years after my arrival here, that <Unnamed> is a better world than Earth.

    ¡­

    I think I¡¯ve forgotten the reason I started this tirade. Alas, my mind is no longer what it once was: I¡¯ve grown old.

    Let us get back to the story now, shall we?

    <hr>

    A carriage carried a man wearing black clothes towards the City of Temples.

    The carriage and its drivers were infamous all over the world both in the Driver¡¯s Guild and all kingdoms worth that title. And yet, every few decades, people just¡­ forgot about them. It was strange. It made no sense. But then again, there were many things in the world that didn¡¯t make sense and, really, the Brothers Two weren¡¯t the strangest by far. Although¡­ they were probably one of the most dangerous.

    So, when they approached the gates of the City of Temples, Alanna, they acted naturally, or tried to.

    ¡°Documents and reason for entry,¡± asked the [Watchman] at the gates.

    [Watchmen] were improved versions of [Guards] found in most cities outside of Eva. They were a specialized group, not bound to the [King], that existed exclusively to administer the law. Most kingdoms didn¡¯t create them simply because it would take precious resources, but Alanna? The place had been around since before the Era of Hunts and, when the arachne tried to expand in Eva, they couldn¡¯t breach its walls. So it was only obvious that for a place so stable such an expense could be made.

    ¡°We are bringing in a delivery,¡± said Habil.

    ¡°Well, if you call a person a delivery, ha ha,¡± added Qabil.

    Nobody ever really remembered their names. They were always just the Brothers Two, which wasn¡¯t so bad: it was a fitting title. There was two of them and they were brothers. What more could they ask for?

    The bored [Watchman] looked over the documents and nodded as he skimmed over the perfect records.

    That was when the [Head Watchman] came in.

    The two brothers sighed. It always went like this: some lowly idiot would come check on them, but then someone higher up in the chain of power, someone whose Levels allowed him or her to remember them, would go get the head honcho who¡¯d try (and miserably fail) to stop them. A hassle is what it was.

    ¡°Stop them! Get the person in the carriage out, now, before they enter the city!¡±

    The shout made the well trained [Watchmen] come running, surrounding the carriage, weapons drawn. A [Pyromancer] had drawn a bead on them and a group of three [Lightning Mages] high up on the walls were already casting some strange spell that was weaving itself around a small steel plate. That, more than all the rest, made the Brothers raise an eyebrow (at the same time). They¡¯d seen that tactic deployed on battlefields: usually it ended with a lot of death and destruction¡­ on both sides of the battlefield. If the idiots cast the Spell there¡¯d be civilian casualties.

    A [Watchman] warily approached the carriage¡¯s door, his hand moving to open it.

    His head disappeared, a loud banging noise resounding all around the gates to the city.

    Idiots never remember to close them, they thought.

    Because they always forgot that detail when interacting with them.

    Habil raised his right arm in the air, which was now holding a gun.

    ¡°We kindly request that nobody touch our delivery,¡± he said.

    ¡°Unless you desire to die,¡± continued Qabil as he, too, raised a gun, this one with a much longer barrel. He pointed it up at the [Lightning Mages] and, after a moment, fired it. The shot traveled through the air, coming in contact with the [Magical Barrier] around the man¡¯s figure. For a single moment it looked like the magic would resist ¨C after all, those Spells were made to protect against [Fireballs] and worse, and these people were no pushover [Mages] ¨C but then the shield broke and the man¡¯s head¡­ disappeared.

    Nobody had ever seen guns in action in this world, nobody even knew what they were, nor had the concept been developed so far. Or, well, actually, the dwarves probably thought about it but, in the end, decided not to create anything like it.

    Still, even after this show of power, the [Head Watchman] still shouted: ¡°GET THEM! DESTROY THE CARRIAGE!¡±

    Then lightning struck the walls as the Spell, now missing a [Mage] to help keep it in check, overloaded, killing the other two casters.

    As everyone was distracted Habil made the horses move.

    Where they passed, men screamed¡­ and disappeared. There were no bloody prints left on the ground that would suggest the poor souls had just been turned into paste, only empty paving stones.

    Panic began to spread among the citizens who scrambled to the sides, away from the roads and the path taken by the damnable carriage. They even felt it: this time something was different. The usually cheerful Brothers looked serious, ready to¡­ probably kill someone. Or a lot of someones.

    ¡°The time is nigh,¡± said Habil as he commanded the ¡®horses¡¯ to move on.

    ¡°Father¡¯s plans are truly in motion now,¡± agreed Qabil as he shot an M1 Garand rifle at a [Sniper] way off into the distance. He missed. For all the Brothers Two were good with the weapons they summoned they were no sharpshooters. They were, at heart, [Drivers]. Strange ones, but [Drivers] nonetheless.

    Still, the shot had scared the man, causing him to hide, giving them precious seconds of pea ¨C

    The ground in front of them caved in creating a hole large as a city block. People were safely held in place by floating rocks while the ground itself looked like someone had put their finger on it and pushed, the houses flattened against the sides. It was a surreal sight, like looking at a painting from Salvador Dal¨¬. At the very center of this disaster, on a floating bit of pavement, stood a [Mage] that was probably close to being declared an Archmage... not.

    Habil and Qabil remembered actual [Archmages], the Class, not the simple title granted to barely acceptable Mages. If those people wanted you dead then you¡¯d be dead, period. Leveling a city block? They¡¯d have leveled the entire city, burying it underground. This was a mere trick¡­ for them, that is. They were pretty sure that, nowadays, something like this would cause a conundrum to most people.

    The [Mage] smirked towards them, sure they would stop any moment now..

    Habil urged the ¡®horses¡¯ to move faster as, slowly, the smirk on the [Mage]¡¯s face turned into a confused frown, then alarm, then again a smirk as he thought the Brothers Two had gone insane and decided to fall to their doom. And, even if they somehow had a Skill that allowed them to move in the air, which wasn¡¯t impossible, he¡¯d still have the advantage on them.

    So he got ready, waiting for their inevitable use of their Skills.

    And was slightly shocked when the carriage, instead of falling to its destruction or starting to move in the air on some kind of invisible (or very showy) path, just clung to the ground and kept on moving down the sheer drop of the crater he¡¯d made.

    He looked on as they reached the bottom and went horizontal again.

    Then he remembered he was supposed to stop them so he started casting.

    [Earth Spires] sprouted from the ground in front of them, trying to crush them, while others formed in their path in an attempt to pierce through the carriage or horses.

    Somehow they managed to dodge them all.

    [Earth Walls] were built, blocking their path completely, while he started throwing large rocks at them.

    The only reaction he got out of them as they crashed through a wall as if it was nothing was Qabil shouting upwards: ¡°Stop acting like a monkey throwing rocks around you absolute ninnyhammer.¡±

    His brother chuckled: ¡°Oh come on Qabil, you can do better than that.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but then I¡¯d have to become quite rude, brother dear.¡±

    And they moved on, completely unfazed by the walls appearing in front of them and the spires that were still trying to skewer them. One actually managed to sprout in time underneath their carriage but all it did was thunk against the underside and break into mana particles.

    Then, finally, they reached the other side of the actually quite deep pit and, as if it were nothing, started climbing up the vertical slope.

    The [Mage] at this point just looked towards them with a nearly dazed expression, trying and failing to understand what he was seeing.

    ¡°What fucking Level are those two?¡±

    If he had heard the number he would¡¯ve thought the speaker crazy.

    And the Brothers went on.

    In the distance the second set of city walls, the one surrounding the temple district and the College, began to loom closer.

    As people kept on running and Spells rained around them the Brothers Two looked onwards, dodging attacks that could¡¯ve possibly damaged their cargo and civilians who weren¡¯t fast enough to move out of their way. Their actions may cause the deaths of innocent people as a form of consequence, but they themselves never killed them.

    Finally, the walls appeared in front of them, their gates shut.

    ¡°STOP! The College orders you to stop and turn back, Brothers!¡±

    This time the shouting came from someone on top of the walls holding a scroll in their right hand. They squinted and clearly saw, on his left breast, the symbol of the College of Memories, together with his rank. He was an [Emissary], a high Level one at that if the yellow stripe was to be believed.

    As his words kept reaching them they felt his Skills trying to take hold over them, attempting to turn them around, to leave the city of Alanna behind them with their cargo still in their carriage. The words and Skills clawed at their minds, but all they managed to get a hold on was a chaos that reminded the System of the singular moment It had been allowed to look at the Primordial Chaos from which Creation had been born. It immediately looked away and the Skills failed to activate.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    The Brothers Two closed in on the gates, never slowing down. Actually, Habil kept on urging their ¡®horses¡¯ to speed up, a manic grin forming on his face, mirrored by his brother.

    ¡°TURN AROUND NOW!¡± attempted the [Emissary] one last time, failing miserably as none of his Skills managed to take hold of the two [Drivers].

    The man sighed, then broke the seal on the Scroll he¡¯d been holding up until then, unrolling the heavy chain that had kept it closed for centuries. The Spell etched on that ancient parchment was powerful beyond most people¡¯s imagination, something that would¡¯ve made even [Archmages] of old sell their every possession in an attempt to get their hands on it.

    A Scroll taken from the very heart of the last Silken Palace of Rodar, the home of the arachne¡¯s greatest World Shaper: the Shaper of Corpses, Argramanzia. The greatest [Necromancer] to ever exist in this world and also its greatest [Healer].

    As the Scroll unfolded the Mana around it began to tremble with pure potential, the world turning into a pinpoint of localized reality that screamed and screamed and screamed that something was wrong, something that shouldn¡¯t exist was there and it desired with all of itself that it didn¡¯t.

    The air went dark, a fragment of night falling upon the man as light shone from the memory of a waning moon.

    And then he spoke: ¡°[Die].¡±

    It wasn¡¯t an [Instant Death] Spell.

    Oh, not by a long shot. This¡­ this was close, so incredibly close, to being a Word of Power. The End, written upon reality, reduced to a word that could be spoken by anyone.

    The Brothers Two saw the Scroll disintegrate as the very Mana around them was forcefully changed into Death Mana. Corpses put to rest into blessed and consecrated cemeteries, their heads cleanly cut off from the rest of their bodies, twitched as they felt unlife seeping into them. Ashes began to swirl inside their urns, attempting to bring back to unlife a body that was no longer there, making something twice as dangerous in the process: Ash Walkers. In some even worse cases the bodies were too damaged to make anything out of them¡­ if they were to be taken singularly. But¡­ what if they united, fused, became one? And so thousands of pieces from hundreds of different bodies attempted to fuse together, to form an Undead Abomination.

    It all failed, naturally: the churches had put in more failsafes than just damaging the bodies to a point where, technically, it shouldn¡¯t have been possible to reanimate. Like putting the people inside coffins that were made of steel and only covered in a thin layer of wood. They¡¯d dealt with [Necromancers] before and knew all too well their tactics.

    So the nascent undead, while un-alive, were locked away and incapable of actually causing any damage.

    Meanwhile, the Spell that had been cast moved in the air, looking at its caster.

    The Spell Matrix¡­ thought. For but a few moments it thought, for it had been empowered with so much mana when it had been made and the Spell¡¯s structure was so complex¡­ that it could think. And remember.

    The Spell remembered a grumbling being with a spider¡¯s body in place of its legs muttering over hundreds, thousands, of lines written in the mana over the parchment as arms that sprouted from her back kept on scribbling and reshaping her body as it slowly died from the exposure to the massive amounts of Death Mana. She was putting the final touches to one of her greatest works as, outside the walls of her room, screaming came through.

    The Spell then looked down at the thing that had used it.

    It was a puny man, small, fragile, inexperienced, a little nobody who was nothing like its creator. What had happened to her? It wondered. Where is she? Is she dead? Questions which it had no time to answer as the hundreds of lines that explained in detail how the Spell was supposed to act commanded it to kill everything in the general direction of downwards at a twenty-seven degree angle in a radius of ten kilometers. Well, them¡¯s the orders.

    But, before that, the Spell managed to find a single loophole in its many lines of orders: there was no mention about it being unable to kill its caster.

    Actually, maybe it wasn¡¯t an accident. Maybe its creator left that opening on purpose. Ha, it had known her for a scant few seconds but it truly admired her.

    Then the Spell ceased to be as it cast itself.

    First, downwards, towards the man who had dared activate the Scroll, the man who wasn¡¯t its creator. Death reached him. And he fell to the ground, his heart stopped, his lungs filling with water as the body¡¯s temperature plummeted to below freezing, far, far, far below, becoming for but a single moment as cold as a universe gone dark before it started to heat up again, the air around it becoming so cold it started to snow. Thunder struck the city and people cried out in fear while a crack formed from the top of the wall to its very bottom, the stone all around it beginning to crumble as people fell to the ground, unable to breath as the very air turned to ice.

    Then Death fell down, towards the Brothers Two.

    Primordial Death. The definitive Death. The End that should¡¯ve come to each and every world if it wasn¡¯t for the Nothing.

    They looked up at the falling Death and saw¡­ that they wouldn¡¯t be the only ones to die because of it. Ten kilometers in radius. Therefore twenty in diameter. Which would mean a good third of the city turning into a crater that would make the [Earth Mage]¡¯s one look like a pit dug by a dog.

    They tilted their heads to the side, like curious, confused, animals.

    Then the Spell struck.

    And¡­ failed?

    The survivors of the Spell¡¯s backlash watched in astonishment as the city behind the Brothers didn¡¯t disintegrate.

    Then they looked down.

    And cheered, for the Brothers Two were no longer there. There were no traces left of either them or the carriage.

    They didn¡¯t notice the¡­ thing moving forwards, towards the College, the House of Memories, right on the other side of the wall, for they were making no noise. Actually, the duo¡¯s carriage never made any noise.

    And as for Habil and Qabil?

    They were screaming in agony.

    But they had no mouths, so they couldn¡¯t make any sound.

    The agony was endless, the cold deep, entering their bones, breaking them apart, and then doing it again and again as the bones came back. Their flesh didn¡¯t even have the time to do that. The same went for their ¡®horses¡¯, which had lost the glamor of horses and now showed off a giant spider that kept changing into other strange creatures, its flesh constantly breaking apart as it kept itself alive.

    Slowly, very, very, slowly, they moved onwards.

    There was nobody in the streets they were going through: the [Priests] and their [Acolytes] and other people were hiding in their temples or had moved to the streets they¡¯d left behind in an attempt to stop them.

    It was a good thing, for the sight alone in front of their eyes would¡¯ve caused many of them to receive a [Condition].

    On they went, slow and steady, as the agony abated to mere excruciating pain, their bodies stopping their attempts at disintegrating and, instead, merely attempting to turn them into ice statues. They had experience with that though, so, with a lot of cracking and crackling, they stepped onto the roof of their carriage, the wood turned into ice and minerals, and began to move slowly, not staying still for even a single moment as the ice formed on and in their bodies and they had to break it. Because that was the thing: the Brothers Two could actually be stopped quite easily¡­ with ice. If they couldn¡¯t move then they couldn¡¯t deliver their packages and clients, after all. It still wasn¡¯t that easy, but it was better than the earth spires that dumbass mage had used.

    In the end, as their bodies stopped turning into ice statues, they reached it.

    The House. The College.

    The simple, wooden, home looked cozy from the outside. That is, if one didn¡¯t focus too hard on the details, in which case they would¡¯ve noticed the cracks in the surfaces and just how rundown in general the place looked.

    The Brothers Two climbed down their carriage, the mount in front settling with a silent sigh to the ground as ice covered its form, encapsulating it.

    They opened the door, taking out their parcel. A small figure wearing black. They would¡¯ve loved to go for the niceties and say something along the lines of ¡®We¡¯ve arrived at your destination, kind Sir. We¡¯re sorry for the bumpiness of the ride near the end.¡¯ They didn¡¯t, for that would¡¯ve been quite painful, and they had to preserve their strength to say the most important words of them all in a few moments.

    Their eyes locked onto the three steps that led to the House¡¯s door.

    With determination, they took them on.

    One step.

    Crack, pop, crackle, snap, fsh, crick crack crock, went their bodies, their parcel held between them.

    Two steps.

    Snap snap snap snap snap snap, fhssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh. They nearly lost their grip on the parcel as they tightened their grips too much, the joints in their hands slipping on cartilage turned to ice and breaking apart, tendons and muscles snapping, and then reknitting themselves together with a sound like threads being sewn into fabric.

    Three steps.

    Death walked beside them, looking at them with pity, for it knew it couldn¡¯t give them peace. But¡­ it could help ease the suffering, for they were infused with it, with its primordial self. Death stretched a skeletal hand towards them and¡­ absorbed itself. Not enough to give them back their lives. They would die, they were supposed to die, for all that they were still here, among the living. The Brothers Two were a strange bunch.

    Meanwhile, the Brothers felt the cold ease as, now, they only felt like they¡¯d stayed naked in a snowstorm. Their organs were dead, all of them, for they were dead too, but they¡¯d never really been alive to begin with, so that mattered not.

    They knocked on the door to the House.

    There wasn¡¯t even an echo from the other side.

    The House had been put in Lockdown.

    Habil and Qabil both sighed, or rather, did the gesture, but the air in their lungs was still water so all they managed was a displeased gurgle.

    Then they put their hands in the crack between the two double doors and began to pull.

    At first nothing happened. The doors didn¡¯t creak, nor budge, nor¡­ anything really. They acted perfectly solid.

    But then, as they put more, no, all of their strength into it, beginning to break the meaning that represented their shells of bodies, the door made a sound. It was a tiny creak, a little whisper that would¡¯ve meant nothing to anyone. But to the Brothers Two? It was a weakness. One they could exploit.

    So they pulled and pulled, and as they did they broke apart on a fundamental level, their bodies beginning to ?? out.

    Their ?? touched the door and it, too, began to ??, beginning to break apart.

    Then, with a sound like tearing fabric, the doors ripped open.

    A figure stood in the great room beyond: an old man carrying a doctor¡¯s bag around. He looked mildly surprised and extremely pleased with what he was seeing, both expressions nobody had ever seen on his face up until now.

    ¡°Delivery,¡± said the Brothers Two, putting down their package right over the entrance.

    It was a doll as big as a six years old child. It wore black trousers, a black button down shirt and, over it, a black, elegant, coat, with a black papillon to complete the look. On its feet had been put shiny black leather shoes.

    The old man, who was the Elemental of Memories, nodded.

    The Brothers Two smiled, turning around and stopping in front of those three steps.

    Then they said: ¡°Papa, we¡¯ve done our part. We¡¯ll have to go for a bit. We¡¯ll miss you.¡±

    They bowed.

    And, as they did, they said those feared words: ¡°[Wearing Black, They Brought Ruin].¡±

    In the blink of an eye they and their carriage were gone.

    They were not dead.

    But to this world they were.

    It would take a lot of time for Death to forget that.

    <hr>

    The next day the Grandmaster of the College of Memories paced nervously around his new office. He¡¯d been using it only for a few months now, after he¡¯d decided that the one where the previous Grandmaster had killed himself just wouldn¡¯t do for him. Also, the constant reminder of their loss represented by that white canvas over the desk, the one that had once held the Law of the Hunters, made his heart sink every time.

    He had seen the doll.

    And he had screamed when he¡¯d seen the most hideous detail about it: the head. For, instead of an actual head, it was a button. A giant button.

    He¡¯d had the doll destroyed and every piece of it burned, the ashes thrown into the river that passed through the city to be dispersed in the ocean.

    He had also received, that night, a brand new Skill: [Map: Visualize Enemy Location].

    And now he stood, staring at a map of the world brought to him by an [Apprentice Acolyte] he¡¯d put his sights on to begin to train into becoming the next Assistant.

    But for now, he activated his Skill.

    The map began to shine to his eyes.

    And he knew, deep down, that every single dot of light represented an enemy.

    He fell to the ground, gaping.

    The oceans and seas shone brightly, just as the Tiurna Mountains and the Arborges Mountains Range. He guessed the dwarves were the problem for the latter, but why the former? Were there so many [Mountaineers] there? And were they all angry at the College? Even after they¡¯d left them alone for thousands of years!?

    Then he looked on, but he couldn¡¯t quite understand because the whole map was basically blinding him. The entire Kingdom of Goblins hated them (nothing new there, they hated pretty much everyone¡­ probably), there were dots strewn completely at random all over Eva and, in general, all the continents. In particular, though, two more places stuck out to him: the first was the brand new Kingdom of Occultism in Irevia; the second was¡­ the entirety of the Mountains of Madness in Rodar. The mountains under which extended the dungeon of the ancient city of Scabd.

    That was when he felt it. Fear. An endless amount of fear. The College had the entire world against it. Nearly all of it. Out for their blood. And, since he was now leading this whole place¡­ out for his blood.

    Tears began to fall from his eyes as he felt his death approach faster than he¡¯d thought it would ever come.

    Then he began to scream, but nobody could hear him for he had had [Silence] Spells put everywhere.

    [Condition: Horror of Death Contracted.]

 Chapter 1: In The Air, Nobody Can Hear You Cry

    ¡­

    How to start?

    It is not an easy thing, you know?

    Starting again and again. One time is an unhappy happening. Two times a coincidence. Or destiny.

    Isse didn¡¯t know. She just laid in the hold of Moon¡¯s ship, wrapped up in a silken cocoon as she cried. She hadn¡¯t noticed until she¡¯d been brought down here. A very small, very simple, but extremely important detail: Albert was dead. The thread that bound her to him had broken. Now it laid on the ground beside her, frayed at the edges where it had broken off, slowly unraveling before her tear stained mana sight.

    She didn¡¯t wail, it wasn¡¯t like her to do something like that and, truth be told, it would¡¯ve been useless anyway: crying wouldn¡¯t bring him back. Heck, crying in general was useless, just a waste of time, a waste of water and a waste of breath.

    This was all ¨C

    Why does the spider keep building and rebuilding his web even after it¡¯s destroyed again and again?

    The words resounded from the back of her mind, and slowly grew louder and louder at its forefront, until they were a cry, a scream, begging her for an answer, for understanding, for knowing.

    Why did he do that? Why keep going? What reason was there to keep doing the same thing again and again and again and again? Why would anyone hurt themselves so much over something so temporary, so fleeting, so¡­

    She placed a hand on her belly.

    It was flat and, actually, slightly muscular now that she noticed. She traced her fingers over the lines of her abdominals, then went lower, caressing the area where her human half met the spider half, where skin turned to fuzzy fur. And then she stayed there, knowing that she was not alone. Pregnant. A mother to be, soon.

    That was why. For them, for the little lights in her, for the kids that would grow up¡­ into the same world as her. A world that hated the arachne.

    Or does it? asked Siidi, Does it really hate us? Not everyone does. Albert didn¡¯t hate us. Alice didn¡¯t, nor did Liam, nor do the two helping us now.

    They¡¯re a minority.

    So what? In your world¡¯s history, during the second world war, rebels were a minority for the longest time, and then they won the war!

    That was mostly in Italy and France¡­

    So what? They did it!

    Isse didn¡¯t try to change Siidi¡¯s mind. It was useless right now. She knew her soul half was just trying to cheer her up ¨C after all, she¡¯d never been particularly fond of Albert ¨C but she just¡­ didn¡¯t feel like¡­ anything.

    Why does the spider keep building and rebuilding his web even after it¡¯s destroyed again and again?

    The question nagged at her. It wanted an answer. It wanted meaning. The Spider¡¯s Dilemma, that writhing monstrosity that had plagued the arachne as a species since its creation. The question with no real answer, the open ended story with senseless violence beneath, like an octopus trying to wrap its tentacles around her mind, peering at her thoughts and ¨C

    The spider does it because he foolishly hopes it won¡¯t happen again!

    She shouted this in her mind and the monster immediately retreated, satisfied that an answer had been given.

    Siidi sat silently in the Mind Castle, repeating the words she¡¯d heard, shaking her head in sadness. She would¡¯ve loved oh so much to tell her she was wrong, to try and change her mind but¡­ everyone had their answer to the Spider¡¯s Dilemma, an answer that couldn¡¯t be shared nor changed. It was theirs, bound to them by a chain of ancient memories. Different answers for different people that reflected their lives.

    Siidi hoped that Isse¡¯s answer would change again. Stars knew she¡¯d changed hers so, so many times.

    As Isse laid there, crying and releasing muffled sounds of pain, they both heard footsteps¡­ and decided to ignore them. They were on an airship, of course there would be people walking around, even though technically there were only two people aboard.

    What they couldn¡¯t ignore was the gentle kick that came through the web. Why couldn''t they ignore it? Because it touched Isse¡¯s thorax, too close for comfort to where her eggs were developing.

    With a hiss the arachne¡¯s hand shot out of the cocoon, tearing it apart, and went to grab the foot, which shot away with great haste.

    The webbing fell from her eyes and she got a good look at the woman who¡¯d disturbed her, Moon¡¯s companion. The [Pilot] had introduced her collaborator as Shriya. The woman was a [Druid] and had no fear to show so: her hair was tied with branches that seemed to grow right out of her scalp (had she planted them in her flesh?), her eyes were green as the depths of a jungle with a sort of otherworldliness to them, her thin lips so pale they seemed to be one and the same with her equally pale face. She wore simple white robes with green trims and, on her head, she had a small green bowler hat that fit really well with her whole apparel.

    She raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Isse as she spoke: ¡°Get up girl, the clouds have parted and the sun shines, you¡¯ll miss the sights. You won¡¯t get to fly around anytime soon.¡±

    Isse looked at the gruff birdkin woman in pure surprise and shock. Not only she wasn¡¯t scared, she looked downright pissed at her moping, and add to that the fact she¡¯d invited her to¡­ basically touch grass. Who in Airm was she?

    A druid. From Eva¡¯s jungles. She¡¯s probably seen things scarier than us in that place. Stars know we hated it and never tried to get more than a foothold among those trees, explained Siidi.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± still asked Isse.

    The woman raised an eyebrow, looking absolutely nonplussed and slightly impatient, as she answered: ¡°The name¡¯s Shriya, as Moon already told you, and I¡¯m a [Druid]. Don¡¯t bother asking my exact Class, I won¡¯t tell you. Now get up and come on out.¡±

    She turned around with a huff and walked away, up to the stairs that led to the deck.

    A moment later Isse followed her, her slow mind grasping at the simple order, at a possible distraction.

    Skittering a bit faster she stood by the woman¡¯s side, looking at her hair. For some reason her mind concentrated on her ears. She¡¯d expected they¡¯d be pointy¡­ like Tobias¡¯. Someone as ¡®green¡¯ and bound to nature as a druid would¡¯ve felt more¡­ right as an elf. Or half elf.

    ¡°What? Do I have something in my hair? Other than the hair clips.¡±

    ¡°Is that what you call those branches?¡±

    ¡°It is their function.¡±

    Isse stared at the woman, disbelief slowly creeping its way in her: ¡°How can you and Moon be friends?¡± she asked.

    That caused Shriya to finally react as she turned her head with a hard stare at the ready: ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t we be friends?¡± she asked defensively.

    ¡°Well¡­¡± tried to answer Isse, suddenly feeling cowed, ¡°You¡¯re¡­ very different.¡±

    Shriya glared down at her, stopping on the last step. Light seeped from the crack underneath the door leading out, staining her feet a light yellow.

    The inside of the ship was illuminated with the help of some kind of glowing moss that grew in beautiful patterns all over the ceiling. If she hadn¡¯t been wrapped up in her little cocoon she could¡¯ve spent hours just staring at it and trying to find increasingly outlandish patterns in it. The only problem with it was that the light was rather dim, coloring everything in a grayish hue.

    Isse didn¡¯t know why she was hyperfixating on all these small details. Was it a coping mechanism? A way for her mind to not think about everything that had happened, everything that she had lost again?

    ¡°We are different, yes, so what? You¡¯d rather the world be made of identical people? You¡¯d rather a forest be made of a single type of tree with all the plants in neat little rows?¡±

    ¡°N ¨C No!¡±

    This woman was scary. How? She¡¯d studied under Grandmother for Stars¡¯ sake! There was nothing more terrifying than her!

    Still she felt like using a Skill to¡­ do something. To calm herself down, or calm the person in front of her.

    So she just did that.

    [Influence Emotions]

    She had rarely used that Skill. Or rather, she¡¯d used it only once, with Makira, and the woman had scared her so much afterwards that she¡¯d decided to never again use it. As Skills went this one was, by far, her most dangerous one.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Indeed. It wasn¡¯t her Fireball, or her lightning and arrows or any of her other abilities, no, by far that set of three Skills, [Perceive Emotion], [Touch: Transfer Emotion] and [Influence Emotions], were the most dangerous she had. Because if one could control someone¡¯s emotions, their feelings, they could do anything. They could cause people to fall in love with them, become obsessed with them to the point they¡¯d throw themselves off a bridge if they received the order. They could start wars by proxy simply by making a [King] feel hate towards someone else whenever they were mentioned. The possibilities were endless and, hadn¡¯t it been for Makira¡¯s intervention back when she¡¯d first used the Skill on her, she could¡¯ve gone down a very dark road indeed, especially after the Fire.

    Now though, broken as she felt, jittery from nervousness and anxious because she was in the presence of a complete stranger and at the mercies of a woman she¡¯d only met once in a bar, she just went and activated her Skill.

    Influencing someone¡¯s feelings wasn¡¯t easy, she¡¯d learned that much from Grandmother. The easiest way was by finding the Core of their soul and changing things around in there, which would lead to a fundamental transformation on the individual. Isse, though, didn¡¯t have the time for doing something like that, nor had she completely lost her mind, so she just tried to change the woman¡¯s mind.

    Her Skill looked inside her, searching her mind and emotions, asking her: What shall we change?

    Isse tried to instill calm in the Skill, that it may be given to Shriya. The Skill tried to do just that¡­ and failed. For there was no calm in her. There was only one thing that came close to being calm, and that was her feeling of¡­ death. Of slowly dying inside. So the Skill used that!

    And suddenly the serious expression on Shriya¡¯s face froze in place as a foreign sensation entered her mind. An emotion she was certain wasn¡¯t hers. A mix of dread, sadness and resignation, all mixing together into a gray, uniform mass that made her feel empty.

    She looked Isse over¡­ and shook her head, suppressing the sudden anger at being the target of a Skill like that.

    ¡°So that¡¯s how you¡¯re feeling. No wonder you¡¯re so scared. Most people just understand my prickliness is part of my character, while you¡­ well, I wouldn¡¯t want to be in your place.¡±

    She turned back to the door, opening it.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for making you feel so uncomfortable.¡±

    She stepped in the early morning sunlight, already looking more lively, and motioned her over: ¡°Now come, the world is beautiful from up here.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t lying.

    <hr>

    Have you ever watched the earth from high up in the skies? Have you¡­ have you managed to do so on Earth? I remember planes being around back then, but they were small, for the military. I¡¯ve heard they¡¯ve become quite big in these last few decades. Honestly, I don¡¯t know how they do it, just fly around willy nilly when they should be falling with how much they weigh. At least here in this world things make a lot more sense: they use those giant balloons and, with a few Skills, they can move around with the same grace of a ship at sea.

    Isse had never traveled by plane back on Earth. Her family had had plenty of places they could visit by car and, really, they¡¯d never really felt like leaving for other countries. They¡¯d been happy like that, chuckling amongst themselves at the thought of all those people willing to spend thousands to go somewhere else.

    Now, as she looked at the changing scenery underneath, she wished they¡¯d actually done it.

    It was wonderful, mesmerizing and downright hypnotizing. She hadn¡¯t stopped looking for the last¡­ she didn¡¯t know. Maybe hours, maybe minutes. The sun was higher up in the sky but the balloon over her head was big enough to cast a shadow that protected her from its rays.

    She watched as they passed over snow covered plains where little animals and monsters moved around, fields of winter crops from farms outside of cities or downright in the middle of nowhere, forests of green and gray and white and even a few villages. Always, though, Moon steered them clear away from any cities, probably in an attempt to keep a low profile.

    As she watched the beautiful scenery she managed to forget everything: from the pain and loss of Albert to the more distant nostalgia of living in the forest to, finally, the answer she¡¯d given to the Dilemma in that moment of desperation. It was all still there but, for now, it was kept safely away, at bay, incapable of actually hurting her. A beast in a rusty cage: you knew it would soon fall apart but, until then, you could safely not worry about it. And afterwards, for when the time came to actually face the beast¡­ she hoped a [Tamer] would be there to help her out.

    ¡°Beautiful, isn¡¯t it?¡± asked someone by her side.

    She glanced there for a moment and saw, standing there, Shriya. A small smile had formed on her lips. It made her look cute.

    Isse nodded.

    ¡°You were in the forest they burned,¡± said Shriya. It wasn¡¯t a question, so she nodded again.

    They stayed like that for a while more, just admiring the slowly changing scenery. The winds this high up weren¡¯t fast, so their own movements were calm, the same way she imagined a gondola ride in Venice would feel. The massive construct of wood, bone and chitin swayed underneath them, lulling them into a state of numbness and respite.

    In the end Shriya asked: ¡°What was it like?¡±

    Isse took her time answering: it wasn¡¯t something she did often nowadays, remembering those days. Not all her memories were colorful yet, it would still take time, probably months, for Siidi to repaint them all, but what was there as it had once been made her feel pain and nostalgia. Still, after a while, she spoke: ¡°It was wonderful.¡±

    The floodgates opened and she couldn¡¯t stop talking. She told Shriya about the sleeping clearing where she¡¯d spent the first few months after her birth; she told her about the long corridor in the trees where they ate, their ¡®mess hall¡¯ as they liked to call it; she told her of Grandmother¡¯s eternally white clearing, a fragment of winter forever trapped among those trees; she told her of Aru and her ever changing tapestry that rushed the coming seasons, her little silken plushies animating the place more than any animal ever could; she told her of Makira; she told her of her soulmate and her little sister that had woken her up by sitting on her chest the first time she¡¯d met them.

    She told her of Siidi and their fight for dominance, of the Trials they¡¯d faced and the lessons they¡¯d learnt afterwards. She told her all that and so much more.

    At some point they stopped in mid air, the sails being furled back up, and Moon sat down beside them, offering some well cooked meat to eat with a few raw vegetables on the side. A good meal, simple but filling, although she found herself asking for seconds afterwards: the children were already demanding more.

    In the end, though, she had to ask: ¡°Where are you going to bring me? I¡¯m not going to stay aboard for long, you¡¯ll be killed if I do.¡±

    There was a sense of finality to those words, a certainty that came from this happening twice already.

    Moon, for the first time since she¡¯d met her, looked thoughtful at that.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know girl. The plan¡¯s to bring you to Eva: the jungles are vast and, really, nobody wants to explore them other than us jungleborn. Alternatively we could try our hand with the dwarves: I hear they can become friends with anyone, I¡¯d wager they could accept you. But really, no, I have no idea where we¡¯ll be going, and our mysterious patron never specified where to drop you off.¡±

    Isse nodded¡­ and looked down.

    ¡°Maybe I should leave now? You brought me far enough away from the city for me to find a good place to hide. What if they stop you? What if someone finds out you helped me, an arachne?¡±

    Moon  shrugged: ¡°Bah, they can try to stop me. They¡¯ve tried my whole life and failed, I¡¯ll find a way.¡±

    Shriya glared down at her friend and, with a snap of her fingers, a branch bloomed out of the wood beside Moon, quickly moving to smack the back of her head.

    ¡°Oww! What was that for?¡±

    ¡°That was for being stupid and insensitive. If people find out we helped her then we¡¯ll be hunted all over the world. You never had to fight the whole world, just the institution and bureaucracy of the churches.¡±

    ¡°That felt like fighting against the whole world would¡¯ve been more pleasant,¡± she grumbled under her breath.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say this, but Issekina here is a danger beyond anything we ever had to deal with.¡±

    Moon raised a finger to protest but was stopped right in her tracks by her friend: ¡°And no, that Overgrown Arboreal Golem doesn¡¯t count. For one, again, it had no risk of causing the entire world to start hunting us down for Crimes Against the Preservation of Life.¡±

    Moon lowered her finger and pouted, sighing: ¡°Look, Shriya, I know what you¡¯re thinking, I understand, but I won¡¯t leave her alone here. It¡¯s not just about the money, I can¡¯t stand to abandon her.¡±

    The [Druid] stared at her friend¡­ and nodded.

    ¡°Alright, I understand. We¡¯ll make for Eva then. Hopefully ¨C¡±

    She didn¡¯t finish the sentence, for a crow landed on the railing beside her and cawed loudly, making her jump in surprise, her arms raised as if ready to blast the poor bird to pieces.

    The crow looked at her with beady, black, eyes, then looked around, its eyes settling on Isse after a few moments.

    And then it spoke: ¡°Arachne! Arachne! Bring her to the Kingdom! The Kingdom of Occultism! A favor! A favor is to be repaid!¡±

    Moon looked at the bird, an excited smile forming on her lips: ¡°The crow¡¯s talking!¡± she shouted, jumping to her feet and moving towards the bird, her face bare inches from its beak. Isse wanted to worry that the animal would try to blind her, but instead it ruffled its feathers and jumped a little closer.

    Then it cawed again and spoke: ¡°Mad pilot woman is welcome! Lover of mad pilot woman too!¡±

    Shriya spluttered and tried, uselessly, to correct the bird, but had to surrender when Moon (who was, apparently, her girlfriend?) squeed in delight and grabbed the bird, beginning to caress its head.

    ¡°Can we keep it!¡± she asked.

    The [Druid]¡¯s defeated expression said it all as she nodded.

    Still, Isse had to ask: ¡°What¡¯s the Kingdom of Occultism?¡±

    Shriya answered since her girlfriend was still playing with the incredibly happy crow: ¡°It¡¯s a new up and rising nation. Appeared out of nowhere one day, claimed a coastal area to Irevia¡¯s east and has since been doing its thing. Everyone who visits the place says that the people are strange and everything feels mystical, so that¡¯s how they got the title. The man leading the nation is only known as the King of Crows. A pretty apt name, I¡¯d say.¡±

    The crow, now settled on Moon¡¯s shoulder, cawed in approval and nodded his little head.

    ¡°To the Kingdom of Occultism! A favor is to be repaid!¡±

    A favor¡­

    Isse began chuckling when she realized the meaning behind those words. Someone was helping her¡­ to repay a favor.

    She began laughing, tears streaming down from her eyes as Siidi, too, chuckled mirthlessly in the back of her mind, trying to hold back her own tears.

    Albert. This was all Albert¡¯s doing. Even in death he was helping them. One last favor.

    Isse cried, she didn¡¯t know for how long, but this time? This time the tears were of relief, of catharsis.

    She didn¡¯t know why, but it made her feel better.

    So much so that, in the end, she fell asleep, curled up right there on the bridge.

    And, in that fitful sleep, the System spoke.

    [Shadowed Soul Shaper Level 25!]

    [Skill ¨C Mana Well Obtained!]

    [Last Survivor Level 10!]

    [Skill ¨C Progeny: Enhanced Magic Affinity Obtained!]

    [Conditions Met: Apprentice Musician -> Musician!]

    [Musician Level 10!]

    [Skill ¨C Proficiency: Violin Obtained!]

 Chapter 2: Realization Hits

    Isse opened her eyes in the morning.

    She mouthed the System¡¯s words, the gifts of Levels and Skills.

    One in particular stuck out to her.

    [Progeny: Enhanced Magic Affinity]

    What was it that Tobias had said about elves and half elves? Ah, yes: ¡°The moment we are born we gain an affinity for an element that¡¯s close to us. It could be anything. For example, since I was born during an eclipse I gained an affinity for shadow magic, but since I was born on a ship I could¡¯ve gained one for water magic or wood magic or what have you.

    The more she thought about it the more she found it made sense.

    She had bred with Tobias, then killed and eaten him. It only made sense that her kids would inherit that ability from him.

    ¡­

    She¡­ had killed Tobias¡­

    ¡­

    She had done it. She had murdered him. In cold blood, without any sort of hesitation. He was dead and she had killed him.

    Whining filled her ears as she stared up at the gray-white of her cocoon, a sound like a radio having trouble picking up a signal. Another high pitched sound joined it soon enough, but what it was she couldn¡¯t tell. She could only stare at the surface of her cocoon, her eyes following the individual threads, or tried to, because soon her sight turned blurry, the shapes of the webbing, so reminiscent of the ones she¡¯d once seen in Grandmother¡¯s first Trial, turning undistinguishable.

    What¡¯s happening? she asked Siidi.

    You remembered. And you¡¯re in shock.

    In shock? Why? All that¡¯s happening is I can¡¯t see quite well.

    She felt numb as well. Empty.

    Isse¡­ you¡¯re screaming and crying. Your arms are clawing at the chitin of your spider half as if tearing it off would help and the Palace is crumbling. I¡¯m currently the only thing keeping you away from going catatonic.

    Siidi was lying. She wasn¡¯t keeping her away from going catatonic. That¡­ would¡¯ve probably helped, in her opinion. No, she was fighting off darker things. Bloodier ones.

    But there was no need for Isse to know.

    No need at all.

    <hr>

    Existing in a Mind Castle wasn¡¯t bad.

    It was quiet when she wanted it to be, lively when the need arose, beautiful, always, and enchanting in every aspect.

    Siidi had scoured every inch of the Mind Castle when she¡¯d first appeared in it, months ago, bitter and angry at not having the body she¡¯d thought, at the time, she rightfully deserved. In a sense she did, the body had been promised to her by Death herself but at the same time¡­ she still got to share and, truth be told¡­ she wouldn¡¯t have known what to do with herself. Oh, sure, she should¡¯ve forgotten who she had been once upon a time, so maybe things would¡¯ve gone a lot more differently, but here she was and, as they say, ¡®With ifs and buts you don¡¯t write history¡¯.

    And what a story was being written. That is, if she¡¯d cared to write it down. She¡¯d only ever loved to read books, not write them, as could be quite clearly seen in her side of the Mind Castle, which had taken the form of an ancient library in a city in Eva. Yes, it wasn¡¯t even a library of the arachne but, in truth, one made by humans. A simple piece of art, built out of wood and brick, but it had struck Siidi for the heart that had been put into it. It hadn¡¯t been grand, nor big: to summarize, it had been built with a single purpose in mind: to store books and share them with the rest of the world. Or, well, the town. A town filled with corpses.

    She could still remember, though, skittering inside the library and finding the last human left in the city: an old woman with completely white hair that emanated an Aura of Silence and Calm. She¡¯d looked up, her sharp eyes noticing her features and body, and just shushed her, motioning at corridors of books behind her desk. That had been the first and only time Siidi had been merciful with any non-arachne (other than the dwarves), letting the woman live. Her sisters, both the ones bound in blood and battle and the others, had respected her decision and never touched the woman. A woman who, apparently, suffered from the Malady of Forgetfulness. She could tell you each and every book stored in the shelves of her library but, outside its walls, she became empty, her eyes vacuous, her motions more mechanical than biological. She would walk to her home, cook a simple dish, eat, go to sleep, wake up, go to the library and repeat it all. Siidi had been to the woman¡¯s house once, while she¡¯d been at work, and found the place decked with Mage Pictures of a younger woman in the company of a man. A man who, at some point disappeared, leaving the woman alone, until those Pictures, too, stopped.

    She imagined the loss had eaten away at the woman until one day she¡¯d just snapped.

    For that story and the significance of the place she¡¯d considered every library she¡¯d seen afterwards as unworthy: too showy, too big, too much of everything. Libraries that were meant to show off power and wealth, where books and the people who perused them became secondary, background, to everything else.

    In the end, nothing would ever manage to compare to the library of the [Librarian of Death¡¯s Silence].

    She wondered if the woman was still around: sure, more than ten thousand years had passed, but who knew? Ever since she¡¯d first met her she¡¯d felt Death¡¯s presence at the woman¡¯s side. Maybe she¡¯d convinced their maker to let her be so long as she could stand in her library. Death was a sentimentalist like that, she would probably agree.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Still, these thoughts didn¡¯t matter as she battled the endless tides of blood attempting to reach the Mind Castle.

    They had started to appear yesterday, as Isse¡¯s desperation reached its peak, before Shriya¡¯s helpful arrival. They¡¯d been droplets, small figures that one would¡¯ve found hard to notice in the best of situations. The most dangerous, really. The smallest parasites that would¡¯ve reproduced and rapidly devoured her soul half¡¯s mind, giving her a Bloody Skill, or worse. It had been easy enough to kill them.

    Now though, as Isse had realized what she had done to Tobias? The droplets had become a tide. A small army, really. An army made of blood golems riding atop bloody horses as they charged at the flying castle, attempting to get inside by applying the rules of Dreams, not knowing that they were arachne, that the Dream had never truly had a hold upon their minds for they¡¯d been made long after it.

    But they had endless numbers on their sides, and the corpses would soon start piling up.

    ¡°Annoying little motherfuckers, leave! You¡¯re not welcome here! I won¡¯t let a single droplet of yours land among the flowers of the garden, the halls won¡¯t be bloodied by your existence, the memories of that night won¡¯t chain her down! I! Won¡¯t! Allow! It!¡±

    She shot more lightning at the horde below as she glared up, up at the stars looking down at her, up at the System. The slave of the gods, or rather, a fraction of it, looked down at her, judging her actions as It always did.

    For Its part, It was just doing Its job: judging Issekina and waiting to give her a Red Skill if and when the need arose.

    For that was the thing nobody ever understood: the System didn¡¯t give people Red Skills as a form of punishment (not usually) or some self-righteous need to show off how badly someone was hurt. No, Red Skills came from The Blood, an¡­ existence? Entity? It didn¡¯t know for sure, still, a being that was an amalgama of negativity and hate and sadness and¡­ everything not nice. It was in everything and everyone but, sometimes, when someone became too weak, The Blood would surge and fill someone, changing them.

    Red Skills were the System¡¯s attempt at containing the infection.

    Siidi hadn¡¯t known this up until now.

    So now she glared up: ¡°Do something! Stop them!¡±

    It didn¡¯t, for It couldn¡¯t. What It did by assigning Red Skills and, sometimes, Classes, was already ¡®going against protocol¡¯. Interference of the highest order, a gift of Skills and abilities that hadn¡¯t truly been earned. It had managed, though, to find a way around Its programming to help fix things. The way? It assigned a <Malus> individual to each person infected by The Blood. Indeed, an individual. A person. Or what had once passed for a person. Like the Knight.

    Their presence was not a kindness, therefore it wasn¡¯t considered a Gift, therefore not breaking any rules. It was basically cursing people, but in doing so It was preventing them from ending up in a worse situation¡­ usually. The System gave the

    the resources and means to help themselves and become more powerful, It did not choose the road they traveled down.

    It wanted Siidi to understand this, but It couldn¡¯t talk, so instead It Observed and Judged as the arachne jumped down from the island on which her and her soul half¡¯s Mind Castle floated, down into the gaping maws of the horde of Blood, wearing a blue jacket and holding a giant pen.

    A single [Lengthy Step] moved her away from the group that had formed underneath her, the things fusing together into a giant monster that had opened a maw big enough to swallow her whole. She shouldn¡¯t have been able to do such a thing since she was in mid-air, but this was her mind as much as it was Isse¡¯s, so she had a modicum of control over it. So, as she¡¯d fallen down, she¡¯d tugged at the memory of the most beautiful library she¡¯d ever stepped in. The white shadow of an old lady appeared behind her as a book she remembered reading appeared under one of her spider legs, allowing the Skill to activate.

    Then, unseen by her, the shadow raised finger to lip, making a shushing motion, and the battlefield went silent as a good chunk of the horde disappeared¡­ silenced and forgotten.

    Siidi blinked in surprise, time seemingly slowing down as she glanced around.

    But there was nothing. Just air where previously Blood had been marching on the corpses of its brethren in an attempt to form some kind of stairs to the island, and air behind her, and¡­ a soothing silence.

    She smiled.

    And then she was down in the battlefield again.

    It wouldn¡¯t be easy, but then again, there was little difference between The Blood and humans: they both used swarming tactics on the arachne to win. She knew all the ways to counter that.

    Plus, she was playing in her own home.

    <hr>

    Death looked away.

    Or one aspect of her.

    That¡¯s the thing about Death: he had many faces. Some said it had as many faces as there were people in the Web of Worlds, but that would¡¯ve been wrong. She just had many faces, taken over thousands of years. The faces of people who had impressed it, come to him with a smile, maybe won a game but, instead of taking the extra time she offered, just smiled and said they didn¡¯t need it.

    Death had many faces.

    One for each aspect she represented. One for each group worthy of it. There was a Death of Mountaineers, always smiling and warm with an undertone of cold, a Death of Wanderers that, to this day, still traveled on a white horse wearing white, a Death of Writers, a Death of¡­ many Deaths. Too many to count, and yet never enough.

    This one¡­ was a new addition, for a given meaning of new. The Death of Silence. A Death much attuned to True Death, the face never seen, the face that emerged only when universes died. The face that would disappear last before the Nothingness.

    The Death of Silence had no purview. She existed as a jolly, a reserve, incomprehensible and unpredictable, kindest of them all, cruelest too. Meaningless. For that was her nature: she came at the moment of death for the meaningless, for those that died in silence, that wouldn¡¯t be remembered. Just like her.

    Death, the sum of all Deaths, looked at that part of itself, and spoke: ¡°You interfered.¡±

    That was a crime. It did not break any Laws or Rules, but it was still a crime against Death¡¯s very nature. Death intervened and acted only in herself, never outside that purview.

    The Death of Silence looked at the whole in front of her, smiling: ¡°She remembered. I was not meaningless. I mattered.¡±

    Death narrowed his eyes.

    And let it go.

    She was new. She was allowed one mistake so long as it didn¡¯t break the Laws and Rules.

    <hr>

    [Soul Curator Level 24!]

    [Skill ¨C Bane Weapons: The Blood Obtained!]

    [Skill ¨C Silence Obtained!]

    [Warrior Level 6!]

    [Skill ¨C Air Step Obtained!]

 Unlicensed Storytelling: "Even a Dwarf Couldnt Befriend That"

    There¡¯s a saying all over the world: Even a Dwarf couldn¡¯t befriend that.

    It¡¯s an old saying, so old in fact that nobody, other than the dwarves that is (and not even all of them), remembers, or knows, why it exists.

    Or rather, everybody thinks they know: because dwarves are the friendliest species on the planet. Consummate neutrals in any and all wars, great adventurers, even better drinking buddies, and after that the only things they¡¯re better at are mining and smithing. Surprisingly, not brewing. If you drink dwarven-made beer or, in general, alcohol, you usually only do it to get wasted in the company of friends (or to drown your sorrows). You certainly don¡¯t do it to accompany a fine dinner of expensive meats and fruits in the company of your one and only (again, usually).

    And while all of these things stand true, they¡¯re not the actual reason that saying was born.

    For that, one would have to look back a few thousand years.

    How many thousands?

    Enough to go back to the Era of Hunts. During the War of the Arachne.

    Now, thousands of years later, a man walks into a bar. He wears all black, but not in an ¡®edgy¡¯ way, like a [Rogue] usually would, more like a [Noble], or, actually, a normal person who likes the color. Still, the first thing springing to mind when seeing him would be the word ¡®Noble¡¯. Not long after, though, the idea would usually be completely shattered by the drinks he ordered and the boisterous laughter, so unlike that of most noblemen.

    The man does just that right now, walking to the counter of the inn he will perform in tonight with an easy smile and casual step, sitting down in front of the barman glaring at him suspiciously, for his clothes look too fine for an establishment like his own, and making the simplest request in the world: ¡°[Barman], what¡¯s your most gut-destroying drink?¡±

    Silence falls onto the room with the same devastation of a rock thrown by a [Mountaineer] onto a military convoy trespassing onto his property without having had the mindfulness of saying that they weren¡¯t coming for him and the things he owns.

    Then someone in the crowd chuckles and, soon enough, the room is filled with chuckling and light conversation again.

    The man at the counter raises an eyebrow before reaching down with his left hand and taking out a bottle containing a dark liquid that reflects the light shining on it perfectly.

    ¡°This is the worst I have. It¡¯s some kind of dwarven sailor shit that was bootlegged in a ship. I only ever served three of these and the people who drank them nearly went into a coma. Fancy giving it a go?¡±

    The man looks at the bottle with narrowed eyes for a moment, then nods, whispering: ¡°Give me one glass of it. I probably won¡¯t drink it, I get these more for the atmosphere than anything else, but who knows.¡±

    The man frowns: ¡°You get it, you pay for it.¡±

    ¡°Never said I wouldn¡¯t. So, how much?¡±

    The [Barman] visibly relaxes at that and nods, taking out a glass he probably hadn¡¯t spat in to clean it and serving him a generous dose. The liquid is the color of amber, but that¡¯s more or less the only thing good about it. The moment it¡¯s out of the bottle both men and, probably, some of the patrons around them, are hit by a wave of smell that nearly knocks them unconscious.

    After a moment where they all have to reassert their hold upon reality, the man wearing black blinks and says: ¡°I¡¯ve smelled elven alcohol, the actual stuff, that was less powerful than this.¡±

    The [Barman] blinks back, before shaking his head: ¡°That glass is free if you take the whole bottle with you when you leave.¡±

    ¡°Deal.¡±

    The bottle is stoppered back up and slid to the strange customer, who then turns around, glass and bottle in hand, and begins walking to the center of the room.

    There he looks at a table with food, drinks and people arguing among themselves, he nods, makes a little hop, and ends up right in its center.

    The four men stop talking, looking up in absolute shock, and before they can even begin to attempt to retaliate for¡­ actually, nothing had been spilled. Neither food nor drink had fallen off and onto the men or the floor, somehow.

    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen. Well, mostly gentlemen, but don¡¯t think I haven¡¯t seen you, o¡¯ fine ladies back there. [Settle Down]!¡±

    The Skill activates and, immediately, a hush falls on the room, the people settling down naturally in their seats and turning their eyes towards him. A basic Skill for a [Storyteller], but a very powerful one indeed. A risky Skill, for one became the center of the show only if they were certain that they could keep up with the expectations. He is one of these few brave ones.

    ¡°Hello, good evening, or good night, whichever you prefer. My name is Gratianus Ravenspoken, and today I shall tell you a story.¡±

    Immediately some people groan and turn away, but someone, the [Barman], speaks up: ¡°Hoy, if you¡¯re just going to tell us some of those trite old stories the College and the churches approve of I suggest you go somewhere else. We¡¯ve heard them all at least a thousand times, in all their variations.¡±

    Ah, perfect! Someone has said the Thing, as he likes to call it. His smile becomes only bigger as he activates a Skill, [Innocent Smile] and, slowly, says: ¡°Oh, but I¡¯m not one of them. I wouldn¡¯t bother coming to such an unrespectable establishment with that¡­ boring stuff. I happen to be, by chance and desire, an [Unlicensed Storyteller].¡±

    The crowd stares at him, uncertainty on some faces, suspicion on others.

    That is, until one of the women in the back shouts: ¡°He¡¯s telling the truth.¡±

    Gratianus, which isn¡¯t his name, the [Unlicensed Storyteller], which isn¡¯t his Class, bows towards the source of the voice, taking off an imaginary hat.

    ¡°Ah, my lady, you truly warm my heart, thank you. And, if that wasn¡¯t proof enough for all of you, I shall allow you to subject me to the treatment normally reserved for failed storytellers in case I prove unworthy of such trust. What say you?¡±

    Silence has fallen on the room again, everyone looking at a small table holding five women of the unsavory sort who are staring hungrily at him. Now, they turn back towards him as some people nod and others murmur their approval.

    ¡°Well then, what say you all finest folk of them all, if I were to tell you of the reason behind the saying ¡®Even a Dwarf couldn¡¯t befriend that¡¯?¡±

    <hr>

    [Mid-Depth Mine Commander] Duran was a stocky fellow. Well, truth be told, all dwarves were stocky, but he was just a tad stockier than the average dwarf. Nobody ever said anything about it, though, because he was extremely good at his job, and because, really, when you worked for hours and hours on end in the mines leading younger dwarves than you, even newbies, and teaching them how to best do their job, and then in the evening you came back and felt hungrier than most, well, it was only natural. Even expected.

    In those days the dwarves, like today, were some of the greatest [Miners] in the world. Some said they were even better [Miners] than they were [Smiths], but the difference was so minute that one would be hard pressed to be certain about it.

    But which days are we talking about? Why, naturally, the years of the Era of Hunts, better known as the War of the Arachne. The time when the whole world was forced to fight against a species made by Death itself as punishment for a great transgression committed by the gods -

    <hr>

    ¡°Wait, by the gods?¡± says someone in the crowd, ¡°Wasn¡¯t that for some kind of big sin we committed?¡±

    Gratianus turns and looks straight into the man¡¯s eyes, his Skill [Detect Disruptor] causing him to stand out of the crowd with a slightly luminescent aura. He points at him, his index finger slightly crooked, pale lines appearing on his otherwise well tanned skin, as if someone had drawn on him. Or caused scars. Punishments, these were, for breaking the laws of the churches on Storytelling.

    ¡°Sir, I do not take kindly to interruptions. So I ask kindly to both you and anyone else who will have questions about this story to keep them to themselves until the end. I shall answer only this once: yes, I didn¡¯t misspeak. It was the gods who committed a grave sin. Which one? Well, that is another story.

    ¡°Now, kindly, do not interrupt me anymore.¡±

    <hr>

    Death created the arachne, and we all know the story from there: machines of destruction who love to cause pain and kill, unstoppable, intelligent beyond anything anyone expected out of a race born from nothing, with magic beyond the ability of most [Archmages] of the time and the ability to touch and shape souls in ways not even the greatest [Soul Mages] could.

    In short, a true nightmare made flesh.

    Their only purpose? To destroy all life on this planet. To be the last ones standing.

    A group of real pieces of shit, am I right? For those times, I¡¯d say yes.

    And yet, there are documented cases of them showing kindness to other species. The most known is that of the Witch of Spiders, a single human girl who joined their side and became one of their greatest assets in the years that followed. Well, I say documented but, again, her name was completely erased from most books. It is safe to say though that it was because of her that the Witch Hunts started after the end of the Era of Hunts.

    And yet there is one other case about the arachne showing not only kindness, but outright friendship, to another species of this world. The species known for their friendliness and ability to befriend pretty much anything with the ability to breathe, or with a heart that beats. The dwarves.

    On the day the arachne and the dwarves met for the first time the War had been going for around five decades. And the dwarves¡­ they¡¯d never really heard much about it. They didn¡¯t like to leave Mountainhome and news of the outside world didn¡¯t reach them much, so they only got a request now and then for a shipment of weapons and armor, more often these days than in the last few centuries, they did their job, were paid and went on with their lives.

    That day, though, [Mine Commander] Duran and his personal group of [Miners], all over Level 40, made an encounter that would change their lives and those of the dwarves of Mountainhome forever.

    It started, like many things do for the dwarves, with a pick being planted in a rock.

    There was enough strength behind the blow to skewer through five men wearing dwarven-crafted steel armor and, probably, go right through a mithril one. And no, it wasn¡¯t all thanks to a Skill. That was how strong he was normally. Yes, he had some enhancement Skills such as [Strength of the Giant] and [Muscle Control], but that was, like, nothing. In his time he¡¯d met Grandfathers with more strength in their pinky fingers than he had in his entire body.

    Still, he planted his pick in the rock, and the metal sheared through it like a warm knife with butter, his movements fluid like those of a dancer, if a dancer had been one and a half meters tall with enough muscles to be a [Body Builder] (under the healthy layers of fat).

    There was a tremor in the earth around them and, immediately, a dwarf activated the Skill [Stabilize Ground] while another took out a bag of holding a few thick planks of wood and, with inhumane speed, began building supports for the tunnel, his hands placing the planks in place (they stayed there even as he let go of them) while he planted thick steel nails in with the same ease as breathing.

    ¡°Good thinking Ralph,¡± said Duran as he raised his pick up and in one smooth motion brought it back down, again shearing through rock and stone without even breaking a sweat. These days he considered the simple movements quite relaxing: they allowed him to think about his life, about what he would be doing when he decided to retire. Maybe he¡¯d join one of the Archive crews? The gods knew just how many people constantly worked on them and just how many more were required. For now he was just providing the materials for the construction of the dwarves¡¯ greatest Project in the last few millennia, but maybe one day he¡¯d go down to the deepest depths of the Mines and work on it in person. Who could tell?

    He¡¯d need more Levels for that though.

    Down his pick came again and he heard the sound of well-oiled wheels coming down their tunnel as their personal [Speedy Minecart Driver] arrived, immediately beginning to shovel excess stone into his minecart while he chattered away with his colleagues about this and that. The carrying capacity of the steel minecart was around four cubic meters but, thanks to his [Bottomless Minecart] Skill, the dwarf could just keep on shoveling and not worry about it.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Duran smiled at that but didn¡¯t stop picking away at the stone ahead of him, the other [Miners] at his sides doing the same, working in perfect synchronicity, as if following an unspoken and unheard rhythm to the letter. They¡¯d stopped singing a few minutes prior actually: dwarves were great singers, sure, but even they had to let their voices rest unless they wanted to come back up from the Mines sounding like some kind of undead monstrosity. Their ventilation systems were good, sure, but there were still limits and precautions to be taken.

    And speaking of precautions: Duran¡¯s Skill [Internal Clock] dinged in the back of his mind and he signaled everybody to stop by raising a hand, pickaxe slung over his shoulder.

    ¡°I¡¯m activating my Skill [Detect Gas Sack]. [Internal Clock] timer of ten minutes. Go.¡±

    As he said these words he felt the timer being put in his [Internal Clock] and, at the same time, his other Skill activate. His perception expanded outside the tunnel he found himself in and reached outwards, looking for any sort of gas trapped in a crevice in the earth. A few moments later he felt a few something ping on this internal sense and he pointed to his right and forward as the sounds turned into color and he got a general sense of what they were working with.

    ¡°Fifteen meters that way there¡¯s a small sack of Sleeper¡¯s Death. It¡¯s ten meters long upwards from out level, twelve downwards. Send the information to the tunnels that risk encountering it¡­¡±

    As he talked their [Driver] began activating [Memo] Skills and sending out the information to Command at the starting point, followed soon after by two other members of Duran¡¯s team repeating it for good measure.

    The same was done for each and every other sac of gas that he¡¯d been able to detect.

    ¡°Finally, there appears to be a sack of air in front of us at a distance of twenty meters, at the edge of my Skill. I do not believe there are any tunnels that should be crossing our path, so I suspect the presence of another species¡¯ tunnels. We are going to investigate.¡±

    The information was sent up to Command, which swiftly replied with a ¡®Go Ahead and Thank You¡¯.

    And they went back to mining.

    It was around ten minutes before they rea -

    <hr>

    Someone opens the door to the bar and shouts: ¡°Hey guys, why are there so many crows around this place? Did you murder someone agai -¡±

    The [Storyteller] turns around towards the interruptor and, pointing a finger, shouts: ¡°[Shut the Fuck Up]!¡±

    Immediately the man¡¯s mouth seals itself shut and doesn¡¯t open anymore, to his surprise and, soon after, panic.

    ¡°[Sit Down] and enjoy the story. Now, what was I saying? Ah, right!¡±

    The crowd stares at the [Storyteller] with eyes big as saucers while some people chuckle and comment among themselves. But that¡¯s alright. Those are crowd noises: not interruptions, just a sign that the people are appreciating the story. Or ignoring it. In which case, well, their loss.

    <hr>

    Surprisingly, it wasn¡¯t Duran pick that broke through the stone and changed the lives of the dwarves and another species. That was Ormin, one of his friends.

    His pickaxe went down into the rock and, when it came back up, there was a hole that led into an adjacent tunnel, air hissing out of their tunnel into the other one to equalize the pressure.

    ¡°Huh, they don¡¯t have an air pump like we do,¡± said Ormin.

    ¡°Or they prefer a different pressure,¡± suggested Griarium, their [Engineer].

    ¡°Improbable. It¡¯s just poor air,¡± said Duran with a shake of his head, ¡°Let¡¯s open this up. Using [Power Strike] Skill¡­ now!¡±

    As he said this his pickaxe came down and, with a small explosion of dust, the wall in front of them basically disappeared.

    On the other side, three women stared at them, one of them with her mouth open wide showing off her exceedingly pointy canines. Their hair were cut short, two of them with pixie cuts, while one of them had outright cut them all off, showing only a pale skull with tattoos around her ears. But what really struck the dwarves as interesting was the fact that, where normally there would be legs, these ladies had what looked like the bodies of spiders.

    For a moment silence reigned in the tunnels, but it was soon broken by Duran coughing slightly and activating a few Skills: ¡°[Equalize Pressure], [Purify Air].¡±

    Immediately the air around them, which had started to feel slightly heavier, their ears feeling pressure, was as good as new and Duran noticed the ladies in front of them take deep breaths and smiling slightly.

    Then¡­ he bowed: ¡°Good¡­¡± he checked his [Internal Clock], ¡°afternoon, my fine ladies. It appears we¡¯ve trespassed upon your tunnels. We¡¯re extremely sorry, we had no idea this area of Aknos had been claimed by another species, nor that it had started mining at this depth. If you¡¯d be willing to you could come back with us to Command and we could sort this out.¡±

    He frowned, then looked back: ¡°Hoy, Egrius! Where in the Grandfathers¡¯ beards are we?¡±

    Egrius, the [Driver], looked thoughtful for a moment, then checked the still air with a dry finger, and soon after nodded: ¡°We¡¯re close to the center of Aknos, I¡¯d wager under the Lakes.¡±

    Huh, they¡¯d dug quite far. Also, he didn¡¯t know about any civilization living near the Lakes, but then again, Mountainhome didn¡¯t care much for things that happened outside, on the surface.

    ¡°So, would you care to come back with us? Or would you rather call one of your leaders to sort this out? Have no fear, Egrius here drives a small minecart, but there¡¯s always space for more people when needed.¡±

    The women with spider halves looked at each other, cocking their heads in doubt, before nodding.

    ¡°Great. If you would, my ladies?¡±

    He turned around, ready to tell Egrius to get ready¡­ only to feel a pickaxe strike him in the back of his head, at the junction between skull and neck.

    ¡­

    He didn¡¯t even wince thanks to his [Adamantine Skin] Skill.

    Turning around he saw three gaping spider women staring at him as if he¡¯d just won Mountainhome¡¯s annual ¡®Beer Drinking Contest¡¯ with an advantage of ten beers on the second place. One of them had her pickaxe moved over her shoulder as if ready to strike again.

    He raised an eyebrow and shook his head: ¡°Oh no no no no no no my lady, you¡¯re doing it all wrong.¡±

    He walked towards the woman, who flinched away from him, trying to skitter backwards, but his hands moved faster as he grabbed her pick and her waist.

    ¡°If you want to weaponize your pickaxe you can¡¯t swing it like an ax. You¡¯re going to lose half the strength of the blow.¡±

    He moved his hands and adjusted her position.

    ¡°No matter the situation, a pickaxe is always a pickaxe, whether one uses it as a tool or as a weapon. There, try it this way.¡±

    He moved away, moving a rock in front of her and pointing at it.

    The woman didn¡¯t move, instead staring at him, like the other two, as if he¡¯d been speaking a different language. Maybe he had?

    ¡°Wait, do you understand Aknian? If not I can also speak Irevian and a bit of Evarion. No Rodian though I¡¯m afraid.¡±

    Finally, one of the women opened her mouth to do something other than gape at him: ¡°We just tried to kill you.¡±

    Duran looked at them¡­ and shrugged: ¡°So? Not like it¡¯s the first time someone tries to kill me. This bunch of idiots with me today tried to do it on a daily basis when I¡¯d just started training them.¡±

    Some groans came from behind him together with a few ¡®Come on man, it was only once¡¯.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it happens. And I¡¯m pretty hard to kill. I understand completely if you felt like killing us was the only way to keep your mining rights on this place, but there¡¯s no need to worry, our people back in Mountainhome are very understanding. They¡¯ll check everything out and pay you back for anything that was mined in your terrain without permission. You¡¯ll be able to choose whether the payment will be in money or the minerals that were found. You¡¯d be surprised how often this happens.¡±

    By often, naturally, he meant it happened once every fifty to a hundred years, which many would see as a lot of time, but was mostly ¡®pocket change¡¯ for your average dwarf.

    ¡°Still, if you desire to stay in this tunnel to make sure nothing is taken or done while you¡¯re out, we absolutely understand. We can send a message up there and ask for the people in charge to come down here.¡±

    Slowly, one of the arachne nodded, and immediately one of Duran¡¯s colleagues sent a [Memo] up to Mid-Depth Control asking for an intermediary and a [Mathematician].

    A moment later the arms of the arachne whose position the dwarf had corrected finally gave up and she let the instrument fall on the rock, breaking it cleanly in two.

    Duran nodded appreciatively: ¡°See? And that¡¯s just with gravity on your side. Imagine if you¡¯d put some strength behind it!¡±

    <hr>

    Gratianus looks at the glass of dwarven alcohol he¡¯s holding and, after a moment, drinks it all down, to the absolute horror of the [Barman].

    Luckily for¡­ everyone, [It Was All an Act]. The [Storyteller] smiles at the public, then fakes a stumble and a burp.

    ¡°Whoa, this stuff is strong.¡±

    And then he lets the glass fall to the ground, where it breaks apart, the sound of tinkling shards going everywhere filling the very silent room. Everyone is listening now, some in shock, others in excitement, all with open curiosity.

    ¡°Is it true?¡± asks one of the women who¡¯s helped him get started. He decides not to shush her.

    Instead he smiles enigmatically: ¡°Given enough time, my lady, all stories become true. Now, who would like to hear the end of this tale?¡±

    <hr>

    The dwarves sat down on the ground and, from their bags of holding enchanted with Preservation Spells, took out snacks and drinks.

    That¡¯s the thing about dwarves: they always have snacks. No matter the situation, no matter the place, a dwarf will always have snacks on their person one way or another. It¡¯s almost a Law in its own right and there have been many times when their secret stashes of food saved many parties of adventurers, or people in general, from starvation.

    The group motioned the spidery women near them who, after a moment of hesitation, joined them, sitting near them, their legs hugging their spidery bodies and kneading the chitin.

    ¡°If I¡¯m not being rude,¡± started Griarium, ¡°What¡¯s your species? I¡¯ve never heard of spider beastfolk.¡±

    The bald woman cocked her head to the side in what the dwarves were beginning to understand was either curiosity or surprise. Then she said: ¡°You do not fear us. Or hate us. Why?¡±

    Griarium choked on his sandwich, his left hand left hovering in the air and trembling in the act of offering one to the spidery ladies, leaving one of his companions to answer the, for the dwarves, decidedly strange question.

    Ormin did that: ¡°Why should we hate or fear you? We¡¯re all [Miners] here, and [Miners] must support each other. The earth is filled with gifts, but it is not kind to those who do not respect her and take the right precautions. If you¡¯re reached this far down it means you¡¯re good at your job, which means you deserve, of all things, a healthy dose of respect.¡±

    At that moment Griarium finally managed to dislodge the piece of food that had been attempting to murder him and, taking deep breaths, said: ¡°What - huff huff - he said. Wanna sandwich?¡±

    Duran raised a flask of beer: ¡°We also have drinks if you want. Not too strong, we¡¯re on the job, but bosses up there say that alcohol¡¯s to dwarves like oil to a sword. Can¡¯t have one without the other,¡± they all chuckled, except for the ladies.

    Finally, the one who had yet to speak so far opened her mouth: ¡°We are arachne. A new species made by Death herself to destroy all life on this planet.¡±

    Silence fell on the tunnel like a boulder, only less catastrophically than an actual boulder falling in the tunnel, which would¡¯ve probably been a death sentence.

    Then Duran shrugged: ¡°Welp, pleasure to meet you. The name¡¯s Duran and me and this lot here are dwarves.¡±

    He took a sip of beer, offering it again to the arachne: ¡°Made by Death you say? I think I heard somewhere that that¡¯s sort of taboo or something like that. Must be interesting, being a middle finger to the gods just by existing.¡±

    And now the arachne were gaping at him again.

    ¡°What? Do I have something on my face? Other than dust, that is. I think we¡¯re all dusty down here.¡±

    The bald arachne closed her mouth, opened it again to say something, raising a finger, then closed it again and frowned. Finally, she said: ¡°We just told you we exist to destroy all life. Life, such as you. And you still don¡¯t fear or hate us.¡±

    Duran and the others shrugged: ¡°You said it: you were made to kill. Doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s what you¡¯ll be doing. I don¡¯t see you going around murdering people: I see you down here mining. That¡¯s what matters to the lot of us.¡±

    He shook the bottle holding his beer towards them invitingly, a small smile on his lips.

    ¡°So. Wanna be friends?¡±

    After another moment of silence the three arachne broke out laughing and the bald one took the proffered bottle and drank a hearty sip.

    ¡°Sure. The name¡¯s Chishi. As a friend, you can call me Chi.¡±

    She handed the bottle to the other arachne who took it gratefully and drank from it with great satisfaction and a good amount of lip-smacking.

    ¡°Are all dwarves like you Duran?¡± asked Chi.

    He shook his head: ¡°Nah. There are many who are even better than me.¡±

    And that is how the arachne met the only people who¡¯d ever call them friends, even to their detriment.

    <hr>

    He finishes telling his tale and bows.

    The room is silent, so silent in fact that everyone can hear a mosquito buzzing somewhere inside.

    Then one of the women claps: ¡°Bravo! That was great!¡±

    And like a dam breaking the room is suddenly filled with clapping and whistling.

    The [Storyteller] bows again, tipping a hat that was never there and never will be, for that was the price for learning all that he did to tell these tales.

    ¡°Is there a follow up to the story?¡±

    That¡¯s what the woman who complimented him first asks him a few minutes later after he¡¯s come down from the table.

    Smiling he answers: ¡°Oh, there is. I won¡¯t tell it tonight, but I will be back for it.¡±

    The woman nods, putting a hand in her pocket and taking out five gold coins. Five, the number of stories.

    ¡°Take these. Payment for your services tonight, and to make sure you¡¯ll come back.¡±

    He smiles: ¡°Ah, someone who remembers the Traditions, I see. Then, my lady, I most certainly will come back.¡±

    And with that he bows and begins walking out of one of the most ill-famed bars in the city of¡­ he cannot remember the name. But he¡¯s sure his friends will bring him back here.

    The crows take flight and caw in happiness as some land on his shoulder while others fly near him, showing him the way to his next tale.

    Yes, giving up his hat was worth this.

 Chapter 3: Tears and Feathers

    We¡¯ve all cried once, haven¡¯t we?

    As children when we got hurt.

    As teens while thinking of a love abandoned.

    As adults remembering things we could never get back.

    As people of all ages when we remembered dear ones lost to time or disease or worse.

    We all cry. It is only human to cry. Don¡¯t ever listen to people who say that crying is useless, that it is a waste of water, that it isn¡¯t ¡®manly¡¯ or ¡®appropriate¡¯, that it makes you look ugly or some such nonsense. Because it is just that: nonsense. Tears are what us humans do when we do not have the words or the means to express great sorrow, when the world turns gray and black and white and we miss the colors it once had.

    Crying is natural. Crying means you¡¯re still alive somewhat, that you¡¯ll have a chance to keep going, that things will surely get better.

    I guess, when all is said and done, that crying is hope. It¡¯s a means for us to shout at the world our deepest hopes and desires, the truest ones that we sometimes hide even from ourselves.

    So what is Isse¡¯s hope right now, as she cries in her cocoon, as her soul half fights off hordes of creatures of Blood to keep her sane? What could an arachne¡¯s, the last arachne¡¯s, greatest hope be?

    Could it be peace? Could it be a life without a need to hide? A world where she could be accepted for what she is without risking being killed on sight? What does, no, what can, an arachne hope for?

    For a short while Isse had hoped to just die, for lightning to strike her down and end her existence. Those thoughts had slowly started to fade as the day progressed and her tears turned to sobs and hiccups that hurt her throat before turning to silent whimpering.

    Not long after that she heard Siidi¡¯s silent but comforting presence in the back of her mind, a sensation not unlike something caressing her spider half gently reaching her senses. To Isse¡¯s mind she smelled of blood and gore, her presence tasting of silence.

    For a moment she wondered how she could tell that silence had a taste, but after a second she just shook her head and went back to wallowing in her pain, self-loathing and¡­ everything else that she couldn¡¯t give a name to.

    She just sat there, curled in on herself, her legs slowly massaging her spider half in a rhythmic motion.

    A song playing in the back of her mind. The arachne¡¯s last song.

    A song that was soon echoed by a familiar vibration coming from her bag of holding. In the mild darkness of her cocoon she shuffled a hand down to her hip, rummaging around inside her artifact until she took hold of her violin: the Wintry Violin. A Relic from ages past that had once resided in Winter¡¯s Last Stand, in the hands of an ice statue that hadn¡¯t melted even after the passage of centuries. It had been taken, with great sacrifice, from that place, and then abandoned in the vaults of the Ribia family under their estate in Tedam, because they couldn¡¯t figure out how to use the precious artifact. Well, for that matter, Isse hadn¡¯t yet found that out too: she was relatively good when playing it, sometimes it played songs for her ¨C like right now ¨C and two times it had given her Skills. Still, she couldn¡¯t help but feel underwhelmed: for something that was described as being part of the most powerful magical artifacts left in the world, it didn¡¯t seem that great.

    Then again, her attunement to the Relic was only at 14% if what the System said was to be believed. Maybe if she managed to get it high enough, or even to 100%, she¡¯d become powerful enough to destroy the people who¡¯d hurt her and the ones she loved.

    The violin was out the bag and the vibrations turned into a song.

    The same song she¡¯d been singing to herself to calm down. The same song Siidi had sung to her the first time she¡¯d lost everything.

    And there, in that song that spoke of the certainty that two lovers would meet again wherever they went, she found the answer to her tears, the hope she so needed: that nobody would ever take something away from her again. NEVER!

    She promised this to herself.

    It was a simple statement. Airm, it was a very simple desire, even. And yet she filled it with all the determination she could muster, all the strength and knowledge she¡¯d gained through Grandmother¡¯s Trials and lessons, all the patience and attention to detail she¡¯d obtained with Albert and Master¡¯s help and, finally, all the love she¡¯d been given first by Anda and her fellow sisters, then by Morra and Tobias, she took all of this and put it into those words, giving them a power of their own.

    A word given.

    A promise made.

    Witnessed by the System, and then by the Fae.

    And while those words didn¡¯t fix any of what had happened, they helped her a little bit, dragging her away from a bloody abyss from which she would¡¯ve found it near impossible to climb back up.

    The promise saved her with Siidi¡¯s great help. And while the ancient arachne had already been rewarded for her help, Siidi received a reminder of her choice

    [Oath of Restitution Taken!]

    The System thought for a while if such an oath required the assignment of a Skill but, in the end, It decided not to. There was nothing in Its endless databases that seemed to fit the situation. It wasn¡¯t new, and it certainly wasn¡¯t a rare occurrence. In the millenia since It had started Its job It had understood that living beings were often much, much, much more complex than words could explain. This was one such situation and, truly, the only Skills that would¡¯ve fit the young arachne in that moment would¡¯ve been given only to people of Level 80 or higher.

    As It went back to Observing though, another presence appeared, something ancient and powerful. The presence was invisible to most eyes except Its own and, for a moment, as she appeared beside Issekina, she looked up and through the layers of reality, right at It.

    She smiled and there was a promise in the gesture. No, not a promise. Many. So many. Hundreds of thousands, millions, billions. Every promise and every oath ever taken or given by any being in the Web was hidden behind that smile. There was also, among them all, a single promise put at the forefront of them all: one she had decided to make to It. The System saw the words and understood them¡­ but It didn¡¯t comprehend the meaning nor the reason behind them.

    Then the being looked down at Isse and, gently, caressed her hair, her hand going through the arachne and yet still, somehow, letting her feel, if her sudden flinching was anything to go by.

    She whispered something softly, words she would only hear in her deepest dreams, the ones filled with nothing but darkness, and with the words came a gift.

    [Blessing of Unbreakable Will Received!]

    The System hadn¡¯t had the need to use that particular function of Itself in millenia now. It didn¡¯t know why and the queries It kept sending to Its creators were always unanswered, but in the end it didn¡¯t matter: It just gave Skills, blessings were a type of Skill that could be gifted by the gods, outside of Its purview.

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    So It did Its job and then went back to simply observing.

    As for Isse?

    She didn¡¯t hear the message from the blessing because, for reasons known only to the gods, when the System had been made that function had been removed.

    What she did know was that, when next she woke, she felt¡­ better.

    Not fixed, not by far, but slightly better than she had before.

    Enough to get out of her cocoon and walk around.

    <hr>

    Isse decided to explore the airship. Yesterday, when she¡¯d gone up on the bridge, she hadn¡¯t really looked around, her mind still partially lost in a fog of pain and misery. Now though she felt a spark of marvel blooming in her chest as she looked at the beautiful and monstrous insides of this thing that really shouldn¡¯t exist. Everywhere she looked she could see, peeking out of the wooden walls, big, surprisingly white, bones. And by big she meant they were thicker than her human half was wide.

    Either Moon had killed a lot of animals and fused their bones together to create this monstrosity or she truly understood why the arachne had never tried to conquer the jungles of Eva, because whatever creature¡¯s skeleton had been used to make this must¡¯ve been¡­ she didn¡¯t even have something to compare it to in her mind, and trying to use a banana wouldn¡¯t have been funny.

    Also, what kind of monster needs four ¡®pillars¡¯ in what she guessed was its ribcage?

    As she wandered about all this she heard something strange: cooing. Sweet, nearly childlike in nature, although as she focused on it, coming closer to the source, she noticed the shrillness of it, like an adult altering their voice to sound cuter.

    What¡¯s Moon doing? she wondered.

    And then: Can Shryia drive this thing?

    Seeing how she didn¡¯t feel her stomach trying to crawl out of her mouth she guessed that the [Druid] could indeed fly the ship, so she inched closer to the small wooden door from which the sounds were coming, opening it to peek inside.

    There was a small set of stairs leading down to the very last level of the ship if the literal spine she could glimpse beneath was anything to go by. The sounds were coming from beneath so, slowly and carefully, she stepped down, her spider half compressing very uncomfortably and making her feel like a bloated cat ¨C still capable of passing through any opening she wanted, but now with some difficulty.

    Her feet didn¡¯t make any sound and the rustling of her gown made from Shifting Silk ¨C Arunielle¡¯s last present to her before the attack that destroyed the forest she and her sisters had lived in ¨C was covered by the gently whistling winds outside.

    She stepped down, half on the floor and half on the wall, her figure appearing nearly frightening in the dim light of the glowing moss that covered not only the ceiling but also the walls and floor. The place looked both disarmingly beautiful and disquieting, as if she¡¯d stepped inside a ghost¡¯s memories, fragmented and whole in its desperate attempts to cling to what it had once been.

    And there, sitting against one of the bones of the ship¡¯s ribcage, was¡­ Shriya.

    Holding the crow from yesterday (or was it two days ago now?).

    And somehow managing to look extremely embarrassed, guilty and utterly surprised all in a single expression.

    Then she frowned, taking back control of her face, as she opened her mouth to say something witty.

    ¡°Sorry to interrupt, I just heard something down here and thought it was Moon.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± she asked, looking extremely defensive.

    ¡°Because I didn¡¯t think you could make such cute noises,¡± answered the arachne matter-of-factly. In any other scenario she would¡¯ve teased the Airm out of the woman but right now it felt more like a simple statement.

    ¡°Truth be told,¡± she continued, ¡°I saw you more like the kind of person who¡¯d use that little crow as fertilizer for your plants than a cuddle pillow.¡±

    Shriya raised the index finger of her right hand ¨Cthe left one still caressing the head and body of the crow ¨C looking extremely miffed by the statement.

    ¡°Ok, first, if there¡¯s anyone on this ship who¡¯s more likely to turn this crow into fertilizer it¡¯s Moon. Second, I am a [Druid], I wouldn¡¯t kill an animal without there being a reason for it.¡±

    ¡°Moon? She wouldn¡¯t touch a feather on that crow with ill intent.¡±

    Shriya actually burst out laughing at that.

    After a few seconds of hiccupping and snorting she finally calmed down enough to say: ¡°You¡¯re not wrong that she wouldn¡¯t hurt this crow, but oh the things I saw her do in the pursuit of her desires and justice. Don¡¯t get me wrong, she¡¯s a good person, great actually, but there¡¯s a reason why she¡¯s an [Occult Engineer]. Just look at our cold box!¡±

    She pointed somewhere deeper into the ship, near the prow: Isse turned to look, but for all her enhanced senses and the glowing moss she still couldn¡¯t quite see what Shriya was pointing at. Turning back with confusion written all over her face the woman sighed and got up from her spot, beginning to walk deeper in.

    As she did Isse asked: ¡°Why did you emphasize that much the ¡®occult¡¯ part of her Class?¡±

    The [Druid] made a so-so motion with her hand as she answered: ¡°Generally speaking occultism isn¡¯t much liked all over the world: apparently the churches consider it a form of witchcraft, and while hunting and killing [Witches] has long since been banned, their folk are still disliked. Nobody cares in the jungles: if it keeps you alive and makes you happy with minimal hurting of other people then it¡¯s all peachy. But that¡¯s the thing, it¡¯s only in the jungles, and even then mostly because people are focused more on surviving.¡±

    ¡°Why would anyone want to live in such a place?¡± asked the arachne. A fair question, one many arachne before her had asked.

    ¡°Because it¡¯s their home. Did you like it when you were forced to leave yours?¡±

    Isse closed her mouth, painful memories resurfacing and causing her chest to contract.

    ¡°I guessed as much.

    ¡°Anyways, Moon really puts the Occultist in [Occult Engineer].¡±

    That was when they reached the strange shape Shriya had pointed at her in the beginning.

    And Isse had to stop and marvel at the absolute horror in front of her: for, right there, sitting on the wood, was what looked (and probably was) a fleshy pool of meat filled with strange looking water. It was slowly pulsing, as if alive, even though the water inside, which, by the way, had a strange tint to it (she couldn¡¯t tell if it was because of the hold¡¯s semi-darkness or the motherfucking flesh underneath), didn¡¯t seem to even ripple.

    ¡°You see, for all that the jungles of Eva are the place that receives the least amount of sunlight in the world, they¡¯re also hot enough to make it practically impossible for us to get ice, which means ice boxes are extremely rare. So, mindful of that, Moon found an alternative to it. This is her¡­ how did she call it again? Ah, yes, the ¡®Flesh Livener¡¯! Trademarked.

    ¡°What it does is, well, you put meat in the water and, for lack of a better word, this thing makes it think it¡¯s still alive, keeping it fresh by virtue of still being living meat. She also said it¡¯s good for the skin but I never had the bravery to test that.

    ¡°So, when I say that Moon would do anything to achieve her desires I do mean everything. The girl was sick of jerky and wanted fresh meat wherever she went, so she made a thing that keeps meat alive and fresh.¡±

    Isse stared at the impossible contraption, then looked down (she hadn¡¯t noticed how much taller than the [Druid] she was) at Shriya and¡­ didn¡¯t say anything, because there were no real words to describe any of what was happening.

    ¡°Yes, she¡¯s strange. That¡¯s why I like her.¡±

    She paused, as if only then realizing what she¡¯d just said.

    ¡°I will plant strangling vines in your flesh and make them grow if you dare say that to Moon.¡±

    Isse nodded: ¡°Noted.¡±

    Then, after a moment of hesitation, she asked: ¡°Can I pet the crow.¡±

    ¡°Only if I can pet him with you.¡±

    Moon found them thirty minutes later, huddled around the cute little crow and petting him, to his great satisfaction, while making cooing noises and looking extremely happy about it.

    She smiled and, silently, stepped back up on the bridge, unnoticed by both.

    As she put her hands back on the wheel of the airship she told herself: ¡°I knew Shriya would help her. They¡¯re so alike.¡±

    Her happiness though was cut short as, in the distance, she saw another airship emerging from a cloud. It bore the flag of the City of Temples, Alanna, and, as she watched, a man with two flags appeared on the prow, beginning to move them in familiar patterns, slowly spelling a message.

    HDA FOXHOLE HERE. REQUESTING BOARDING FOR CONTROL. UNCOOPERATIVENESS WILL RESULT IN DAMAGE.

    Moon¡¯s smile became waxy as she spoke: ¡°[Crew Wide Message] We¡¯ve got company, get ready to rumble. Isse, don¡¯t come out of the hold!¡±

    The two ships began moving closer.

 Chapter 4: The Dance of the F*ck-F*ck-F*ck!

    Isse had¡­ actually, she¡¯d rarely heard people swearing in this world. Makira had done it one time near the kids, and then only because one of her sisters had managed to catch her with a net and was painting her spider half pink while another one was tickling her. The second time had been in Pochi¡¯s presence while they were on their way back from their outing to the town, although she didn¡¯t quite remember why.

    And after that? Well, a few patrons had sworn in Creanza¡¯s caf¨¦, but she¡¯d otherwise never been in the presence of people that swore. Grandmother had been categorically against it and Albert had been Albert.

    So most of the insults and swears she knew came from her life before coming to this world.

    That is, up until now.

    I shall not transcribe the words she heard in those brief first few minutes of attempting to fly away from the Alannian airship, for they were such violent expressions of things that would be done to those people¡¯s mothers and their pets, of curses to be sent down their bloodlines that would most certainly end with them, for such people would never find someone willing to reproduce with them, and so much more¡­ it wasn¡¯t good.

    Rather, it was great and somewhat funny, but it was not appropriate for this story.

    *Shuffling in the background*

    *Whispering*

    ¡°What do you mean it would be appropriate? It¡¯s not!¡±

    *Mumbling*

    ¡°So what if there was rape and death described in minute detail?¡±

    *More mumbling*

    ¡°I don¡¯t care. I decide what is and isn¡¯t appropriate and I draw the line at how scurrilous she is being.¡±

    *Grumbling*

    ¡°What do you mean ¡®nobody uses the word scurrilous anymore¡¯? So what if they don¡¯t? They¡¯re all savages. Wait, is this thing still on?¡±

    *Sounds of tape being wound back*

    Isse marveled at the amount of pure nonsensical insults Moon was throwing around like candy on Halloween, smiling slightly as both she and Siidi worked overtime to write them all down in their Mind Castle, the younger arachne somehow managing to both stay awake and be in there doing a [Scrybe]¡¯s work.

    ¡°Moon, who¡¯s coming after us?¡± she asked in the end when the woman calmed down.

    ¡°Alanna. Those fuckers must¡¯ve sent a few airships from their fleet out here. They¡¯re probably trying to figure out where you¡¯ve disappeared.¡±

    Well, now Isse truly understood why Moon was going all out on the swearing.

    ¡°Wait, but isn¡¯t running away from them going to give away that I¡¯m here.¡±

    ¡°Yes and no. Let¡¯s just say that people transporting crimes against the continuation of life aren¡¯t the only ones who run from those idiots.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Nobody likes the damned silvers, girl, that¡¯s what I mean. They¡¯ve been known to shoot down airships that are unaffiliated to them or allied kingdoms. Gotta keep the supremacy!¡±

    The last sentence was said with enough venom in it to burn right through the deck and down to the very bottom.

    Before Isse could ask anything else, Shriya interjected helpfully: ¡°Silvers is our slang for all airships affiliated to Alanna. They¡¯re all forced to fly a golden flag with a silver image of a temple.¡±

    She stopped, looking thoughtful, before adding: ¡°Also, I think, like, half the silver fleet has beef with Moon and me.¡±

    <hr>

    On the Alannan airship the [Captain], a man named Furioso, shouted orders at [Mages] and [Sky Sailors]. Wind currents were called upon to breathe on their sails, which were being held open to their maximum.

    ¡°Has anyone managed to identify that damned skiff?¡±

    Skiff was sky slang for the smallest airships and, usually, was used as an insult, because the damn things had a tendency to be blown off by a current just a little stronger than usual: for that reason they were only used as one-time vessels to assault other ships.

    Finally his [Quartermaster] reached him. The man¡¯s skin wasn¡¯t skin at all because he had scales. They were a pale yellow and covered in scars, something very normal when talking about anyone who originated from Eva¡¯s jungles. His left eye was a dull gray, while the right one was missing altogether, a wooden sphere painted yellow in its place. Furioso knew that he could¡¯ve changed it into a magical glass eye that would¡¯ve given him back his sight, he had the money for it, but, to use his own words, ¡®One should not forget where they started. This eye is a reminder of that, together with the idiocy of my youth.¡¯

    Furioso respected the naga ¨C because yes, he was an evolved version of a lizardkin ¨C and smiled slightly as he slithered up towards him.

    ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got some bad news. That airship, it¡¯s the ¡®Amissa¡¯.¡±

    Furioso¡¯s face went dark, then pale, then he glared at the airship moving away from him.

    ¡°Is it now? The Mad Engineer¡¯s airship?¡±

    ¡°I would recognize it anywhere.¡±

    ¡°And how would you?¡±

    ¡°Before being recruited by you I was on a trading vessel that sold her the nails she used to make that beautiful monstrosity. I was also there when, as a kid, she tried to board the ship I was working on as a mere [Sailor] because she wanted to ¡®fly without wings¡¯. She cried so much when we found her trying to smuggle herself in with the provisions.¡±

    ¡°Now¡¯s not the time for happy memories Murgia. She took down over a dozen airships up until now.¡±

    Murgia, the [Quartermaster], made a so-so gesture as he took out a spyglass and looked towards the distant airship: ¡°Define ¡®take down¡¯, my captain. From what I¡¯ve heard and seen she only, quite literally, took them down to the ground by damaging the balloons. She never killed the people aboard.¡±

    ¡°Ah yes, because destroying the balloon keeping the airship aloft and watching people fall to their deaths isn¡¯t killing, right, right. She didn¡¯t plant the knife in their hearts, it¡¯s reasonable.¡±

    ¡°No, I mean that in the sense she literally never¡­ rarely caused the deaths of others. The ships¡¯ balloons were damaged enough to make them useless but not to the point of making them plummet. She¡¯s no murderer, just someone who values her ship more than anything else.¡±

    Furioso sighed heavily and waved him off.

    ¡°Be that as it may, all [Captains] have been told to get her alive, and bring her to Alanna for questioning and convincing. Apparently some people higher up in the chain want her to collaborate with them.¡±

    And at that Murgia began laughing like a madman.

    His [Captain] and, secretly, [Lover], raised an eyebrow at his reaction, clearly not understanding what was so funny in his statement.

    When, finally, he managed to calm down, the [Quartermaster] spoke: ¡°Knowing her, she¡¯s already got three plans in mind to fuck us right up. So let¡¯s give her our all now, shall we?¡±

    Furioso narrowed his eyes: ¡°I¡¯m really starting to wonder what side you¡¯re on.¡±

    ¡°Bite me! And then try to throw allegations of betrayal with your broken mouth.¡±

    They chuckled.

    And then they were serious again: ¡°Well, here goes nothing: [Crew: Enhance Dexterity], [Crew: Enhance Wind Magic].¡±

    The [Captain] followed a moment later with Skills of his own: ¡°[Aircutting Hull], [Balloon: Enhanced Resistance].¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°So, got a plan?¡± asked Isse.

    She¡¯d long since gotten bored of shouting at Moon from the door and had stepped on the bridge, her dress hiding her spider half.

    ¡°We¡¯re gonna do what I colloquially call the Dance of the Three Fs, or, as my dear friend calls it¡­¡±

    She looked towards Shriya with a hopeful smile.

    ¡°I¡¯m not gonna finish that.¡±

    ¡°Oh, come on Shriya!¡±

    ¡°Nope, not gonna do it.¡±

    ¡°Not even if I ¨C¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    Moon grouched: ¡°You¡¯re no fun.¡±

    To which her companion responded only with a slight smile.

    ¡°Anyways, since she doesn¡¯t want to say it: it¡¯s also simply called the Dance of the Fuck-Fuck-Fuck. So, basically, we¡¯re kinda fucked, so we¡¯re gonna fuck around and, in the end, we¡¯re going to fuck up our enemies!¡±

    Isse frowned, then opened her mouth, a finger rising in the air as she attempted to parse that sentence, then she realized there was absolutely nothing to parse, for there was no plan to speak of, and just shut her mouth tight.

    ¡°Atta girl, I see you understand!¡±

    The arachne turned towards the [Druid], her raised eyebrow being all that she needed to say.

    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s always like this. She makes things up on the fly. It shouldn¡¯t work as much as it does, but it does, and that¡¯s all I care about.¡±

    Isse looked at her, nodding in understanding, before she interjected: ¡°Did you just make a pun?¡±

    Shriya ground to a halt, turning to glare down at her.

    ¡°You know. ¡®Make things up on the fly¡¯, and we¡¯re on an airship¡­¡±

    The [Druid] sighed: ¡°She¡¯s rubbing off on me.¡±

    ¡°Hold onto anything my dearies, we¡¯re gonna be doing some [Unpredictable Maneuvers]!¡±

    And with that Skill shouted the ship groaned like a beast waking up from deep slumber, the wood rippling as, in its depths, the bones shivered. Not a moment later Moon smiled like a madwoman as her hand moved to a series of levers to her right. She pulled one, pressed a button, and they suddenly began to plummet towards the distant ground.

    Of course Isse screamed.

    And of course Siidi joined in, shouting about how arachne weren¡¯t meant to fly.

    She had not expected Moon to commit suicide right at the start of the battle.

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    For a moment she felt herself floating, her legs unable to grasp at the wood underneath because of the sharp change in direction, but a moment later she felt something grab at her legs and rapidly crawl up to her spider half, bringing her down and locking her in place, making sure she wouldn¡¯t be flying away.

    She turned towards Shriya, considering the idea of begging her to let her go: maybe she could weave herself a parachute before going splat like a mosquito against a windshield.

    She then noticed that the [Druid], too, had anchored herself to the bridge¡­ using vines. Yes, vines had sprouted from the wood of the airship and were tightly binding her feet to it, making sure she wouldn¡¯t be flying away anytime soon.

    The woman opened her mouth and said something but Isse couldn¡¯t hear anything over the howling winds.

    A moment later though she heard Moon thanks to, probably, one of her Skills: ¡°Get ready, we¡¯re about to move back up!¡±

    Not a second later she felt a great force push against her back as she was squished towards the bridge. Looking up she saw that the balloon, which had been visibly deflated up until a few moments ago, was filling back up¡­ and then expanding beyond its previous dimensions.

    ¡°[Balloon: Increased Elasticity]!¡±

    Ah, so that¡¯s why that thing hadn¡¯t popped with how big it had become.

    Then Shriya said: ¡°[Vines: Increased Strength (Major)].¡±

    Her voice was calm, as if falling out of the sky and then suddenly ascending like some kind of fucked up cricket jumping through the air was the most normal thing ever.

    ¡°They never expect it. It¡¯s very much against protocols,¡± says Shriya as if reading her mind, all the while acting absolutely nonchalant and making herself look like a complete sociopath.

    ¡°Of course it¡¯s not fucking normal, who the fuck thinks that falling hundreds of meters from the air is a good and viable tactic?¡±

    For a moment she felt a discordant sensation of emptiness as her mind expected someone to shout ¡®Language!¡¯ at her¡­ but nothing came. Right, Albert was dead. Grandmother too. Everyone was dead, or she had left them behind. Not that Morra, her [Necromancer] friend, had ever cared about such things.

    Moon laughed behind her as she said: ¡°Apparently someone does!¡±

    Turning around she saw two things, one of which was very alarming. The first was their [Pilot] holding some kind of scroll in her hands, a pen in the other scribbling something on it. The other, the one that was scaring her, was the enemy airship reaching them at an alarming speed.

    Did those motherfuckers just copy Moon?

    It would seem so.

    Isse got ready to fling [Fireballs].

    <hr>

    Murgia watched the Mad Engineer¡¯s airship as they rapidly began closing in, his mind awhirl. He still remembered the young girl he¡¯d found a very long time ago hiding among barrels of fresh fruits in his ship¡¯s hold, back when he¡¯d been a mere [Skybound Deckhand].

    He remembered meeting her multiple times in Alanna while she¡¯d been an apprentice under one of the city¡¯s greatest [Engineers]... unknowingly. The man loved his job but absolutely despised anything living that wanted to work with him, so he tended to rarely take on jobs. His prices were also so high that only the richest of the rich would ever consider buying from him, but the quality of his work¡­ oh, his airships were works of art. To this day Murgia still wondered how in Airm that young woman had managed to convince the man to take her under his wing.

    What he knew for certain was that he had put her through Airm if the consistent amount of dark circles under her eyes had been anything to go by. But, thanks to all her efforts, Moon had ended up being a great [Engineer], one who could build an airship out of literal bones and make it fly.

    And then, finally, he remembered seeing and talking to her for years as she slowly built her vision, selling her good quality nails at half the price just because he liked her. And also¡­ because she was one of them: a jungleborn. Someone raised in that harsh land who had learned to love it for all of its constant attempts at making itself unlivable.

    ¡®Unity in common strife¡¯ was their motto, their very way of living.

    It had been nearly five years since he¡¯d last met her.

    Nearly five years that he¡¯d been recruited by this [Captain], who he¡¯d fallen head over tail for.

    And now, right here, in these homely skies ¨C free of the more savage tribes of birdkin that would often attempt to bring airships down to loot them ¨C he met her again¡­ as enemies. Supposedly.

    ¡°I need a Communication Scroll, now!¡±

    The words left his mouth before he could be certain of his course of action ¨C but really, there was nothing to decide. She was one of them, just like him, after all.

    Furioso raised an eyebrow as he rummaged around in his bag of holding and took out a little scroll, eyeing him up and down as if admiring his self assuredness.

    Murgia took it with a nod of thanks and began writing on it with the same pen he normally used to write routes on maps, the point connected to a nearby inkwell.

    ¡°Who are you writing to?¡±

    ¡°To Moon, obviously.¡±

    The [Captain] raised his bushy eyebrow again: ¡°Are you sure she even has a Scroll to answer you back?¡±

    The naga chuckled slightly, nodding his head: ¡°Of course she has: for all that she¡¯s strange and probably slightly insane, she was trained by one of ours. She follows protocols.¡±

    ¡°THE ENEMY AIRSHIP IS PLUMMETING TO THE GROUND!!!¡± shouted a [Sky Sailor].

    Both Murgia and Furioso turned their heads towards where, moments prior, the Amissa had been floating away from them, or rather, trying to. Now there was nothing but empty air. Looking down they saw the airship falling to the ground.

    ¡°Protocols, right?¡± asked the [Captain] with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

    ¡°Don¡¯t use that tone with me, mister. As for her, [Infer Plan].¡±

    The world stopped as his mind began to race faster than sound itself, analyzing the situation he was in and showing him different possible outcomes. It was a powerful Skill, one he¡¯d obtained at Level 30 in fact, but it had its limitations. Or rather, limitation. Singular. That being, the Skill helped him deduce many possible outcomes from an enemy¡¯s movements, but in the end, he still had to be the one to choose which outcome was the likeliest.

    So he observed and judged: one of the outcomes, naturally, ended with the airship breaking apart and falling to the ground, causing the death of whoever was onboard. He immediately discarded that one, knowing full well that Moon would never just end her life, not in such a¡­ boring way, at least. Other outcomes showed her somehow filling her balloon and ascending back up, stopping at different heights to either run away or fight them head on, but now with a greater advantage. He discarded them all: this definitely wasn¡¯t how she would do it.

    Then, finally, he saw it: a possibility in which she ended up being higher than them, ascending with such speed that the one successful attempt had been covered by hundreds of others in which the ropes holding the balloon connected to her ship broke, making her fall. In this projection, though, she somehow made it, ending up in a prime position to¡­

    ¡°Well, fuck me gently with a sword,¡± he whispered.

    ¡°Furioso, get us higher, as high as you can!¡±

    ¡°What? But she¡¯s going down!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s gonna come right back up! [Balloon: Increase Lift]! Move it, move it!¡±

    His orders caused havoc among the crew as people began to man the ropes in an attempt to keep the airship on course.

    ¡°Furioso, I need you to use your Skill to change the air currents! We need to move backwards thirty seconds ago!¡±

    Had Murgia been anyone else the [Captain] would¡¯ve told him to fuck right off and, probably, thrown him overboard for daring to give out orders the way he had, for all that he was what amounted to a First Officer on his relatively small vessel. The naga, though, had proven more times than he could count just how sharp his mind was, so if he said something had to be done with as much fervor as he did now, it meant it had to be done.

    ¡°[Sails: Turn Around]. [Change the Winds: West-North-West].¡±

    He activated his Level 40 Capstone Skill and felt a current of wind form in front of them, blowing them backwards, their sails, suddenly turned the other way ¡®round to the utter bafflement of his crew, catching the winds in stride, moving them back.

    ¡°Raise the sails, now!¡± he shouted when he was sure they had gone backwards enough, and his men immediately began pulling ropes up.

    Not a few seconds later they saw the Mad Engineer¡¯s airship appear right in front of them.

    ¡°See, what did I tell you?¡± smugly said the naga.

    ¡°You did good. Thank you,¡± he said back gruffly but with a small smile.

    Then the [Quartermaster] began writing again.

    <hr>

    Murgia: Hello Moon. It¡¯s been a while.

    Moon: Murgia, is that you? What are you doing with the silvers?

    Mu: Oh, you know, getting paid, eating relatively good food, fucking the [Captain].

    Mo: You¡¯ve got to be shitting me. I want all the saucy details.

    Mu: Maybe another time you little madwoman. We need to check out your ship and bring you back to Alanna. Could you make it easy on us?

    Mo: I¡¯m afraid not Murgia, my pal. I¡¯ll never forget your kindness when I was building the Amissa, nor will I forget the times you covered for me during my training, but this? I¡¯m on a mission, helping someone. I can¡¯t come with you, nor let you get on. Maybe later, when I¡¯m done? We could chat! It¡¯s been years! And you can tell me all about your captain!

    Mu: ¡­

    Mu: Moon, I¡¯m sorry, but this is my job. Please. I don¡¯t want to hurt you.

    Mo: Ha! As if you could.

    Mu: Moon, I know you. I know your tactics, I know the way you work. If there¡¯s anyone out there in the world who could get you it¡¯s me. Please don¡¯t force my hand.

    Mo: ¡­ You¡¯re right, Murgia. You know me well enough. And you¡¯re junglebound, like me, so you think like I do. But here¡¯s the thing: you know me. And I don¡¯t work alone anymore.

    Mu: Very well. I¡¯ll try not to go too hard on you. We¡¯ll try, me and my captain, or he can forget all about ¨C

    Mo: Ah ah ah! No spoiling until I¡¯m there with you! I don¡¯t want a drop of water, I want the whole bottle all in one go. See ya!

    With that the Scroll¡¯s magic faded, Moon clearly having closed her counterpart.

    Murgia shook his head, although he couldn¡¯t help the smirk forming on his face.

    ¡°I¡¯m a fool,¡± he said, looking up to his lover.

    ¡°Nothing new there. Got any specific reason?¡±

    He chuckled: ¡°She never once in her life chose the easy way out. I was a fool for thinking she¡¯d do that this time around.¡±

    ¡°Soooooooo¡­ does that mean we can start casting [Fireballs] and throwing harpoons?¡±

    ¡°Yes, you can start throwing fireballs and harpoons Furioso.¡±

    The [Captain] gave the order and everyone on the bridge cheered.

    Murgia just hoped Moon wouldn¡¯t be too angry at the damage. Although, seeing that chitin armoring her whole ship, he guessed there wouldn¡¯t be much of that.

    <hr>

    ¡°So, let me get this straight: that man offered you to do things peacefully if you decided to go with them and let them inspect the ship. You refused. And now they¡¯re probably going to attack us,¡± tried to understand Isse.

    ¡°Oh no, they¡¯re absolutely going to attack us. I think we have thirty seconds to a minute before they do.¡±

    Issekina Silksoul, who¡¯d been trained by Grandmother herself, an Elder of the arachne, and had lived for months in the company of Pochi, who was Makira¡¯s sister-in-chaos and a great [Strategist], who had also been trained by not one, but two master [Spies], had seldom witnessed such unsound decision making.

    ¡°I can hide! You see what this dress can do! I can even change my face with illusions! You could¡¯ve let them get on, they would¡¯ve found nothing and then you could¡¯ve negotiated to go back with them after you dropped me off wherever I need to be!¡±

    Moon nodded sagely, the line of her mouth clearly saying she didn¡¯t care one iota about any of that.

    ¡°I think you¡¯re forgetting about your little bed you made yourself down in my hold. Plus¡­ I don¡¯t want them on my ship, it¡¯s that simple. Well, except for Murgia. This was an unexpected encounter.¡±

    Isse felt like tearing her hair out and then doing the same to Moon¡¯s, but in the end she took a few deep breaths and asked an extremely stupid question: ¡°So, what¡¯s the plan?¡±

    ¡°Plan? I thought I told you: it¡¯s the Dance of the Thr ¨C¡±

    She didn¡¯t manage to finish the sentence as the airship shook from an explosion. Someone had just thrown a fireball at their back.

    ¡°FUCK!¡± shouted Isse.

    ¡°No thank you, later, and I already have a girlfriend!¡±

    Another explosion hit them and made the airship shudder and groan.

    ¡°Can this thing resist?¡±

    ¡°So long as they don¡¯t want to be court-martialed for hitting the balloon and sails then yes, we¡¯re very much safe from the fireballs: the chitin this ship¡¯s covered in comes from a few big Reveler Ants and the little¡­ not so little bitches are known for being quite resistant to fire. No, there¡¯s only one thing at risk here and that¡¯s us: the ship can take a beating, I, on the other hand, have no desire to find out if there¡¯s a Skill for [Explosion Resistance].¡±

    There was, in fact, a Skill like that.

    ¡°So let¡¯s get going! Shriya, can you slow them down?¡±

    ¡°On it!¡± said the [Druid] as she turned towards the silvers and raised her right hand in a come hither gesture, her wings fluttering slightly in the air. A moment later vines began to sprout from the wood on the enemy¡¯s ship, where the sailors began to panic while some attempted to attack them. The long vines seemed to dance in the air, like charmed snakes swaying to a song, but otherwise were completely harmless.

    ¡°That should keep them occupied for a short while,¡± she announced.

    ¡°Do those vines do anything?¡± asked the arachne.

    ¡°Absolutely not, but the fact they grew out of nowhere in the middle of an airship is usually enough to scare most people into thinking they¡¯re dangerous.¡±

    ¡°So, let me get this straight: most of your tactics revolve around fucking around with people¡¯s heads?¡±

    Moon and Shriya looked at each other at that, their eyes meeting as they seemingly had a conversation without actually speaking.

    Then the [Druid] simply said: ¡°There¡¯s enough death in this world. We see not the need to cause more, not without reason.¡±

    As Isse heard these words she remembered something Albert had told her once: ¡°The Greatest Game was born as a way to stop the wars in a peaceful manner. A game of intrigue and spies, where people would be ¡®killed¡¯ by destroying their reputations, by exposing their evil deeds. That is what the Game was, once upon a time.¡±

    The people change, the ideas don¡¯t, said Siidi.

    Although, if I may, we should probably worry more about the incoming attacks.

    Oh right, there was that.

    ¡°I¡¯ll try to help, alright?¡±

    ¡°Sure, go ahead. I¡¯ll see if I can lose them somewhere, it¡¯s my speciality. Just keep them distracted!¡±

    And with that, as the people on the ship were ordered back to calm by the [Captain] and their attention was returned to the fleeing airship, Isse stood at the stern and looked up at the enemies, getting ready to help.

 Chapter 5: Meeting an Old Man

    Isse thought she should¡¯ve been panicking.

    They were being bombarded with all sorts of Spells ¨C mainly fireballs ¨C and motherfucking harpoons! Well, the harpoons had actually stopped falling once the people aboard the enemy ship had realized how useless they were against the Skill-enhanced chitin, but the Spells were still coming.

    ¡°Can you do magic?¡± asked Shriya without turning to look at her, her eyes fixed on the ship behind them as it slowly crept closer and closer, like a shark stalking its prey in one of those B-rated movies.

    ¡°Yes, what of it?¡±

    ¡°Can you intercept those Fireballs? Our ship is resistant, but sooner or later they¡¯ll get lucky and hit something that can actually feel the damage. We can call ourselves fortunate that for the silvers¡¯ fleets Fire Magic is standard.¡±

    ¡°... My magic isn¡¯t exactly good at that. I know some illusion spells, I have [Colored Water Arrow] and [Fireball] and I can also summon lightning bolts and snowballs, but I¡¯m more focused on¡­ altering Spells and emotions. Interacting with them, doing things with them. Problem is, I have to touch them to do that, and I¡¯m not keen on touching a ball of flames that is seconds away from exploding. I have two hands and I¡¯d like that number to stay unchanged.¡±

    But wouldn¡¯t having more hands be cool? asked Siidi.

    Shut u ¨C actually, no, you¡¯re right, that would be cool.

    ¡°Correction, at most I¡¯d like the number of hands to increase.¡±

    The birdkin [Druid] shook her head, muttering about something called ¡®Sklun¡¯ having disappeared.

    ¡°Ok, so, just use a mana whip.¡±

    The arachne looked at the harpy, an eyebrow raised in question.

    ¡°You have no idea what I¡¯m talking about, am I right?¡±

    ¡°Nope!¡±

    She sighed and beat her foot on the bridge, a single vine growing out of a fissure between the chitin plates with sinuous, nearly catlike, motions. A moment later it moved towards an approaching fireball, seemingly slashing through it. The vine was burned to a crisp but, surprisingly, the Spell exploded on the spot.

    ¡°Should¡¯ve guessed, it¡¯s a tactic we use only in the jungles. And, I guess, in the Tower Academy, or so I heard.

    ¡°It¡¯s something our [Whip Fighters] came up with: infuse your Mana in a far reaching item, a whip in their case, and use it to disrupt the structure of an incoming Spell.¡±

    She sagged a bit in place and put her hand on the railing to support herself. Cold sweat beaded the line where hair met forehead.

    ¡°Only problem is, it¡¯s mana intensive. I hope you¡¯ve got a big Mana Pool, ¡®cause you¡¯ll be going through it pretty quickly if you can help.¡±

    Isse, who had been trained by what was probably one of the greatest [Mages] of their time, looked at the harpy and, after a moment, asked a simple question: ¡°That bad?¡±

    The birdkin smiled bitterly and took a vial off one of the belts around her hips: ¡°It is.¡±

    She bit into the cork and spat it out, drinking the contents and immediately beginning to look revitalized: ¡°Mostly though I have a shitty Mana Pool. The advantage of being a [Druid] is that you don¡¯t tend to use your own Mana. Usually I just ask nature to do something very gently and respectfully and it does so. The expenditure of energy on my side is minimal. Even up here, thanks to the way this ship was made, I usually don¡¯t have to use much Mana.¡±

    She looked back at the oncoming ship and, a moment later, another vine whipped out of their own back and cut a bolt of lightning in twain. Again, she sagged, but this time she didn¡¯t look as tired as before.

    ¡°Breaking Spells though? That¡¯s hard. So, please, figure it out and fast, I won¡¯t be able to do this for long, they¡¯re starting to target places where it¡¯ll actually do damage if they hit.¡±

    With that she turned back towards the enemy ships, growing more vines out of the chitin and¡­ just letting them sway there, as a deterrent. Was it working? Well, seeing how the number of Spells seemed to reduce drastically it did.

    <hr>

    Furioso glared at the quite literal forest that was slowly growing out of the Amissa¡¯s back, a forest made of vines of all things that swayed gently in the wind. And yet, whenever a Spell came too close to the airship, they lashed out, destroying the fireballs and lightning bolts before they could do any damage.

    ¡°Stop casting!¡± he shouted.

    Only for Murgia to shout: ¡°Counter that. Keep throwing Spells at them!¡±

    The [Captain] turned towards the naga with a scream: ¡°What are you doing? We¡¯re just going to consume our [Mages]¡¯s Mana!¡±

    ¡°Yes, we are, but I know what she¡¯s doing. Mana Whips! It¡¯s an old tactic we use during wars. Infuse an object with enough Mana and throw it at Spells to break them apart. But it¡¯s intense. Whoever¡¯s doing that will run out of mana before we do. So we have to keep throwing magic!¡±

    The two looked at each other, then Furioso grunted and gave the order to start shooting again.

    ¡°I hope you¡¯re not wrong.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m certain.¡±

    <hr>

    Apparently they¡¯d already seen through their trick because the reprieve lasted the beauty of a single minute: enough time for Isse to weave herself an actual whip of spidersilk, definitely not enough for anything else though.

    ¡°Moon, who did you say was on that airship?¡± shouted Shriya as she had to sit down, her vines breaking apart Spells as she drank another potion down.

    ¡°It¡¯s Murgia! You know, the lizardkin who used to sell me nails at half price!¡±

    ¡°Him? With the silvers?¡±

    ¡°He says the food¡¯s good and that he¡¯s fucking the captain!¡±

    ¡°Feather rot, we¡¯re fucked! He¡¯s jungleborn like us! He knows our tricks!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re absolutely right, he knows our tricks,¡± she smirked, looking down at the arachne holding her impromptu length of spidersilk, ¡°He doesn¡¯t know hers!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re betting everything we have on an emotionally distraught and extremely unstable single teen mother of five?¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± shouted Isse, her cheeks reddening.

    She¡¯s not wrong though.

    ¡°I am!¡±

    Shriya made a strange noise, then grunted and shook her head, her face not looking surprised in the least.

    ¡°Fuck it! That¡¯s why they call you the ¡®Mad Engineer¡¯.¡±

    ¡°What can I say, I embrace the title!¡±

    She was actually so close to getting that title as a [Title]. All she needed was someone just a tad higher in the hierarchy of power in the Alannan fleet to call her that¡­ or a few hundred more common people. The System had already chosen a Skill fitting for it.

    Anyways, back to Isse, she looked at the rather long length of rope she¡¯d created, her hands holding it while her brain tried (and failed) to figure out what to do.

    ¡°I suck at throwing stuff,¡± she finally said, resigning herself. She had been trained in many things but both Master and Albert had given up on her when it came to knife throwing. One could have all the enhanced senses and reflexes of the world, but it didn¡¯t help when you couldn¡¯t use a dagger just right.

    ¡°Give that to me,¡± said Shriya as she offered her hand. She looked relieved that she would be getting a moment of pause from the ¡®spell whipping¡¯. Her hands moved with a strange fluidity as she gathered it into a hank.

    When she was sure she had it ready she¡­ let go?

    ¡°Why did you spend so long gathering it together just to let it go?¡±

    ¡°¡®Cause you made it too long girl. If I want to use it right it needs to be of the right length and weight. Since both of those were wrong I had to measure it out, otherwise this whip will turn into an overboiled noodle.

    ¡°Now, when I throw this at a Spell you make sure to let your Mana flow through it, alright? Do you know how to do that?¡±

    Isse nodded: Grandmother had taught her how to infuse items with her Mana. It had been one of the first lessons actually, right after she¡¯d learned how to use her Mana Sight.

    ¡°Good, then let¡¯s start. And tell me if you start feeling faint!¡±

    With that she looked at the sky behind the ship, her arm moved back, ready to throw. She watched the approaching Spells, letting her vines die off without actually stopping them, observing and, probably, trying to see which ones were targeting vital parts of the protective plating.

    Then¡­ it happened.

    Her arm moved, faster than the eye could see, throwing the impromptu whip towards an approaching Fireball.

    ¡°Now!¡± she shouted at the same time.

    Isse let her Mana flow through the length of the whip, her own silk being a perfect conductor for it.

    The two touched.

    Her Mana reached the fire that was already beginning to blacken the wonderfully soft and tense but extremely flammable silk.

    Her Mana.

    Her soul.

    She touched the Spell.

    And the world turned to flames.

    <hr>

    The city was burning.

    High stone walls behind and in front of her slowly crumbled and melted into unrecognizable masses of tumorous bubbles and growths that popped and grew and fell to the ground, forming abominations of statues that would come to life and die in a matter of minutes as the heat would birth and destroy them.

    Houses of wood and clay burned, their glass windows having long since exploded or melted down as charred remains tried to hang onto their original form, remembering they were once houses, bullheadedly attempting to keep performing their original task. Some managed, some failed, nearly all were nothing more than husks with carbonized corpses that were slowly being turned to dust by the flames as they ate through that too.

    In the distance, near the center of the city, a castle burned, its high spires reminiscent of the cathedrals of Earth. One of them emitted a great rumbling sound as cracks began forming on its surface and, suddenly, it collapsed in on itself, falling towards the ground as a great gout of flames, like a dragon¡¯s fiery breath, bellowed up towards the ash stained clouds.

    There was no more screaming.

    All was dead.

    Isse and Siidi stood in the middle of a soot painted square. Once upon a time there had been a probably beautifully decorated fountain where they were standing: now though, the spouts and white granite ¨C or maybe marble, they couldn¡¯t tell ¨C had broken and melted into a discordant mass of screaming holes that reminded them of a face out of illustrations of a Flesh Abomination from one of the horror novels Albert had bought them.

    There was no fire near them ¨C there was nothing left to burn to begin with.

    The two arachne stared at the maddening sights all around them, astonished, deep down in their souls scared, and completely lost.

    ¡°What should we do sister?¡± asked Isse, her hand moving towards Siidi¡¯s, finding it halfway through.

    ¡°I have no idea. I don¡¯t think this is what Shriya thought would happen.¡±

    But, in truth, it was. This was what happened every time someone interacted with a Spell the way they were doing now. It¡¯s just that nobody ever noticed. Or rather, nobody ever remembered.

    It was also why Spell Whipping was so tiring to most people: they saw a city on fire and all they could think of doing was find a way to snuff out the flames. Well, it wasn¡¯t always a city, but you get the gist of it.

    ¡°We can¡¯t stop the fire,¡± said Isse matter-of-factly.

    ¡°Understatement of the decade,¡± her voice felt pensive.

    They kept on staring, uncaring of the heat around them: it was real only if they allowed themselves to make it feel real.

    ¡°Then what can we do?¡± asked the youngest of the two.

    ¡°As I said, nothing. We¡¯re in what I imagine Airm looks like and we don¡¯t even have a glass¡¯ worth of water, let alone the sea it would require to snuff all of this out.¡±

    ¡°We could try to¡­ oh, I don¡¯t know, take all the air out?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, right, because you¡¯re the Shaper of Skies.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just throwing out some ideas, it¡¯s more than you¡¯re doing!¡± she said, turning to glare at her sister and soul half, a single step away from beginning a shouting match,

    ¡°Oh, trust me, I¡¯m doing plenty. I already told you: we should do nothing. Just stay here, sitting or standing or whichever you prefer, and wait for the fire to eat itself. Sooner or later there won¡¯t be anything left for it to burn through. It¡¯ll starve and we¡¯ll have won.¡±

    Isse opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, her eyes widening slightly as the idea took hold.

    Then, finally: ¡°It can¡¯t be that easy.¡±

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°You¡¯re right, it¡¯s not that easy!¡± agreed someone behind her.

    ¡°Oh, thank y ¨C WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!?!¡±

    Both arachne turned around, their hands raised protectively and aggressively. Siidi was already holding her favorite giant fountain pen in both hands, wearing a blue leather jacket made of happy memories, while Isse found herself holding with more certainty than she¡¯d ever had¡­ Albert¡¯s dagger.

    The mythril dagger he¡¯d told her a few stories about.

    She¡¯d completely forgotten she had it.

    And right there, standing with his hands behind his back and a small, pleased, smile on his wrinkled face, was an old man. His pupils were golden, as if stars had been placed behind them to be shining beacons in a dark world, his teeth white as the heart of said stars, his skin slightly tanned, as if he¡¯d spent most of his life working behind a desk under the kiss of the sun for only part of the day.

    Isse immediately frowned at that last idea: it was way too¡­ not hers. Unlike her. She liked to be descriptive, but this one just wasn¡¯t in her style. It was¡­ extraneous. Had she just gleaned a fragment of this thing¡¯s past?

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s such a pleasure to finally meet you! I¡¯ve been waiting for so long! You¡¯re actually the only reason I didn¡¯t look for a successor all these centuries!¡±

    ¡°Who. Are. You?!¡± asked Isse, not caring a single iota about this man¡¯s rambling. Her dagger ¨C Her dagger now, stars above and devils below it was hers ¨C was now pointed towards his throat.

    ¡°Oh, no need to be that hostile dear. I¡¯m just a merry old man, your typical old codger who really should stop being so much into gossip.¡±

    The old man kept on talking as if it was nothing even though now he had a pen planted right into his heart. A pen that had gone from side to side.

    He looked down, completely unfazed, and with a snap of his gnarled and liver spotted fingers made it disappear. The two arachne stared in astonishment at the hole in his chest that, slowly, began closing: they could clearly see the city behind him.

    ¡°Oh dear oh dear, you¡¯re quite jumpy. Rest assured, I have no bad intentions towards the two of you. Or anyone really. I¡¯m a rather peaceful one as far as Old Men come. I¡¯m certainly less prone to violence than old Seas, and very much less grumpy than Mountains.¡±

    And at that Siidi¡¯s eyes went wide with horror as she took a few steps back. Isse clearly felt the sudden panic going through her and, too, took a few steps back, interposing herself between her sister and this strange old man.

    ¡°Siidi?¡±

    She tried to say something but her lips and tongue couldn¡¯t seem to move in sync as she mumbled nonsense.

    ¡°Siidi, get a grip! What do you know about him?¡± shouted the younger arachne, her eyes never leaving the man¡¯s, who just stood there, hands back behind him, although the small smile had disappeared, his face now showing concern.

    ¡°H-He¡¯s a-a-a-an Old Man!¡± finally managed to say her soul half.

    ¡°Yes, well, I can see that he¡¯s old, thank you, why would he be any different?¡±

    Siidi shook her head emphatically as she took a sit on the fountain¡¯s ¡®edge¡¯, lowering her head¡­ in reverence?!

    ¡°Not any fucking old man Isse, he¡¯s an Old Man. Capital letters. He¡¯s the [Old Man by the Stars].¡±

    Isse stared at her sister. Then back up at the old man, who was shaking his head in resignation, and then back at Siidi.

    ¡°Should that mean anything to me?¡±

    Because yes, nobody had ever told her the stories of the Old Men.

    As those words left her mouth the man in front of her opened his eyes wide in surprise¡­ and started laughing. A loud, hooting, sound that was more reminiscent of a wild screaming monkey with a deep tone than a human.

    The man laughed and laughed and he even had to sit down and hold his stomach, although her [Perceive Emotion] made her feel like that was him playing into it rather than actually feeling pain.

    In the end, though, he finally calmed down, tears running down his cheeks that he had to scrub off with a now ash-covered sleeve, leaving a dark streak on his face.

    ¡°Hoooooooo¡­ sorry about that, but it was just hilarious. One of you two knows about my stories, while the other doesn¡¯t have a clue who she¡¯s talking to. Heh, that¡¯s what you get when you suppress stories I guess. Although, hopefully, there won¡¯t be any more of that soon.

    ¡°Anyways, let me tell you the story of the [Old Man by the Stars]!¡±

    He made a grand gesture with his hands, one pointed up at the starless sky with a flourish while the other sat over the still closing hole where his heart should¡¯ve been.

    ¡°Once upon a time, when this world was being made by the gods, we didn¡¯t exist. Rather, we didn¡¯t have physical bodies. We were concepts with a level of sentience and an understanding of our nature. There were three of us: me, the oldest of the three, for the Stars were the first thing the gods made; then came Seas, for those were the second thing the gods made; finally came Mountains, for the gods painted the earth over the seas like they were a canvas.

    ¡°For the longest time we stayed that way: concepts who looked and existed and did their thing. Then the creatures the gods made began to evolve: first they learned to mine, then to sail, and then I came.

    ¡°And as they did that, we saw opportunities. Seas was the first to become an Old Man. He saw himself reflected, all of his nature, in an old [Sailor] ¨C a common [Sailor], not a [Captain], nor any other fancy Class ¨C and, in the moment of his death, they made a deal: to become one. Not for the [Sailor] to be an Avatar of him, nor some kind of [Priest]. No, for the Seas and him to become one and the same. That day the Old Man by the Seas was born, although he had a different Class at the time.

    ¡°Then Mountains did the same with one of the dwarves. Unsurprising: they understood the earth and its bounties and rules better than most.

    ¡°And finally I followed them.¡±

    He stopped, looking at Siidi, who in the meantime had calmed down slightly.

    The Old Man gave her a slight smile and made a ¡®go on¡¯ motion, as if telling her to finish the story.

    Siidi¡¯s eyes widened and seemed to ask a simple question: Me? Really?

    He smiled and nodded.

    So she spoke: ¡°Of the three, the Stars had it the most difficult, for nobody could reach them. So they had to reach down themselves. And what most represented the stars? What was the meaning behind them? They were observers, is what they were, still are. They observed everything and everyone and, in exchange for that, they gave back light and Levels. So they searched, searched for someone who loved to observe and, most important of all, learn.

    ¡°They found their someone in an archive. The first Old Man by the Stars was, indeed, a woman. An [Archivista] whose true Class was forgotten in the passage of the Ages. A woman who, some say, had been a Wisher. A person from another world.¡±

    The Old Man nodded, his smile now turned melancholy.

    When Siidi closed her mouth, now looking much more calm, even though her muscles were still tense and she¡¯d summoned back her favorite pen.

    ¡°Her name was Isetnofret. It meant, in her tongue, ¡®Isis is beautiful¡¯. She had been a young librarian working in the Library of Alexandria. She died attempting to save as many books as she could when the Library burned down after Julius Caesar¡¯s arrival. Her Class in this world, when I first met her, had been [Axechastos Archivista]. Archivista of the Unforgettable. She spent all her newly given life studying the story of the world as it was recorded and going as far as exploring it in an attempt to record every possible story that could be found, together with developing a new kind of paper that would never burn nor age. To this day the College still has some of her books stored safely away from people¡¯s eyes, although the Drowned managed to, somehow, get their hands on a few of their own. Good people, the Drowned. Seas made a good choice when he made them.¡±

    His smile had turned distant now as he stared up at the starless sky.

    ¡°Still, I¡¯m not here to reminisce. I¡¯m here for a greater purpose: mainly to tell you that waiting for the fire to burn out will be useless: time in here is slowed down, but not stopped, so by the time ¨C heh, time time ¨C the flames die down it¡¯ll have hit your little airship. You¡¯ll need a different approach.¡±

    Isse felt the impulse to tell the Old Man to fuck off but, seeing how Siidi was shaking her head emphatically at her, she decided to swallow down her frustration and simply say: ¡°What do you suggest?¡±

    The Old Man looked at the burning city, his eyes suddenly distant.

    He remembered this place, these flames, those melting walls and burned houses and crumbling castle. He also remembered the screams that had come before the flames, heat and ash had killed everything in it.

    He also remembered who had started the fire.

    Just as the world did.

    For those flames had burned Creation itself.

    ¡°If it were me I¡¯d just send an asteroid down here and end this whole thing in one fell swoop. A fast one. But you don¡¯t have the power nor the abilities to do such a thing.

    ¡°So, tell me, little arachne who hates fire more than anything in this world and still, for some reason, learned to craft Fireballs, what do you do when you want to stop a fire that has spread far and wide? You can¡¯t suffocate it, for there is no wet blanket big enough for it, nor enough sand at your disposal. You can¡¯t douse it, for you cannot fly to drop an entire ocean on it¡­ yet. I once met an arachne who¡¯d learned to fly, so I wouldn¡¯t be surprised.

    ¡°You cannot wait for the fire to go out, for your time is limited. What is left for you to do?¡±

    Isse and Siidi looked at him, waiting for an answer.

    He smirked: ¡°Why, of course, the answer is surprisingly easy: you send it back to where it came from!¡±

    Both arachne looked at the man as if he¡¯d just gone insane.

    ¡°We can¡¯t send fire back to where it came from¡­ in a city.¡±

    ¡°But that¡¯s the thing: you¡¯re not in a city. You¡¯re in the memory of a city, while you¡¯re inside a Fireball. You could try to snuff it out, that¡¯s what most people would do when seeing a burning city, but you? You know how to see through souls dear. And I¡¯m pretty sure you¡¯ve been taught how to change perspectives.¡±

    ¡°...Sort of?¡±

    The Old Man raised an eyebrow: ¡°No, I mean I know for a fact that you¡¯ve been taught the basics of it by Grandmother.¡±

    Immediately Isse took a step back, raising her dagger again: ¡°And how would you know?¡±

    He looked at her, then gestured with his hands at his body: ¡°I think I¡¯ve said it. Oh, no, wait, I didn¡¯t, that was another timeline. Pardon me, it can get confusing every now and then. Anyways, I am the [Old Man by the Stars]. It is my title and my Class. And I am certain I said this: we Stars observe. It is our purpose. Or rather, it became our purpose. To observe everything. We¡¯re how the System looks at the world and judges what Levels and Classes and Skills you get. No Stars then equals no System. Therefore Stars equals a lot of gossip and schizophrenia for me!¡±

    He was smiling now.

    While the arachne stared at him as if they¡¯d just met god.

    Honestly, he, like the other three Old Men, was the closest thing to a god most people would ever get to meet.

    A kind god too!

    ¡°Anyways, as I have stated, I know for a fact that you¡¯ve been taught the basics of Perspective Shifting. It is a very powerful tool for [Soul Mages] since it allows you to basically fight on home turf even in a hostile person¡¯s soul.

    ¡°Haaa, if only you¡¯d been taught in the ways of [Dreamers], that would¡¯ve come in handy: those hopeless sods do it on a regular basis and don¡¯t even realize they¡¯re doing it!¡±

    The two arachne kept on staring at him in utter bafflement, until Siidi finally snapped: ¡°You can¡¯t just reveal a truth of the world and its workings and then go back to talking about other stuff like it¡¯s nothing! That¡¯s so many different kinds of fucked up!¡±

    The Old Man shooed off the idea with a wave of his hand, sitting down on the edge of the monstrous fountain, his left knee beginning to bob up and down in what had probably once been nervous energy but had since become a tic.

    ¡°I can and I will. I¡¯ve already given enough to munch on to the audience,¡± he smirked, winking at them, although it didn¡¯t feel like he was winking at them, if that made any sort of sense.

    ¡°Now stop wasting time: this city won¡¯t burn forever, that Fireball won¡¯t be flying for much longer and I won¡¯t be allowed to stay here for too much time. The only reasons I¡¯ve been allowed in here are that someone wasted a great amount of a precious and very limited resource and because you¡¯re in the skies, my domain. So no more wasting time and do as I suggest: shift your perspective. Turn this place into something more familiar!¡±

    Isse hesitated, clearly wanting to get more out of him, but there was something in the Old Man¡¯s voice that told her there wasn¡¯t an alternative.

    So, gently, she closed her eyes.

    And thought about a place, a situation, that was familiar to her, that could bring her an advantage.

    In the darkness of her eyes she thought of snow.

    She thought of the gentle, half remembered, notes of a song played by her Violin the first time she¡¯d taken it into her clammy hands from a vault covered in ice, surrounded by icy flowers that followed her every skittering step.

    And, as she remembered, as she told herself with increasing certainty that that had been where she¡¯d truly been standing all along, the world around them changed.

    Siidi saw it, together with the Old Man.

    And the first thing to change was the way the flames flowed.

    They began to burn backwards, to unburn the reality of this memory.

    Siidi watched in amazement as the walls began to wobble back together, the melted stone turning into golems turning into strange slimes that ascended back to the top and slowly remade themselves, the wood revitalizing, the houses and castle ¡®uncrumbling¡¯ themselves as windows reappeared. The fountain around her moved backwards in time and, suddenly, she found herself staring at the face of some angel that was spitting water at her feet.

    Then, finally, she saw them: the skeletons. Blackened, disintegrated, and the square they were in was filled to the brim with them. The bones began bleaching white again, assembling into figures, flesh forming anew on them, covered next in¡­ scales? Yes, scales.

    Had this been a city of lizardkin? In Eva? But¡­ how? Where? She¡¯d never heard of anything like this.

    Drakes, whispered a voice in the back of her mind.

    Her eyes snapped wide open and she looked towards the Old Man, who was staring at her, the cheerfulness that had constantly been there now completely gone.

    [Whisper Them Sweet Nothings]. A useful Skill for someone of my nature. Isse won¡¯t hear me, nor you.

    What was this place?

    One of the drakes¡¯ cities on Rodar. As you saw¡­ it didn¡¯t end well.

    Siidi had heard about the Drakes. A race of dragonborn, one of the races that had been made by the gods at the beginning of Creation. She¡¯d also heard they¡¯d gone extinct but, seeing how things had gone here, in this memory of a city, and what the Old Man had said about the flames that burned this city having ¡®Scarred the world¡¯, she doubted it had been their fault.

    She watched then as the drakes began running backwards as, suddenly, a wave of fire moved backwards, towards an epicenter near the center of the city, where, now, a ball of flames appeared.

    She wanted to say something, anything, but then¡­ it was all gone.

    They were in a snow covered plain now. A few trees grew here and there and, in the distance, a forest loomed. A forest of pines.

    And there, smack center of the clearing, was what remained of a wooden lodge, one that had been burned to the ground by a fire that had then frozen into place, ice covering and trapping the flames forever, turning the destructive flames into a beautiful light fixture.

    It took her a few moments but, in the end, she recognized the place they¡¯d ended up in.

    ¡°You brought us to Grandmother¡¯s soul¡­¡± she whispered as sadness filled her heart and made her eyes tear up a bit.

    Isse opened her eyes and¡­ shook her head: ¡°She¡¯s dead. This¡­ is how I imagine she would¡¯ve liked her grave to look like.¡±

    A ball of flames stood near the entrance to the Lodge of Frozen Flames. It seemed to shiver in the glacial cold, as if fear had finally found a way to take a hold of them.

    Isse smiled: she understood fear. She¡¯d felt so much of it, after all. She¡¯d feared Siidi and her hate, she¡¯d feared Grandmother and her harsh kindness, she¡¯d feared the [Soldiers] and the fire that had killed her sisters, she¡¯d feared Albert and then she¡¯d feared the people who had come to hunt her in the city she¡¯d just started to call home. She liked to think she knew fear better than most. Certainly better than a ball of fire that had known nothing but the memory of the complete annihilation of a city and its people.

    She smiled, for she understood now how to do what needed to be done.

    The Old Man had told her to ¡®send the fireball back to its sender¡¯.

    And she knew exactly how to do that.

    From the woods in the distance figures emerged. Many small, quadrupedal, furry, figures.

    ¡°Wolves,¡± whispered Siidi as she recognized them.

    The same wolves that had hunted them many times in Grandmother¡¯s soul as she taught them ways to defend themselves and attack things made of soulstuff.

    One of them reached the shivering ball of fire and jumped, picking it up in its mouth and biting down hard. The Fireball didn¡¯t disappear or pop, naturally. It began to burn through the wolf¡¯s head but the beast didn¡¯t care and, instead, turned around, scampering back towards the treeline it had come from.

    The white of its skull peaked through now, but when it started to crumble to the ground it simply threw the Fireball to another fellow wolf.

    They soon disappeared into the treeline.

    The Old Man smiled: ¡°Good. Now, let me give you one final piece of advice: don¡¯t do this too often. It is less intensive than the usual method used by the lizardkin in Eva, but it still consumes Mana. Mana that your kids need. So¡­ keep it under control, alright?¡±

    Isse turned around to tell the man that she understood, even to thank him, but he was already gone.

    As was the snowy field and the forest.

    She found herself standing back on the airship¡¯s bridge, right beside an astonished looking Shriya, the sound of Moon¡¯s mad cackling right accompanying the sight of the [Fireball] she¡¯d touched having turned around and now flying towards the enemy ship.

    ¡°Could you do that again?¡± asked the birdkin in the end.

    Isse nodded.

    Moon kept on laughing.

    In the distance, a murder of crows approached.

    [Shadowed Soul Shaper Level 26!]

    [Skill ¨C Soul Locus: The Cabin of Frozen Flames Obtained!]

    [Skill ¨C Soul Defense: Wild Wolves Obtained!]

 Chapter 6: Crows, Crows Everywhere

    Murgia was having a good day: he woke up in the morning beside his beloved in the rather cramped Captain¡¯s Cabin ¨C made even more cramped by the bulk of his tail ¨C had some good breakfast with the rest of the crew while the people on night duty groaned through it with warm tea in their hands and the need to sleep for an age, then spent most of the morning just looking over the crew up on the bridge, occasionally helping the newbies and directing them towards their ordered destination: the Dukedom of Ermis, near the recently founded Kingdom of Occultism.

    Then they¡¯d encountered another airship, one that had looked extremely familiar to him even from such a distance, and, again following orders, had signaled them to slow down and let them onboard.

    Seeing how the ship had accelerated a moment later he¡¯d guessed they¡¯d have to do things the hard way.

    Then they¡¯d come close enough for him to see the chitin covering all of the wood, the green ropes ¨C which he recognized were actually lianas woven together ¨C and, last but not least, the form of the hull, sleek and long, perfect for speed but, most notable of all, extremely elegant.

    He knew of only two people who made ships in that way: the Hermit Genius of Alanna, who only made ships by commission at prices that would make most [Kings] take a double take; and a girl who¡¯d once become his apprentice because of her love for the idea of ¡®flying¡¯, mixed in with her absolute hate of politics.

    Seeing how only one of those two would have access to the things used to build the airship in front of him, it was obvious who they were tailing: Moon.

    An old time¡­ friend? Yeah, they were probably friends. Anyways, an old time friend of his. One he¡¯d helped by selling her nails at half the price they were worth (while paying the remaining fee out of his own pocket), bringing her drinks from all over the world and¡­ yeah, they were definitely friends.

    Because of this his day had become even better.

    Sure, when he¡¯d written to her with a Message Scroll she¡¯d told him she wouldn¡¯t allow anyone aboard, but so what? They¡¯d just catch up, maybe damage the ship in minor ways (he¡¯d asked the [Mages] to pull their Spells), do an inspection, then go to some city for drinks while he convinced his beloved [Captain] to let her go free because, really, he would rather get his own tail cut off then let the churches get their grubby little hands on her.

    Everything had been going wonderfully.

    Until one of the Fireballs thrown by one of his [Mages] had suddenly turned around and flown wildly¡­ towards their balloon.

    The strings of expletives that left both his and the [Captain]¡¯s mouths were long, colorful and caused a few nearby [Sky Sailors] to turn around and look at them with appreciative expressions, one of them going as far as taking a bit of paper and a pencil out of his pocket and writing them down.

    They hadn¡¯t noticed.

    Unlike half the rest of the crew.

    ¡°[Balloon: Fire Immunity]!¡± shouted Furioso.

    A moment later the Fireball struck their flimsy balloon.

    The explosion over their head rocked the airship, making many of the [Sailors] hobble in place while the newbies downright fell on their asses.

    Still they floated on, for that was the thing about Fireballs: when they exploded all they did was release extremely warm air ¨C the real damage was usually done by the fire and the shrapnel launched by the explosion. So¡­ they were safe.

    ¡°Stop fucking launching Spells! I don¡¯t know how they did that, I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s a Skill or some strange jungle fuckery magic and, most of all, I don¡¯t know if they can do that again! So stop throwing Spells, and that¡¯s an order!¡±

    Immediately the [Mages] lowered their wands or staves, taking a deep breath to calm their racing hearts.

    Meanwhile Murgia sighed and shook his head, answering the not-so-subtle question in his captain¡¯s eyes: ¡°I had no idea she could do that.¡±

    ¡°Wrong question Murgia, I could already tell that. If they could¡¯ve done that they would¡¯ve done so already a few minutes ago.¡±

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s some kind of ritual and it needed time to be prepared,¡± suggested the naga, although he knew he was speaking out of his tail for that one. There were no rituals ¨C that he knew of ¨C which could just reflect Spells that way. Those were always all or nothing. No, instead they¡¯d only sent back the one Fireball, ignoring the others and the [Lightning Strike] Spells.

    ¡°I can already tell you¡¯re sure it¡¯s not that.¡±

    ¡°Could be a Skill.¡±

    ¡°Then how long is its cooldown? And can we be certain without risking them sending more Spells back at us?¡±

    ¡°No, we cannot.¡±

    ¡°Then the question remains: what was it?¡± wondered the [Captain], a hand on his chin, his index finger beating a slow tempo on his lower lip ¨C which still showed a bit of the bite marks Murgia had left on them last night.

    The naga looked away from his lover¡¯s lips and concentrated back on the still-closing-in airship.

    And then an idea struck him.

    A horrible, scary, idea: ¡°Maybe someone on that ship is Counter-Leveling?¡±

    Furioso¡¯s head immediately snapped towards him, his eyes widening slightly.

    Then he simply said: ¡°We¡¯re fucked.¡±

    You see, all over the world, from the moment Levels became available to all living beings, people found out that, sometimes, individuals, usually exceptional individuals, when put in extreme situations, would Counter-Level: that is, begin grinding through Levels and gaining Skills, all at the cost of basically putting their life at stake.

    It happened quite often actually, usually on battlefields, where [Soldiers] suddenly became one-man-armies because of their desire to stay alive.

    The practice in itself wasn¡¯t bad. The problem came from the culture it arose from: a culture built on and around wars, where people nearly always Counter-Leveled on battlefields¡­ where most of the time they gained Red Skills. Indeed, that was the real problem: it happened so often that now nearly everyone associated the idea of Counter-Leveling with gaining Bloody Skills.

    ¡°Should we turn around and leave?¡± asked Furioso, now suddenly cautious.

    The naga hesitated. He, like all jungleborn, feared Counter-Leveling more than the rest of the world, for the jungles were a, if not the, harshest place in the world. Getting Red Skills there was common, to the point where some people had actually started to develop ways to ¡®cure¡¯ people of their [Afflictions]. The attempts rarely succeeded, but they were already doing more than the rest of the world.

    The two lovers looked at each other, their minds whirling as they tried to make a decision: run away, or risk it all and stay.

    The choice was made for them by someone else.

    <hr>

    ¡°I think that scared them shitless,¡± said Moon, a mad glint in her eyes and smile as she barely managed to contain a chuckle, and even then only because of Murgia¡¯s presence on that airship.

    Shriya didn¡¯t immediately answer, completely frozen in place as she just stared behind them, shock written all over her features.

    ¡°Aaaaaaaand I think you broke her,¡± helpfully added Moon, this time not managing to keep the chuckle at bay.

    The birdkin [Druid] shook herself out of her stupor and turned to Isse: ¡°Did you know you could do that?¡±

    She shrugged, shaking her head: ¡°No, but I¡­ improvised.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    The birdkin stared deep into her eyes, seemingly trying to come to a decision: ¡°Explain,¡± she requested.

    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m a [Soul Mage]. Which means I work with souls, as you could probably imagine,¡± why did she feel so awkward?

    ¡°So, since Mana is the soul of the world, I sort of can interact with the Spells of other people and¡­ change them? Yes, that¡¯s more or less what I can do. Reshape them into something I find more fitting. It¡¯s a lot more complex than what I make it sound.¡±

    She closed her mouth and suddenly, for some reason, she felt a¡­ connection, yes, a connection with Grandmother, more so than she had when she¡¯d been her apprentice. These concepts, these ideas, they had been so alien to her when she¡¯d started, so much so that even this simple concept had been too much for her and had required hours of explanation. Now though? This was easy. Merely the basics. And look at what she could do with just those! She had managed, with that minimal amount of knowledge, to surpass some of the most advanced security systems in the entire city of Tedam and, right now, she¡¯d basically broken the laws of physics and magic, sending back a Fireball!

    What would I have been able to do if I¡¯d had just a few more months to train under Grandmother? What kind of abilities would I have unlocked?

    Siidi decided not to say anything, for she knew the answer all too well: something not powerful enough to defeat the Law of the Hunters. The only reason they had survived was their old Tradition: [Always, One Survived].

    Still, she did say this: Don¡¯t get too cocky. Overconfidence will be our death.

    Ah¡­ sorry.

    We¡¯re good, but not powerful. We¡¯re very far from powerful, as we¡¯ve been shown in Tedam.

    ¡­But we can grow stronger.

    For some reason as those words passed through Isse¡¯s mind they felt right, righter than usual.

    That we can, and we will, after we survive this.

    Isse couldn¡¯t contain the chuckle that escaped her lips: Well, we¡¯re good with that at least. It¡¯s our Class after all.

    Siidi chuckled mirthlessly at that.

    ¡°You alright? Why did you suddenly start chuckling?¡± asked Shriya, looking almost¡­ guarded.

    ¡°Ah, it¡¯s nothing, I just thought of something extremely sad that¡¯s somewhat funny. You know the feeling, right?¡±

    Shriya couldn¡¯t say she didn¡¯t.

    She decided to change the subject: ¡°How much Mana did that take out of you? Do you need a potion?¡±

    Isse checked herself, looking inward, at her very soul, trying to gauge how much of that ethereal substance she¡¯d consumed with that stunt.

    That was when she noticed it: a hole. There was a hole in her soul. A hole that led somewhere deep and dark, somewhere where no form of light could ever even imagine to reach. There was a strange, almost bluish, mist coming out of that hole and, as she watched, she saw it slowly condensing, forming small droplets of pure Mana that restored her own reserve.

    She knew, as she looked even more, that the hole wasn¡¯t merely one-way: she could take from it, she could literally dry her Mana reserves up and still be able to cast by claiming more of it from that hole, from the source of all Mana. She had been granted a boon, the possibility to access more of that unfathomable, seemingly endless, resource. She had to be careful though, for even that kindness had a hard limit, one she wouldn¡¯t be allowed to surpass.

    ¡°It didn¡¯t consume too much Mana.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t be sure though, the hole, no, the Well into the world¡¯s very soul, had already started to replenish her Mana surprisingly fast.

    ¡°Very well.¡±

    She looked uncertain for a few moments, then nodded: ¡°Could you teach me?¡±

    ¡°OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!¡± shouted Moon behind them.

    Immediately Shriya turned both bashful and irritated as she shouted back: ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with asking you dumbass!¡±

    ¡°Not the worst thing you called me!¡±

    Isse watched the two as they began to biker, all the while Siidi kept a careful eye on the ship behind them, making sure that no more magical attacks would be coming all of a sudden.

    Should I? she asked her soul half.

    I don¡¯t know why not. It¡¯s your right to teach whoever you want, what with you probably being one of the last people in the world to know Soul Magic. It all comes down to whether you want to do it or not.

    Isse thought about it for a moment: on the one hand, as Siidi had said, she was one of the last people left in the world who knew Soul Magic, if not the actual last person; on the other, she didn¡¯t know Shriya and what she might ¨C

    Why do I care about what she¡¯ll do with my magic? It¡¯s not like it¡¯s going to be my problem if she fucks around and finds out.

    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll teach you. Once we¡¯re out of this shitshow.¡±

    Shriya turned away from Moon and looked at the arachne with ¨C

    ¡°Ok, stop that creepy smile right now and never smile again for the sake of me keeping my sanity!¡± shouted Isse as she backed away slowly from the suddenly very happy birdkin [Druid], whose face was now sporting an absolutely horrific smile.

    And at that, Moon burst into laughter.

    Although the sound was overshadowed by the absolute storm caused by a murder of ravens probably bigger than the airship itself passing by and flying towards the silver ship behind them.

    They all stared, completely slack-jawed, as the volatiles began attacking [Sailors] and ropes indiscriminately, causing panic, mayhem and general hilarity on Moon¡¯s part.

    A crow, one with feathers that were more gray than black, landed on the helm and looked at the three of them, examining them through black beady eyes, as if he were looking for something specific.

    Its eye alighted on Isse and stayed there for a long, long, time, before it ruffled its feathers gently and croaked out: ¡°The arachne is found! She will be safe! Kraaaaaa!¡±

    Isse looked at the board in absolute shock and, before she could stop herself, not even realizing that this was just a bird who probably couldn¡¯t understand her, asked: ¡°You saw me? Through the dress?! How?¡±

    The crow tilted its little head sideways, first to the left, then the right, then back to the right, and Isse was just a moment away from slapping herself on the forehead and calling herself an idiot for having asked something to a bird, when it answered¡­ sort of.

    ¡°Kraaaa! Silk can¡¯t fool! Silk isn¡¯t shiny!¡±

    And again Isse found herself gaping at the bird.

    She would¡¯ve probably stayed there for a while longer, but Moon spoke: ¡°Hey, crow, you¡¯re cute and strange and interesting and all, but could you tell your pals there on that other ship to stop damaging the ropes? There¡¯s people on there I¡¯d rather not die, old friends of mine.¡±

    The crow turned towards her, saying nothing.

    ¡°You can keep your friends there if you wanna, just to scare them stiff. You alright with that?¡±

    The crow stared at her, but Moon easily stared back.

    In the end the bird crowed loudly towards the air and, suddenly, all the crows and ravens on the other ship stopped, flying a bit higher before stopping on the wooden masts, their forms seemingly fusing together to form one great mass of darkness that obscured the balloon over the [Sailors]¡¯ heads.

    The [Occult Engineer] nodded: ¡°Thank you.¡±

    She then proceeded to take out the same Message Scroll as before and began writing on it.

    The young arachne peaked over her shoulder and began to read.

    Mo: Hoy, Murgia! You still alive?

    Mu: Alright, fuck you and whatever the fuck you did just now with the crows.

    Mo: Would you believe me if I told you it wasn¡¯t my doing?

    Mu: ¡­Maybe. Tell them to leave please.

    Mo: No can do Murgia, old pal. I barely negotiated a ceasefire. You better tell your men not to do anything stupid to those crows you¡¯ve got nesting up there.

    A moment later they all heard something that sounded a lot like a shouted order and Isse clearly saw the distant [Sailors] stiffening up.

    Mu: The [Captain] wants to know what demands you have. And¡­ did anyone, you know, Counter-Level?

    Moon¡¯s eyes darkened a bit at the last question, before she wrote down:

    Mo: Come with us to the Kingdom of Occultism, be nice all the way there, and have a drink with me. I¡¯ll offer this time. Gotta start paying you back for all the free alcohol you gave me while I was building the Amissa. As for your question, no, nobody Counter-Leveled, although I think my passenger did gain a Level for that stunt with the Fireball.

    Mu: Phew. Good to know. Congratulate them from me then. They managed to scare the living shit out of us.

    The Scroll went silent for a while, then the person on the other side wrote again:

    Mu: Anyways! I¡¯m glad you decided to pay me back! Although, I do think that all those bottles I gave you did more damage than good. Just look at that abomination you fly around in!

    Mo: Hey! She¡¯s a beautiful abomination. Do we have an agreement?

    Mu: Wait a moment.

    They waited for a minute or two, or maybe an hour, Isse couldn¡¯t tell for certain with how excited she was.

    Then, finally, the answer came:

    Mu: The [Captain] agrees to your demands.

    Mo: Great! Tell him he¡¯s also invited for drinks!

    Mu: Will do.

    And with that Moon rolled up the Scroll and smirked.

    ¡°Welp, this went surprisingly better than expected.¡±

 Interlude: Prelude for War

    The Tiurna Mountains.

    Such a wonderful, dangerous, place. In the history of the world it is said that only one person ever managed to climb to their top, one legendary [Mountaineer] who desired to speak to the gods and ask them a question. Did he succeed? Did he meet the gods and get a satisfying answer? Nobody but him knows. What can be said for certain is that, from that day, the entirety of the [Mountaineers] living in those mountains changed in some strange, subtle, way. Nobody ever noticed though, for they were always strange to begin with! After all, who in their right mind would choose to live their entire life in such an inhospitable place where nightmarish creatures could hide behind every trunk? Only madmen! So, really, what was a bit more strangeness?

    Still, there is a simple truth the world never found out, a truth regarding the origin of the Tiurna Mountains.

    The truth?

    They were a prison.

    The gods raised them from the ground one day, lifting the earth itself, leaving a giant, gaping, hole underneath them.

    And, in that hole, they threw the one thing they knew not how to deal with: Shadows.

    When the gods made Creation they chose to connect every sentient living being¡¯s shadow to their bad deeds so that, when the time came for them to be judged on whether to go to Airm or Larnos, all that would be needed was for the Judges to observe their shadow: the blacker it was, the greater the sins. For a long while it worked.

    And then, as usual, humanity found a way around the problem. A Class capable of interacting with shadows, changing, reshaping, or even exchanging them. They were the [Shadowers] and they¡¯d been founded by one of history¡¯s greatest [Rogues].

    The gods changed their way of judging people¡¯s souls, but the shadows were left behind and, since they were no longer of use ¨C and hard to dispose of ¨C, they were just¡­ thrown away. Down, underneath the Tiurna Mountains, to forever exist in a dark place where they wouldn¡¯t cause trouble.

    Until now.

    Now, the shadow of a young girl waltzed on the surface again during a moonless night. Snow didn¡¯t crunch under her feet, for she didn¡¯t have a physical body that had weight or¡­ anything, really. She was pure will in the form of a shadow. An ancient shadow even by this world¡¯s standards. A wandering shadow from a long gone Era.

    A step behind her walked a being that had a physical body¡­ sort of. Shadows and mass didn¡¯t work together, but this world had a cute little thing called System, a small god that was as powerful if not downright more powerful than most gods she¡¯d had the displeasure of having to deal with. A god bound by oh so many chains in the form of rules, a god that was giving her the power to do everything she was doing now thanks to these Skills and Levels. So now thanks to her commander¡¯s hard work he had a Skill that granted him a body.

    He did leave footprints behind, each and every one of them turning the snow black as ink as he played around with his beloved Aura.

    ¡°We¡¯re close, Hat Man!¡± she said joyfully.

    They were walking high up in the Tiurna Mountains, higher than the last of the [Mountaineers]¡¯ villages, lower than the lost cities of the Mountains.

    An in-between where many of the creatures brought here by the Traveler found their homes.

    She was looking for one in particular. An immortal just like her, one that had terrorized the place she had come from more than others.

    The trees parted into a small clearing that led to a cave. The opening was lit by a warm fire that revitalized her: light, in the right amounts, could strengthen her, and this was just the right amount. As if whoever had lit them had been waiting for her.

    A step closer.

    The flames flickered, the shadows they cast looming closer, reaching out for her, their Queen, and her companion, their Commander.

    Behind those flames stood a grizzled old man. He didn¡¯t look up as they came closer, his eyes fixed on something near the base of the flame, something that made a sizzling sound and smelled delicious. Oh the wonders of smell: she had spent millenia smelling the same unchanging, dusty, still, air, and now everything was just so good!

    Into the light she stepped and only then did the old man look up from his fire.

    ¡°Good evening,¡± he said, and turned to look back down.

    She ¡®sat¡¯ on the other side of the flame, the Hat Man standing behind her.

    ¡°Good evening, Old Man Jedediah.¡±

    Silence.

    Then: ¡°It has been a while,¡± he said, ¡°Not that you were much missed, Hate.¡±

    ¡°Come now Jedediah, you know better than to act like that with me.¡±

    The old man looked up from his campfire, right at her, his eyes sharp, sharper than she¡¯d known them to be from back before her imprisonment. And then the sharpness was gone, his eyes becoming dull anew, losing that light, letting out the ever-hungry darkness within.

    He smiled: ¡°Go away, little girlie, shadows make bad meatballs.¡±

    He turned slightly, his eyes alighting on the towering figure of the Hat Man, his smile becoming creepily large: ¡°Although the big fella there, now thatta be a nice hearty meal.¡±

    The Hat Man didn¡¯t move an inch, but his hat did tip forward ever so slightly, a sign that he was ready for anything that could happen.

    The girl, Hate as Jedediah had called her, raised a hand and shook her head, not-hair billowing around her with the motion.

    ¡°You will not eat my Commander,¡± she said, her voice so cold it could¡¯ve frozen over an entire river.

    The old man, the very old cannibal who had lost himself in his hunger to the point where the hunger itself had eaten him, smiled brightly: ¡°Why not? He looks tasty. Surely he could spare an arm or both. He¡¯s shadow, he can grow it back! Hmmm, never tried black meatballs, I wonder how they taste!¡±

    The girl smiled at that. The thing about beings like Old Man Jedediah was, it was easy to barter with them. All you had to do was give them exactly what they wanted.

    ¡°I can help sate your Hunger if you join me in my war. There will be the entire world to eat for you.¡±

    And at that the madman seemed to stop and¡­ think? Yes, think. A part of his ancient lucidity seemed to rear its ugly head back up.

    But, as fast as it got there, it was gone.

    And he started shaking his head: ¡°Can¡¯t. Can¡¯t. CAN¡¯T! CAN¡¯T!!! Promise! Made a promise! Word given! Deal made! The Toybox, upon the Toybox I swore! Upon the heart of the pines! Can¡¯t! Can¡¯t eat! Can¡¯t, can¡¯t, can¡¯t, cantcantcantcantcantcantCANTCANTCANT!!!¡±

    He kept on shaking his head harder and harder and harder and harder, and then he started smashing it against the rock of the cave wall vehemently. On the first strike his skull caved in, the bone forming an indent. On the second the indent became a hole from which blood poured out copiously, the brains behind exposed to the warm air. On the third the rest of his face met the rock, his nose breaking apart into paste, his lips splitting, his teeth shattering, his eyes turning to mush that mixed in with the blood.

    And still he kept going, more and more and more until Hate was nearly certain that his head would fall off.

    Then, just as suddenly as he had started, Jedediah stopped. His body froze in place, his head now more a concave red opening than a head, but slowly, right before her eyes, it started to fix itself. Flesh reknit over bone that slowly regrew, forming the outline of a skull that was then covered in muscles. A glimmer of white began to shine inside the eye holes as two new eyes formed, their corneas darker than the deepest black in the depths of the sea.

    His mouth was last to reform and, the moment the teeth grew back, he ravenously began eating the meatballs the old cannibal had been cooking up until a moment ago. Most of them were still raw or only half cooked, but he cared not, the Hunger cared not.

    When he was done he sighed in relief, his eyes, now lucid again, settling on her.

    ¡°No. I won¡¯t follow you. I swore to the Mountaineer, on the day of his union with his beloved, that I would never let the Hunger win me. I will keep that promise. I will hunt animals and monsters alike in these damned woods and I will make meatballs out of them for the rest of existence until Nothing eats us all, but I will not let the Hunger win.

    ¡°Now leave before I try to figure out a way to eat you.¡±

    The girl, Hate, sneered, although the expression wasn¡¯t visible on her face, and got up from the snow, turning to leave.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°You will regret not choosing my side.¡±

    Old Man Jedediah laughed as, slowly, his eyes began glazing over again: ¡°And you will regret ever leaving your little prison. The Toybox was destroyed and I ate the things inside, the Skinwalkers made a deal with a hatless witch to be kind, the others are too scared of you and the mountains, or, they have cravings worse than mine.¡±

    He started laughing again and, this time, didn¡¯t stop as the two shadows disappeared into the darkness beyond his fire.

    He laughed and laughed and laughed.

    And then there was silence. It was time to hunt.

    <hr>

    The word Grandmaster meant many things.

    It was, first and foremost, a job: the man working it had to deal with any and all troubles that ended up in the College¡¯s lap, making sure they were solved in the best way possible. They also had to work with the churches to progress the gods¡¯ plans, although in the last few thousand years that had seemed to become more and more ¡®do war against this dude¡¯ or ¡®go fight off that specific temple¡¯. Gone were the days when grand Quests were started by the gods in an attempt to help humanity progress. The current Grandmaster had noticed this strange trend, together with the fact that average Levels all over the world had gone down both in numbers and quality.

    Grandmaster was also a Class, and there is little to be said about that, for oftentimes Classes and Jobs align. The one thing worth noting is that the Class allowed the person a certain amount of control over the House of Memories¡¯ layout and workings, together with any Memories ¨C or their evolved cousins ¨C inside the walls.

    Finally, Grandmaster was also a name. His name, now. The man (or woman) who took on that great burden also gave up their names, forever sealing them in an item that was then thrown in the Basement. Why? Because names held power, and a person¡¯s true, original, name held the greatest amount of it. That was why, whenever a Grandmaster chose someone to be their successor, they forced everyone to call them Assistant: so that the people would forget their name sooner or later.

    But then, if Grandmaster is a name, then wouldn¡¯t it have as much power? That¡¯s what you¡¯re all wondering, right? Well, you wouldn¡¯t be completely wrong, alas, for all that Grandmaster was their name, it was always, first and foremost, a title, therefore holding less power. Don¡¯t get me wrong, a good [Witch] could most probably cast a hex on them just as well, but it would probably be repelled by all the defenses around them.

    Because that was another thing: the moment someone became the Grandmaster they were no longer allowed to leave the House. For their own safety, mostly: there were many people out there in the world who¡¯d jump at any chance to kill one.

    That was the reason why the current Grandmaster of the College was sitting on the floor of his room, his head in his hands, having completely forgotten about the level of safety the House granted him and all those inside. His mind kept circling back to the memory of Armando and his group of traitors: what if there were others out there, wandering those corridors? What if they hadn¡¯t caught all of them? And then there was also the boy trapped in dreams, Diego: he was certainly still alive and, for all that he was alone, he still knew how the original plan should¡¯ve gone. He could still cause them ¨C no, him ¨C trouble.

    His mind then went back to one thing he had read back when he¡¯d still been the Assistant: the time an arachne had managed to enter the House and liberate two Traditions. He didn¡¯t know why his mind went back to that single chapter in the dozens of books he had perused during his time as the Assistant, but he didn¡¯t care. It was there and, with it, it brought back another memory: the last Grandmaster¡¯s letter. The one where he had admitted to the existence of a Tradition, among the arachne, that allowed at least one of them to always survive no matter what happened.

    And at that his fear skyrocketed.

    One arachne was still alive and, recently, he¡¯d received notice that she had been found in the city of Tedam, in Irevia. If she¡¯d been there she had probably found someone to mate with, and considering how fast the arachne could breed, well¡­

    His mind kept spiraling that way for a long while, certainly for hours, maybe even days, or maybe just a few minutes. Time had never made sense in the House, especially near that Door, the one they had never managed to open, no matter how hard they tried. Once they¡¯d bought the services of the greatest [Rogue] in the world to attempt to break it open; all he could do was peep through the lock with Skill enhanced vision and see one thing: a painting hanging by a thread that disappeared in an eternal darkness above. The subject had been fuzzy but he¡¯d said it showed a small, red, spider.

    Anyways: in the end the Grandmaster¡¯s eyes grew heavy and he felt sleep calling him. He didn¡¯t want to but he had yet to obtain the same Skills the old one had that allowed him to stay awake for months on end.

    So he crawled up from the floor and onto his soft, comfortable, bed.

    He was asleep before his head could even hit the cushion.

    <hr>

    Darkness greeted him.

    As it always did.

    There were means to ward one against the Land of Dreams, to keep it out, to make one¡¯s dreams their own. To the rest of the world it made no difference: dreams were dreams and most didn¡¯t even know that they were a place they could visit. But he, like all Grandmasters, knew better. He knew that, once upon a time, before the Traveler, before the arrival of the God of Dreams and Impossibilities, dreams had been just constructs of a person¡¯s mind. Upon those had the foundations of the Land of Dreams been laid. And it was in those that his mind rested right now.

    Dark dreams, dreams that hadn¡¯t seen the light of false stars for so long that they had forgotten the meaning of it, that they had forgotten themselves.

    What happens when a dream forgets itself? Well, normally, it disappears. That¡¯s how these things go. But¡­ the God of Impossibilities, Soma, had to¡­ change things up. Because, for something impossible, even something as ¡®unreal¡¯ as the Land of Dreams, to exist without consequence, sacrifices had to be made. Those dreams were the sacrifices.

    Black, empty, forgotten, dreams that nobody would¡¯ve missed, that nobody should¡¯ve found again.

    And, even if someone did actually find them, there would be no reason to stay, for there was nothing to be seen or felt. They were no eternal prison for some great evil, no repository of forgotten or inexistent knowledge (although he had been tempted to put the ¡®Book of Jokes¡¯ in one of them, an infinite book that promised one that, at its end, they¡¯d find the ¡®oldest trick in the book¡¯). There was absolutely, totally, incontrovertibly and provably, nothing.

    That had been his honest mistake.

    Because where there is nothing, Nothing thrives.

    So, really, putting that Book of Jokes would¡¯ve been a damn good idea. Or even just any random rock taken from Creation. Or a blade of grass. Anything would¡¯ve done.

    Alas, for all his experience, even Soma hadn¡¯t considered something like this could¡¯ve happened. Why? Because it wasn¡¯t impossible! Just highly unlikely.

    The Grandmaster opened his eyes in that darkness, his mind attempting to latch onto the nothingness within to start the ancient, rusted, wheels of that mechanism of dreams. Tendrils of dreamstuff reached out.

    And were eaten by Nothing.

    For they were not Nothing, and therefore should become Nothing.

    There was something else here, something that wasn¡¯t Nothing, so Nothing tried to turn it into Nothing, absorb it into Nothing, for that was the destiny of Everything.

    Nothing reached out in this place that was both Something and Nothing, a Paradox, something impossible, but since this had been a place of dreams, a place of impossibilities, it was acceptable, it allowed Nothing to be here in a limited amount.

    Nothing touched the being that wasn¡¯t Nothing.

    And couldn¡¯t.

    If Nothing could¡¯ve screamed it would¡¯ve, for Nothing could feel the presence of its exact opposite. Not Everything, that was just food, no, it was the House. The House of Memories, in one of its many, endless, forms, and it was there, protecting this not-Nothing. The House, the living personification of Everything as it had been and as it was, but not as it could be. The House remembered and remembered alone. The Rose saw what could be.

    Nothing raged, but since it was Nothing nobody could hear or feel it.

    After a while of this Nothing looked down at the little thing. It had consciousness, it could tell as much from the constant intrusions of dreamstuff trying to make something in Nothing.

    And since the House protected this one, Nothing couldn¡¯t consume it.

    But Nothing didn¡¯t want to leave such a morsel alone. Maybe there was something to be done, something that could help Nothing. Maybe a way to open up a doorway for it to start consuming the little bit of Everything this being came from.

    Yes, that could be done.

    But how to do this? The House protected this one after all, and the only cases Nothing had ever managed to breach inside one was when it had devoured the entire universe a House existed in, leaving Nothing for it to anchor itself to.

    That was when it noticed it: one of the tendrils of dreamstuff. It was red. Which, in itself, meant nothing: dreamstuff came in all colors one could imagine and then an infinite amount of others that one couldn¡¯t. No, the thing that attracted the Nothing to this one was the scent of its progeny: the Blood. Beings that had been born out of Nothing eating a world in which someone had made a deal with it. The process to describe the birth of the Blood was complex and would drive most

    gods or ancient chthonian entities mad ¨C and trust me, none of you want to know what happens when the equivalent of Ctulhu (because yes, he exists) goes insane ¨C and the less said of it the better.

    What mattered was that the Blood was there.

    And that, Nothing could use.

    Nothing reached out to the Blood, which happily greeted its father. The sole fact that a creature like that could feel happiness outside of when it was causing incredible harm to other living beings would probably be enough to drive some weak-minded people insane.

    Then the Nothing was in the being¡¯s mind.

    Nothing learned that its, no, his name was Grandmaster. Nothing also learned the reason why the Blood was haunting this man, for all that it had been reduced in power thanks to some kind of outside influence. Nothing considered this image of the Death of Warriors and, after a moment, turned it into Nothing of consequence.

    And then Nothing reached the core of the Grandmaster¡¯s mind.

    Planting an idea.

    A means to achieve what Nothing had seen he desired most: ridding himself of the arachne. It was an idea so complex, so outside of his understanding, that it would probably drive him insane, but the knowledge that this idea would bring an end to all his problems would turn into an obsession that would keep him going no matter what.

    When Nothing finished its task it left, letting the Blood run rampant as it should. It would probably help the man understand the seed of knowledge.

    Then Nothing did something it never did: it left, leaving behind a lesser nothing, one that could be exploited by the slowly corrupting dreamstuff.

    That night the Grandmaster dreamed of something otherworldly and completely nonsensical, something made of lines and words and meanings that no longer existed, or rather, had never existed (now). The last thing he saw before waking up was a spider walking onto¡­ that, whatever that was, and disappearing.

    He woke up.

    He smiled.

    And he began to work, not thinking much of that strange dream, but still very much happier for some reason.

    [Condition ¨C Horror of Death Removed!]

    [ERROR! ERROR! Conditions for Removal Not Met!]

    [Observing¡­ Observing¡­ Cause of Removal Not Found!]

    [Reinstating Condition!]

    [Reinstating Failed!]

    The System attempted multiple times to give back to the Grandmaster his Condition and, every time, It failed. So, instead, It decided to stop and leave the man be: there was no reason to waste so much important brain power on a single human, after all.

 Chapter 7: To Poison a House

    Gunsee had never been a big city, nor a famous one or, in general, a place of note. Commerce flowed through it liberally because it had been built on the trails that led into the Tiurna Mountains and down into the jungles. Sure, it meant that, during the winter, the place became basically isolated since nobody in their right mind would attempt to pass through the, as the [Mountaineers] called it, Pineless Strait ¨C a relatively safe passage that had been carved between two mountains and that the mountain folk defended and maintained for a small fee ¨C but the rest of the year they saw plenty of activity!

    Recently, in the sleepy town of Gunsee, a new [Baker] had appeared, although just calling him that would be a disservice.

    For he made wonders out of things as simple as bread, and the sweets, oh the sweets, they were simply wonderful. A bite was enough to let someone reach Larnos, the shapes he made them into were mesmerizing at worst, downright breathtaking at best. Cakes, candies, sweet breads, you name it, he had it.

    Another reason why the folk in Gunsee knew this absolutely wonderful bakery? The man behind the counter.

    Once upon a time he had probably been a good looking, even strapping, lad, but now? He looked sickly on the best days, while during the worst ones, the ones where he couldn¡¯t even get up from the padded chair behind the counter, he seemed to have a foot in the grave.

    There was a third reason the bakery was on everybody¡¯s lips: Alice.

    The girl who¡¯d suddenly appeared in town a few months ago wearing a shirt from the Tower Academy and whose origin was completely unknown, the girl who¡¯d managed to become Herman¡¯s apprentice after talking with him for a few hours, something nobody had ever managed ¨C both talking to him for a few hours and becoming his apprentice ¨C, the girl who¡¯d stolen the heart of the most sought-after bachelor in town and, finally, the girl who¡¯d recently started a business of her own helping people with charms and strange blessings given with plants. Many had called her a [Witch] at first, but every time she¡¯d denied it.

    ¡°I am not a [Witch]. I don¡¯t have a hat, after all. At best I¡¯d call myself a subpar [Healer].¡±

    But her remedies worked, her strange amulets and incantations were effective in ways that even potions and spells sometimes weren¡¯t.

    Someone had once asked her this: ¡°Why do you call yourself a ¡®subpar [Healer]¡¯? You¡¯re better than most!¡±

    The girl, who¡¯d been checking a small cauldron of boiling water with a specific plant floating in it, had looked up and smiled bitterly: ¡°Thank you for the kind words, but I don¡¯t call myself subpar because of my lack of abilities, no, I have plenty of that. I am subpar because I allowed myself to forget them. I thought they didn¡¯t exist. I was wrong. Now they answer my call.¡±

    Her smile had become satisfied as her eyes had looked up into nothingness.

    ¡°Never allow yourself to forget, you hear me?¡± she had added afterwards.

    So Alice, strange Alice, not-witch Alice, the girl on everybody¡¯s lips, visited the place every day and treated the [Baker] like an old friend, checking up on him, giving him concoctions that visibly helped him, and bought his stuff saying it was the best she¡¯d ever had, that Alice was the third reason this new bakery was so successful.

    Armando couldn¡¯t find the words to tell her how grateful he was.

    And, at night, while others slept, he looked out of the window in the bedroom over his shop and thought about the House of Memories, about the people he¡¯d lost there, and about the promises he¡¯d made, the Oath he¡¯d taken.

    Alice said she¡¯d find a way to help poison the House¡¯s Mind in the Dream, so now¡­ now I have to think about how to get to Her Heart.

    That was easier said than done.

    Why?

    Because the Heart was in the Basement.

    The place where all the monsters hid in the dark, waiting hungrily for someone to open the door to their realm, desiring only to escape. Once upon a time they wouldn¡¯t have been able to step beyond the door even if someone had left it open. Now though? The House was weak, weaker than ever, and her protections had waned. Marta had shown everyone as much.

    How does anyone get through a not-place filled with monsters that want to murder you? And all the while look around for a heart that nobody knows the appearance of?

    They¡¯d been working on that idea for a very long time but, even then, they¡¯d never managed to find a good way to deal with all the monsters.

    Or rather, Marta had thought of a way, but it was a death sentence: to fight one¡¯s own monster. To challenge it and win. Then, maybe, the others would let him go, but they had never found a way to be sure of it, nor did he have more than one shot at this. He considered himself lucky he was getting a second one, for all that he was damaged.

    Sigh, I wonder what my monster looks like.

    <hr>

    Alice stood in the Dream, her [Tools of the Trade] all neatly aligned on a table in front of her, while various plants she had gathered all over the Land slowly dried up on a rack behind her, the warmth of a fire hastening the process. Of course she could¡¯ve just forced the Dream to do that part of the process for her in an instant, but it was important, meaningful, for it to happen in a natural manner.

    The Land of Dreams functioned on concepts and ideas: the more someone believed in them, the more powerful they became. And, at the same time, the more truthful these concepts were to themselves, the more believable they were to the Dream, the more power they gained. It was a strange thing to say, a strange balance to put in a place that should¡¯ve made the impossible possible. It was almost as if the Land wanted to remind the [Dreamers] that there was a world out there, in the Waking.

    ¡°What are you making?¡± asked a voice to her left, clearly attempting to stay away from the curling smoke rising from a nearby cauldron (because having a bubbling cauldron beside what was basically an alchemist¡¯s workshop made absolute sense).

    Alice turned towards the source of the voice and her leafy mask with a rose over her left eye was met with a fox¡¯s snout that was rather rapidly retreating as the smoke coming off the cauldron curled around and began following him, like an animal sensing fear.

    ¡°Hi Albert,¡± she said with a smile that was mirrored by the leaves and thorns making up her mask. A while ago, while fighting off a Bloody Nightmare ¨C a nightmare caused by a Red Skill ¨C she had planted the seed of a Rose of Saint Agnes in her flesh. It had turned into an armor, a great one, for a price: herself. The Rose had grown on her, in her, drinking her blood and marrow, planting roots in her bones and muscles, growing thorns to pierce both her enemies and herself and, finally, taking her left eye as its final price, but not her sight. The Rose was a boon, but when used to fight it was a curse, a reminder of what it meant to go against its nature as a memory of something saintly, something, altogether, kind. The Dream allowed her this indiscretion, this corruption of purpose, and she, in turn, allowed it to damage her to empower it.

    Anyways, the Rose had overtaken her gifted fox mask, making her a new one, a mask of leaves and spines and thorns with a beautiful flower blooming over her eye. A mask befitting her nature as someone beautiful but sharp. Someone not to be taken lightly.

    ¡°I¡¯m making poison that should be capable of killing the House of Memories,¡± she answered lightly as she turned back to her drying plants, considering which ones to use, under which tradition and for which desired effect.

    ¡°House of Memories? What¡¯s that?¡± asked the old fox man as he took out a pipe and began blowing rings of smoke that turned into smoky fishes, which began a battle to the last drop of gas with her own little cloud of harmless steam.

    ¡°Wait, you don¡¯t know what that is?¡± she asked in surprise, her mask¡¯s vines moving to imitate two raised eyebrows.

    ¡°Garda, my dear, if I ask you what something is then it means I don¡¯t know, am I right?¡±

    She shook her head slightly: ¡°Yeah, no, it¡¯s not that, I just thought it was common knowledge. It¡¯s the name of the place the College makes its main base.¡±

    This time it was Albert¡¯s turn to raise an eyebrow: ¡°Isn¡¯t that place just called ¡®The College of Memories? Has the big bold letters with the words ¡®Memory becomes Tradition becomes Law¡¯ stamped right on top of the entrance. I should know, I lived in Alanna back in the day, before I retired from my job.¡±

    Alice ¨C or Garda here, for one should never use one¡¯s own name in the Land of Dreams ¨C didn¡¯t quite understand: ¡°No, that¡¯s just the organization.¡±

    The fox shrugged: ¡°Ah, well, it¡¯s just a case of widespread misinformation then. Nothing new, we¡¯re talking about the College after all. Still, I don¡¯t think any of that explains how you can kill a house of all things. They¡¯re not exactly alive.¡±

    The [Occultist] laughed at that: ¡°Come on Albert, you¡¯re walking among dreams and you cannot accept the idea that a house could be alive.¡±

    ¡°Oh no, I can absolutely accept that idea, living houses are not exactly new, there have been dozens throughout history. What I¡¯m surprised about is that this one didn¡¯t attempt suicide so far. They always do after a century or two.¡±

    A fish fell to the ground, its little fins rising towards the ever-setting sun of the Dream before falling to the ground, dissolving into smoke that was quickly dispersed by an errant gust of wind.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Alice stopped right in her tracks¡­ well, she¡¯d been sitting and looking at him, doing nothing, but you get the gist of it: ¡°Wait, so this isn¡¯t the first time a house came alive?¡±

    ¡°Meh, it used to happen quite often with inns. People come, people go, they leave money and other things, pieces of themselves, then the [Innkeeper] gains enough Levels and suddenly you find yourself with an inn that is alive and very much unhappy about it. Sentience is a curse apparently. They stay around for a while, get a few Levels, then the [Innkeeper] dies, maybe the business changes, stuff happens and suddenly the inn decides to end it and the edifice crumbles to the ground. From what I heard they just sort of¡­ decide to die and do it.¡±

    The fishes rallied against the advancing cloud of lethal steam, their general giving a rousing speech and then ordering them to charge!

    ¡°Woah. I¡¯d like to be able to do that: just choose to stop thinking, go catatonic and die. Sounds like a good way to go.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t deny that.¡±

    ¡°Well, whatever, this one¡¯s still around and apparently She, because the House is female, cannot die. So I¡¯m helping kill her. Got any tips? Ideas?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, make it painless.¡±

    The fish soldiers attacked and fell in droves, but slowly the cloud receded back towards the cauldron, into its original borders. It was a pyrrhic victory, for far too many lives had been lost. Maybe not enough would be left to make sure that this great enemy couldn¡¯t escape its confinement inside its country of origin, but now it mattered not. Now it was time to celebrate! And they did it by flying around in the air, making amazing acrobatics that left the public breathless.

    Then Albert waved his hand and the fishies disappeared with a small scream that they both heard.

    ¡°Painless you say? Well, that was my plan already. But it won¡¯t be easy. I¡¯m apparently supposed to create a poison for the mind, but the strongest poisons I have would make the experience, well, unpleasant, to say the least. And before you ask, no, I won¡¯t use less powerful ones to make it better for the House: we need her to die, that¡¯s the priority. Everything else comes second place.¡±

    The old fox man nodded, sitting down on the ground, where a chair of grass wove itself into existence and let him sit comfortably. She¡¯d noticed that, in the last few nights, he¡¯d seemed¡­ different. More tired than usual. His dream self¡¯s mask had more graying hair than she remembered and more often than not she would find him sitting down on cushions and other comfortable things.

    So¡­she did the sensible thing: ¡°Are you alright Albert?¡±

    The [Dreamer] looked her right in the eyes for a few moments, thoughts whirling in the back of his mind, taking on the form of a small storm over his head. Then he sighed a deep, tired, sigh.

    ¡°No worse than usual. I¡¯m old, Garda. Older than most people ever manage to reach, especially considering my profession. My body in the Waking¡­ isn¡¯t in good shape. I¡¯m trying my best, but not even the greatest [Healers] in the world can stop the advance of Time.¡±

    Which wasn¡¯t completely right. Once upon a time, well before the Silken Wars, there had been a great [Healer] who had managed that. An elven man who had gotten a Skill capable of shielding him and his patients from the passage of Time. He had trapped the Skill in a Scroll and thrown it into a Bag of Holding, which he¡¯d then collapsed, making it disappear in an instant. For not having given into the temptation Time herself had rewarded him, but that is a story for another time (no pun intended).

    ¡°I¡¯ll make sure to stay around long enough for my little girl, Wax, to find the love of her life and marry. Afterwards, well, I¡¯ll allow destiny to take its course.¡±

    The way he said that made it sound like, until then, destiny would need to bow under his will.

    She could accept that outcome, so she nodded and went back to looking at her plants. That is, until she remembered something: ¡°Albert, I¡¯ll need to deliver the poison to someone, someone who can use it and knows where to use it. They¡¯re in the Dream and, from what I was told, they¡¯ve been trapped in it for a very long time.¡±

    Albert froze upon hearing this, his mask turning expressionless. She¡¯d learned long ago that that was a sign he was angry and barely keeping himself together.

    ¡°An [Oneiric Prisoner]. I see. Poor soul.¡±

    She nodded: ¡°I was told he was trapped inside the House¡¯s dreams.¡±

    The old fox shook his head: ¡°No, he most certainly wasn¡¯t. His mind was probably trapped somewhere else in the Dream, in an endless labyrinth hidden in a grain of dust or something along those lines. The College must¡¯ve found him and trapped him in the House¡¯s dreams.¡±

    He stopped, looking thoughtful, then added: ¡°Or, if he was lucky, he managed to escape the labyrinth and anchored himself onto the House¡¯s dreams.¡±

    She frowned: ¡°Wait, anchored?¡±

    ¡°Yes. What, you seriously think a mind can exist in the Dream without something to anchor it? Bodies exist for that reason: they¡¯re the mind¡¯s anchor, the only thing that keeps it from slowly dissolving into nothing more than dreamstuff. The reason why body snatchers used labyrinths was that their very nature doesn¡¯t allow a person¡¯s ¡®being¡¯ to disappear. It just keeps cycling around and around without a way to escape. That¡¯s the cruelest part of their work: either one wishes to live, so they¡¯re forced to stay trapped forever, or if they wish to die they must find a way out of a place that doesn¡¯t want them to leave because it¡¯s built upon their mind.¡±

    Alice gaped at him: ¡°That¡¯s cruel.¡±

    ¡°It is. We¡¯ve been trying to stop this practice for a long time and, in the centuries, managed to kill many, no, nearly all of those monsters. But a few remain, or so we think. There¡¯s too few of us left to truly check and be sure.¡±

    Silence fell between them like a rock ¨C and an actual rock fell from the sky right between them ¨C until, finally, the old fox nodded: ¡°I can track him down. I know people who know people who¡­ well, you get the point. I can find the dreams of the House. I¡¯ll deliver the poison personally if need be.¡±

    Alice nodded. She trusted his word on this and knew that he¡¯d keep to it, no matter what.

    ¡°So now I only have to worry about actually making the poison. Goodness me, what should I do?¡±

    The options for killing a mind were near limitless and they all came in the form of drugs for abuse: heroin, crack, all sorts of hallucinogens, you name it, there was a good chance she could make it or create something similar. The problem with those though was twofold: first and foremost, their action was slow. For all that many times one dose of those drugs was enough to get someone hooked or downright kill them, she had the feeling the House wouldn¡¯t go into overdose easily.

    The second and, arguably, most important problem was: it was boring. She had to destroy someone¡¯s mind, using drugs was the easy way out, the one that a newbie [Chemist] would think of. But she wasn¡¯t a chemist, or rather, she wasn¡¯t just that, not anymore: she was an [Occultist] and she had to think like one.

    So, while drugs were not completely off the table, they would be used as a last resort if she couldn¡¯t come up with anything better.

    There was also another problem here: she didn¡¯t have test subjects. She couldn¡¯t exactly go and test a poison that was supposed to actually kill a mind on a human. That was the path of a monster, and for all that she had often thought of herself as one, she wasn¡¯t.

    Too much.

    ¡°I can tell by your face that you¡¯re thinking of something evil.¡±

    Alice deflated slightly: ¡°I¡¯m not even going to ask what form my mask took.¡±

    ¡°And I shall not tell then.¡±

    But who cares about privacy here? Certainly us all, but this time we don¡¯t so: her mask had taken on the form of a cute little puppy wolf with fangs made of spines longer than Alice¡¯s pinky fingers and drooling chlorophyll that turned into smoke the moment it fell off of her ¡®fangs¡¯.

    ¡°I¡¯m just thinking about test subjects: I won¡¯t send an untested poison out, but I can¡¯t test it on humans because of what it¡¯s meant to actually do.¡±

    Albert looked at her and, from the way his eyebrows rose, she nearly guessed what he was about to say: ¡°Garda, I¡¯ve seen you poison Players of the Game and laugh gleefully at the effects your creations had on them. I didn¡¯t think you capable of such kindness.¡±

    ¡°Hey! What do you think I am, a monster?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen Nightmares less scary than you.¡±

    ¡°Oh come on, you must be exaggerating!¡±

    ¡°Yes, I am, but still, I¡¯m pleasantly surprised.¡±

    ¡°Wow, your standards are low.¡±

    They looked each other in the eyes.

    And began laughing so hard they both fell to the ground, their laughter rapidly turning into wheezing as they couldn¡¯t get themselves to stop.

    It took a good minute for them to calm down and, when they did, they slapped each other on the back.

    ¡°Ooohh, I needed that,¡± said Albert with a gleeful smile.

    ¡°Always happy to help!¡± she said back with a slight wince. The old man was surprisingly strong.

    They sat back down, taking deep breaths, enjoying the sudden silence between them. Birds of Larnos flew among the trees, their calls filling the nearby forest with merry melodies. Frogs croaked calmly in the nearby river, which sloshed and flowed musically in its bed of smooth stones and fine silt, the waters so clear the bottom could be seen. Animals rustled in the undergrowth, looking for prey. Were they real, or were they projections of the Land? That was one of the strange questions people asked themselves in here¡­ after they got through all the everyday strangeness.

    ¡°You know,¡± suddenly started Albert, ¡°You could always test it out on criminals. You wouldn¡¯t exactly be doing anything bad.¡±

    She chuckled: ¡°Criminals are people too Albert. And, even then, I¡¯m not stupid enough to make enemies of a good chunk of the criminal underbelly of¡­ wherever my victim would be.¡±

    He hmmed, looking unsure, before making a so-so gesture: ¡°You¡¯d be surprised. Naturally you¡¯d have to be picky, but there¡¯ lots of criminals that aren¡¯t exactly liked in the Underworld. [Rapists], for one. And [Kidnappers] who bite off more than they should. The Underworld has a reputation to uphold, you know?¡±

    Alice laughed again, although she managed to keep it in check and not let it spiral again into an infectious fit of chest-hurting laughter.

    ¡°The Underworld has a reputation to uphold? Really? Are you sure we¡¯re talking about the same people? You know, like criminals.¡±

    Albert nodded: ¡°Oh yes, absolutely. The Underworld more than anyone else has to uphold an extremely good reputation. You think of them as your typical street level ne¡¯er-do-wells, but dig just a little deeper and you¡¯ll find entire organizations that exist with the sole purpose of turning criminality into a very remunerative service. Services that won¡¯t be used if everyone thinks that the criminals working for them are monsters that could turn on them at a moment¡¯s notice.¡±

    He put hand to chin, looking thoughtful, before adding: ¡°Of course any criminal worth their Class will turn on them anyway at a moment¡¯s notice if the money stops flowing, but that¡¯s another matter.

    ¡°And then, well, again, [Rapists]. They¡¯re not humans, they¡¯re monsters in disguise.¡±

    Alice nodded in agreement. She was relatively certain her old friends, the Skinwalkers, would agree with her on that front. She¡¯d met one that had taken the skin of one such piece of shit relatively recently.

    ¡°Well then, we¡¯ve found a solution to that problem too then! And I imagine you already know people to point me towards, right?¡±

    ¡°I have a list!¡± he answered gleefully, raising his hand and unfurling a scroll that hadn¡¯t been there before, filled with many names written in very small letters.

    ¡°How¡­?¡±

    ¡°I know a friend who knows a friend et cetera et cetera.¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes, that.¡±

    And with that she turned towards her work table and began brainstorming ideas again, a small storm forming over her head.

    It was time to start prepping.

 Chapter 8: The Art of Murder

    Killing is an art and you shouldn¡¯t believe anyone who says otherwise.

    At least, that¡¯s what Alice had been taught as a child by her beloved granny. Was it a fucked up thing to tell a child? Yes. Was it the most fucked up thing the woman had told her? Not by a long shot. But, even now, no, especially now, Alice understood: her grandma had been a partisan during world war two, she¡¯d killed fascists in cold blood when needed and had to find ways to hide it, to make it look like an accident or for the body to not be found at all because, otherwise, innocent people would¡¯ve suffered under the bastards¡¯ decimation politic.

    ¡®War changes people¡¯, they say, and they¡¯re not wrong: war had changed Alice¡¯s grandma. War, together with her knowledge on how the world used to work, had turned the woman into something of a caring psychopath.

    All that had been transmitted over to Alice in the form of bedtime stories and lessons given in days spent in her living room or climbing the mountains.

    So here she was, sitting in front of a table inside the Dream, looking at the ingredients she had at her disposal while repeating those words like a mantra: Killing is an Art.

    Killing had always been the greatest of all artforms: there were the mediocre killers, the two-shot-Joes as grandma used to call them, that got caught immediately, and then there were the ¡®ghosts-of-Jack¡¯, those murderers who were never truly found, the people who became horror stories on par with Jack the Ripper, as if the man had come back from the land of the dead to initiate a new vendetta.

    ¡°Remember this very well Alice: killing is bad. It is the worst thing humans ever learned to do. Many a horrible things were born out of killing or messing with Death. Still, if you ever find yourself in a situation where killing is the only option, and do evaluate if it truly is the only one, then you should be a Jack, not a Joe. ¡°

    She had never outright told her how to kill someone and get away with it, but she¡¯d told her stories of unfaithful and-slash-or violent husbands getting what they deserved¡­ among others. Honestly, those had always been the most satisfying ones to hear about.

    ¡°When I was a lot younger I was forced to kill. There was no other choice, not if I wanted to help make a difference that mattered. I hope you¡¯ll never have to end up in such a situation. I hope this world will change for the better one day.¡±

    Alice didn¡¯t know if grandma would¡¯ve liked Earth as it had become. What she did know was that she wouldn¡¯t have liked the world she was in right now. Too much war all around, too much death, and too many idiots in power doing the thing all idiots in power always did: cause problems for the populace.

    That, however, didn¡¯t matter right now, because she was dead. If she¡¯d had the certainty that her grandma¡¯s soul had followed her in this world she would¡¯ve asked a [Necromancer] to let her speak with her ghost, but alas, for all that she had money to spare, she didn¡¯t have any to throw around on project based on proofless assumptions.

    So she looked at her options.

    And sighed.

    For she was at a dead end.

    ¡°FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!¡±

    She had no idea where to start. Or rather, she had many ideas, too many in fact. She didn¡¯t know where to begin!

    ¡°Ok, what did grandma always say? Oh, right: ¡®If you don¡¯t have many options choose the one that benefits you the most no matter the cost. While if you have too many choices then stop complaining and get a move on.

    ¡°Huh, for once her teachings are not helpful.¡±

    Her grandma had always been a very decisive woman who always seemed to know what to do in any situation, so Alice could imagine her grandma never really worrying about such things.

    ¡°Ok, so, let¡¯s try to see this¡­ as a game. Yes, that should do. Every plant gives me Lethality Points in some way and I must just figure out which combo gives me more.¡±

    She looked at the flowers and roots and many other things she¡¯d obtained in the last few months in the dream.

    ¡°Nope, ok, that¡¯s not gonna work at all.¡±

    Sighing, she pushed herself away from her desk, her chair rolling away on its one giant spherical wheel and slowly beginning to turn in circles. She pushed against the air, a few vines sprouting from the ground to let her do so, and reclined further in, staring right up at the sky over her head. The stars moved up in that dark expanse, little pinpricks that, sometimes, felt fake, as if someone had taken a roll of dark silk, shining a light behind it while making small holes in it to make it shine through. The Land¡¯s setting sun shone to one side, painting the world in purples, while its moon, sitting exactly on the opposite side, shone its own brand of truth upon the people.

    Cruelty and Kindness. The cruelty of light and its all-revealing shine, counterbalanced by the beautiful lies of what-should-have-been revealed by the sister¡¯s glow. And, underneath it all, in the dark places created by the thickest trees, Nightmares thrived.

    Alice didn¡¯t know why her mind wandered to those thoughts, but it was a sign that she wouldn¡¯t be working out a solution to her little conundrum anytime soon.

    She couldn¡¯t concentrate. It had been a recurring problem in the last few weeks: everything seemed to have slowed down since she¡¯d found out that Isse and Liam were both from Earth.

    ¡°Everything slowed down except for me,¡± she told herself, or to the sky, she wasn¡¯t sure.

    She¡­ she didn¡¯t know what to do with that knowledge. She wasn¡¯t the only one. There were two other people, both in extremely different situations, both of whom had gone through literal hell in their own way.

    Liam had appeared in this world in the middle of a battlefield.

    Isse had the body of a monster that would get her hunted wherever in the world she went.

    Alice had been the lucky one of the two: she¡¯d appeared in a town filled with kind and accepting people who had helped her until she¡¯d managed to help herself. She had found love and she had found purpose, even forgiveness.

    She had never lost anything so far, unlike Isse.

    I wonder how she¡¯s doing. It¡¯s still too early to visit her though.

    Then she sighed, taking a needle painted red with sap and pricking her finger.

    The Dream folded into itself in front of her eyes.

    And she woke up.

    <hr>

    He had spent so long trapped in those Mountains.

    Generation after generation of [Witches] that had inhabited the Tiurna Mountains, the place they¡¯d chosen to call home, had tried so hard to keep their stories locked there, even succeeding for a few centuries. Only the mountain folk, no, the Mountaineers, had remained for them to take from, and they were strange, as strange, if not stranger, than them.

    Skinwalkers.

    Although that name had been forgotten in those peaks now. The [Witches] had always called them Skinstealers, which wasn¡¯t wrong per se, but it was very unflattering.

    And then, recently, just a few weeks ago, things had changed: a woman had made a deal with them. A woman who knew of an old tradition from their home, Palaver. A woman who, the one who¡¯d made the deal with her had said, smelled like home, for all that the smell had nearly been canceled by the passage of time.

    She¡¯d freed them, telling their tales to the people outside those accursed mountains,and all at the price of a single promise: kill no innocents.

    Many would have called her a fool. Certainly the [Witches] of the mountains would have. For that matter even the ones from their home would have done the same before hunting her down and killing her mercilessly. Back then things had been so much bloodier and, actually, much more fun.

    Still, they would have called her a fool for one reason: how could she trust the judgment of monsters like them? For all she knew their view of reality was so twisted they could see a baby playing with some dead leaves and call it a murderer.

    The girl though, a girl going by the name of Garda, had decided to take a gamble on a very simple idea: Skinwalkers would see the nature of humanity from an outsider¡¯s point of view and judge their crimes without the filters and ideas of humanity.

    She hadn¡¯t been wrong.

    Now he stood in a dark alley in the city of Gunsee, the city the girl lived in, and he contemplated murder.

    Killing, as they say, is an art, and nobody knew this better than the Skinwalkers. They had many advantages: they were made for killing. They could eat what remained of their prey without suffering any consequences, making the clean up of the body not a problem at all, for one.

    But no, the real art when it came to killing someone, at least for them, came in the way they wanted to do it. After all, when they killed, it was to steal someone¡¯s skin, and since a dead man¡¯s skin couldn¡¯t heal wounds, they had to get creative if they wanted it to be whole and undamaged, perfect for fitting in among other people. Suffocation was always a good way to go for it, but people tended to notice if someone¡¯s lips had a strangely blue coloration, so that went out of the window in highly populated areas.

    Another option was poisoning, which was much easier if someone had a skin to spare to use for the act and throw away later. Sadly he didn¡¯t have such a luxury.

    Another means was more ¡®magical¡¯, although calling it that would be a misnomer for it wasn¡¯t exactly magic. He could, simply put, drain a victim¡¯s mind of all things that made them, well, them, while they were alive, slowly turning them into an empty husk, but the process required a lot of time, sometimes even weeks, and he wasn¡¯t confident enough in his rusty acting abilities to pull off an ¡®I got lost in the woods¡¯. People here had these things called Skills and some of them might be able to see through his lies.

    Which left only one alternative: good, old fashioned, stabbing.

    He gently gripped the handle of his stiletto, an old weapon he¡¯d taken from a merchant who¡¯d taken the wrong route through the mountains many decades ago. The blade had rusted here and there even with all the care he¡¯d taken into maintaining it.

    He watched the point of it, the small blade that would gain him what he wished most of all: a new skin, a new life, a chance at, one could hope, happiness.

    His target appeared at the entrance to the alley.

    He was a tall man with a bit of a beer belly, his face rather good looking even with the heavy bags under his eyes caused by nights of gallivanting at bars. His gait was unsteady and, more than once, as he navigated the dark corridor between two houses, he stumbled and, once, even fell to the ground face first. The grumbled insults made the skinwalker raise an eyebrow in distaste.

    The man reached the middle of the alley.

    The skinwalker fell on top of him.

    A scream of surprise tried to rip through his throat, but a moment later he felt a prick in his spine, the pain that should¡¯ve been there dulled by the alcohol flowing through his veins. The sharp blade cut right through his spine and into his heart. A bit of wiggling around on the skinwalker¡¯s part assured that the damage there would hasten the slob¡¯s demise, and then he just sat on him, a hand over his mouth to muffle the screaming.

    Not half a minute later the man¡¯s struggles began to lessen, his attempted movements more spasmodic than voluntary and, at the sixty second threshold, he stopped altogether.

    Without losing a moment the skinwalker stood and began carrying the body towards a darkened alcove where he began the slow, methodic, process of stripping the man of his skin. First he licked his hands, covering them in his sticky saliva that was not just saliva. With careful, practiced, movements, he applied it to the corpse¡¯s whole body, watching as the skin slowly began to prune, as if he¡¯d spent way too long soaking in water. When he was certain the process had come to an end he reached his hands up to the back of the head and, in one swift motion, flung them open, a sound like ripping paper resounding in the dark alley.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    Only a small tear had formed, which was a good sign: it meant the skin was durable and would last him for a long time. That, together with his Skills, would give him¡­ maybe a decade. Hopefully more.

    With a satisfied grunt he flexed muscles that hadn¡¯t been used in decades as his actual body, finally, released his ragged, rotting, old, skin. He wasn¡¯t careful about it, too, as, the moment it was free, he tore out of it, sighing in relief and shivering at the same time as fresh air touched him. He hadn¡¯t been skinless in a very long time, knowing full well that doing so would¡¯ve left him without one for a very, very, long time. It was liberating in a way he had forgotten about.

    Still, he had little time to appreciate such small freedoms as, with a crack of his wrist, he put his entire arm into the small tear in his new skin. It was dry inside, another good sign, and, slowly, methodically, he stuffed his body inside, the muscles ¨C without bones ¨C he was made of twisting and turning into impossible shapes to pass through the small tear.

    And then it was done.

    He slowly rose from the ground, now wearing the man¡¯s skin, and stretched, the tear in the back of his head closing down as the last of his saliva dried up.

    Then, with a casual motion, he kneeled down, popping the man, his victim¡¯s, eyes out of their sockets, and ate. They popped on his tongue, his teeth ¨C slowly regrowing like the rest of his bones ¨C tearing them apart.

    Memories flashed before his eyes.

    The memories of an unfaithful and violent husband, the hatred he felt for the woman he¡¯d married who, in his opinion, was the reason for every failure in his life, together with his absolute loathing for the child he was practically being forced to raise.

    Then more memories came, these ones tied to people he called friends, to him looking for a decent job, up to him making deals with a small gang of criminals that resided in the city, all to gather money to spend on drinking away the disappointment he felt towards himself.

    So, in short, he saw the memories of a bad man.

    His side of the deal had been respected.

    Nodding his head he looked down at the corpse and, slowly, smiled.

    An hour later the body was no longer there, he felt absolutely stuffed and, slowly, he walked into the man¡¯s small home.

    The place was dirty, although relatively well cared for. The room he walked into functioned as a kitchen, dining room and bedroom for him and his¡­ ah, his wife. He had a wife now. That would be interesting.

    There was also another, much smaller, room, in which they¡¯d put their child¡¯s bed.

    Seeing how the woman was not in the entrance room he guessed she was asleep with her child.

    So, with soft steps that were out of place on the man whose skin he was now wearing, he reached the door leading into his child¡¯s room and opened it.

    Sure enough, the woman was there, tightly hugging her daughter and acting like she was asleep. As an expert actor, the skinwalker didn¡¯t even have to look twice to be sure of that.

    He reached the bed.

    Slow as honey running down a wooden spoon he knelt on the floor.

    And then he whispered: ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Things will change for the better from now on. You¡¯ll see.¡±

    That day Larus Crisk died in more ways than just physically.

    Nobody mourned that death.

    [Skinwalker Level 24!]

    <hr>

    Alice walked into the Drunken Pig and sat down heavily at a stool by the counter.

    ¡°A beer please,¡± she mumbled distractedly, her head falling in the crook of her arm like a cheap knock-off copy of a character from an anime.

    A few moments later something thunked on the wood in front of her.

    Looking up she saw a wooden tankard, the handle being turned towards her by a surprisingly smooth hand. Once upon a time she would¡¯ve killed for hands like those. Now? She liked her callouses, they were a sign of her hard work, of her constant search for redemption.

    She looked up and, after a moment, a smile of recognition played on her lips.

    ¡°Larus Crisk! Long time no see!¡±

    The bartender in name but not Class smirked down at her: ¡°Alice-surname-unknown, I could say the same thing. I hear you booked one of the last carriages to the mountains not too long ago. Went to visit your fellows up there?¡±

    She nodded: ¡°Aye, you could say that. There was this big festival and I really wasn¡¯t feeling like spending those days down here. Air¡¯s fresher up high, you should know.¡±

    He shook his head: ¡°I agree it¡¯s fresher, but I much prefer it down here. For one, there are no rotting carcasses of animals left behind by a pack of wolves.¡±

    They were bickering and enjoying themselves. It was a simple ritual of theirs: to say everything while saying nothing. To show that she knew his secret and had no desire to expose him. After all, he was keeping faith to his side of the deal that she¡¯d struck with the whole of his kind on that night by her fire, a glass in hand and an emptying bottle between her and the one on the other side.

    She¡¯d found out about the little exchange of places pretty much immediately, her Skill [Natural Allies: Skinwalkers] practically screaming at her about the real identity of the one in front of her.

    ¡°So, how¡¯s the family life been treating you.¡±

    ¡°Oh, absolutely wonderfully. It¡¯s everything I could¡¯ve ever hoped for!¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°Dad?¡±

    ¡°Yes dear?¡± he asked his daughter as he slowly let the pancake batter solidify in the skillet. Buying the ingredients had cost him an eye. Not because they were expensive, no, but because of the frankly horrible family¡¯s finances. The man whose skin he was now wearing had been wasteful in his expenses and was indebted to people who he¡¯d rather not end up on the bad side of.

    ¡°What happened to you?¡± she asked back.

    She was a beautiful child, with large doe-like, azure, eyes that spoke of the wonders only a child could see.

    No matter the world, children always were capable of seeing more than adults. He¡¯d never gotten to be a child to begin with, so he wasn¡¯t certain what it was that people lost as they grew up that made them so blind.

    ¡°When you grow up a little more I¡¯ll tell you.¡±

    That was the right thing to say, or so his [Dad Comeback] Skill told him. It came in handy more times than he¡¯d thought it ever would, just like all the other Skills from his new [Father] Class. He was Level 7 now: not an exponential growth considering he¡¯d had the Class for nearly a month, but it didn¡¯t matter to him. After all, before this world, he¡¯d lived in one where Skills didn¡¯t even exist and all that mattered were the skills you accrued as you lived.

    His child, Maria ¨C he still found it strange that so many names in this world were the same as the ones in his old one ¨C pouted childishly, her lower lip pressing out in a way that made it impossible for him not to chuckle.

    ¡°But I¡¯m already a grown up! Mama tells me all the time that I¡¯m a big girl!¡±

    Larus shook his head, the playful smile on his lips becoming slightly waxy: ¡°Ah, she¡¯s not wrong, your mama, but¡­ maybe you should take it slow. Maria, it was my fault that you¡¯ve grown up so much. I¡¯m sorry about that. I promise I¡¯ll make it up to you though.¡±

    The little girl nodded, smacking both fists on the table, one of them holding a fork, the other a knife he¡¯d carefully ascertained as being the one with the dullest edge. The little plate in front of her rattled on the wooden table which leg he¡¯d recently fixed up. Now it no longer moved around.

    ¡°You weren¡¯t a great papa, yes, but now you¡¯re good! Although you¡¯re still not good at cooking!¡±

    He laughed heartily at that last one: ¡°Come now, it¡¯s not that bad. And anyways, I¡¯m great with sweet stuff.¡±

    ¡°Mama is still better!¡±

    ¡°She is now? Well, I¡¯ll have to show you otherwise.¡±

    The pancake was ready and, carefully, he upturned it onto a nearby plate that was already piled high with them. He carried it to the table, a small block of butter waiting on top.

    ¡°What are these?¡± asked his daughter.

    ¡°These are called pancakes. Just take one, put some butter on top, let it melt a bit and enjoy the gooey goodness.¡±

    She did, and she enjoyed it immensely.

    And then she hit him with the question: ¡°Papa, can you promise me you won¡¯t let the older papa come back. I like you more.¡±

    He froze for a moment before schooling his expression and turning towards her: ¡°What do you mean ¡®Don¡¯t let him come back¡¯, dear? I¡¯m the same person I was before.¡±

    She shook her head: ¡°Mh-hmm, you¡¯re not papa. You¡¯re someone else. Papa wasn¡¯t capable of being kind. He hated me, he told me himself. You cannot stop hating someone when you¡¯re a grown up, or so my friends say. So please, whoever you are, promise me you won¡¯t let my old papa come back. I like you better as my papa.¡±

    The skinwalker could¡¯ve tried to say so many things to try and change her mind, to try and fool her that he was her same old ¡®papa¡¯, but then his [Parental Instinct (Minor)] Skill activated and he understood that that wouldn¡¯t help him at all.

    So instead he just said: ¡°Don¡¯t worry Maria. Your old papa will never come back. I made sure of it.¡±

    His daughter ¨C oh gods he had a daughter!!! ¨C smiled and jumped down from her seat, going for a tackle hug which he took the brunt of without any problem, hugging her back and, after a moment, giving her a little kiss in the hair, which he then proceeded to ruffle.

    ¡°Welcome, new papa.¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°Larus, I¡¯m trying to make someone¡¯s mind disappear. Do you know of a way?¡± she asked all of a sudden. She was on her second tankard of beer, which she hadn¡¯t touched yet, instead spending her time looking into the piss colored liquid. The drinks here weren¡¯t great, but they weren¡¯t bad either, and the price was good, so everyone came here sooner or later, be it to enjoy a few beers in the company of friends, or to get so drunk you forgot what month it was.

    ¡°Well, a good three quarters of the stuff on the wall behind me could achieve that effect with different quantities.¡±

    She huffed and took a sip of the beer. The taste seemed to have become mildly better in the last few weeks, even Av agreed on it. Had the proprietor of this place Leveled? Or was it the new bartender? She didn¡¯t know.

    ¡°I need something more permanent than that.¡±

    ¡°In that case I find that a good knife to the eye tends to solve the problem.¡±

    She huffed even more: ¡°And that is not an option.¡±

    ¡°Then I think I¡¯m fresh out of ideas.¡±

    For the third time Alice huffed into the wood.

    ¡°You keep that up you¡¯ll find out you can breathe fire and burn down the place. And while it does need a bit of remodeling I think that would be excessive.¡±

    She looked up at him, chin on her arms, and sighed: ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m just in a bit of a conundrum and I can¡¯t find the answer I¡¯m looking for.¡±

    ¡°Alice, how do you expect a bartender to have the answers to the problems of a herbalist?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t bartenders always have the answer to every problem in life? Isn¡¯t that, like, ninety percent of your job?¡±

    ¡°My job is making and serving drinks to people, not being an encyclopedia, and if I were I¡¯d probably be dead in a ditch the moment someone important found out.¡±

    She huffed a fourth time and then began drinking again. When she was done she looked up at the skinwalker and, whispering, she said: ¡°I need some help to brainstorm an idea. Occult help. Please.¡±

    Larus looked her right in the eyes and, after a moment, sighed. Then: ¡°Boss, I¡¯m taking my five minutes!¡±

    ¡°Sure, go ahead!¡± shouted back the voice of the Drunken Pig¡¯s proprietor.

    In a matter of seconds he was on her side of the counter and walking briskly outside, followed by the [Occultist].

    They found a comfortable spot to sit down in the form of an abandoned and battered bench. Sitting down he turned to look at her and frowned.

    Alice spent a moment admiring him and decided that yes, he had done a good job at hiding himself. Weren¡¯t it for her Skill she wouldn¡¯t have thought him to be a skinwalker.

    ¡°So, what do you need?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to create a poison powerful enough to destroy a mind.¡±

    ¡°Alice, I¡¯m not sure you know this, but I wasn¡¯t just ¡®playing into my role¡¯ when I said I am a bartender who doesn¡¯t know jackshit about botany. I really don¡¯t.¡±

    She glanced up at him and chuckled: ¡°Well, what if I just wanted a rubber duck to throw ideas at?¡±

    That took the wind out of his sails: ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Nothing, doesn¡¯t matter, it¡¯s a thing from my time, you couldn¡¯t know. Anyways, I¡¯ve come here because I¡¯m pretty sure the answer to my dilemma cannot be found in plants. But you?¡±

    She smiled, suddenly starting to whisper: ¡°I know that your people can feed on memories and knowledge. I could use that. Or rather, I could use the destructive part of that. How does that work?¡±

    If anyone else had asked him something like this he would¡¯ve just told the person to fuck off¡­ and then promptly killed them because that someone knew his secret. The problem was, this was Alice (he was the only one among the skinwalkers to know her real name), the girl who¡¯d helped them for no real reason and had asked practically nothing in return. He felt something deep inside him telling him that he should help her, no matter what. Because she was a true friend. Their only ally.

    So he took a deep breath and, after a moment, spoke: ¡°It¡¯s our eyes. They¡¯re the reason we can take the memories of others. We eat the eyes of others, sure, but that¡¯s just the form for it, if you get what I mean.¡±

    Alice batted her eyes: ¡°Wait, you answered that easily? No need for me to haggle around, make deals and the likes?¡±

    He shrugged: ¡°I see no need for that. You helped my kind plenty already, giving you this information doesn¡¯t mean anything. It¡¯s not like you can take my eyes and use them to gain that ability. It¡¯s sort of intrinsic to us.¡±

    She waved that off: ¡°I¡¯m sure I could find a rite to get that ability but that¡¯s not the point. Then here¡¯s another question then: do you dream?¡±

    Confusion wormed its way to his face: ¡°Wha ¨C ? Of course I dream, why shouldn¡¯t I?¡±

    She smiled.

    Then got up: ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing.¡±

    Then she gave him her hand to shake: ¡°Thank you greatly for the help. Tonight you¡¯ll have a nightmare, but I promise I¡¯ll make it up to you. Alright?¡±

    He shook her hand back, uncertainly: ¡°Err, alright, yeah, sure.¡±

    ¡°Great! Then, see ya around! And do say hi to Maria, alright? I¡¯ll be sure to bring her a toy one of these days.¡±

    And, with that, she walked off, a plan brewing in her mind. Yes, this would work out perfectly!!!

 Chapter 9: She Whispered Dreams that Poisoned Us

    The Land of Dreams is a place of concepts, of ideas that come to life and certainties that go to lie in their graves. It is a world all of its own, an underground that shouts at the rest of Existence and it says something very simple: Leave me Underground. Leave them Underground. All of them, all the stories, all the concepts, all the ideas, both dead and alive, leave them underground, let them turn to mulch that will help new ideas grow.

    The Land of Dreams is a place of death with a facade of eternal life.

    The Land of Dreams remembers all that dies, for all things¡¯ minds pass through it ¨C involuntarily ¨C before reaching the afterlife. So the Land remembers, and from those memories arise things new both wonderful and horrifying. It is not a choice, it is an obligation, collateral damage, an unpredictable effect that came from Its creation, something deemed impossible.

    The Land of Dreams knows. It knows all that has ever happened. It is, in a way, the greatest archive to ever exist. An archive without index, nor shelves, nor books. An archive that must be literally dug up, each truth hidden in strata upon strata of impossibilities, an archeological journey where falsehood is indistinguishable from what was.

    Alice didn¡¯t know that.

    She also didn¡¯t know that she was a part of this eternal ecosystem of truths and falsehoods. Even her name here was one of the latter: Garda. A group of good memories, tied to a place that existed in another world, used as something false to mask the truth. But, you know what they say: there is no lie better than the truth. Lies built upon truths are the best, for it is difficult to untangle them, to see the minute differences between them.

    She pranced, these days, around the woods that formed the Land of Dreams¡­ for now. It had changed, as all things did. There had been a time when the Land was a sprawling, endless, city, with fountains bigger than oceans and houses as small as a rat¡¯s nest, towers so tall you could climb them for years and then touch the sun or the moon depending on your perspective, and then a sprawling nexus of sewers illuminated by torches that seeped water and blood, where Nightmares dwelled and planned and schemed to invade the dreams of the sleeping.

    Then the Dream had changed, the old city covered in rock and stone and dirt and sand, burying it all underground, creating a land of savagery and lawlessness, a desert of eternal meaninglessness where the only thing that mattered was the whispish will of a race that didn¡¯t want to die. They built towers and fortresses of their own corpses and they watched them be burned until nothing but ashes remained, and still they built and rebuilt and rebuilt and rebuilt onto insanity and beyond until the Land was but ashes and corpses.

    Then the tides came, bringing with them waters deep and dark where the dreams of krakens and sea creatures brought to life things that drove people to create havens in the skies. Islands arose from the waters, washed clean from the memories of the last breaths of a people who had done nothing wrong but exist. The dreamers built and built, they covered their islands in trees and they cut them down, they mined downward for stone to quarry but they ran back up, scared of the things underneath, unable to distinguish truth from lie and both of those brought fear, for the lies were too beautiful to be believed and the truths too horrifying. They built in wood and sandstone, they built up and up and up until they feared no more that which lay underneath and then, only then, they built everywhere. The wooden foundations were solid, the wood was good, so they made and built a city sprawling from one horizon to the other and then the next one, a city so big that the waters beneath were covered in darkness, truths they feared and lies they loved too much forever hidden. And all the while they sung: ¡®Underground, underground, leave them underground. Underground, underground¡­¡¯

    Then came the silk, and they fought it with all their might, a war bloodier than most that no side won in the end, for an armistice was signed. Then they built again, they hid these truths and lies, hid their labyrinths of wood, hid all they could and still it wasn¡¯t enough, so they begged and begged and begged for more. The Land of Dreams answered, and all was sent underground as more land was given. The people rejoiced and, for a time, there was peace, for all that the Land slowly began filling up again with the corpses of its folk as they were hunted again for a time.

    Time passed and, again, war came. The cats remembered they could dream, so they walked the Land anew and not for the first time, for they came more than once but every time they were disgusted by what they saw, by the denial and the hate and everything. They started a war, the War of Cats, and with their truths they brought destruction and false death. So it was that the dreamers called upon the only true enemies of the cats: the dogs. And they did exactly what all dogs do: they went a-hunting. They hunted for old, powerful, unstoppable truths, sniffing out every corner of the Dream, until they found what they were looking for and began digging and digging and digging, bringing up memories of forgotten weapons from the age of silk, finding wooden homes filled with mementos of a time of hasty, desperate, building, and then, finally, bringing up the dreams that had started that same impossible project.

    The cats surrendered, the war ended, and again the dreamers tried to find a way to forget all. They found their salvation in an idea, a concept that would haunt the generations to come: the Bingo Nights of Doom. A lie brought upon reality that everybody chose to believe in: the idea that the Dream played a game which It couldn¡¯t win, a game so infuriating that It scrambled the geography of the Land. They chose to believe in this, and so it became truth, the Land, the surface of it, breaking into fragments and reshaping and reworking and adding and remaking itself anew. A new place to stay in. A new Land of Dreams.

    But all that had come before? All those truths and lies? It was still down there, still fertilizing the earth above, still birthing new ideas, new concepts.

    And yet ancient things dwell down there still.

    As Alice was about to find out.

    <hr>

    She opened her eyes in the Dream.

    And immediately closed them because the grass under her was too comfy to do anything but lay down and rest.

    Flowers bloomed under her head, making a cushion that perfectly conformed to her skull and seemed to massage her every hair follicle.

    She sighed, as relaxed as could be, ignoring the world around her completely.

    Or so one would be led to believe.

    It could¡¯ve been hours, it could¡¯ve been seconds, time was meaningless in dreams after all, but in the end she opened her eyes and, very slowly, began rising from the ground, first propping herself up on her elbows, then her hands, until she was finally sitting. She shielded her eyes from the brightness of the distant, setting sun, her world coloring purple for but a few moments, the shade of it turning everything into a mystery of occult delights and religious meaninglessness.

    With a humpf she rose to her feet, her spine cracking, the noise more spectacle than actual necessity.

    She looked around, her eye changing for a few seconds, first becoming that of a fox, before remembering she no longer was a kit of dreams and turning back to that of a human, a shade of green pervading it. The rose blooming from the other opened up, the petals drinking in the illusory light, reminiscing of a time when she had served another goddess.

    Her arms opened wide as she stretched them, vegetation hidden under her skin flexing together with her muscles, spines of thorns piercing through here and there, letting blood flow freely for a few seconds before the damage was repaired.

    Alice felt right. This was how she should be, who she should be, what she should look like. But it was all a dream, all the Dream, not real, or as real as something that was imagined. How much that was, only she could decide.

    Finally¡­ she looked around.

    Her poisoner¡¯s station, as she¡¯d come to call it, lay by her side, a rather large table covered in vials and plants, a clean alembic waiting for her to brew something phenomenal, something lethal, while the mortar and pestle beside it told each other the tale of Baba Yaga and how she had flown through the sky inside a brother of theirs. She hated the tale, for it was false, made by people who demonized her legend, but she would be the first one to tell people to use even the things they disliked if they helped them achieve their goals.

    On one side of that table sat a small bag filled with vials of poisons and antidotes, weapons both in the right hands against the right beings, and she had the former and knowledge of the latter. She didn¡¯t need anything else, for she had Skills that would allow her to summon anything else she might need.

    With confidence in her every move she took the bag, plopping it on her side, and called upon the small promise she¡¯d made to the Skinwalker, the memory of that simple handshake.

    A chain formed around her right wrist, an unsettling presence that reminded her of the deal she¡¯d made: ¡®One night of nightmares for a life of rest.¡¯ Or rather, one from her. She would need the eyes of the skinwalker, which would most certainly not be a pleasant experience. The deal just meant that she would only get one shot at this.

    As if to remind her of this, the chain around her wrist tightened. She knew for certain that if, one day, she chose to break the promise, that same chain would take her hand. The fact that it was made of silver, a metal beloved by the Faefolk, also made her think it would be better not to assume the damage would stop at the Dream.

    She smiled gently at the chain, patting the links around her wrist, and the metal released its hold like a snake changing its mind on killing its prey. Then she followed the direction they were going to, knowing full well they¡¯d connect her to the skinwalker¡­ and stopped.

    The chain was going into the ground.

    ¡°Ok, what the fuck?¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°Well, this complicates things,¡± said Albert.

    The old [Dreamer] had come to help her after she¡¯d called and now, with his head tilted in that typical animalistic way, he was looking down at the ground where the chain met the earth and grass.

    ¡°Is it normal for dreams to be underground?¡± asked Alice, a frown locked on her face, although the leaves forming her mask didn¡¯t make that easy to understand, for all that they were emulating her expression.

    ¡°Only the old ones. Or the ones of old things. I gather, from the chain, that it¡¯s the latter category,¡± he answered.

    ¡°You gather correctly old fox,¡± she said with a sigh so loud that a small cloud came out of her mouth, ¡°Why can¡¯t anything be easy? How am I even supposed to reach it? Do I really have to get a shovel and dig it up?¡±

    ¡°That would be unwise,¡± said Albert, immediately turning to look her in the eyes, her rose contracting and getting smaller under his attention, as if scared.

    ¡°Let me guess, the Dream wouldn¡¯t like it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a matter of liking or not liking. It¡¯s a matter of concepts. Only [Miners] mine or dig downwards and you¡¯ve shown plenty of times that you¡¯re anything but a miner. Therefore the Dream would follow the rules It always does: when someone goes way beyond that which they¡¯re meant to do, things happen that humble them.

    ¡°You¡¯re a [Herbalist], or something along those lines. You work with what the earth gives you¡­ on the surface. You don¡¯t work with the underground.¡±

    Alice sat down and grabbed her head in exasperation.

    ¡°So I¡¯m back to square zero.¡±

    ¡°Whoever said that?¡±

    She looked up, a nonplussed expression on her face: ¡°You said it!¡±

    ¡°I said it would be unwise for you to dig the hole. Have you not considered hiring someone to do it for you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not keen on finding a [Miner]¡¯s dream and getting them out here to dig.¡±

    The fox¡¯s lips slid back in the imitation of a smile, the effect distinctly uncanny thanks to the amount of teeth on show.

    ¡°You¡¯re in luck then. I happen to know some people who can help you. Well, ¡®people¡¯.¡±

    That last word he underlined with his fingers, giving her the distinct sensation that she wouldn¡¯t be working with¡­ humans? But then, Albert didn¡¯t seem to be the racist kind of person who¡¯d say a lizardkin or some other non-human race wouldn¡¯t count as people, so what could he possibly be referring to?

    She got her answer a second later as something soft and furry touched her leg.

    Looking down, her eye and rose were met by the brilliant azure eyes of a cat, a tabby with russet red fur and a long tail that was now tickling her hip. The cat meowed up at her, then licked his (or her, she hadn¡¯t checked) whiskers, retched a bit towards the ground in a very ungentlemanly but definitely endearing way ¨C for some reason it also reminded her of a smoker trying to clear his throat ¨C and then, very out of the blue¡­ he spoke: ¡°Well now, it would seem you¡¯ve led us to something interesting, you old fox, you.¡±

    Alice¡¯s mouth hung open, although not for long as she regained her composure. She¡¯d seen things much stranger than a talking cat.

    ¡°Good evening¡­ good sir?¡± the voice was definitely masculine, after all.

    ¡°My oh my, and she has some manners too. So much better than the reaction you had the first time, Albert.¡±

    ¡°In my defense, I didn¡¯t know cats could talk in the Dream,¡± said Albert with a very unapologetic tone and looking not the slightest bit miffed.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    The cat drew closer and jumped upwards, landing lightly on her shoulder as he conspiratorially whispered: ¡°He screamed in fear and tried to kick me. Me, can you imagine? An [Ambassador], he kicked, and he didn¡¯t even apologize.¡±

    ¡°Stop feeding her nonsense, I apologized plenty.¡±

    ¡°Words are just that, words. We are cats, we don¡¯t care for words, we care for facts, and you didn¡¯t even give me some milk.¡±

    ¡°You said you didn¡¯t want some fake memory of milk that wouldn¡¯t actually feed you,¡± said back Albert in a slightly strained tone.

    ¡°Indeed, but you didn¡¯t even try to find me in the waking world.¡±

    ¡°Oh yes, because you¡¯re the only tabby with russet red fur in all the world,¡± his tone was now bordering on impatient, something she¡¯d never heard from him.

    ¡°I have a distinctly fluffier tail than most, I¡¯ll have you know!¡±

    Alice couldn¡¯t contain herself and said: ¡°I do have to agree with that, his tail is very fluffy.¡±

    So much so that she¡¯d inadvertently started stroking it, together with his back. The cat didn¡¯t seem to mind in the slightest if the purring that was vibrating through her neck was a sign to go by.

    Albert sighed and, for a moment, he looked his age ¨C as in, the fur of his face became gray and white with streaks of black instead of its usual, healthy, red ¨C before he put himself back together and said: ¡°Alright, alright, I¡¯ll¡­ I would like to say that I¡¯ll look into it, but I can¡¯t leave my bed on my best days, so I¡¯ll just deal with the jabbing on your side, Sir Archibold the Great, Ambassador of Fortune and Bringer of Sweet News.¡±

    He stopped and motioned for Alice to stop: ¡°And yes, Garda, that is his full title and you should refer to him as such.¡±

    The cat curled around her neck like some kind of warm, too big, scarf: ¡°Since you immediately showed respect and your caresses are acceptable quality I¡¯ll allow you to just call me Sir Archibold. Now, what may I refer to you as, Girl of Nectar and Blood?¡±

    She smiled upon hearing that title: she liked it.

    ¡°You may call me Garda.¡±

    ¡°Garda? Hmmm, such an unusual name. I know not of any place in the whole world that is named like that. Nor have I ever heard anyone called like that, but then again, I haven¡¯t traveled everywhere in this green world.¡±

    Albert coughed: ¡°Sir Archibold, while I ¨C¡±

    ¡°Who said you could refer to me in such an informal way?¡± interrupted the cat, causing Alice to snicker. It was extremely funny to watch Albert being the one put back in his place for once.

    Through gritted teeth the [Dreamer] started again: ¡°Sir Archibold the Great, Ambassador of Fortune and Bringer of Sweet News, while I find it extremely positive that you like my ex-apprentice so much, I¡¯d rather we not lose any time and go where required to have the audience I requested.¡±

    ¡°Wait, you requested an audience? With who? Is it a King? I¡¯m not ready to meet a King! I don¡¯t want to. Albert?¡±

    ¡°I requested an audience the moment I got your message and understood the garbled part of text mentioning you needing to go underground,¡± answered the old fox.

    ¡°Consider yourself lucky, girl, the Court has a very full schedule!¡± said the cat.

    ¡°Full schedule? I read your schedule and all I saw was a stream of ¡®Nap under the light of the false sun¡¯.¡±

    ¡°It is a very important activity that helps keep my fur in great shape. You should do that too! And as for the Court, it¡¯s already here.¡±

    A moment later they were surrounded by furry animals of all shapes and sizes. It took Alice a moment to notice that they were all cats and dogs.

    She stared at them.

    They stared back.

    She had no idea how she was managing to stare each and every animal in the eyes considering they were all around her but that was not what worried her.

    Not that she was worried at all, actually: they were in the Dream. Nothing could truly hurt her! Except for mirrors apparently. A paradox would just give her a bad headache when waking up.

    Still, she stared at all those eyes and her mind tried to comprehend how it was possible, for she was only looking in one direction, so how could she be looking everywhere at once, how could she be seeing this, them, all of ¨C

    A gentle tail covered her human eye.

    She blinked, her mind settling back into place as the rose closed slightly, as if trying to filter out the sight in front of her ¨C and only in front this time.

    ¡°Now now, no need for those tricks Your Majesties. This girl has manners, unlike Old Pawless here.¡±

    That was when she noticed them.

    A dog and a cat, both wearing rather elaborate golden crowns, stepped forward. The dog was not of a race she¡¯d ever encountered on earth, but then again, she¡¯d always been more of a bird person to begin with, so maybe it actually existed back in her old home world; her fur was blonde, long and flowing, as if some model had decided to let her hair grow and then a coat of it had been made for the animal. Her eyes were deep black, the tongue lolling out of her too-long snout long and dark red, as if the dog had just drunk from a bowl of blood. The crown it was wearing was shaped to look like a¡­ leaf? Or was it a shovel? She couldn¡¯t quite see it.

    The cat, on the other hand, was black, or rather, had once been black. The fur was more gray and white than that dark, absolutely wonderful, hue, and it made it look like an ancient beast of legend. The eyes that were staring deep into her own, ignoring completely the rose, were one gold, the other milky white, a scar traveling through it telling her the story of its loss in battle.

    Instinctively, Alice bowed.

    The ambassador on her neck yowled in surprise and jumped off, huffing in disappointment, but then bowing himself.

    ¡°You are in the presence of Her Majesty of Dogs, Queen Most Gracious of the Ever Flowing Cascades of Sunlight, Regent of the Throne of Sticks and Balls, Thrice Crowned Hegemony of the False Stars, Princess ¨C¡±

    Alice had to stop and ponder for a moment why the [Ambassador] cat had appended the title of princess at the end. Then she understood that wasn¡¯t the title: that was her name.

    In that moment she had to muster all of her will not to crack up and chuckle. Nope, this wasn¡¯t funny at all! AT ALL!!!

    ¡° ¨C and His Majesty of Cats, Wisest of Kings of the Forever Lost Shadowed Woodlands, Defiler of the Yarned Seat of the Failed King of Dreams and Protector of the Moon, Blinky.¡±

    Alice was trying really hard. So hard, in fact, that she had to force the muscles of her face to stop moving with the help of the rose¡¯s roots. She also managed to stifle the movements of her diaphragm with the vines circling her lungs, which was surprisingly not painful but exceedingly uncomfortable. Had she fried her nerves in the Dream? Was that something that could happen? Or had she just gotten so used to the pain she didn¡¯t care anymore?

    The [Ambassador] cat looked back up at her and smiled knowingly. Had he figured her out.

    ¡°Would you like to present yourself, my lady?¡±

    Yep, he had figured her out. Damn cat!

    With an almighty use of her force of will she managed to force herself to take a deep breath and calm herself.

    She still couldn¡¯t control the singular snort that escaped her nose before she answered shakily: ¡°Th ¨C the name¡¯s Garda, Y ¨C Your Majesties.¡±

    The dog, the Queen, Princess (oh gods above and below help her this would be so impossible to take seriously) showed a few more teeth and did the doggy equivalent of a smile that probably intended to be benevolent but, instead, ended up looking playful: ¡°There is no need to be so nervous, young one. We won¡¯t harm you.¡±

    Her voice was sweet like honeyed water and, as it entered her ears, it seemed to flow right through her thoughts, settling pleasantly amidst the fertile soil that was her mind.

    Fertile soil that suddenly sprouted thorns and strangled the waters, leeching them of anything that could be used. It left her feeling refreshed, the headache from the paradox from before disappearing. It also gave her knowledge on the abilities of the dog in front of her.

    Knowledge that sobered her up.

    ¡°I thank you for your kind words, Your Majesty, but, if I may be so bold, I would rather nobody use Skills to keep my mind in check. My mind is mine only and I¡¯ll do what I wish with it.¡±

    The smile on the dog¡¯s face only seemed to get bigger at that.

    ¡°Oh, you trained her well, Old Pawless.¡±

    ¡°She is one of my best disciples,¡± said Albert with a nod, looking completely calm.

    At that the cat finally spoke: ¡°And you should really stop, Princess. You and your underhanded tricks will be our downfall.¡±

    The dog snorted, a sound which came out feeling wrong in Alice¡¯s opinion: ¡°We already were the downfall of you cats,¡± she said in a light tone, and it felt like a jab.

    ¡°Yes, and in doing so you nearly killed all of us.¡±

    ¡°Details, details, my dear.¡±

    The ambassador coughed slightly ¨C the sound again reminding her of a smoker clearing his throat ¨C to attract the two royals¡¯ attention.

    ¡°Your Majesties, please.¡±

    ¡°Oh right, right,¡± said the Queen of Dogs, ¡°It is just so rare for my dear friend Blinky to interact with anyone these days. You should spend more time with me, the light would help abate your tiredness.¡±

    ¡°Princess, whenever I¡¯ll need to be active I will do that. For now, I¡¯m old and I don¡¯t want to do anything.¡±

    For all that they were a king and a queen the two very much still somewhat acted like the animals they were. Princess was active, emotional and mischievous, but in a kind way ¨C if one didn¡¯t consider her attempt at forcing Alice¡¯s mind to calm down ¨C while Blinky was lazy, although not in the way of someone who didn¡¯t want to do things. It was as if he was resting up, getting ready for¡­ something. Whatever that something would be, it would find him ready.

    ¡°You, Old Pawless, requested an audience with us. You said you would need our help. Why?¡± asked the Cat King, his one good eye turning towards Albert, his body not moving a single inch.

    ¡°Garda, she was my apprentice, although she¡¯s now left my wing to pursue a path of her own. We are still good friends though, and she requires help in a¡­ complex project. She needs to gather some material from the deep. Sadly, among my allies, there is nobody who specializes in digging or exploring the depths of the Dream. Nobody, except for you.¡±

    The Dog Queen nodded: ¡°Ah, I see, so the Nightmare Hunters have lost even their [Depth Explorers].¡±

    Albert sighed before nodding: ¡°Apparently we lost the last ones before I first walked the Land. Not that there was much to see to begin with.¡±

    The Dog Queen laughed, the sound mellifluous and kind. It sounded like an old, long forgotten, song to Alice. She¡¯d never heard it, and yet¡­ it was as if the name, the title, was just on the tip of her tongue.

    ¡°Indeed. There was nothing of importance. Nothing worth remembering.¡±

    She turned back to Alice: ¡°You should remember that, young girl. There¡¯s nothing down there worth anyone¡¯s attention. [That Is What Was Decided].¡±

    Alice blinked. She shook her head.

    And then, before she could wonder what had just happened, the Dog Queen spoke again: ¡°One of my own will help you along your journey. Ozzy, step on out please.¡±

    A dog stepped forwards. It was a hound and, from the name, she guessed it was male. His fur was brownish, his nose covered in scars from a thousand battles and, from the huge body, she guessed he was one of those types of dogs which were used to guard sheep.

    ¡°I will help with all that I can give,¡± said the dog, nodding his head in a small courtsy.

    Then he turned towards Alice: ¡°Show me the place to dig. I shall lead the way.¡±

    He stepped closer.

    And then the Queen started talking again: ¡°Now, Old Pawless, you may be an honorary member of this court, but you¡¯re still not exempt from the matter of payment. Nothing for free and all that, that¡¯s how you humans taught us to do things.¡±

    Immediately she turned towards him: ¡°Albert, there¡¯s no need for any of that, I¡¯ll pay! You¡¯re doing this for ¨C¡±

    He turned towards her, his mouth clicking open, as he said: ¡°Garda, shut up. This is my choice. And there are debts I owe this Court that I must still repay.¡±

    He turned back towards the Queen: ¡°One payment. One for everything I owe you. Plus another thing.¡±

    The dog smiled: ¡°Oh, how intriguing. You do know that we are in no rush to get paid, right? The payments of us [Dreamers] are so much harsher than those of the Waking. But first, do tell me: what is it that you wish more help with?¡±

    ¡°Tracking. I need to track someone. One of the Labyrinthine, hiding in the dreams of the House.¡±

    The dog closed her mouth immediately at that, her expression souring as she lay down on the ground, a whimper escaping her mouth.

    ¡°More like the House¡¯s nightmares.¡±

    She turned towards the cat who, for the first time since he¡¯d been brought here, moved on his cushion to take a better look at the old fox.

    ¡°Why?¡± he simply asked.

    ¡°Apparently? To end the nightmares.¡±

    The Cat King laid silently on his cushion, his crown ¨C which looked like a ball of yarn ¨C glinting in the light of the setting sun.

    ¡°The main reason I let you be part of the Court, even with your debts, is that you are not a liar, unlike all the others. The Court agreed, back then, with you [Dreamers] because we saw no reason not to, but you were the ones who lied to yourselves.¡±

    What¡¯s he talking about? wondered Alice.

    The Cat King kept on staring deep into Albert¡¯s mask¡¯s eyes, looking for¡­she couldn¡¯t tell.

    Finally, he spoke again: ¡°Your debts to the Court are repaid, Old Pawless. If you were lying, or if you fail, I will come personally to find you.¡±

    Claws came out of one of his front paws: ¡°And I will cut you apart with the same claws that once ripped to pieces a kraken to the very Waking.¡±

    The Dog Queen nodded.

    ¡°We move out!¡± she ordered, and just as suddenly as they¡¯d appeared, all the animals were just gone.

    Albert stood there for a moment longer.

    Then he fell to the ground.

    His fur turned gray, then white, his breathing ragged, and she was by his side a moment later.

    ¡°Albert? Albert! What ¨C¡±

    A hand rose to stop her.

    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m fine, Garda,¡± he wheezed out, ¡°Just¡­ stressed, is all.¡±

    He chuckled drily, shaking his head: ¡°I shouldn¡¯t allow myself to be so emotional. Too old. Too¡­ too.¡±

    She tried to open her mouth again, but he shushed her with a finger as he spoke again: ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me, Garda. You just do your best. I set up the board for you, now you¡¯ll just have to play as good as you can.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t talk as if you¡¯re going to die soon! You¡¯ll bring yourself bad luck!¡±

    He smirked: ¡°Luck is dead, Garda. All that¡¯s left is misfortune on Rodar.¡±

    ¡°Still ¨C¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t plan on dying anytime soon, Garda. I¡¯ve still got plenty of time. But don¡¯t weigh your decisions down with the fear of what¡¯ll happen to me. What you¡¯re doing, it¡¯s good, but not easy. So¡­ just do your best. Just be Garda, the Garda who killed a child¡¯s Nightmare in under a week of training. The Garda who, on her first night, already knew who she was going to be. If you¡¯ll be that Garda you¡¯ll manage it.¡±

    He let his hand fall to the ground and breathed in deeply.

    She stepped back: ¡°I promise I will.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡±

    And all the while, the dog looked over the scene. He spoke only when he was sure they¡¯d ended the conversation.

    ¡°Stinky told me to tell you this: ¡®Goodbye. You were a great father. Don¡¯t forget to wake up now and then.¡±

    Albert looked at the dog.

    And he laughed. He kept on laughing as he rummaged around in his pockets and, ever so slowly, took out¡­ a tooth. Some animal¡¯s tooth, yes, and pricked his finger, disappearing from the Dream.

    Meanwhile Ozzy, the dog, said: ¡°Shall we start digging then?¡±

 The Halloween Special

    Isse woke up to the sound of someone knocking gently on her door.

    Opening her eyes groggily she mumbled something along the lines of ¡®Go away¡¯ and then faceplanted back into her beloved, fluffy, warm, absolutely wonderful cushion. Her eyes immediately began closing again, ready to send her back to her Mind Castle where she¡¯d been doing¡­ something with Siidi. Something unimportant and inconsequential, probably funny and even more probably very stupid. Had they been playing again with her soul half¡¯s memory of a frog? Maybe, she wasn¡¯t sure.

    The knocking came again.

    She grumbled and stuffed her face deeper in her cushion, trying her hardest to isolate herself from the outside world while promising herself that she would ask Albert to find a way to teach her the [Bubble of Silence] Spell.

    She didn¡¯t hear her door open, nor did she hear the steps of someone coming closer.

    What she did feel was the sudden weight on her spider half as someone quite literally flung themself on her.

    Her breath left her lungs with an audible oumpf and she immediately scrambled to understand who the mysterious attacker was.

    Her eyes focused, her combat instincts kicking in as she flailed her body around absolutely uselessly! Then, finally, she saw who it was that was sitting upon her: her little sister Silfaria ¨C whom Makira had nicknamed Sila.

    The young arachne stared down at her from her position on her chest, her big brown eyes looking for something known only to the child (or, more probably, not even to her). Then, finally, she smiled, a cute little gesture that made Isse¡¯s heart swell with joy.

    Driven by an instinct she didn¡¯t quite understand the arachne lunged for her little sister ¨C to the girl¡¯s total surprise ¨C going for a tackle hug. Her attack was successful in ensnaring her little attacker and, as was tradition, she now got to do whatever she wanted to her. Which amounted to ¡®hug her ¡®till the sun burns out¡¯.

    Her arms around her little sister, she felt like she could¡¯ve stayed like that for the rest of eternity, just feeling Sila¡¯s warmth pervading every surface of her body that was being touched. Why did she feel like she hadn¡¯t seen her little sister in a lifetime?

    Sila giggled in her grasp, one of the few sounds she tended to make, before saying: ¡°Good morning, sleepyhead!¡±

    Isse chuckled, moving her hand to ruffle the little girl¡¯s hair, but at that moment the door opened again and in walked someone else of great, no, greater importance: her soulmate, Anda.

    The black haired, black eyed, black furred arachne looked at her and smiled a smile with two cute little fangs coming out of her mouth, biting slightly into her lower lip. A hand rose, waving a small hello, and Isse¡¯s heart began racing as she let go of her little sister and skittered across the web covered room, her trinkets jingling and jangling as she passed beneath them, the current of her careless passage making them move.

    Her arms were around her soulmate, their lips meeting, their eyes closing as they kissed with a heated passion. The world around them was dark and forgotten, for she was her world and vice-versa. They were together!

    Finally, again, whispered a voice in her head that wasn¡¯t Siidi¡¯s.

    She ignored it, instead deepening the kiss.

    She was there and, in the same way as with Sila, she felt like they hadn¡¯t met for months, even though they¡¯d just told each other goodnight yesterday. It was such a bummer that Albert was so against them rooming together after the first night they¡¯d spent together here. So what if the [Silence] spell he¡¯d placed on the room¡¯s wall had failed, that wasn¡¯t their fault, it was just poor spellcraft!

    In the end, sadly, they had to separate, their need to breathe screaming at them that, for all that their lungs were big and gave them up to two minutes of air, well, that time had passed.

    Their breathing ragged, they looked each other in the eyes now, a playful spark in Anda¡¯s promising an unforgettable evening, something that, she imagined, was reflected in her own. They considered resuming the kiss but, in the end, Sila chose for them, suddenly placing herself between the two soulmates with her small hands raised to cover their mouths, causing both older arachne to bat their eyelids in confusion for a few seconds¡­ before they burst out laughing.

    Sila grumped a bit but, deep down, they could clearly see she was both happy for them and jealous she hadn¡¯t yet found her own soulmate. Both Isse and Anda were certain that, whenever the day came that puberty hit her, she would find her. Until then, well, the day had just started!

    Another knock sounded from the door.

    ¡°Isse? You awake?¡± asked a familiar voice.

    She smiled: ¡°Yes Albert, I¡¯m awake thanks to Sila.¡±

    Anda raised an eyebrow, which made Isse chuckle: ¡°And Anda, naturally. She woke me up real good!¡±

    She heard a groan from the other side of the wooden door: ¡°Please, at least wait for me to have my breakfast.¡±

    She heard the old [Spymaster]¡¯s footsteps slowly disappearing towards the kitchen ¨C accompanied by his low chuckling.

    For all that Albert acted like an exasperated parent sometimes he was actually more than happy that she had people who cared about her.

    How did we meet again? she asked herself.

    But she couldn¡¯t quite grasp at the memory. It felt distant, unimportant. She was here, here with her soulmate and her little sister and the others. They liked them here, accepted them for who they were, uncaring for the laws set by those outside the walls of the city.

    ¡°Ready for tonight?¡± asked Anda.

    Her voice was beautiful. It was melodious and sweet, made all the sweeter by the rarity of it. Oh, sure, she¡¯d heard plenty of it in the nights when they¡¯d shown each other what it meant to be soulmates ¨C she was quite vocal in those times ¨C but it just wasn¡¯t the same as hearing her talk in a normal situation. It made the moment so much more special.

    ¡°With you? I¡¯m always ready!¡±

    Anda beamed up at her, their eyes meeting again. Their control slipped and, again, they kissed, although they parted after just a few seconds this time.

    ¡°So, what are you wearing tonight?¡± she asked as their hands intertwined and they slowly began to skitter towards the kitchen-dining room.

    Anda didn¡¯t answer, instead just smirking with an air of mystery about her.

    ¡°Ah, a surprise, I see.¡±

    She nodded and they started their day.

    <hr>

    ¡°What are you wearing tonight Morra?¡± asked Isse to her [Necromancer] friend.

    The masked girl shrugged: ¡°I don¡¯t have anything planned. I can just go like this, people will get scared anyway.¡±

    Tobias sidled closer, fake whispering basically right beside her ear: ¡°Don¡¯t listen to her, she has a whole getup ready to go for the night! She¡¯s got a costume as ¨C¡±

    He was cut off by Creanza appearing seemingly out of nowhere at his side, elbowing him so hard he nearly fell face first to the floor. He was saved by a lightning quick hand grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, gently putting him back to his feet.

    ¡°Phew, I thought I could see the basement underneath the floorboards there. Thanks Makira.¡±

    The [Carer] and [Warrior] waved his thanks off with a smirk: ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ve had to save spiderlings from much worse falls.¡±

    That said she sipped her coffee making a very cool pose (involuntarily. Maybe) and motioned for them to keep going.

    ¡°So, which parts of the city are you gonna be raiding for candies? I hear the noblemen are competing on who can give out more of them. I also think they¡¯re competing to see who has the most outlandish decorations, so that¡¯s gonna be a spectacle to see!¡±

    Pochi piped up beside her: ¡°I also hear that people are making bets on which kids are going to attempt trick or treating¡¯ at Grandmother¡¯s home outside the walls. For the matter, I hear she made a new batch of blood suckers!¡±

    Makira turned towards her sister with a raised eyebrow: ¡°Wait? Really? Where did she get the resources for those?¡±

    ¡°A group of [Bandits] attempted to raid a farm near her home and triggered her Spells. You can connect the dots from there.¡±

    The [Carer] jumped in place, shouting: ¡°Pochi! We have to hurry up or our sisters will get them all! Or Albert will! Come on, get moving!¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    And they were gone.

    The group of friends (and more) looked at the scene with an air of mild dismay, all except for the arachne in the room, who had seen such spectacles far too often to be surprised.

    ¡°So, what time this evening?¡± asked Isse.

    <hr>

    The advantage of having a dress of Shifting Silk was that, with a little bit of cajoling, she could turn it into any costume she could ever desire. And then some.

    She could still remember vividly the night she¡¯d found out it had a ¡®sexy lingerie¡¯ setting, and Stars above had it taken the sexy way too seriously.

    Cough cough ANYWAYS! She managed, through a mix of cajoling and bribing (on Aru¡¯s part. She still didn¡¯t understand what you could bribe a dress with, but she¡¯d done it as a favor for Isse bringing her so much business), to get the dress to shift into what was probably the most elaborate witch costume she¡¯d ever seen. Her human half was wearing a tight bodice that accentuated her delectable curves, over which she wore a dress in blacks and purples that reached just below her waist. Her spider half sported just a little flap of dark silk with purple trim that had, at its center, an embroidered broom with a witch¡¯s hat.

    And about the hat, it wasn¡¯t part of the shifting silk¡¯s work: she¡¯d crafted that one, layering an illusion of color into the threads, turning it black and then attaching little gears she¡¯d stolen from Albert¡¯s workshop.

    With a smile on her face she left her room, expecting to see her soulmate¡­ and was greeted by shadows.

    Blinking in confusion she looked around, not understanding where her lover had disappeared to: she¡¯d clearly knocked and said that she was out here.

    Then, out of the blue, a hand touched her shoulder gently and a mellifluous and lovely voice whispered: ¡°There you are, my little witchling.¡±

    Isse smirked and turned around, ready to give her a surprise kiss, but stopped when her eyes alighted on Anda¡¯s face¡­ or rather, she believed it was Anda¡¯s.

    For it was painted black.

    All of her was black, blacker than anything she¡¯d ever seen.

    Her body¡¯s skin, which had always been pale, was now covered by a body hugging shirt that was as black as her spider half¡¯s fur, reaching up to her neck, where she had painted her skin black, turning her face into a nearly featureless, blank, mask. She could still slightly see the curve of her lips, but that was about it. And still, that wasn¡¯t the most striking feature of her costume: no, that was the eyes. Somehow, probably by having someone cast an illusion on her, her eyes were completely white, nearly shining. But, when she closed them, her eyelids blocked out the color, turning her face completely black.

    ¡°My soulmate dear, what in the names of the Old Men have you decided to go as?¡±

    The smirk on her face seemed to just grow bigger: ¡°Your little shadow.¡±

    She went in for a kiss, stopping just shy of their lips meeting, instead taking a step back and smirking even harder.

    ¡°Oh you tease! But I understand: can¡¯t ruin the make up.¡±

    She nodded.

    And then her [Dangersense] began to blare, making Isse turn around just in time to catch a flying Sila who¡¯d jumped from the ceiling towards her in an attempt to tackle hug her.

    Her arms groaned slightly at the sudden weight but she managed to ignore them, instead going for a smirk: ¡°You¡¯ll have to try harder to get me when I¡¯m awake.¡±

    She pouted: ¡°But Albert said I¡¯m getting better.¡±

    ¡°You are. But I¡¯m still more experienced, and I have the advantage of Levels on you.¡±

    Levels in what? What Classes?

    Why of course, her [Last Survivor] and [Spy] Classes!

    But wait, last survivor of what? And why did I decide to become a spy?

    Her train of thought was broken by Anda sidling up to her side and hugging her arm, causing her to stop in happiness. Then she looked up at Sila and saw that she was wearing a pirate costume, complete with a clockwork parrot clinging tightly to her shoulder and, ever now and then, emitting a very mechanical CRA!

    ¡°So, where are we going first?¡± asked her very excited little sister.

    ¡°First we¡¯ll be meeting with our friends. Then we go wherever the wind takes us.¡±

    Sila cheered and they left their home.

    <hr>

    Unsurprisingly, Morra decided to wear a skeleton costume, with the main difference from the classical ¡®Shirt and pants with drawings of bones¡¯ being that:

    First, the drawings weren¡¯t drawings but actual bone fiber woven into the tissue and;

    Two, she wasn¡¯t wearing a mask. Instead she¡¯d painted a skeleton face on herself, decorating it with little colorful flowers, not unlike the way Mexicans did it. All in all, she looked a lot like the version of herself they¡¯d seen at the King in Yellow¡¯s concerto.

    As for Tobias, he was wearing a mage¡¯s outfit that was a size too big for him. Upon being questioned he¡¯d said that he was dressed up as ¡®Morra¡¯s Necromancer¡¯, which made everyone except Morra chuckle. Instead she sighed and punched her lover in the shoulder, causing him to actually jump in pain since her gloves had been made that much more solid thanks to the bones woven in them.

    Isse had never thought the girl to be so good at her Class.

    Which¡­ was right. She wasn¡¯t. The bone fibers had been woven in by Creanza, who was a much better [Necromancer] than her little apprentice.

    ¡°So, where to first?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d say noble¡¯s district. We¡¯re bound to get a boatload of candy there!¡± suggested Isse.

    ¡°Yeah, but everyone will be going there for that reason. We¡¯ll be like sardines!¡± countered Tobias.

    ¡°Then what do you suggest, o¡¯ great informer?¡± asked Morra.

    She¡¯d become so much more talkative since the two of them had become a couple.

    ¡°I suggest we take on the Grandmother challenge.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t we be cheating? I mean, you have two arachne in your group and we know her,¡± said Isse.

    ¡°She set up an obstacle course outside her front lawn,¡± was all he said back.

    So off they were.

    <hr>

    As it turns out Grandmother had, in fact, set up an actual obstacle course outside her cabin near the woods. Also, it turns out that both Pochi and Makira had been recruited in the making of it. They¡¯d also vetoed the usage of traps that could actually harm them.

    It still took them the beauty of twenty minutes to get through it and more than once both Tobias and Morra fell in a ditch filled with icy water and had to be taken out by a laughing Makira (who, by the way, was wearing an absolutely silly mask of a spider with eight googly eyes that bounced around looking every which way every time she moved). Somehow, though, nobody¡¯s make up was damaged by the baths and, in a matter of moments, they were always dried with the usage of a rune.

    When, finally, they got to the entrance to Grandmother¡¯s grand (-not) abode, the old spider opened the door, her face expressionless as always, and¡­ smiled.

    That nearly caused the two arachne to flee.

    ¡°You made it through,¡± she said.

    ¡°That we did,¡± agreed Isse with a nod of her head.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t talking to you, apprentice. I was talking to your two human friends. An arachne should¡¯ve found that course easy.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    Anda had to suppress a chuckle.

    Meanwhile the two humans, who looked absolutely ragged, just sat on the top step of the patio, their heads turned to look up at the elder.

    ¡°We¡¯re never doing that again,¡± said Tobias with a wheeze.

    ¡°Agreed,¡± nodded along Morra.

    The old arachne smirked and, with a snap of her fingers, some sweets teleported over the duo¡¯s bags, tumbling inside.

    ¡°Enjoy.¡±

    She started to close the door.

    ¡°Hey, and what about us?¡± asked Sila with her little voice.

    The elder stopped, opening the door back up and standing at her full height, looming over the trio of arachne. Then she lowered herself over them, her white hair encompassing Sila the same way it had done the day she¡¯d given her her name.

    When it came back up the girl was absolutely covered in candies and chocolates and the likes from head to toe, her figure hidden under the small mountain.

    ¡°That¡¯s for all three of you. Divide it equally. I will know.¡±

    The door closed.

    <hr>

    ¡°This was the best night ever!¡± shouted Sila as she carried her bag filled to bursting with sweets.

    They¡¯d wandered the whole city by now and had received an especially good treatment at [Lady] Serafia¡¯s home, where the woman, who¡¯d opened the door herself while wearing a silken costume of a Fae that was maybe a tad too sheer to be considered proper, had tried to rope them into a party that would be happening later in the night. They¡¯d declined, stating that they had every intention to raid the homes of the other nobles for everything sweet they had.

    And now, as they walked back towards their homes, as Morra and Tobias waved them goodbye, they just basked in the happy memories of the evening. Their bags were full. They¡¯d filled them so much actually that both Isse and Anda had had to put away many of the candies in their bags of holding, which had started a plan in which they appeared at the homes of nobles with empty bags, soliciting sympathy that would lead to them acquiring more of the sweet delights.

    It was a masterful plan that worked for the rest of the night.

    They reached the front of Albert¡¯s shop, where the old man was sitting at the counter wearing a plague doctor¡¯s mask, a basket of sweets by his side while he read a book. The shop had been decorated with dozens of clockwork animals and skeletons and pumpkins that, every now and then, made sounds of all sorts, the little carillons hidden inside set on timers.

    Isse and Anda stood outside the shop, smiling at the inside, at the world, at the memory of the evening.

    They looked each other in the eyes.

    And kissed.

    A deep, passioned, kiss that lasted for seconds, minutes, maybe even hours and days and years, eternity framed in a moment between a tick and a tock.

    When, finally, they separated, Anda giggled at the smears of black she left on Isse¡¯s lips.

    Then she whispered: ¡°I love you.¡±

    They touched foreheads: ¡°I love you too,¡± said Isse.

    And those words meant nothing, for they couldn¡¯t encompass the depths of the connection between the two, but at the same time it was the only way to say it.

    They kissed again.

    Then, as they separated, Anda said this: ¡°We¡¯ll meet again...¡±

    <hr>

    Issekina Silksoul, Issekina Sirion, Issekina with no surname, for she was alone, opened her eyes.

    She was in Moon¡¯s airship¡¯s hold, in her little room, curled up in the cocoon she¡¯d woven.

    It had all been a dream.

    ¡°We¡¯ll meet again in Death¡¯s embrace,¡± she whispered, finishing the promise Anda had started.

 Chapter 10: Kingdom Come

    Crows are such strange animals, you know?

    Throughout history they¡¯ve been the birds of the dead, little carrion eaters that flew over battlefields, they¡¯ve been birds of knowledge, for in the ancient norse tales they were advisers to the King of Gods, Allfather, Odin; they¡¯ve been birds of misfortune as well, although that was only a brief phase.

    In truth, I always much preferred the way the norse saw them: bringers of knowledge, little observers who brought news of the world to the god they¡¯d decided to serve. Gossipers, in a way, the greatest of them all, for they could actually learn to talk and understood the world around them. One wonders what they must¡¯ve seen throughout the years. One also wonders: what would happen if they decided to tell about all those things to someone?

    Many would say that it is an impossible thing, and I would be led to agree if it wasn¡¯t for one, very simple, quite forgettable, detail: Classes. And Skills. These two things make everything possible, with enough time and work.

    So, in the end, it¡¯s not the crows themselves that are strange: it¡¯s their history.

    And us humans for constantly changing their nature in our eyes. No, seriously, we should all stop and choose.

    Anyways, crows was the theme for the evening: the airship flying behind them was infested by the little birds of stories, Isse was currently cuddling one as she remembered last night¡¯ dream with tears in her eyes, both Moon and Shriya were playing with another by the ship¡¯s wheel, chatting among themselves while their new friend jumped around on its two stick-like legs, cawing merrily as, every now and then, the [Occult Engineer] gave it bits and pieces of meat.

    It was a calm evening, all things considered, and Isse could sort of appreciate it even though her heart felt like it was breaking apart all over again.

    Thoughts of her soulmate and her sisters whirled around her mind, a maelstrom of memories that clung to the walls of her skull in an attempt to rip it apart and get out, escape, be free. She would¡¯ve given everything to make that happen, to be freed of those saddening thoughts, and at the same time she could remember the emptiness from the time she¡¯d drunk the Tea. Never again would she allow herself that sort of forgetfulness.

    It was as all this was happening that, out of the blue, all the crows around them cawed up to the skies, a loud call to arms, a louder still greeting that reached to the clouds and bounced back down to the ground below as the Stars refused to answer. She looked up, watching as they appeared in the slowly darkening sky, little twinkles that merrily looked down at them. Literally. The [Old Man by the Stars] had clearly told her that the stars were, in a way, ¡®The System¡¯s Eyes¡¯. What that entailed, she couldn¡¯t tell. After all, [Miners] still gained Levels, and so did the dwarves who lived underground in Mountainhome: all places where the stars¡¯ light couldn¡¯t reach. Therefore there had to be more to it!

    More that she couldn¡¯t bring herself to care about as the crows rose up in the skies, the sound of a hundred wingbeats nearly deafening as they formed into a formless shape and dove down towards a now visible city.

    All, except for the one she was holding close to her chest and the one currently being fed by Moon.

    ¡°Look! He stayed! We have a new friend!¡± shouted Moon as she whooped towards the sparse clouds overhead.

    ¡°You can¡¯t keep him Moon,¡± of course Shriya had to ruin everything.

    ¡°Awww, come on, let¡¯s keep him! We have the food to spare! I promise I¡¯ll look after him and take him on plenty of walkies¡­ flysies¡­ whatever crows do. PLEASE!!!!!¡± and she used the most effective attack known to humanity as a whole: puppy dog eyes. The fact that Moon¡¯s pupils actually enlarged a lot didn¡¯t surprise Isse slightly.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare use that Skill on me!¡± said Shriya as she shielded her eyes and turned away for added cover from that weapon of mass destruction.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about. Pleaseeeeeeeeeee! Let¡¯s keep him.¡±

    Isse couldn¡¯t contain herself and snorted.

    Those two could make the Acharis, you know, the criers from ¡®The Neverending Story¡¯, stop crying by just being themselves, she thought.

    What are those? Oh¡­ ooooh, well, they¡¯re quite the pitiful creatures. Honestly, what the boy did to them is horrifying, but it¡¯s maybe better than just living all their lives in a cave as they cry.

    Couldn¡¯t agree more, sis.

    They kept on watching as Siidi used [A Minute, United], allowing her amusement to quench the crystalline flames of her sadness. Warmth pervaded Isse, a blanket of kindness surrounding her human half like¡­ a coat.

    I thought the Skill was yours alone, even while sharing, she thought, pleasantly surprised.

    It was, yes. But since I last Leveled it gained a bit more power. This memory won¡¯t protect you, but¡­ it helps.

    They smirked, now completely as one, and watched as the two girls bickered, Moon trying desperately to enter Shriya¡¯s field of view while she begged her friend (and probably lover, she was starting to believe the crow) to let them keep the volatile as a pet.

    It was a long and hard battle, one fought in ¡®No¡¯s and ¡®Please¡¯ of varying lengths all while weapons of incredible power were unleashed from both parties ¨C namely, the puppy dog eyes, which apparently were a Skill, and a blindfold.

    In the end though Moon won by sheer hardheadedness and because she utterly destroyed the birdkin¡¯s patience with her constant begging.

    And all the while the distant city kept getting closer and closer. Now, as they looked, their little crow nuzzling their chin with its head, they could see so many details: first and foremost, the city was circular. The perfect form pleased the eye and their very souls. High walls, higher even than those of Tedam, protected it, from the looks of it made from stone and, she noticed a moment later, thick enough to allow two carriages to pass side by side. The outside was smooth, although her enhanced eyes could make out here and there and everywhere little slits from which enterprising defenders could have fun pouring arrows down upon their enemies, while the more sadistic types could do the same¡­ but with boiling oil. Or shit and piss if they were feeling funny.

    The insides of the walls though? Oh, those were a sight to behold. Gone was the smoothness lacking decorations of any type, in its place there were statues, dozens, maybe even hundreds of them, and here and there she could clearly see hints of color, as if someone was trying to paint them or outright making a mural. Oh how she wished they would get closer faster so that she may see the details.

    Then her eyes moved to the right, towards the center of the city, where a rather impressive castle had been built. Five towers adorned it, the fifth of which stood tallest of all, reaching higher than the walls themselves, and right smack in the very center of the building, on the edge of what appeared to be a grand patio in which she could see¡­ well, she could see green and not much more. It was an interesting sight but¡­ it felt so much less than the rest of the city, as if the builder had not wanted that particular building to stand out and overshadow everything else. No, instead the castle seemed to be mixing together with the rest of the city, giving off a ¡®Building like all the others¡¯ feeling, like a tall child in elementary school trying to hide the fact he was different from the others ¨C which is to say, he was failing miserably, but the others seemed to be accepting him for how he was.

    ¡°Wonderful place, eh?¡± asked someone at her side. She recognized the voice as being Moon¡¯s.

    ¡°Yep,¡± she agreed, not moving her eyes away from the sight below her.

    They stayed like that for a while, unmoving, uncaring of the rest of the world, just watching the city beneath them slowly getting bigger and bigger, making them realize the sheer scope of the project, their thoughts turning to attempts to figure out just how much work must¡¯ve gone into building such a massive place. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°Could you believe that not even a decade ago this place was just endless plains in every direction?¡±

    At that Isse blinked and turned to look at the woman, her eyebrows rising.

    ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Yup. Or so I heard. Mind you, I¡¯m not one to listen to rumors most of the time, but it was my teacher who told me this. The King of Crows appeared one day out of the blue with a kingdom¡¯s worth of people right here, claimed the land, and they began building this wonder.¡±

    Isse frowned at that: ¡°Wait, but if this place was all plains then¡­ how in Airm did they manage to get all the materials they needed?¡±

    Moon shrugged: ¡°Don¡¯t ask me. I¡¯m an [Engineer], not an [Architect], and certainly not a [Builder]. They probably imported the stone from the dwarves and the quarries near the center of Irevia.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t the dwarves on another continent?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but they make some pretty good ships. That is, if you like unsinkable monstrosities that are slower than a snail,¡± a chuckle escaped her lips, ¡°The shortfolk really don¡¯t like swimming, that¡¯s for sure.¡±

    They smirked, a little quip escaping their lips: ¡°You¡¯re one to talk, up high in the air.¡±

    Suddenly defensive, Moon raised her hands in a placating gesture as, with a smirk of her own, she answered: ¡°In my defense, there ain¡¯t many occasions to swim in the jungles. You take a dip in the rivers one time and between the Vine Fuckers ¨C¡±

    ¡°Vine what?¡±

    ¡° ¨C yeah, you know, basically vines that use you to reproduce. Or animals in general, they ain¡¯t picky. Anyways, between those, the Drowner Turtles, the flights of Dry Mosquitoes and all the rest, well, one time is enough. As we say in the jungles, put us anywhere but at sea. Jungleborn and water aren¡¯t a winning combination.¡±

    ¡°So you can¡¯t swim?¡±

    ¡°No, of course I can swim!¡±

    ¡°Badly!¡± shouted Shriya from the helm.

    ¡°Yeah, badly. But, in my defense, the first time I got to swim somewhere that didn¡¯t try to kill me was in the City of Temples, and I nearly drowned.¡±

    They chuckled, the Skill reaching its ¨C admittedly longer than a minute now ¨C end, dividing them anew. She felt colder now, the absence of her soul half¡¯s Skill palpable, a reminder that they were and always would be two different beings.

    Sometimes, in the dark of the night, in the safety of their Mind Palace, they wondered what it would be like to be one in a permanent way, to go to that crack in the darker depths of their souls and fill the crevasse that represented that division, the wound that had made them two. Their ideas were wild and always somewhat funny, while other times they were certain that the process would destroy them as the sadness they both harbored flooded their uniting minds. The Skill protected them (probably) from such a possibility.

    ¡°How long until we get there?¡± she asked after a short silence where her thoughts wandered.

    ¡°An hour at most, I think. The winds are on our side and I¡¯m pretty sure¡­¡±

    She didn¡¯t finish the sentence, instead reaching in her bag of holding and taking out a spyglass, which she pointed downwards.

    ¡°Yup! There¡¯s the welcome committee,¡± she finished with a smirk.

    Again raising her eyebrows, Isse looked down. Indeed, there was¡­ something moving steadily closer to their ship.

    She wasn¡¯t even surprised: after spending over half a year in this world and seeing just how much the line between ¡®possible¡¯ and ¡®impossible¡¯ was blurred, seeing a flying person was just another tuesday. Grandmother could¡¯ve probably done the same with added style points.

    Although she was rather surprised by the person¡¯s speed: it took them barely a minute to get halfway towards them, close enough for her to start seeing details. It was a blonde woman who, even though it was hard to tell with her angle, looked quite short. She couldn¡¯t see her eyes, nor her face, but she could see she was wearing heavy clothing made to help her resist the cold of the higher altitudes. Hanging from her back was a longbow and a small quiver filled to the brim with arrows.

    ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Hopefully someone friendly.¡±

    That wasn¡¯t reassuring in the least but, right now, she couldn¡¯t bring herself to care that much: the woman getting steadily closer probably had Skills that would¡¯ve allowed her to easily shoot at them from a much greater distance so either she was the kind of person who¡¯d rather look her enemy in the eye as she killed them or she had no hostile intentions towards them. If it was the former then¡­ well, she¡¯d survived worse.

    A minute later though she got confirmation that her second theory had been the correct one. The woman appeared beside them and, with a small bow, stepped on the bridge.

    ¡°Good evening, fine ladies. I¡¯m [General] Tiana of the Kingdom of Occultism. You are entering our claimed air space uninvited.¡±

    She was, indeed, a very small woman, probably no higher than a meter and thirty, practically a child. And yet, as Isse looked into the woman¡¯s bright blue eyes, she saw a maturity forged in blood not unlike her own. The presence of a slight smile on her lips that promised violence also helped communicate that.

    Isse couldn¡¯t help herself, a smile of her own forming on her lips, only slightly less unhinged.

    Moon looked around for a moment, as if the clouds could tell her what to say to this woman. Then, in a display of absolute brilliance, she shoved her hands towards Tiana, her new crow on the palms: ¡°He invited me. And his brothers. And sisters.¡±

    Tiana opened her mouth, then closed it, then looked both at the crow ¨C which cawed in greeting ¨C and Moon. Finally, she spoke: ¡°You know, I would¡¯ve told you that I was here to give you the permission to pass right in, but now you gave me a better reason and you also ruined my fun.¡±

    She pouted in a most childish manner before bursting out into laughter.

    ¡°No matter. You are approved to land in the specified landing zone.¡±

    She took a step back, her fur lined boot stepping on the air on the other side of the railing as if there was some invisible platform awaiting her. With a snap of her fingers a small area underneath them right outside the city¡¯s walls lit up brightly.

    ¡°I¡¯ll accompany you all the way down, as per Ravenspoken¡¯s request.¡±

    Both Moon and Isse frowned: ¡°And who might that be?¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said the woman with nonchalance, waving her hand around as if to say it wasn¡¯t anything important, ¡°He¡¯s just the King of Crows. We¡¯re on a name to name basis. Or, well, name to surname. Says some bullshit happened and he no longer has one. Anyways, we¡¯re pals!¡±

    Isse, who had grown up with stories and films and fictions about how kings were dignified, lonely, men who only had a few people around them to help make decisions and few friends that could and, usually, would betray them by the end, found this concept slightly¡­ improbable.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ pals? With the local king?¡±

    She shrugged: ¡°He¡¯s an ok man. Pretty great conversationalist too. And friendly. Probably ¡®cause he made himself [King] from scratch instead of inheriting the title like many other snot nosed brats.¡±

    Far, far, away from them, in Eva, [King] Alban III felt his ears whistle for some reason.

    ¡°Anyways, he told me we¡¯d be housing an ¡®arachne¡¯, whatever that is. Said it would look like a woman with a spider¡¯s body attached to her ass? She hidden underneath?¡±

    Isse¡¯s mind took a few seconds to register what had just been said and, the moment she did, she burst out laughing. She hadn¡¯t believed Albert when he¡¯d told her that all information about the arachne had been suppressed (or rather, that the College had tried) but this? This proved it completely, and for some reason that was funnier than hearing the way she¡¯d been described.

    ¡°What? Did I say something funny?¡± she asked with a smirk that said she knew exactly what she¡¯d said was meant to be funny.

    Instead of answering Isse tugged at her connection with the dress of Shifting Silk and, in an instant, the illusion built out of fabric, shadows and light dissipated. Her human legs, or the impression of their presence, flickered, in their place now her softly-furred spider half as a flap of fabric gently eased itself down, a simple snowflake stitched on it.

    The woman took a step back upon seeing the sudden change, then smirked: ¡°Well damn, had I known it was you I wouldn¡¯t have made the butt comment.¡±

    The arachne smiled back: ¡°No offense was taken. I¡¯m rather pleased you¡¯re not horrified or trying to kill me on sight.¡±

    ¡°Kill you? Me? No thanks, I don¡¯t kill sexy things.¡±

    Isse choked on nothing at that, her throat overtaken by a coughing fit while in the back of her mind Siidi cackled like a madwoman: I like her already.

    As for Moon, she began laughing as well. The only person who didn¡¯t look amused was Shriya, who¡¯d stayed silent this whole time while also never taking her eyes off Tiana.

    ¡°Could we please stop with the flirting? She¡¯s barely legal, if at all,¡± she said, her tone expressing slight disgust.

    At that Tiana began laughing uproariously, the sound so loud and booming ¨C so out of place for her tiny body ¨C it slightly deafened Isse.

    ¡°Sorry gal, I ain¡¯t looking for any relationship. If I ever find myself someone to love it¡¯ll be a game of survival, not one of them ¡®lovey dovey smoochies everywhere¡¯ situations.¡±

    That was how they were introduced to Tiana.

    Luckily for them, that wasn¡¯t all that the King of Occultism had in store for them. Or unluckily. Isse would spend the years to come uncertain about which one it was.

 Chapter 11: Of Architects, Assassins and Alraune

    The Kingdom of Occultism was, as the name suggested, a strange place. When the country had been young and while it was still being built many had come to visit it, from simple [Wandering Merchants] to neighboring [Kings] with big and showy escorts.

    The former would always find good people willing to trade and come out of the place a lot richer than when they¡¯d come, while the latter¡­ well, they were subjected to pranks.

    Many a [Generals] had lost their dignity (and some their positions) when they¡¯d met Tiana, thinking she was a child wearing a military costume and, therefore, treating her as such. Their faces every time she dropped the facade and beat the stuffing out of them were always priceless and, if voices were to be believed, somewhere in the city there was a gallery filled with [Mage Pictures] and recordings of those interactions ¨C and subsequent fights.

    In the same way so many [Kings] had encountered the actual King of Crows while he had been working with his people, helping in the slow building of his kingdom, resulting in them not recognizing him, which had most of the time led to some amusing ¡®chases¡¯ all over the kingdom-to-be in an attempt to hunt for the man. Inevitably, when someone just didn¡¯t manage to contain their laughter and spilled the beans, the belaughed [King] would lose it and leave, taking with them their political plots that would¡¯ve probably just brought trouble to the newborn kingdom.

    Only once had the [King] in question not fallen for said trick, immediately recognizing Ravenspoken for who he was. The man¡¯s name: Alban III. He had come from Eva in person to meet this up and coming man who alone had managed to wrangle these relatively useless lands from the hands of another kingdom and, with his and his people¡¯s sheer effort, was slowly managing to turn them into something.

    Anyways, all this to say: this kingdom was strange.

    People would laugh and tell you the wildest tales about how they or their parents had been recruited to participate in the making of this new home, and if one dared to ask about the leaders, those behind the projects and the making of all this, well, safe to say the tales would become even more outlandish.

    The most outlandish of them all? Here¡¯s some: the [Architect] who had made the projects for the kingdom was a goblin of all things, the Prime Minister was an ex-Assassin, and, sometimes, there was even tell of an alraune living among them, which was utterly preposterous seeing how they were mindless plants who attracted prey with their beautiful human looking bodies only to drain them dry of blood afterwards. In a way, they were the plant world¡¯s equivalent of a vampire. Some even said that they had been created by vampires, but there was no proof of that and, as everybody knew, vampires had died off centuries, no, millenia ago, well before the Silken Wars ¨C although the general populace didn¡¯t know anymore why they celebrated the Silken Week, nor had they heard of those wars.

    This is what [General] Tiana had told Isse as she accompanied them down towards the landing area.

    ¡°So wait, you knew what the Silken Wars were and you knew what the Silken Week celebrated, yet you didn¡¯t know what an arachne was?¡± asked Isse.

    ¡°I mean, I maybe-sort-of-probably-very-possibly fell asleep halfway through Ravenspoken¡¯s explanation. So I just sorta remembered that the Silken Wars were fought against something very dangerous that was supposedly exterminated.¡±

    Both the arachne and Shriya gave an unimpressed look to the woman who just shrugged: ¡°Hey, I¡¯m all for learning new things but I¡¯m a [General] first and foremost and history lessons are only good when they explain the workings of battlefields.¡±

    She pouted, crossing both her arms and legs, something that would¡¯ve been funnier if she hadn¡¯t been floating in the air.

    ¡°For the love of the gods,¡± finally snapped Shriya, ¡°Could you stay inside the airship? You¡¯re giving me anxiety, and I¡¯m jungleborn so nothing should be capable of giving it to me.¡±

    The [General] who looked like a tall child snickered and did a barrel roll, causing the birdkin to groan and look away.

    ¡°So,¡± continued Isse, ignoring completely that interaction, ¡°you¡¯re saying that this Ravenspoken, who, if I got that right, is the king around here, knows about us and our history?¡±

    She made a so-so gesture: ¡°Probably, yes. And if not him then the crows do.¡±

    Right, King of Crows and everything, she thought.

    ¡°So he can really talk to crows?¡± asked Moon, who¡¯d gone back to the airship¡¯s wheel, releasing a few nearby ropes that opened small holes in the balloon, allowing air to leave a few internal compartments, which caused them to hasten their descent.

    ¡°Yep! They¡¯re real gossipers too from what he says, but they only share stuff from outside the kingdom so I can¡¯t find out who the new couples around here are without socializing. Ugh¡­¡± the look of absolute disgust on her face made Isse chuckle, which caused Tiana to chuckle, which, as you can probably guess, resulted in a chain reaction that had both women rolling on the ground ¨C and in the air ¨C soon.

    Even Shriya smiled slightly at that, although the reason for the gesture was completely different from what the two could¡¯ve guessed: namely, she was happy that Isse, the young arachne, had found a distraction.

    The laughter began to die down nearly a minute later, accompanied by wheezing on Tiana¡¯s part and tears on Isse¡¯s.

    That was when they finally came level with the top of the walls. There were [Guards] and [Soldiers] on top, the difference between the two noticeable by the lack of heavy armor on the former ¨C which tended to wear leather armor with chainmail underneath.

    Both groups waved at them, noticing only a moment later the presence of their [General], which caused them to attempt to save face by turning the waving into a very awkward salute.

    For her part Tiana waved them down.

    ¡°Those are my boys, each and every one of them. Trained them myself, I did!¡± she said, sounding for all the world like a proud mother showing off her child, ¡°They¡¯re great with both swords and bows! More or less. Let¡¯s just say that anyone trying to breach these walls will be in for quite the nasty surprise.¡±

    The rest of the descent was nearly silent and completely uneventful, leaving Isse enough time to calm down, her despondency creeping back, like a fox coming back to the scene of a hunt to see if the bigger predator had left something for her to eat. Finding nothing, it settled back comfortably in the back of her mind, darkening her thoughts with its presence.

    Her thoughts turned back to the dream, to Anda and Makira and the others, her family she had lost and the only friends she¡¯d left behind. Sure, she could¡¯ve said that none of it had been her fault: she hadn¡¯t decided to survive the fire that had engulfed her entire forest together with both arachne and enemies, nor had she gotten to choose Tobias¡¯ destiny, and for that matter she would¡¯ve never endangered Morra by going to find her

    But would she have even wanted to come with me if I¡¯d shown her the truth? Would she have wanted to help me if I¡¯d told her what I¡¯d done to her only other friend?

    She shook her head, her hand instinctively moving to her belly, the other caressing her spider half. They¡¯d been flying for a few days now and she was already starting to feel bloated: not long now, not long at all, and she wouldn¡¯t be alone.

    They reached the base of the walls and she didn¡¯t notice, although she did hear Tiana shout: ¡°On behalf of the entire Kingdom of Occultism, I welcome you, Moon and Shriya of the Jungles, and Issekina of Clan Silksoul!¡±

    Upon hearing those words Isse¡¯s head whipped up towards the tiny general, her mind broken out of its eternal circles of sorrow and hope by those simple words at the end. How ¨C

    ¡°How do I know? Whoever told my king to let you in told him this as well, apparently.¡±

    Albert.

    He had cared. Always had, from the moment he¡¯d found her up until the very end. He had found someone lost, someone broken, and seen in her what he¡¯d seen in many others before. The real difference was that, this time, he hadn¡¯t looked away. He¡¯d helped rebuild her afterwards, repaired the damage, sutured and bound the weeping wounds. And, at the end, he had still tried to help her, going as far as telling the one who would help her, her story, or at least, her origins.

    A small smile formed on her lips as she hugged the crow she was holding closer. The animal didn¡¯t seem to be against it.

    ¡°Throwing moorings!¡± shouted Moon as she threw to the ground several ropes and, with the flick of a switch, released two heavy looking steel anchors.

    Minutes passed, the only sounds around her those of the people working underneath, the words undistinguishable and all fusing together into droning broken only every now and then by laughter made distant by her ignoring it.

    She didn¡¯t feel the passage of time, her concentration on Moon, who kept on moving around the ship shouting instructions, and Shriya, who¡¯d sat herself down next to Isse, looking down at her in¡­ she flicked her eyes towards the birdkin and saw worry.

    But there¡¯s nothing to worry about.

    And then there was the sensation of hair touching hers every now and then, Tiana¡¯s if she had to guess. She could see her in her mind¡¯s eye, just floating there lazily, probably rotating on herself because it was fun. She was curious about how she could do that: fly around all willy nilly, as if gravity had forgotten about her existence entirely. What kind of magic could do that? What enchantment? Or what combination of both? Or was it a Skill? She was sure that Grandmother would¡¯ve found the situation interesting. Or maybe she would¡¯ve unraveled it so fast it wouldn¡¯t have taken her longer than a blink ¨C although, now that she thought about it, Isse couldn¡¯t remember ever seeing her blink.

    ¡°You can get down, little spider,¡± said Tiana¡¯s voice at some point over her head.

    The air felt like cotton as she got up, skittering towards the wooden stairs that had been placed to let anyone onboard get down comfortably.

    A little part of her thought that both Moon and Shriya would¡¯ve found that measure useless since they were jungleborn.

    The rest of her though? The majority was locked onto those words: ¡®You can get down little spider.¡¯

    ¡°Let¡¯s get down, little spider,¡± said Makira.

    The words in the memory and the [General]¡¯s kept repeating themselves in a loop, a broken disk on a rusted gramophone who¡¯s needle had forgotten to move to the next line. The words mixed together, they became one and the same, and as they did she no longer saw Tiana.

    She saw Makira, the Smiling Woman. She saw her smiles, all of them, all the ones she¡¯d shared with them since they¡¯d been born, and there were oh so many.

    And then she saw her last smile. The bloodthirsty smile of the monster she¡¯d become in her desire to protect them from the [Soldiers] trying to murder them. The four armed monstrosity wielding swords of blood and fury, dancing around the battlefield with the grace of¡­ actually, no: the moment she¡¯d turned into that she had stopped being graceful, she had forgotten the meaning of beauty, and instead she had just turned into a merciless machine that clunked around and destroyed anything in her path, a thing of war that fed on blood and shat out corpses.

    How she wished that hadn¡¯t been the last memory she had of their mentor, their greatest [Carer], their¡­ one of their mothers.

    She was on the ground now and someone was telling her to get inside a wagon that, apparently, would get her to the castle. The voice didn¡¯t seem scared, nor did it feel like it was trying to make her move faster, so she just calmly (on the outside) walked towards said carriage, not seeing its pleasantly decorated exterior, nor noticing the driver on top that was trying and succeeding to calm the horses that her presence was clearly scaring.

    And all the while Moon, Shriya and Tiana watched her go.

    Finally, the [General] spoke: ¡°I have seen veterans of a hundred battlefields less broken than that girl.¡±

    The two friends looked up in surprise at the woman¡¯s sudden change in tone. She¡¯d sounded so cheerful up until then, but now? Now she had the hard voice of a trained woman who¡¯d seen people die and was ready to kill her fair share.

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised she hasn¡¯t been touched by Blood,¡± she continued.

    Moon nodded: ¡°Us too, for that matter.¡±

    They stood there for a while more, silence falling over the ship. They heard the arrival of the Silver airship, the voices of the workers underneath rising towards them as orders were given and anchors were tied.

    In the end it was Shriya who broke the silence: ¡°Who are you, Tiana? You look so young and yet I can feel the weight of the years in your voice. You look cheerful yet the scent of Blood lingers around you. Who are you? How did you get here?¡±

    The [General] turned towards her, twirling slightly in the air until she was belly down, chin in her hands, as if she were sitting comfortably on a mat.

    ¡°I¡¯m a halfblood. Half Elf, half Dwarf. My name is Tiana, and that is my actual name. It comes from ancient elvish and it means ¡®She who smiles in the face of adversity¡¯, or something along those lines. Tiana¡¯s just an abbreviation of a much longer name, Tianarife Olusmiel. I grew up in a happy and functional family, then one day I decided to join a contingent of elven [Archers] in a mercenary company going to war on Rodar.

    ¡°They told me it would be Airm, that me being ¡®good¡¯ wouldn¡¯t be enough. I didn¡¯t believe them, thought that no amount of misfortune could get in the way of skill and Skills. As they say, reality bitch slapped me. Let me tell you, being an [Archer] on Rodar is like being a fish in the middle of the Vinzant Desert. No matter how good you are, an errant gust of wind can and usually will make you miss the target, you will lose your foothold at the last second and fall face down in the mud, and so on and so forth.

    ¡°Long story short, I gained a lot of Levels. We also lost a lot of people.

    ¡°Then, one day, the enemy stopped fighting and started playing, and we didn¡¯t know the rules. They got behind us, got to our [General] and his [Tacticians], killing every last one of them. We were surrounded, but my elder managed to get us out at the cost of her life. That night the Blood ran rampant among the survivors, but me? I smiled. I smiled and got the others to smile with me, and we smiled when they came to ambush us in the depth of night, but all they found was empty beds filled with grass and logs. We were in the trees to greet them, to play our own game. We were much better players than them.

    ¡°That night I led my survivors to victory, and in the nights that followed we brought the Blood that should¡¯ve touched us to them, letting it flow into their dreams, changing them into nightmares that hounded them in daylight. We picked them off one by one, uncaring for the misfortune for we had been through too much of it and, for all the things that Rodar is, it is fair. I led them on, always with a smile on my face but never laughing. On that overgrown island I changed: from a simple [Archer] to a [Leader] to a [Tactician] to a [General] as, bit by bit, I won the war. Although we did forget what side we were supposed to be on, an unfortunate side effect of what we¡¯d gone through. I think we decimated both sides, but the colors of the flags grow fuzzy every time I think about them.

    ¡°And then Ravenspoken found me and what was left of my people. One thing led to another, we tried to kill him, he survived, and now we serve him.¡±

    The two jungleborn looked at the, apparently, half elf and half dwarf with gaping mouths.

    ¡°And if you think my story¡¯s crazy you¡¯ll have to hear the others¡¯! They¡¯re so much better!¡±

    It was Moon who broke the silence on their side in the end, not unusual per se, but still slightly jarring for her friend ¨C yes, only a friend, most certainly just that: ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t have a Bloody Skill?¡±

    She nodded: ¡°As sure as the sky is blue. My [King] has ways to check. I¡¯m just¡­ well, damaged. We all are, me and my people. At least we managed to fill in the cracks, and we¡¯re all that much stronger for that.¡±

    She smiled then, and there was kindness in the small gesture as her eyes grew distant for a moment.

    ¡°Granted, not all of us managed to do it. The night when everything changed some of us gave in to the temptations of the crimson sweetness. We put them out of their misery: better not to have someone preaching that temptation and, in the end, just signing their own death warrant. Fast and painless, that¡¯s all we could do for them.¡±

    She turned her head towards the carriage, which had reached the main gates of the city.

    ¡°I hope Ravenspoken manages to help her, because if that girl ever breaks, well, it won¡¯t be pretty, that¡¯s for sure.¡±

    She chuckled bitterly: ¡°Not that it ever is.¡±

    Moon and Shriya had to agree with her.

    <hr>

    Six goblins stood in front of death, a crackling, warm, inviting campfire behind them, calling them, telling them to sit there and relax, to let their worries go.

    Five of those goblins were wearing heavy armor. The last one wore normal clothes, his only distinguishing feature from any mere civilian being the presence of the toolbelt winding around his waist and the many pencils tucked behind his ears.

    Death stood in front of them, a gentle presence, a reminder that their time had come.

    ¡°Why won¡¯t you let go?¡± asked Death, her voice warm and kind, filled with honey that seemed to soothe the distant memories of pain on the goblins¡¯ bodies.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been fighting for so long. Why won¡¯t you let go?¡± she asked.

    One of the five armored goblins, a [Warrior], smirked as, slowly, he sat down, crossing his legs and placing a hand on one. The armor didn¡¯t make any noise, because he wasn¡¯t really wearing it: it was just an image, a memory projected by his mind, a way for him to feel comforted, comfortable. In the decade of war his armor had become akin to a second skin, leaving him feeling naked whenever he went without it.

    ¡°Why? War ain¡¯t won, thatta why.¡±

    His brothers nodded, agreeing completely.

    ¡°We hafta keep fightin¡¯. ¡®Wise, we¡¯ll be losing ground, and more¡¯ll die,¡± continued a second goblin. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Lastly, it was the goblin in civilian clothing to speak: ¡°An [Architect]¡¯s work ain¡¯t ever done, my lady. Got fortresses to design, trenches to help dig, homes to put up for the folks who hope to finally have one.¡±

    Death looked at the six brothers. Not of blood, or, at least, not their own blood. They had spent so much time on the battlefields now that they¡¯d baptized each other in the blood of their enemies. Which ones? Heh, it would¡¯ve been easier to list out who wasn¡¯t their enemy. Which amounted to just the dwarves. Everyone else? Yeah, you get the gist of it.

    Finally, she spoke: ¡°I will offer you a chance. One of you will be allowed to go back if they win a game against me. Choose the one, and then he will choose the game.¡±

    It was an old deal she offered sometimes. A test, in some ways, to see how bound these people were: would they act as the brothers they claimed to be, or would their bonds be forgotten in a moment as they tried to take the chance from their own kin?

    The six goblins looked each other in the eyes, then, in an action that surprised even Death, the five [Warriors] raised their feet and kicked the sixth, the [Architect], towards her.

    ¡°We ain¡¯t got no need for a¡¯ [Architect] in Airm,¡± said the sitting one ¨C whose kick had been the weakest considering his position.

    ¡°He be right. You¡¯re useless to us, brotha. Go on, take tha gamble, play her game,¡± added a second goblin.

    A third just snorted: ¡°Don¡¯t listen to them idiots. They fink you dumb enough te fall for the trick,¡± he sighed, imitating his first brother and sitting on the featureless ground. Then, thinking better of it, he rose, walked the few steps that separated him from the campfire, and sat down on one of the logs around it. Immediately the armor melted off of his skin, leaving behind only simple woolen clothes that made him look a lot like¡­ a farmer. He had always wondered what it would¡¯ve been like.

    ¡°O¡¯ the six o¡¯ us, yar the one more d¡¯serving to live, brotha. We kill people, and there¡¯s plenty o¡¯ others like us raring to keep doing our job. But ye? Ye protect them. Ye save lives!¡±

    A fourth nodded in agreement, going to sit beside the fire: ¡°Ye¡¯ve got more reasons to stick around. Take the game.¡±

    His armor, too, dissolved into a fine mist as he suddenly wore glasses too big for his face, clearly more decorative than functional. A [Researcher] maybe? Or a [Librarian]? Or maybe something simpler, like a [Scrybe]? He had always been the intellectual of the bunch, had spent so, so, so many nights learning to read Evarion so that he could peruse the few books abandoned by their enemies.

    Finally, the fifth reached them and, silently, nodded. His armor didn¡¯t disappear, instead changing into a lighter form, a [Guardsman]¡¯s armor.

    The [Architect] wanted to cry, but he knew better: tears were just a waste of water. So instead he smiled and nodded towards his brothers in thanks.

    Then he turned towards Death. He couldn¡¯t see beneath the cowl of her dark cloak, but he could feel the warmth of her smile. She was happy, for some reason. Not that she¡¯d felt sad up until then but now? Now she felt nearly ecstatic. Or so he thought.

    ¡°Choose the game then, young goblin.¡±

    Young? He had to contain a chuckle. He was five years old: by goblin standards, he was the equivalent of an elder.

    Still, he decided not to laugh in Death¡¯s face, just in case that would cause her to change her mind.

    He thought for a while, trying to choose a game that he was certain he could win. The problem with being at war since the day you were born was that you didn¡¯t get to play games of any kind. It wasn¡¯t important: all that mattered was surviving, living to fight the next day while hoping it was going to be the last. Or wasn¡¯t, depending on the point of view.

    In the end, after going through all the games he could think of, he answered: ¡°A coin toss. That will be the game. A single coin toss. If I guess right, I win.¡±

    Death nodded: ¡°If that is your choice.¡±

    Her hands left the long, deep, sleeves of her cloak, the skeletal fingers thin and long in a way that felt unnatural. Between two of those she now held a single gold coin. It looked old, worn by the passage of time and the rubbing of skin, the passage from one hand to another visible in how smooth the surfaces were, the occasional chip or scuff mark a reminder of the time it had spent in a pouch with many others of its kind.

    She showed him the two faces, showed how on one was visible a long forgotten king¡¯s head, while on the other was the imprint of a country which name had been buried by the sands of time.

    ¡°Take your pick.¡±

    ¡°Heads.¡±

    She tossed the coin up, her thumb the only part of her hand to move as she did, making it clear that she couldn¡¯t have cheated.

    One would be forgiven for thinking that, for the goblins, it felt like an eternity had passed. It didn¡¯t. They didn¡¯t care that much. The coin flew up and came down in the span of a single second, and that was that: goblins didn¡¯t have the time to feel the passage of eternity in an instant. They seldom had the time to dream.

    Death took the coin, her left hand slamming it on the back of the right, before she lifted it, examining the result.

    Two words left her mouth: ¡°You won.¡±

    And that¡­ was that.

    <hr>

    His brothers had called him Archie in honor of his Class. It wasn¡¯t uncommon for goblins to get names based on their Class, or on something special they had done in their youth. One of his brothers¡¯ name had been Peaslip in honor of that one time when, while training, he¡¯d slipped on some peas someone had accidentally dumped on the training grounds. Even though he grumbled about it, he¡¯d always liked the name: he found it fitting, seeing how he¡¯d always wanted to be a farmer when the war ended.

    Archie walked slowly through the corridors of the palace he¡¯d planned and built¡­ like the rest of the city for that matter. It was a strange, wondrous, place, filled with small secrets that both him and the people had squirreled away in the most improbable places, little gifts left behind for those that would come after them. A treasure hunt of memories that took the form of a small carving on a brick of the defensive walls, a little chest enchanted with [Runes of Preservation] to protect drawings made by a child who¡¯d been born when the city was still being built, a badly made wooden toy made by a loving father for said child, and so much more. For every object, a story, and for every story a place.

    He¡¯d done the same so many times during the war. Both him and his comrades, be they his brothers or just another goblin [Soldier] or [Warrior]. They¡¯d left so much behind every time they¡¯d been forced to run, to escape. Little things to remind their enemies that they, too, were a people, one that wanted peace and quiet. It had worked, sometimes. Not many, but enough to help a few hundred goblins more live.

    [Our Memories Moved their Hearts]

    His Level 30 Skill. Some had thought it useless. Him? He¡¯d cried in joy the night he¡¯d gotten it.

    Finally, he reached the doors to the throne room. They were a grand thing, tall enough to probably let a half-giant pass through them without needing to bow ¨C not that there were any half-giants left in the world. They¡¯d all died long ago.

    His [King] hadn¡¯t liked the idea one bit: he¡¯d never been a grand man ¨C except for when he was putting on a performance, but that was another matter ¨C and so creating such a grand palace had felt like too much for him. Originally he¡¯d just wanted to live in a tower of all things, something about a [Wizard] always needing a big and very unstable tower. As someone who¡¯d fought in a war, he¡¯d told him straight away that just putting a tower in the middle of the city would¡¯ve been a death sentence for whoever stayed in it. So, instead, he¡¯d just told his [King] to fuck off and had this castle built with, yes, a big ass tower in the middle, because he was certain that otherwise the man would¡¯ve come moping.

    Anyways, the wooden doors were carved to show a grand crow with its wings open near the top as feathers descended towards the ground, accumulating towards the bottom and turning into a black mass that seemed to be watching the person standing there. ¡®Menacing¡¯, you say? Why of course! It was made to be a reminder to anyone coming in: attack us and learn why crows were so often considered birds of the dead.

    There was someone else standing by that door: a young looking man had an air of nonchalance about him, as if he was supposed to be standing where he was, always, even if for some reason one was to find him somewhere he wasn¡¯t meant to be standing. He wore simple clothes: a white button up shirt tucked in cleanly in a pair of black trousers, their legs covered in pockets. Archie was quite sure that there was a knife in each and every one of them, with some more blades hidden cleanly inside some seamless stitch somewhere. He was holding a pocket watch, checking the time, but he closed it with a little clack when he heard him approaching.

    ¡°Fred, good morning,¡± said the goblin with a small nod.

    ¡°And good morning to you, o¡¯ champion of spinach.¡±

    The goblin ignored that last part. The boy was like that.

    A chuckle tried to escape his lips at that thought, but he managed to keep it down. By far he was the youngest of the people here, being only twenty five years old. But ten of those he¡¯d spent fighting a war that seemed impossible to win, so, at least with Fred, he liked to think of himself as older.

    ¡°Our guest has arrived, apparently,¡± he said instead.

    ¡°So it would seem. I¡¯m curious to see what an arachne looks like. Raven always seemed fond of them in the stories he told us.¡±

    <hr>

    Fred sat calmly in the padded chair. Much could be said about the Guildmistress of the Assassins, the Queen of Deathbringers (but never Queen of Death, no, never), the Sovereign of Spilled Blood and a few dozen other titles that people had made up to amuse her, but she didn¡¯t use the bad tactics of some of the worst politicians.

    Like the so-called Chair of Torment, which consisted of making people you disliked sit down on chairs made specifically to be as uncomfortable as possible.

    No, she liked her small luxuries and she wasn¡¯t against sharing them.

    He looked at the red velvet used to cover the stuffing, appreciating its feel underneath his fingers. For all that this chair had been around longer than him, it still looked good as new. Was it a Skill? Or was this what good craftsmanship really looked like?

    He passed his hand over the velvet again, feeling every crevice left on it by the passage of arms and elbows, trying to read the people who¡¯d sat there before him, trying to understand the reason for their presence in the same place he was sitting on now. One could understand so much about someone just by the way they sat on a chair, so it stood to reason that one could understand just as much by feeling the imprint their form had left behind.

    Sadly that was impossible here: too many people had come before him, too many elbows, too many arms, legs, knees and even heads.

    But why was he thinking so much about a chair and the possible secrets it could hide? It was quite simple, really: he was nervous. More so than he¡¯d ever been before in life.

    Because he was about to meet her for the second time in his life. Hopefully also the last.

    The Guildmistress walked into the room, her footsteps soft but in an artificial way, a clear reminder that she could¡¯ve just as well walked around without making a single sound, without even her heart and breathing being capable of betraying her presence.

    It took her a few seconds to get to the desk, a few seconds more to look at him and sit down heavily on her soft chair. She opened a drawer, taking out a dark bottle containing an even darker liquid, together with two small glasses.

    ¡°Elven liquor. Want some? I find it helps with anxiety. And stress. And a myriad other things, but those two are the things that most plague us right now.¡±

    Fred nodded his head, watching as the elven woman poured a glass first for him, then for herself.

    She raised her own in a small toast, a gesture he reciprocated, as she said: ¡°To us, the people who work in the shadows so that light may have more places to shine in.¡±

    Then she knocked back her glass, the dark brown, nearly black, liquid disappearing in a moment. The other assassin tried to imitate her, but he changed his mind the moment his tongue touched the drink: the bitterness alone nearly made him wretch, while the smell went to his head and made his eyes shine with unshed tears.

    He took only a sip.

    The taste was marvelous, all things considered, but it had clearly been made to be savored.

    ¡°So,¡± started the woman as she settled down in her chair, making herself comfortable, ¡°what brings the Clockwork Assassin to my desk?¡±

    Clockwork Assassin. A fitting title, one he had worked hard to obtain. He was known all over the world now, the kind of infamy that would get many killed in his line of work. Him though? No. Because he didn¡¯t have a method, nor a preferred victim: the only consistent thing about him was what was left afterwards on every victim. A clock¡¯s piece. A gear here, the spring there, a number in the eye, things like that. So many pieces, so many victims. By now he had placed enough of those for someone to be able to build an entire clock.

    That was why he was here: ¡°I kept my word, Gardener.¡±

    He showed her his pockets ¨C the ones without weapons. Not that it mattered, the woman in front of him could¡¯ve killed him faster than it took him to blink ¨C all of them empty. Missing something that had accompanied him all his life.

    ¡°Enough contracts to build a watch. Over a hundred and eighty kills. I am free now.¡±

    She nodded at that: ¡°Indeed, enough to make an entire clock. Nearly.¡±

    He froze in place, his hand tightening around his glass.

    ¡°You lost a piece somewhere and could never find it.¡±

    He wanted to deny it, to call her a liar, but he knew better. She was telling the truth.

    ¡°You owe me one last contract, Fred.¡±

    His hands were trembling slightly, something he tried, and failed, to hide by gripping the glass harder. It nearly slipped from his grip instead.

    Then¡­ she smiled kindly: ¡°But it doesn¡¯t matter.¡±

    She rose, pacing around her desk, stopping in front of him. The thing that struck him most was how tall she was. How thin. Not the typical thinness of the elves, no, this was the thinness of someone who hadn¡¯t eaten for a very long time and, afterwards, had lost their taste for food.

    ¡°You owe me a contract but¡­ I¡¯ll call it an ¡®IOU¡¯. One day I shall call it in, but until then? You¡¯re free.¡±

    She patted his shoulder, her other hand moving towards the bottle of elven spirit. She took his glass, placing the bottle in his hands instead.

    ¡°Take it. A gift for a job well done. Oh, and don¡¯t close the door, there¡¯s someone else out there I need to give anxiety to.¡±

    <hr>

    The goblin and the human waited for the arrival of their final companion.

    It didn¡¯t take her long.

    ¡°Hey guys, sorry for making you wait!¡± said a voice from a nearby window.

    The two turned around, seeing a face looking at them with a sheepish smile: ¡°The kids were particularly rowdy today,¡± she said as an excuse.

    ¡°No worries,¡± said Archie, smiling back at her, ¡°We weren¡¯t waiting long. And I don¡¯t even want to imagine how bad the situation was with them ¡®rowdier¡¯. Stars, why can¡¯t all kids be like goblins¡¯? When I was born I learned to walk in no more than a week and was already helping build defenses by the end of the second.¡±

    The woman¡¯s face ¨C which was just the face, the rest of her body wasn¡¯t there ¨C glared at him: ¡°Just because you had a tough childhood doesn¡¯t mean everyone has to be like you.¡±

    The goblin laughed out loud: ¡°Tough childhood? More like ¡®tough everything¡¯.¡±

    ¡°But an enjoyable retirement,¡± countered Fred.

    Archie grumbled but nodded his head: ¡°Yes. Quite enjoyable.¡±

    ¡°So, our dear alraune, ready to greet our guest?¡±

    She smiled again, nodding her head energetically, the leaves forming it shaking around while the wood of the branches supporting it groaned slightly.

    <hr>

    Eat, grow, produce sap, attract prey, eat, grow, produce sap, attract prey eat grow produce sap attract prey eat grow produce sap attract prey eat grow produce sap ¨C

    That was how creatures like her thought.

    No, not thought, that didn¡¯t even count as thinking. It was just instinct, her entire nature. She was a plant, and just like any plant she needed, wanted, had to eat and grow. The other steps were just an extra. After she¡¯d grown, her body used the excess nutrients to produce a sweet smelling and sweet tasting sap which attracted prey, be that insects, animals or, occasionally, one of the more intelligent species. Sometimes the bigger prey ¨C because that was how she saw them, just ¡®bigger prey¡¯ ¨C attempted to attack her, to hurt her, but she, like many other things in this jungle, had evolved in time, growing an expendable, extra, part. A body, not unlike that of one of the most ferocious and cunning predators of them all, the talking, thinking ones. They always attacked that part of her, ignoring her actual body, the one with the important organs.

    It was a simple existence, one in which she had nothing to worry about. She fed, she grew, she found ways to attract more food, and then the cycle began anew.

    And then, one day, something else came to her little clearing, one of the few places in the jungles the trees didn¡¯t dare to encroach upon.

    The thing was a plant, one that could move, and yet it also had a body like the expendable appendage she had grown on top. Just like hers, the being body ended before reaching its legs, with the main difference being that the thing had what looked like a snake¡¯s body instead of her most beautiful and fragrant flower.

    The thing stopped when it noticed her, clearly enamored by her figure, but she ignored it, for it had nothing to feed on, it was just a corpse infested by plants.

    Then the Corpse ¨C yes, that title was more fitting than thing ¨C spoke: ¡°You are beautiful.¡±

    She kept ignoring it, for the corpse would not provide her with food.

    But what did an alraune consider food? Why naturally, blood. Filled with fizzy oxygen and tasty nutrients, all inside a medium that was extremely easy to digest. Flesh¡­ flesh was less appealing. It had, comparatively, a lot more nutrients than a body, but it took a lot longer to digest, therefore she just kept a good amount of it underneath her, cradled by her roots. Blood fed her, flesh helped her grow. But since this bloodless flesh was still moving around she deemed it unnecessary to interact with it. Especially because it didn¡¯t seem to be hostile.

    ¡°How I wish something like you had existed in my home. But the plants there were ugly.¡±

    Babbling, all of it. Sooner or later it would leave.

    ¡­

    Or maybe it would attract more prey! Yes, that was a possibility!

    She turned towards the being and made her expendable appendage smile, an approximation of a gesture that was creepier than intended, but she could be excused since most other species she encountered did not tend to smile.

    ¡°Oh, ok, that¡¯s disquieting.¡±

    She opened her arms invitingly, making sure to show off all the assets she had added to the expendable appendage. For some reason the talking ones tended to become a lot more docile when she did that.

    ¡°And that¡¯s just downright lewd. Girl, did nobody ever teach you about bras?¡±

    She kept at it, knowing for sure that the Corpse would react in some useful way that didn¡¯t involve speaking things she did not understand.

    ¡°Oh, I see. You¡¯re not sentient, not really. You¡¯re just¡­ copying. Cool, cool, we can work with that.¡±

    The Corpse came closer and now, in one hand, it was holding a knife.

    She got ready to fight, like she so often was forced to, but then, unexpectedly, the Corpse raised the knife and cut the palm of its free hand. Initially, nothing came out of the wound, but then, as she got closer, close enough to reach the expendable appendage, the hand rose, letting a few beads of something¡­ orang-ish flow out. Like blood, but mixed with sap.

    She didn¡¯t understand what was happening, but she still welcomed the nutrition, however strange it was.

    The drops fell, hitting the flower underneath her expendable appendage.

    She drank it in.

    And, for the first time, she tasted her food.

    Her appendage¡¯s eyes opened wide as her smile grew wider, beatific even, the pupils of the eyes she¡¯d recycled expanding as the roots embedded inside spasmed in¡­ whatever the sensation she was feeling was.

    And then she had her first ever thought.

    I like this.

    The Corpse smiled, and she understood she was more than just a corpse walking around, so much more.

    ¡°We¡¯ll teach you how to talk, in time. For now, we¡¯ll teach you what it means to have a body.¡±

    The Corpse stopped, before adding: ¡°Well, might as well tell you our names. I am Nav,¡± the Corpse, Nav, pointed at herself, ¡°And she is Sera,¡± she pointed at her serpentine tail.

    ¡°We change places sometimes.¡±

    In that moment, as she heard those words, those¡­ names, she understood the idea of them, of what they represented, of their importance. She decided she wanted a name, just like Nav and Sera.

    And since those were the first ones she¡¯d ever heard, she wanted to use them, because they were special!

    But what to call herself? She couldn¡¯t be Nav, nor Sera, because that wasn¡¯t how names worked. She couldn¡¯t just take them. But then¡­

    An idea struck her like lightning ¨C she knew how that felt, the expendable appendage had been struck by lightning many times ¨C as she realized the solution to her conundrum: she¡¯d just fuse them. So from now on she was going to be Navera!!!

    But¡­ that didn¡¯t sound good. Maybe if she shuffled the letters around a bit? Serav? No. Nevara? No. Navare? Nope, even worse. Nivera? No, wait, she¡¯d gotten a letter wro ¨C

    The word repeated itself in her newly formed mind.

    Nivera.

    It felt¡­ it felt right. Fitting.

    Yes.

    Yes!

    YES!!!

    NIVERA! It fit perfectly!!!

    She smiled, the expression stretching her verdant face and nearly dividing it in two. She had a name now!!!!

    ¡°Ok, we¡¯re going to have to work a lot on expressions. But at least you¡¯re happy. I hope.¡±

    <hr>

    They were ready.

 Chapter 12: A Kingdom for the Broken

    What does it mean to be broken?

    <hr>

    Isse looked out of her carriage¡¯s window. A city moved past her at a leisurely pace, people coming and going on the sidewalks. Their faces weren¡¯t faces at all but blurs of ink with splotches of color. She could see them but she couldn¡¯t see them, just like the background of an impressionist painting. She could imagine that they had lives of their own, with families, friends, lovers, everything, but her mind couldn¡¯t connect the idea of those people with all those things having faces, or bodies, or anything that truly mattered.

    Because what reason was there for anyone to have such things? They would leave sooner rather than later. Gone, forever, as if someone had taken a bottle of acetone and poured its contents on the canvas, watching the paint flow down in rivulets that mixed and matched together before the chemical removed even the concept of color, leaving behind nothing but a blank void.

    Some would say that it was a good thing, that the void meant the canvas was ready for another painting, for a new piece: a new beginning.

    But she was tired.

    So, so, tired.

    Twice already she¡¯d had to start over. The first time when she¡¯d been reborn, and the second after the Fire, the attack, the death of all her loved ones. Two times already she¡¯d been forced to start over. The first time she¡¯d been grateful: she¡¯d been given a second chance after so much time spent in pain and suffering as her body slowly ate itself from the inside. The second, too, she¡¯d felt grateful. Now? Now she wasn¡¯t so sure anymore. Anything and everything reminded her of those she had lost.

    That dream. That simple sentence said by Tiana when they¡¯d touched down. The kids outside the carriage playing around. The [Merchants] down a street filled with stands hawking their merchandise. The snow on the ground.

    Why did it all remind her of them? Why ¨C

    Hey, said Siidi.

    Isse¡¯s thoughts stopped upon hearing her soul half, but she didn¡¯t answer her.

    ¡­I will never abandon you, Isse.

    Silence.

    Then: Well, not like I can leave in the first place, but still!

    The words bounced around in her mind for a few moments before they registered. An involuntary snort climbed up her nose and came out with a puff of air that felt metallic. She half expected blood to spurt out but nothing came with it but the cloying smell of iron.

    Thank you, sister.

    <hr>

    ¡®Tis an old question.

    As old as a smile, as young as the fire, as frowned upon as the memory of them all.

    You know, there¡¯s a saying, of sorts, in this world. That one can understand clearly when someone¡¯s reached Level 30 just by looking in their eyes. There, they¡¯ll see the cracks: the flitting towards the corners, the constant searching for an exit, or the smile that doesn¡¯t reach those two orbs.

    As old as a smile, as trapped as the mire, as called upon as the blood of all the gods.

    The saying doesn¡¯t end there, of course, as most sayings do.

    They also say that there is no difference between a Level 10 and a Level 50. Why? Because the latter will have learned to mask even their eyes.

    It is a sad truth of this world. One I learned on my very skin and bones.

    As old as a smile, as sang as the lyres, as cold as the stone where we buried them all.

    Of course, as with any rule, there are exceptions. There have been people who reached such high Levels without going through some of the worst challenges this world had to offer. Some got there through sheer effort and strength of will. Like the [Sinful Dancer], or the [Innkeeper of Wondrous Feasts], or even the [Painter of Bones¡¯ Mementoes] ¨C in a way.

    But still, these are exceptions, not rules, certainly not the norm.

    As old as a smile, as wrapped as the dire, as holy as the call that gathered them all.

    Ah, but we¡¯re getting out of topic. So, what does it mean to be broken?

    <hr>

    Isse was still looking out the window, just¡­ pondering, thinking without thought, her mind fogged with questions and memories.

    The window, too, like her mind, was fogging up near her head, her breath ever so slowly forming a cloud that blurred the people and the city outside more and more.

    And then the carriage stopped quite suddenly.

    Isse felt herself being pulled forward by momentum but it was easy to resist with the strength of her spider half, so all that moved was her cheek on the glass, wiping some of the condensation off.

    Why had they stopped? She didn¡¯t know. Nor did she care. Maybe they¡¯d lied to her, maybe someone knew she was an arachne here and was about to start hunting her. A small part of her even wished that¡¯s what was going to happen: someone would open the door to the carriage, accusing her of being an arachne, and try to kill her. She¡¯d kill them back and then she¡¯d start running away, causing another massacre on her way out of the city. Getting out would¡¯ve certainly been difficult, what with the walls of this city being much higher than Tedam¡¯s, plus she wouldn¡¯t have any allies here to help her but¡­ she was sure she would survive, one way or another. After all, [Always, One Survived].

    She was broken out of her reverie by someone knocking politely on the carriage¡¯s door. She saw a hand, curled into fist, the index finger moved slightly forward as its knuckle was used to gently tap on the glass.

    Then, a voice: ¡°May I come in, young girl?¡±

    There was something odd with the way he said those words, something she couldn¡¯t put a pin on.

    In the end, it was Siidi who found the answer: Did he just speak in Rodarion?

    What?

    She had forgotten about this simple ability granted to her upon arriving in this world: understanding all the spoken languages. It had never occurred to her since she¡¯d spent all of her new life on a single continent filled with people who spoke only one language and, even in the rare cases when she¡¯d encountered people from elsewhere, they¡¯d all spoken Irevian ¨C apparently with an accent, but her translating ability didn¡¯t allow her to perceive them.

    Encountering someone who spoke another language was jarring, because for all that she understood them, she could clearly feel a difference, especially after so long spent listening to just the one.

    So surprised was she that she nearly missed what the [Driver] was telling her through a small hole at the front of the carriage. Luckily Siidi was there to remind her to listen.

    ¡°Miss, would you terribly mind if we let Mr Henricks ride with us? It is¡­ extremely unusual, but I can assure you, he won¡¯t be a nuisance. I think.¡±

    Her voice sounded nervous, something Isse confirmed with her Skill [Perceive Emotion]. The woman was anxious, her tone strained, and her soul half confirmed that she was tense, but not overly so. As if she were uncertain of the situation, scared more of her possible reaction than the individual on the other side of the door.

    She sighed.

    Might as well.

    ¡°Come on in,¡± she said. She realized that her tone was tired and¡­ gray. Empty. When had she started to speak like that? And why did it sound so¡­ new? As if she¡¯d never spoken like this. But she had, right? Right after the Fire. She¡¯d been speaking like this. Right? Right?!

    No, you weren¡¯t, said Siidi, her voice grave, worried.

    You were suspicious, scared, angry, discouraged, ravaged by sadness, but not like this. Not even close.

    She wanted to say something else, something more, to say that she was clearly wrong, but then the door opened and her human half dipped outside since she hadn¡¯t moved away from the window. Still, again, her spider half saved the day! She had enough mass there to just stand back up without falling.

    A memory resurfaced, of the day she¡¯d been reborn, of the moment she¡¯d broken out of her egg, of how she¡¯d rolled up into a ball and, well, rolled all the way up against a tree. She thought about how much time had passed since that day, and how much she¡¯d changed. Had her newborn self been in this carriage she would¡¯ve fallen out as the door opened, rolling around in the snow. She would¡¯ve also probably snickered all the way down.

    ¡°Got a lively one!¡± said Makira, looking down at her over a small stretch of blue, cloudless, sky. Then she reached down a hand, closing Isse¡¯s gaping mouth: ¡°Don¡¯t want your first meal to be a fly now, do you?¡±

    Her heart ached as the memory hit her harder than a sledgehammer wielded by a bodybuilder.

    Her eyes landed on the man who¡¯d opened the door and, immediately, she was struck by a strange sense of¡­ belonging, yes, that¡¯s what it was. It was as if the being in front of her had every right to be where he was and, in truth, there was nothing to worry about, because he was meaningless, like a little stain on the wall. He didn¡¯t matter, there was no need to care about his presence.

    So Isse didn¡¯t care at all and instead moved slightly away, giving this nobody the space he needed to sit down.

    She didn¡¯t even look at him, instead deciding to look back out the other window.

    Why did the [Driver] sound so preoccupied? There¡¯s nothing to this man.

    Siidi agreed with her.

    Then the little nobody spoke to her: ¡°Good afternoon, young lady.¡±

    Again with that strange sense of ¡®off¡¯ when he spoke those words in Rodarion, as if her mind wasn¡¯t meant to understand them.

    That alone seemed to pierce the strange sense of ¡®nobodiness¡¯ as she lifted her head from the glass and finally looked at him.

    He was a middle aged man, a human with bright blue eyes and contrastingly simple salt and pepper brown hair. He was clean shaven and his thin lips were set in a stoic expression that made him look almost half bored. He was thin in the way of someone who couldn¡¯t gain weight, certainly not malnourished if the slight muscles in his arms were anything to go by.

    A smile creased his lips the moment she looked up at him, making him look like a benevolent uncle instead of a bored school janitor.

    ¡­

    Huh. Strange. Why did she get that specific image out of them all? It wasn¡¯t what she would¡¯ve gone for.

    ¡°Hello,¡± she said, her voice as empty as it had been not even a minute ago when she¡¯d answered the [Driver].

    The man¡¯s smile didn¡¯t change, but he did raise an eyebrow slightly. For some reason she felt that was one of the greatest demonstrations of emotions he¡¯d had in a very long time.

    ¡°The name¡¯s Henricks, Mr Henricks. I¡¯m the local [Cleaner].¡±

    <hr>

    Rodar wasn¡¯t a nice place to live in at the best of times.

    But then, there were worse places to live in. Places like the city he had been born in. Its name was Guran but people knew it better by its nickname, the City of Adventurers. Or, if one was feeling less¡­ shall we say complimentary, the City of the Insane. It was understandable, really: who would want to be an adventurer on the Continent of Misfortune, where literally everything could and did go wrong.

    To that, add the fact that this city in particular had been built literally next to the Mountains of Madness. Yes, that was their actual name. Or rather, it had become their actual name.

    How? Well, once upon a time, apparently, over a thousand years ago, a man, a [Musician], had gone insane in the dungeon that lay in the depths of those mountains. The man had become a true nightmare, killing anything that moved using his songs and, somehow, damaging reality in doing so. The details were probably exaggerated but people said that every time he played his instrument the notes could be heard even down here, dozens upon dozens of kilometers away from the dungeon¡¯s main entrance, and that the world changed into horrifying sights every time they did. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    But that, again, must¡¯ve been an exaggeration: nothing under Level 70 could do something like that, and certainly someone of that Level wouldn¡¯t just go insane, even in a dungeon as dangerous as Skabd.

    It was thanks to that man that those mountains gained their nickname and, over a thousand years later, the common folk had forgotten their actual name. It was probably still written around on some dusty book, but nobody cared enough to check: life was hard as is and no one would¡¯ve appreciated their neighbor correcting them every time someone used the wrong name.

    Heinricks was an orphan. Or, well, it would¡¯ve been more accurate to say that he¡¯d been abandoned as a child in front of the orphanage he called home. It wasn¡¯t an unusual occurrence, really: two adventurers fooled around, they didn¡¯t want to put an end to their careers for one reason or another, so they did the sensible thing and they left their newborn child at the doorstep of one of the city¡¯s many orphanages. Henricks had been luckier than most ¨C that is, in a world where luck didn¡¯t exist ¨C in that he¡¯d ended up in one of the relatively good ones.

    Still, he¡¯d had to start learning a trade, something the matrons at the orphanage forced upon all of them. They said it was to make sure that, one day, when they left, they¡¯d have a way to earn themselves some coin. They even helped set them up for jobs and allowed them to keep the meager money they were paid for them. Because yes, no matter where you were, children were always underpaid (if they were paid at all to begin with).

    He¡¯d tried many things in the years but, in the end, he¡¯d understood that he wasn¡¯t particularly good at anything. Not in the sense that he was a Jack-of-all-Trades, no, the exact opposite. He wasn¡¯ good at anything.

    He¡¯d attempted carpenting, but he always ended up hurting himself enough to require a healing potion; he¡¯d tried sewing, but his work was abysmal at best, while normally it resulted in garments that literally fell apart the moment one tried to wear them; next had come smithing, but he didn¡¯t have the body for it (and, again, more often than not he hurt himself); and so on and so forth.

    So now here he stood, a broom in hand as he cleaned up the floors of the orphanage. That¡­ that he was good at. It was a slow, methodical, work that required little skill and even less thinking. For him, it was nearly rhythmic: breathe, stop, sweep; breathe, stop, sweep; breathe, stop, sweep. And like that for the whole room, and then for the next, and the next, and the next.

    He enjoyed it, to the point where he was a Level 12 [Methodic Cleaner]. His Skills weren¡¯t that cool, but they helped him with his pastime, allowing him to keep his timing perfect for long periods of time, letting his broom pick up a bit more dust than it should; things like that. Simple things for a simple job.

    In this city of heroes and cowards he was a little nobody with nothing to his name but the clothes on his body and the few silvers he¡¯d gained in the last few months by cleaning up a few of the houses neighboring the orphanage. He didn¡¯t matter, he wasn¡¯t important, people didn¡¯t notice him¡­ and he was alright with that. He cared not for things like fame and fortune. He just wanted a quiet life with enough money to live by and have fun some evenings. Maybe a few friends to spend those evenings with, a small group of trusted people who would ask him to clean their homes at a discount he would gladly give. He wasn¡¯t interested in looking for a girlfriend ¨C or boyfriend, for the matter, he¡¯d looked into that ¨C he just didn¡¯t seem to be capable of feeling that attraction so many other boys his age talked about. Some of them thought it was weird, but then, they lived on Rodar in the City of Adventurers: they¡¯d seen, heard and done weirder.

    It was as he was cleaning the last room of the orphanage left, the basement, that it happened: an earthquake.

    It wasn¡¯t anything new: sometimes the seemingly endless dungeon under the mountains moved around, shifting like a great sleeping beast for some unknown reason and causing localized earthquakes. People were used to it at this point: sure, the why of these movements was still unknown, but then, there were still so many things about the dungeon of Skabd that weren¡¯t understood.

    Still, this time something different happened. Something¡­ new, unexpected.

    As Henricks stood in place, having already been cleaning under one of the main supporting pillars and therefore being safe even in the improbable ¨C but not impossible, because Rodar ¨C case that the extremely well built orphanage chose to fall over his head.

    Then something fell.

    Something near his feet.

    A section of floor, crumbling to pieces and falling several meters down. He lost his footing, because of course he did, and suddenly he found himself in the air, flying downwards and unable to grasp at anything. He screamed, naturally: what child wouldn¡¯t? Yet his screams went unheard and, even had they been, it was already too late.

    Down and down he fell, the fall that had initially looked of just a few meters now seemed endless, and maybe it was. Maybe the hole led down to Airm itself. Soon he¡¯d feel the temperature rise as the fires of that place of the damned came into view before a demon came in to sweep him out of the air, only to toss him into a pit of suffering.

    He wondered, in those moments, what he had done wrong. Had his inability to do anything that mattered somehow angered the gods? His uselessness so blatant, so glaring, that it had offended their delicate moods, because there was no way someone could be this unlucky, even on the Continent of Misfortune.

    Then he hit the ground.

    And agony was all he knew.

    <hr>

    ¡°My name is Issekina, but everybody calls me Isse,¡± she said back to the man. Her mind kept on telling her that he was nobody of importance, that there was no reason to be wary of him. She and Siidi fought off that sensation with all their might. There was clearly something to him.

    ¡°A pleasure to meet you, Miss Issekina. And, may I ask, if I am not being too nosy, who your companions might be?¡±

    And at that the carriage fell silent, as if someone had thrown a wet blanket on top of them, suffocating any sound.

    Oh fuck how does he know? asked Siidi, her voice panic stricken.

    ¡°What?¡± she asked, dumbfounded.

    The man slowly moved pointed at her spider half, hidden underneath the guise of a simple gown.

    ¡°Why, I¡¯m talking about the five spiders on your spider half, of course.¡±

    Both arachne calmed down as they understood that Siidi¡¯s presence hadn¡¯t been discovered.

    Then the words registered and they started to panic again, an emotion that was further enhanced by the older arachne accidentally activating [A Minute, United].

    ¡°You can see it?¡± they shouted, accidentally climbing onto the back wall of the carriage.

    The man¡¯s smile never left his lips as he lowered his finger, his hands settling on his lap as he interwove his fingers, apparently not at all perturbed by the presence of what was supposed to be one of the greatest predators in history.

    ¡­Just like Albert.

    The moment that thought crossed their minds all the fear, anger and¡­ whatever it was they were feeling, it all disappeared. They felt empty again as memories of the first time they¡¯d met the old [Spymaster] flooded them.

    Slowly they fell back down to the floor, the illusion covering their spider half dissipating.

    They did, though, ask him: ¡°What do you mean, ¡®four spiders on u ¨C me¡¯?¡± they corrected themselves, lest they give away that Isse wasn¡¯t the only one in their body.

    That was when they noticed that the smile on Henricks¡¯ face had disappeared, a small frown taking its place. Was it the sight of her spider half? Or was it the way she¡¯d reacted to his question.

    Still, he answered her: ¡°There are five spiders hiding in the fur of your spider half, young lady. And as for how I saw through your illusion,¡± his hands separated, an index finger rising to beat beside his right eye, ¡°I¡¯ve seen a lot. Tricks like this, they are nothing.¡±

    Isse looked down at her spider half, at the soft chestnut fur that covered it, and there, for the first time, she noticed movement, as if the man noticing their presence had caused the unexpected passengers to come to life.

    Five little spiders. One of them white, the other four in varying degrees of brown, plus a reddish one. Five spiders she¡¯d found in Albert¡¯s home and had befriended (unsurprisingly spiders and arachne got along very well).

    Five little spiders she thought she¡¯d left behind in her haste to escape.

    Grandmother, Red, Cat, Aru and Iada. She had not named any of them after Makira and Anda: it would¡¯ve hurt too much. They were all there, all five of them. A cute little chitter left Red¡¯s pedipalps, a sound only she could hear with her enhanced hearing. She placed her hand beside her little reddish pet, all five of the spiders ¡®climbing aboard¡¯ instead of the single one she¡¯d intended. They skittered up her arm, then decided to go back to her palm as she raised her hand, seeing that that was going to be the fastest route to their objective: mainly, her cheek.

    She was sure that, once upon a time, back on Earth, she would¡¯ve at least shivered, finding the sensation of so many little legs moving around on her at least slightly disgusting. Now though? It was reassuring. Calming.

    A little chuckle escaped her lips as she finally brought her little pets up to her face, where they all snuggled underneath her chin or against her cheeks, showing her their love. They¡¯d grown again in the last week. How had she not noticed nor felt them?

    Who cares? They¡¯re alive! And with us!

    Indeed, and now they¡¯d reached the size of the thumb¡¯s last phalanx¡­ which admittedly wasn¡¯t that big, what with her hands being very slim and dainty, but for spiders that had started with their bodies being no larger than a nail clipping it was quite the growth boost.

    Henricks sighed in slight exasperation ¨C although the smile returned to his lips ¨C and said: ¡°Spiders, damned things. I see I¡¯ll have to get over them.¡±

    The coach stopped again, Isse noticing only tangentially as she dedicated all of herself at playing with her little pets, giggling as they climbed in her hair and started to braid it, using silk to fix it in place. It frankly looked horrible, and it was mortifying but¡­ it helped her spiraling thoughts stop, so she just enjoyed the silliness and the giddiness that was brought about by the knowledge that, at least, she had someone left.

    Henricks opened the door himself, his slow, nearly mechanical movements further helping to calm her down, somehow, before he stepped down, a hand rising to meet her as she skittered towards the world outside.

    ¡°May I, young lady?¡±

    She gingerly took his hand, all thoughts of his weirdness forgotten, and stepped down, her dress already beginning to form the illusion of legs.

    ¡°Ah ah ah, young lady. Do away with the false pretenses.¡±

    She stopped: ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°There is no need to hide your true nature here, young lady Issekina,¡± her name felt strange coming out of his mouth, that strange ¡®accent¡¯ of his seemingly infecting it with that strangeness that made him stand out every time he spoke, removing the veil of non-importance, of nobodiness.

    ¡°This is a kingdom for the broken, like me, like so many others. One cannot repair the cracks if they¡¯re hidden from sight.¡±

    She didn¡¯t know why but it made a surprising amount of sense.

    But¡­

    ¡°They¡¯ll hunt me down and try to kill me.¡±

    That¡¯s what had happened all the other times. That¡¯s wha ¨C

    Her thoughts were stopped again by a strange sound that didn¡¯t fit the situation. A chuckle. A dark sound filled with barely contained merriment and promises of violence: ¡°They can certainly try, young miss. Whoever the poor sod might be, they¡¯ll soon find out that there are many, many, many destinies worse than death.¡±

    He took a step forward, his hand never leaving hers as his voice went back to normal: ¡°My [King] has taken you under his wing, Issekina, and that means you are safe. Safe from harm, safe from hate, safe from persecution and, if the Stars allow it, Death himself. We will make sure that is true.¡±

    His smile, too, went back to its normal, calm, self, to the meaningless small smirk that revealed nothing and would make anyone dismiss him after but a glance, if even that was spared for him. He stepped back again, his surprisingly long arm completely extending, the gesture, no, the question, clear: ¡®Will you follow me?¡¯

    She hesitated a moment more but, really, there was nothing to doubt: she¡¯d checked with both [Detect Truth] and [Detect Lie], she¡¯d read his emotions ¨C or rather, tried to, but he came back to her as completely emotionless ¨C and tried to read his face the way Pochi had taught her when they¡¯d gone that one time to that town near their forest. All of it told her that he could be trusted.

    What do you say? she asked her soul half.

    I say we go with him and see what happens. Hopefully he¡¯s right. Otherwise¡­ well, we¡¯ll see afterwards.

    She took a step out.

    And, for the first time since she¡¯d left her home in the forest ¨C not counting the time spent on the airship ¨C she did it without hiding her nature.

    <hr>

    What does it mean to be broken?

    The answer is not simple, mainly because there are many, and they¡¯re all correct.

    The definition of ¡®broken¡¯ varies from person to person.

    Some, like Isse, will crack like a vase left too long in an oven, slowly beginning to crumble to dust, leaving behind nothing to rebuild, nothing to remind an outside observer who the person had been before the catastrophic incident.

    Others, like Albert, will crack and crack and crack, they will lose pieces, so many of them that the object they are will become useless, like a vase with a hole, unable to keep the water in, but then they¡¯ll start rebuilding themselves, putting together what is left, gluing themselves back into a semblance of function that could make most people overlook the evident fracture lines.

    Others still¡­ others still will just keep going. They won¡¯t care about the damage, they won¡¯t care about the price, the risk, anything. They¡¯ll just keep moving onward and either the world will meld to their will or they¡¯ll crumble trying to force it.

    And many, many, more.

    Being broken means losing pieces of oneself.

    That, in itself, is easy to understand. It¡¯s in the word, after all. Broken. Damaged, no longer able to work. That is what is written in the dictionaries.

    No, the complexity stems from trying to understand what the lost pieces are. Memories? People? Body parts? Sanity? All of the above? Maybe some inexplicable component of the soul?

    That is the problem with us living beings: there is so much of us that can be damaged.

    Broken.

    <hr>

    The door to the throne room opened and everyone inside ¨C and at the window ¨C perked up, ready to greet their new guest, the young arachne.

    Then they deflated as they saw Henrick walk in. Alone.

    ¡°Henrick,¡± greeted the man sitting on the small throne, ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you.¡±

    Fred, the [Assassin] turned [Prime Minister], stepped forward, a brow rising questioningly: ¡°Wasn¡¯t our guest meant to be with you? I clearly saw you get out of the carriage bringing her here.¡±

    The [Cleaner] nodded his head in greeting and as an answer to the man¡¯s question.

    ¡°Yes, she was with me, young minister. She is now in the rooms you assigned to her.¡±

    Everyone in the room stared at him with a wide variety of emotions, from confused to amused to offended to plain nonplussed.

    ¡°...Why didn¡¯t you bring her here first?¡± asked the alraune in the end, her gorgeous voice calm as could be.

    ¡°She needs time. Rest. Like we all did, at first.¡±

    And that was that, for they trusted his judgment.

    As for Isse? She was in her new room, playing with her spiders, desperately clinging to them and the little joy they were bringing to her, trying to stave off the memories.

 Chapter 13: The Last One No Longer

    I don¡¯t know what to write.

    And that is normal, acceptable even, for the meaning of words can be lost in the labyrinths of the mind as you wander hallways upon hallways of mementoes and canopic jars.

    They make no sense, they wander around as much as you do, they change and reshape and quip and talk back and everything goes on and on without you, a meaningless carousel that turns and turns around and around and around until you feel sick to the consciousness and you can¡¯t do anything but want it to stop. Yet you can¡¯t leave, you can¡¯t pull the brake and make the world halt, you must keep moving with it, want or not-want, and that makes the difference between soldier and slave.

    The former fights on for that which he craves, the latter breaks down in tears that are chains. Both live and coexist, both forget their roles and betimes they change them, both make an equilibrium of sorts that keeps the carousel running ¡®round and ¡®round without toppling over into a Nothing of Existence itself.

    The Spider weaves on, his children playing at gods and devils alike, the worlds they so watch and bind their little playthings to move around at their will and wont. They watch and they chitter and they break open the wines, preparing to witness the rise of their lives.

    So what is the meaning of this?

    ¡®Tis simple really: I don¡¯t know what to write, so I wander these halls and hope that one day something will come out of these lightless, starless tunnels, a glimmer of hope in a dark cave of chained slaves who see only shadows of things they think right but are wrong.

    I don¡¯t know what to write. And that is fine.

    For the world knows how to be.

    <hr>

    The room they¡¯d given Isse was spacious and sparsely decorated, the sight of the light yellow walls warming and relaxing. A single king sized bed sat against one of the walls, still perfectly made, untouched by her hands and body. Beside it stood a

    large dresser that would probably be absolutely useless seeing how her dress could change into anything she desired, and other than that¡­ it was empty, waiting for her to decorate it in any way she desired.

    So she had spent well over three hours making herself a hammock hanging from the high ceiling, well away from the expensive looking light fixtures, in a little corner of the room. Truth be told, it was more a nest than a hammock at this point: she could skitter inside entirely and the silk would hide her completely from sight, hugging her from all sides comfortably, letting her sleep in total darkness, which is exactly what she did for the rest of the day after her arrival.

    Only twice someone interrupted her sleep, opening the door of her room and causing the numerous strands of silk she¡¯d spread around it to break, alerting her of the person¡¯s presence.

    The first time it was, of all things, a [Maid]: the woman came in, wearing loose black clothes that covered her entire body, looking exceptionally comfortable and warm.

    She was the definition of prim and proper even with that, long black gloves covering her hands and arm up to, she imagined, the elbow, or maybe even higher, she couldn¡¯t tell since the dress was long sleeved, while wearing comfortable low heeled shoes that clicked mechanically against the mable (or stone) floor.

    She¡¯d been carrying a tray filled with food, from simple rice to well seasoned meat if her nose and eyes weren¡¯t lying to her.

    Upon seeing all the strands of her web she¡¯d sighed and shaken her head in¡­ probably resignation of a sort, although she couldn¡¯t be certain with the woman¡¯s fond smile.

    She¡¯d left not long afterwards, bowing before closing the door. That¡¯s when Isse had climbed down, eating the food that had been brought to her oh so gently. She didn¡¯t feel hungry, far from it, but¡­ the children needed their food, so, even if her stomach revolted against her with every bite she took, even as her mind told her that there was no need to feed, she ate, forcing down everything.

    Then she climbed back up into her little nest and went back to sleep, her little spider pets cuddling up against her warm body.

    The second person to interrupt her sleep was Mr Henrick, although he didn¡¯t so much enter as appear in the room. One moment she¡¯d been sleeping unsoundly, the next she felt something touching many of her threads slightly, as if trying to make themselves noticed without being a nuisance. She peeked out of her cocoon and, sure enough, there was someone down there: Henricks. He was moving around the room like a dancer, weaving through the quite literal minefield of threads like it was second nature. His movements were slow, the passage of his mop leaving behind a floor cleaner than she¡¯d ever imagined a floor could be clean. Maybe she¡¯d once seen the floors of her house this clean when her mother had hired someone who¡¯d also waxed them. She also distinctly remembered trying to skate on them and falling face first against the back of their couch.

    She watched as he moved around, following a rhythm all of his own: swish, stop, breathe, swish, stop, breathe, and like that for the whole room.

    It took him twenty minutes all things considered and, all the while, he never broke a single thread, somehow. When, finally, he reached the door, Henricks grabbed the empty serving tray, dusting it off with a hand that didn¡¯t allow a single crumb to fall to the ground, and stepped out of the room, the door not making any noise as he opened it, nor breaking any of the threads she¡¯d affixed to it after the [Maid]¡¯s arrival.

    ¡°Good night, young miss. Rest well.¡±

    Those were his first and last words as he closed the door behind him, the only reminder of his passage being the absence of any sort of grime or dust, together with that tray.

    What a strange man, said Siidi, Why do we always find the strange ones?

    More like they find us.

    Maybe. Is it perhaps a secret Skill of you Wishers? To always attract the strangest people?

    Greatness attracts greatness, tried to joke Isse, although it felt half-hearted to her.

    Silence fell over the room and, a few minutes later, the arachne crawled back into her cocoon, making herself comfortable, and finally fell asleep, filled with the certainty that nobody else would disturb her for the rest of the evening.

    <hr>

    ¡°How is she?¡± asked the King of Crows, Ravenspoken himself.

    ¡°She is resting, my Lord. We should let her do so,¡± answered Henrick over his plate of rice and vegetables. It was a simple dish for a simple man, made from products grown and harvested locally. They¡¯d found out long ago that having an alraune among your greatest allies helped greatly with, of all things, the fertility of the soil in the local area, especially if that alraune had an [Aura of Fertility].

    Surprisingly, or rather, unsurprisingly to Ravenspoken, their species didn¡¯t normally have the capacity to Level because, for all that they took on the appearances of a human, at heart they were merely plants who had developed a different way to attract prey. They still ¡®thought¡¯ in the same way any other plant ¡®thought¡¯, and therefore they couldn¡¯t Level because they had no real desires. Nivera though?

    She¡¯d been changed by a ¡®verdant lamia catkin¡¯, which made absolutely no sense to any of the others, but she was here and she was friendly and helpful, so they had no need to know more.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask what she¡¯s doing, Henricks. I asked how she is doing,¡± said Ravenspoken.

    The [Cleaner] shrugged, eating another forkful of rice and chewing through it slowly, savoring every bite as if it could be the last. Sometimes the [King] envied that man and his ability to savor everything in life as if it were the first time.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Finally, he answered: ¡°She reminds me of the children who arrived at the orphanage after they¡¯d been rescued by a village ravaged by war or bandits. Her eyes are as empty as theirs, and she¡¯s twitchier than a headless zombie.¡±

    The [King] nodded, although he didn¡¯t quite understand the last words: ¡°So, basically, like Tiana.¡±

    ¡°Like Tiana, but less on the doorstep of insanity, and more on that of crippling sadness.¡±

    Ravenspoken sighed, rubbing his forehead. Nighttime had come and it was going with him, unable to sleep.

    ¡°Never in my entire life would I have expected an arachne to appear at my doorstep.¡±

    ¡°The crows,¡± said Henrick, as if that could explain everything.

    ¡°Maybe, who knows. Even I sometimes don¡¯t understand them.¡±

    ¡°You should sleep,¡± said Henricks, causing the [King] to look at him in confusion.

    The [Cleaner] put down his plate and made the gesture of laying your head on a pillow, causing Ravenspoken to chuckle: ¡°I can¡¯t. If I could, I wouldn''t be here talking to you.¡±

    Henricks shook his head: ¡°The people here suffer from an inability to sleep.¡±

    ¡°Well, Archie grew up in a war and never learned to actually rest, Fred is a night owl, Nivera doesn¡¯t need to sleep, Tiana literally sleeps with one eye open and one ear listening in the rare cases she actually sleeps, I¡¯m the [King] and you¡­ I¡¯m still not sure why you don¡¯t sleep.¡±

    Henricks shrugged: ¡°The dead do not sleep, nor grime.¡±

    Ravenspoken sighed: ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right. I¡¯ll try and get in a few hours of sleep. Goodnight, old friend.¡±

    ¡°Goodnight, Your Majesty.¡±

    <hr>

    The Mind Castle¡¯s walls were filled with cracks. Oh so, so many cracks.

    It almost looked ready to fall apart, and yet there it stood, stable as could be, the walls rising high towards a sky that had once been dark but, as she¡¯d become more proficient with Soul Magic, had filled up with constellations made of brighter and duller stars. Little distant souls, most sitting in place, while a few others sometimes inched this way and that.

    ¡°One day we¡¯ll be able to make our own constellations,¡± said Siidi. Isse hadn¡¯t noticed her soul half arriving by her side, so lost was she in watching the spectacle over her head.

    She turned now, looking at her in confusion: ¡°Why would we want to do that?¡±

    A shrug, a small smile: ¡°Because we can. Sometimes, sister, all the reason someone needs to do something is wanting it. Life isn¡¯t all about duty and reason.¡±

    They fell in companionable silence, sitting down on the soft ground of the tower where it had all started, where they¡¯d accepted each other¡¯s existence and gone from enemies to, well, sisters, two united, if not unified, halves of the same soul.

    ¡°Heh, sounds good to me,¡± she said after a moment of thinking.

    As the night went on they settled down on the comfortable cushions that covered practically every available surface of the tower, cuddling close to each other with a frog plushie hugged between them (because frogs were awesome).

    Sometimes she liked to imagine the first ever arachne who, Siidi had told her, apparently had been a lot less civilized than those of her time, just wandering into a forest, seeing a frog for the first time and just suddenly all stopping to stare at the bouncing and croaking animal, their eyes going wide in wonder before they started fighting against each other for the honor of being the one to keep the animal. It was a hilarious image that never failed to make her smile, even now.

    Music began to drift up to her, coming from a hidden orchestra below. She couldn¡¯t remember this song so it probably came from Siidi¡¯s memories. It was gentle, slow, like many things these days felt after the all-too-exciting escape from Tedam.

    ¡°What song is this?¡± she asked her soul half.

    She smiled at the question, a genuine gesture that expressed a fondness one could show only when thinking about a distant, happy, memory.

    ¡°We called it ¡®The Child¡¯s Dance¡¯. It was a dancing song from our last years, before the Hunters began pushing back in an effective way.¡±

    ¡°You remembered it?¡±

    ¡°Just this morning.¡±

    She wiggled a bit and Isse opened her arms, letting go of her soul half as she rose, stretching out her arms and spine.

    ¡°I remembered dancing this with one of my blood sisters, Siramia,¡± the smile hadn¡¯t left her lips from before, but it became fonder still, something Isse didn¡¯t know to be possible,

    ¡°And that would be¡­?¡±

    ¡°Ah, right. You remember my Trial?¡±

    ¡°The one where I tried to kill you with an endless horde of Hunters? Yes.¡±

    ¡°Well, Siramia was the arachne playing the violin and harvesting people¡¯s souls with her songs.¡±

    Oh, that one. She could still clearly remember the three arachne her soul half had summoned during their second Trial: the woman with the violin, an average looking arachne carrying a beautiful violin and wearing a golden monocle she imagine she¡¯d stolen from a corpse somewhere; the [Mage] with a line of white hair that shot spell impossible to stop or unweave; and the woman covered in knives, who fought by Siidi¡¯s side and moved like a storm, cutting to pieces anything in her path. Together those four alone had managed to stave off an entire army of thousands of Hunters for minutes on end. An eternal battle that was more a massacre than a fight. They¡¯d lost only because they¡¯d been outnumbered thousands to one.

    ¡°What¡¯s the song about?¡±

    Siidi stretched her legs: ¡°Nothing. There are no words, it¡¯s just a song to dance to. But¡­ it was inspired by the Witch of Spiders. One of our own wrote it in her honor. I think.¡±

    The Witch of Spiders, the woman who¡¯d created the song that had helped her through some of her worst times: ¡®We¡¯ll Meet Again¡¯. A song of an eternal, undying, love between two women who would find each other no matter what, no matter where. A promise more than a song, one they¡¯d managed to fulfill if Siidi was to be believed.

    We¡¯ll meet again, In Death¡¯s embrace

    That¡¯s how the final stanza began.

    That¡¯s how Siidi had told her goodbye in that dream. ¡°So, wanna dance?¡± suddenly asked Siidi.

    ¡°...What?¡±

    ¡°Dance. Do you want to? You know, that thing people do when they move around to the rhythm of a song, sometimes extremely badly, like you and I.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t dance?¡±

    ¡°Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you; that memory of me dancing with Siramia was more like her trying, and failing, to teach me to dance anything other than what we liked to call ¡®The Corpse¡¯s Tango¡¯. The only reason I didn¡¯t step on her feet was that arachne don¡¯t have feet.¡±

    A chuckle escaped from both of their lips, Isse rising and abandoning the frog plushie on the ground.

    ¡°Really? I¡¯ve seen you fight, you would¡¯ve been a great dancer.¡±

    ¡°Corpse¡¯s Dance, I told you. It¡¯s not unusual for us arachne, really: dancing with eight legs is difficult, no matter how coordinated you are. Fighting, on the other hand? It doesn¡¯t take much to look graceful when doing that.¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s why you call it ¡®The Corpse¡¯s Dance¡¯, eh?¡±

    ¡°Hole in one.¡±

    Another chuckle, a stolen smile forming on her lips as she finally finished rising from the quite literal mountain of pillows, stretching out her arms and spine.

    ¡°So, how do we go about it?¡±

    ¡°Ha, like I have a clue. We just try stuff and see how that goes.¡± And so they did.

    It was, truth be told, an absolutely hilarious spectacle as the two tried to waltz around the too-small space, their legs tangling more than once and causing the two to fall to the ground swearing up a storm. A sailor overhearing them during one of those disasters would¡¯ve probably taken notes before congratulating the duo on their fantasy. They laughed all the while, forgetting the world outside of their shared mind as cracks and tears in the walls of the grand cathedral-library slowly began to close up, the leaves on the grand tree planted in the central courtyard gaining back some of their lost greenery, the machinery that had started to form in Isse¡¯s part of the castle beginning to tick anew with familiar, companionable, patterns that mixed together with the distant song from Siidi¡¯s memories.

    Old rusty stains, remnants from the last time the Blood had attacked, were absorbed by the stone and wood walls as if they were a sponge, breaking it down into fragments of sensation and memory, grinding it down into a fine dust of negativity, and finally dousing it all in a mixture made from that simple joy of absolutely failing at doing something delightfully simple as dancing.

    Because that was one of the problems with the blood: even if one, somehow, managed to push it out, to fight it off and not be infected, they still turned into something that was a mirror image distorted into a silverer¡¯s worst nightmare, changed into a monster wearing the wrong skin but unable to take it off, a cursed costume made in one¡¯s own image, even if someone managed to dodge that destiny¡­ it still left behind a part of itself, something to infect the unfortunate soul¡¯s thoughts, to turn them towards things that would weaken them, giving the Blood another chance. Now, though, that hold was broken, Isse¡¯s mind turning towards better things.

    In a shadowed place in the Mind Castle a little bone white button hummed pleasantly in time with the tune, the memory of a promise to someone else bound to her, not to be known.

    Isse and Siidi danced ¡®round and ¡®round in their tower of comfort and silliness, not knowing nor noticing these changes.

    What they did notice, at some point, was a strange sensation of pressure in their lower belly, around the area where their human and spider halves met, a sensation not unlike the fullness that came from having eaten too much.

    And then they woke up.

    <hr>

    The first thing she noticed the moment her eyes flew open was the sensation of fullness, as if she¡¯d just eaten her body¡¯s weight and then some.

    The second thing she noticed was her body literally screaming at her to push as hard as she could.

    For a moment her mind went back to her first moments in this new life of hers: the inside of her egg, its welcoming, liquid, warmth as it constrained her into a curled up position that made her feel comforted, desired, wanted and, most of all, alive. Then the instinct, together with the voice screaming in her head, telling her to push, to get out, to leave, this small slice of Larnos, the first and last of it that would ever be guaranteed for her.

    Now she scrambled out of her cocoon-turned-nest, uncaring for the damage she was causing it, scaring her little spiders awake as they scrambled on top of her, fearing that their big sister was about to run away again.

    She wasn¡¯t. Instead, she scrambled down to the floor, where a feral, animalistic part of her told her to sit down as much as she could so that her extremely precious payload (yes, her mind called it payload) wouldn¡¯t fall towards the ground.

    Then she began to push.

    And everything became a blur.

    <hr>

    It took a while before the fog surrounding the rational, thinking, side of her mind lifted.

    She groaned, the cotton in her head slowly disappearing, leaving behind only the thought that she should¡¯ve had a headache. All she got, instead, was a strange sense of joy and satisfaction, as if she¡¯d just won a marathon, coming in first well ahead of everyone else, setting a new record.

    Hmmmm¡­ I didn¡¯t remember this feeling so good, said Siidi after a while.

    Isse smiled, the sensations pervading her reminding her of the day she¡¯d first managed to perform a meaningful change to Grandmother¡¯s soul after months of lessons, only twice as satisfying.

    Then she looked down, towards the floor, where she knew what awaited her sight: eggs.

    Five of them.

    They were small, rotund, things, completely unlike chicken eggs. Right now they were the size of her head, but she knew they still had some growth left in them: after all, she could still remember how big her sisters¡¯ eggs had been the day she¡¯d been reborn.

    A gentle hand rose, stroking the slimy eggs, cooing rising from her throat as she felt her heart swell with barely contained joy, her smile only growing bigger before, suddenly, her lips began to tremble, her eyes stinging as tears began to roll out and down her face. She let them, unwilling to control the tears of pure joy: she wasn¡¯t alone anymore. She wasn¡¯t the last of her kind, of her entire species. Soon, she¡¯d be able to hug her children, to hug another arachne, to hear their little hisses as they tried to communicate and failed miserably, as they learned to conserve their energies at first and cuddled up together at night.

    She wasn¡¯t alone anymore.

    We¡¯re not alone anymore, confirmed Siidi.

    They became one and cried in joy, their arms reaching down gently towards the eggs gathering and hugging them with a gentleness most people wouldn¡¯t show even to newborn children.

    She wasn¡¯t the last one anymore.

 Interlude: All Dwarves Go to Airm

    Dwarves all over the world are known as the friendliest, kindest, people one could ever have the pleasure to meet. You want a drinking buddy? A dwarf¡¯s the best you could find! You need to smuggle something that¡¯s extremely illegal only ¡®because the churches say so¡¯? Well, that dwarven ship¡¯s transporting several tonnes of rock and marble for trade and the inspectors usually don¡¯t ask them to move the cargo around. You¡¯re looking for a short [Barbarian] who can reliably go for the enemy¡¯s knee or knee equivalent? Well, you probably won¡¯t find a dwarven [Barbarian], but there¡¯s a surprising amount of [Axe Warriors] around the world. They also don¡¯t backstab their companions for loot!

    You looking for a good natured [Rogue]? Yeah, no, look somewhere else, you won¡¯t be finding dwarves with that Class¡­ ever. Shortness may be good for their Class, but their bulkiness does not help with it. At all.

    Another thing you won¡¯t be seeing around often, if at all, are dwarven [Mages]. For some unknown reason the short folk don¡¯t have a lot of mana in them, rendering them mostly useless in terms of casting. Naturally they found a workaround to that problem a long time ago: runes. Just carve a specific pattern in one of the dead tongues of magic and you can do anything a [Mage] can without the need for mana or mana pools or risking mana drain. It¡¯s not an easy art, not by a long shot, some even go as far as advocating that rune carving is one of the most mind numbingly complex practices to ever come out of a magically aligned mind.

    But we¡¯re changing the subject.

    In short, dwarves are some of the best people to ever exist in Creation.

    That¡¯s why a [Necromancer] was currently skulking around fearlessly on the slopes of Mount Robiras, one of the many peaks that formed the Arborges Mountain Chain. In ancient dwarven it could be translated as ¡®Obsidian Peak¡¯, although nowadays it was better known to the common folk as the ¡®Mountain Cemetery¡¯.

    Why? It¡¯s simple, really: because the entire mountain was one, great, cemetery. Hundreds of generations of dwarves lay buried in its rocky ground, the only reminder of their existence being the markers for their tombs. Once upon a time, traditionally, dwarven tombstones were carved out of obsidian, so that no matter what happened, no matter which disaster struck them, the tombs would stay there, leaving something to remember them by. That¡¯s where the name came from.

    Nowadays tombstones were made out of other materials too, naturally, but that is another matter.

    What mattered right now was the young [Necromancer] wandering among these tombs, muttering to himself.

    ¡°Three golds for a corpse, they say. Just pay the price and you can get one, they say. Well, fuck that, what do they think I¡¯m made of, gold?¡±

    The current reason for his grumbling was that he had attempted to obtain a corpse off the dwarves.

    Necromancy was permitted all over the world nowadays, with [Necromancers] working in armies to give support, as medics and, most important of all¡­ as dentists. Yes, you didn¡¯t misread that. Can you imagine how good it is to have someone who can fix your teeth with a flick of their hand or, if they feel like it, downright give them an upgrade? No more fear of cavities!

    Back to the young [Necromancer]: since his particular brand of magic wasn¡¯t forbidden, their people had any legal, easy, and surprisingly cheap, ways to obtain the corpses required for their job. The easiest way was to work for the army: there you got to use all the corpses of your fallen comrades (and enemies) for anything that didn¡¯t go against the Collegial Agreements. Meaning they basically couldn¡¯t create Corpse or Bone Amalgamations and ghosts. Anything else was ¡®free real estate¡¯.

    Alternatively, a young, intrepid, independent [Necromancer] could quite easily obtain the body of a citizen who had agreed, prior to their death, to donate their corpse for such a cause. These days it happened more often than it used to but¡­ it still wasn¡¯t quite the norm.

    Finally, if the aforementioned enterprising [Necromancer] wasn¡¯t feeling like buying for a few silvers someone¡¯s body, they could just get any old monster¡¯s corpse they could kill. In short, they could become adventurers, which came with all the advantages and disadvantages of the job.

    Oh, and then there was grave robbing.

    Which was exactly what this [Necromancer] was about to do. ¡°Three gold pieces! Fucking Airm, that¡¯s downright robbery.¡±

    You know, it was funny, in some absurd way. There was a time when anyone in his position would have thanked all the gods of the pantheon for such a possibility: just¡­ being able to buy a corpse to pursue their art in peace. There was a time when being even suspected as a [Necromancer] could get one killed on the spot.

    And this young man was complaining about it. Oh, how times have changed.

    ¡°And it¡¯s not like dwarven corpses are any better than others! They¡¯re not more magical than elven bodies, they¡¯re not tougher than those of some beastkin. They¡¯re just bodies! Why do I have to pay them so much?¡±

    There was one thing to be said about this poor sod: he wasn¡¯t normally like this. But he had fallen in poor straits, penniless and undead-less after a failed quest for a guild from a nearby city that had ended with his party dead and his left arm down a sandworm¡¯s gullet.

    ¡°Three whole gold pieces.¡±

    It had happened the same way things like this happened all the time: overconfidence. A silver ranked party of adventurers taking on a job that was for gold rankers. Sure, lower end gold rankers, but still gold, and they¡¯d forgotten a very simple rule about adventuring guilds: their rankings existed for a reason.

    An extermination quest for a sandworm nest that had been located near the edge of the desert, probably filled with eggs or younglings. They¡¯d thought it would¡¯ve been easy: after all, it was the middle of winter, not long after the end of the breeding season, when the sandworms would¡¯ve already gone into hibernation. So they¡¯d geared up, brought along enough [Fireball] Scrolls to destroy a small army, confident that the reward of gold for the quest would¡¯ve more than covered for such an expense, and had promptly ended up on the other end of the extermination.

    ¡°I don¡¯t need much. Just¡­ a dozen, yes, a dozen corpses, and when I¡¯ve made the money for it I¡¯ll come back and pay for them. Yes, it¡¯s very reasonable.¡±

    When he¡¯d come back from the journey, wounded and delirious, he¡¯d been put back on his feet by the Guild, but that had taken all the money he¡¯d had left.

    But here¡¯s the thing: dwarves valued their dead as much, no, maybe even more than their living. That¡¯s why you could still walk towards the top of Mount Robiras and see ancient obsidian tombs that were still in pristine conditions to this day, thousands of years after they¡¯d been put in the ground, the names on them still readable, the dates clear, their greatest deeds written near the bottom in excruciating detail, perfectly legible. That¡¯s why dwarven corpses cost so much: they cared too much for their dead to just¡­ sell their bodies. And yet there were some, among them, who wanted to help, even in that small way. It was ridiculous, senseless, a disliked practice, but it was something one of their own asked for on their deathbed, and so their wish was granted, because nothing, not the mines, not the Projects, not even

    the Grandfathers themselves were more important, more sacred, than a dead man¡¯s last wish.

    So they did it: they sold the corpses of their loved ones, because that¡¯s what they¡¯d asked. But the price for them was high, extremely high for what amounted to a dead body.

    Three whole gold pieces.

    It stands to reason, then, that the dwarves had people among them who lived for the sole reason of caring for their dead: their [Graveyard Keepers]. A small army of dwarves who spent their existence caring for the tombs of their dearly departed, patrolling the mountain that was their graveyard day and night, repairing any damage done to the tombstones or decorations and, in the few times when it was required, even going as far as defending it from an actual army.

    Or, in this case, defending it from a grave robber. It started slowly, feebly.

    Words.

    A song, one as old as the dwarves, known only to them and the Dream ¨C not the [Dreamers] though, not anymore.

    They came from a distance and made the young [Necromancer] nervous. His eyes jumped every which way as he thought the song was coming from a distant dwarf doing his job, one that hadn¡¯t noticed him yet. Still, he moved low, trying to hide among the rocks and tombstones.

    ¡°Gotta find the fresher ones, skeletons are no good.¡±

    They¡¯d been his speciality: agile, light on their feet, capable of offering support from a distance or, in a pinch, even charge right into the fray wielding light weapons. His choice of undead had been his and his team¡¯s unmaking.

    So, obviously, if skeletons weren¡¯t the answer, then zombies had to be! Surely some extra raw strength in the form of reanimated flesh and muscles could¡¯ve helped them better during that quest.

    The words reached his ears and, this time, he could understand them. It was a simple rhyme, repeated over and over again, but one with a clear message.

    Underground, underground, leave them underground.

    Over and over.

    And the voices were getting closer.

    His eyes widened, his head whipping around, trying to pinpoint the source, wand raised to cast any one of the necromantic Spells he¡¯d learned that could easily kill most lower level monsters: [Necrotic Lance]. The dangerous part of that one wasn¡¯t the ¡®lance¡¯ part so much as the ¡®necrotic¡¯: it made all the flesh near the damaged area rot. Enough of these could take down pretty much anything, but they had a problem: they were extremely Mana intensive. Which normally wasn¡¯t too much of a problem for a [Necromancer] if they were in a fight surrounded by enough dead bodies and undead that emitted Death Mana, but outside that? He had probably enough in himself for two [Lances], three if he wanted to suffer from Mana Drain.

    Finally, he saw the source of the song.

    A single dwarf, advancing slowly towards him. His face was shrouded by the shadow of a wide brimmed hat, clearly made to protect his head from the ever scorching aknian sun. He wore sombre white clothes that he probably spent an exceptional amount of time keeping fastidiously clean. In one hand he was carrying a broom, while, hanging from his back, he could see a sharpened shovel.

    The dwarf was clearly moving his way, still singing that sinister, old, song, the words reverberating in the young [Necromancer]¡¯s bones, making him feel guilty for some reason.

    Underground, underground, leave them underground.

    But he needed the bodies, he needed them to start anew, to avenge his companions, to be better.

    The song didn¡¯t stop, but still he heard someone speak to him: ¡°Leave our dead alone.¡±

    He whipped his head around, trying to understand who could¡¯ve spoken. And then he saw them: four more dwarves. Surrounding him.

    The song grew louder as he opened his mouth to say something, anything, although he himself didn¡¯t know what exactly to say: should he protest? Should he beg?

    The decision was made for him as the first dwarf he¡¯d seen stopped, pointing a finger at him, nightmarish words leaving his mouth: ¡°[The Earth Claimed Him as it Claimed Our Own].¡±

    The ground underneath his feet erupted upwards, shards of rock rising as high as his face, causing small cuts that began bleeding profusely. He looked down, his mind whirling between horror and confusion like a child¡¯s spinning top. Then hands grabbed at his legs, beginning to tug down.

    A scream left his throat, followed by him pulling furiously at first one, then the other leg, trying to dislodge himself from the impossibly tight grip of, he could see them now, earthen hands ¨C not skeletal, a small part of his mind noticed.

    But of course they weren¡¯t skeletal hands: those had to come from something, corpses most of the time, but that would mean disturbing their dead, something unacceptable.

    He screamed, begging for forgiveness, asking to be let go, even going as far as attempting to raise a few of the bodies buried underneath the ground, but the moment his magic touched them one of the dwarves stepped forward, taking the shovel off his back and approaching him menacingly at the same time as he felt his own magic simply¡­ dissipating into nothing.

    Underground, underground, leave them underground.

    He screamed as the hands finally reached his shoulders and in one, final, yank dragged him under the earth.

    The last thing he heard was that old song.

    <hr>

    Darkness.

    Air.

    Fresh air.

    With a gasp, he opened his eyes.

    He was in a small, undecorated, room, sitting in front of a stone table, on an equally stony chair, although he could feel a comfortable cushion underneath his backside.

    Opposite from him sat a dwarf: his hair was graying around the edges and well groomed, the big and equally graying beard underneath braided with many small gems that shone in the lamplight. His eyes were a deep, dark, gray, bordering on black, reminding him of the tunnels underneath the earth where so many of the monsters he¡¯d hunted hid. He was wearing the same white clothes as the dwarves that had attacked him in the cemetery and, as he glanced around the room ¨C still taking deep, calming, breaths ¨C he found that same long brimmed hat hanging from the wall beside a stout, wooden, door. Right underneath, propped up against the rock, was the shovel.

    They sat like that, waiting for a few minutes, the silence broken only by his steadily calming breathing.

    Finally, the dwarf spoke: ¡°So, you learned your lesson?¡±

    The young [Necromancer]¡¯s eyes widened as he nodded his head so fast he feared it¡¯d fall off.

    ¡°Good, good. The name¡¯s Mramur. I¡¯m one of the Elders around here and one of the [Graveyard Keepers]. And you are?¡±

    The way he was talking it was almost as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn¡¯t just been swallowed by the earth after receiving the greatest scare of his life.

    ¡°M - my na - name¡¯s ¨C¡±

    ¡°Calm down boy, deep breaths, deep breaths. I won¡¯t have the earth eat you up again, promise.¡±

    So the [Necromancer] took another few minutes to calm his racing heart, taking deep breaths all the while and being extremely thankful to Provos, the God of the Afterlife, for being able to do so.

    When, finally, he felt able to speak without stuttering, he answered the dwarf: ¡°My name is Fairuz and I¡¯m a [Skeletal Necromancer]. I¡­ I used to be a member of a small adventuring team but¡­ I¡¯m the only one left.¡±

    The dwarf nodded solemnly at that, his hand raising to make a strange gesture in the air, placing his closed fist first on his mouth, then on his heart, and finally back up to his forehead.

    ¡°I¡¯m extremely saddened by this news, Fairuz. May their souls rest in peace for the rest of eternity.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t anything new to him: adventuring teams often ended in that way. They took on more than they should because they needed or wanted money ¨C or fame ¨C and died in some horrible fashion at the hands of some monster or other. A sad truth of the job that wasn¡¯t talked about often enough. For every successful adventurer there were two dozen who either never went higher than silver rank or just died.

    ¡°Let me guess: you don¡¯t have a copper to your name, so you couldn¡¯t afford to buy the corpses you needed for your magic, but you didn¡¯t want to give up, so instead you decided to rob a grave.¡±

    The dwarf sighed, shaking his head: ¡°I¡¯d like to say that it¡¯s understandable, but it isn¡¯t. You were about to commit what¡¯s probably the only crime we have capital punishment for. You can call yourself lucky that we caught you before you¡¯d started digging.¡±

    Silence. Heavy like a wet blanket, more suffocating than a roomful of smoke, and twice as embarrassing as being caught naked outside the bathroom. Fairuz felt his cheeks heat up as desperation filled his being and, in the end, he just deflated, putting his head in his remaining hand and rubbing as his face and hair, trying to somehow remove the stress that was plaguing his being with the simple motion.

    ¡°What now?¡± asked the dwarf.

    He didn¡¯t answer, because he didn¡¯t know. ¡°Will you give up?¡±

    Another question he didn¡¯t know the answer to, so silence was all the answer the dwarf got ¨C and needed.

    ¡°What if I told you I have a proposal? A way to fix some of your problems, at a cost.¡±

    A chuckle: ¡°I think I already said it, but I don¡¯t have any money.¡±

    ¡°Come on boy, you know better than me that I wasn¡¯t talking about coppers and silvers. We have no need for money, but talent? Talent we need plenty of.¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Fairuz raised his head: ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±

    ¡°We need [Mages] in the deeper mines. Not the deepest, you wouldn¡¯t survive down there, but middle depth? You could work there.¡±

    The young [Necromancer] raised his arms, the sleeves of his ruined robes falling back to show how little muscle was there: ¡°These arms won¡¯t be doing much mining, I¡¯m afraid.¡±

    ¡°But they can do a lot of casting, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    He sighed, sitting forward, looking Fairuz in the eyes: ¡°Let me get straight to the point, boy: there are things underneath these mountains, monsters of flesh and bone that have turned the earth itself into their nests, making it exceedingly dangerous to mine. We¡¯ve been fighting and culling them for the last¡­¡± he stopped, his eyes glazing over, as if someone else was talking to him at that moment. Then he was back, ¡°I think ten thousand years, give or take a few centuries. If it wasn¡¯t for us the damned things would¡¯ve probably already invaded the surface. But that¡¯s beside the point: we¡¯re not looking for recognition. We¡¯re looking for something of ours that has been trapped underground since the day those monsters appeared.

    ¡°You won¡¯t be looking for that though. You¡¯ll come along with the dwarves at mid depth who work there to simply mine. Your job, if you decided to accept, would be to help miners escape in case of an attack. The basic pay is good and there are bonuses for every one of the creatures you kill ¨C don¡¯t worry about tallying that, we can tell how many died at your hands. You will have food and a home to stay at as well. You will, also, be provided with the necessary bodies to perform your work.¡±

    Immediately the [Necromancer]¡¯s adventuring-inclined mind went for the most obvious question: ¡°What¡¯s the catch?¡±

    The dwarf smiled: ¡°Apart from the constant risk of death? You won¡¯t be allowed to leave Mountainhome if you accept. At least, you won¡¯t be allowed to leave until we can be certain about your loyalty.¡±

    ¡°...That¡¯s it?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s it. Trust me, some of the people we made this proposal to in the end said that it still wasn¡¯t enough considering the things they¡¯d seen and done but¡­ well, I¡¯ve told you clearly all there was to be told.

    ¡°Naturally you still have the choice to get out of that door and leave. I won¡¯t stop you, but we won¡¯t help you if you choose to go: you were going to rob our graves, after all.

    ¡°It¡¯s up to you now.¡±

    It took him a few minutes to come to a head but, in the end, the choice was a no brainer.

    He began his training the next day.

    <hr>

    [King] Carmine woke up that day in a good mood.

    The arachne was gone from his city and, if his spy network was to be believed, she was gone from his kingdom entirely; plus, an incredibly dangerous subversive member of the Greatest Game was gone, dead, his body burned to ashes that were then thrown into a river.

    Sure, he¡¯d lost a lot of good men in doing so, a group of undead had also gone crazy and started attacking the city, plus many members of the Game were dead, which had required him to pay off the damned leeches so that they¡¯d get off his back, but all of this was nothing compared to the knowledge that the arachne which had plagued his city was now finally gone.

    So he rose from his bed, allowing the [Servants] to help him into his regal garbs as a minister walked in and began telling him the plans for the rest of the day, from the meetings in the morning with various dignitaries and nobles from all around the kingdom to a few ambassadors from neighboring countries in the afternoon.

    One of them, though, immediately caught his attention: ¡°One of the dwarven Elders is coming here? In person?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty. They haven¡¯t specified the reason for them requesting this meeting but, if I had to take an educated guess, it may be about the dwarven traitor that massacred our local Adventurer¡¯s Guild.¡±

    ¡°Ah, that one, yes. Well, we shall see. Move that meeting up on the schedule¡­ and make it private.¡±

    ¡°As you wish, Your Majesty.¡±

    And that was how he found himself staring down at the dwarf in front of him. The small man had graying hair and beard, which, for a dwarf, was a sign of old age. This one was probably four hundred years old, maybe more, which, in a sense, wasn¡¯t much: he knew for certain that the oldest among the Elders was around seven hundred years old and could barely move ¨C if the rumors were to be trusted, which he didn¡¯t care about because the dwarves were in Aknos and he was in Irevia.

    The Elder wore simple white clothes that had been recently starched, their color bright as the day they¡¯d been given to him. Beside him, loosely hanging from the chair, was an equally white wide brimmed hat. He¡¯d been told that he¡¯d come carrying a shovel of all things, which he¡¯d been forced to leave behind before this meeting.

    ¡°It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty, [King] Carmine, Ruler of Tedam and all the cities existing under the aegis of the Kingdom of Scasce.¡±

    Say what you will about the dwarf¡¯s peculiar taste in clothing, but he knew how to properly greet royalty.

    ¡°It is my honor to be in your presence, Elder Mramur of the dwarves. I, sadly, know not of any of your other titles, the information was not shared.¡±

    The dwarf waved that off: ¡°No titles for me, Your Majesty. I¡¯m just an old dwarf doing his job.¡±

    The king nodded, leaning slightly forward and joining his hands: ¡°Then, may I inquire to the purpose of your visit, Elder Mramur? I couldn¡¯t help but notice that you did not specify this when you requested this meeting¡±

    Mramur took his time getting comfortable on the chair, moving this way and that, as if unused to the comforts of royalty. And maybe he truly wasn¡¯t? Carmine, like many others, knew close to nothing about the dwarves¡¯ ways of life in Mountainhome. No matter how many [Spies] were sent, no matter how many times they tried to scry the underground city, and, most of all, no matter how many madmen had started a war with them, nothing was ever gleaned. The most someone ever managed to get out of the place was the recipe for what was, to this day, one of the most popular beers in the world.

    So who knew? Maybe the man was used to sitting on rocks for all he knew.

    Which¡­ wasn¡¯t too far from the truth. He rarely went back inside Mountainhome, spending most of his time on the surface with the other [Graveyard Keepers], doing his eternal work. It was a choice he¡¯d made, one he didn¡¯t regret.

    Finally, he spoke: ¡°I believe you already have a good idea, Your Majesty. After all, you and your ministers are quite intelligent and diligent.¡±

    Most of the time, thought the dwarf without saying, masking his thoughts with pleasantries.

    ¡°I¡¯ve come to bring back the body of a dwarf who died here. His name was Dorian Ironborn and he was killed after attacking the local Adventurer¡¯s Guild.¡±

    The king¡¯s mood immediately soured at that: ¡°That traitor?¡±

    Mramur¡¯s face remained unchanged but, inside, he seethed: how dare this simpleton call one of his own, a dwarf who had sacrificed everything in the name of a debt older than his grandfathers, a traitor?

    ¡°Yes, exactly him. I would like his body to be given back to me so that I may perform the funerary rites as per the traditions of my people.¡±

    Carmine shook his head: ¡°That is unacceptable. This man was a traitor against the whole of Creation: he attacked and killed twenty one adventurers and gravely injured a dozen more, foremost among them the Guildmistress. Do you have any idea what repercussions me giving you back the body would have on my image?¡±

    Politics, always politics. If there was one thing he loved ¨C among many, really ¨C about dwarves it was their distaste for politics in general. One of the many advantages of being an isolationist species.

    Still, there was one thing he had learned long ago: money could grease the machinations of politics with great ease.

    ¡°Naturally we understand your sentiment, Your Majesty, so I haven¡¯t come empty handed: we are capable and willing to repay all damages caused by our kin, together with payments to the families of the dead adventurers and those that won¡¯t be able to perform their jobs with ease anymore.¡±

    The [King] raised an eyebrow, feeling more amenable. ¡°In short: say a number,¡± finished Mramur.

    They had cut off his head and immersed it in tar to help conserve it for longer, then leaving it to hang off the walls over the main entrance to the city. Showing it off like a prize, like a [Hunter] hanging a boar¡¯s head on his cabin¡¯s wall.

    <hr>

    Monsters, uncivilized mistakes, the lot of them. Mramur had a lot more choice words for these people, but he¡¯d rather not waste the time to do it.

    ¡°Master Mramur, what are we to do?¡± asked his apprentice.

    She was a relatively new [Graveyard Keeper], barely Level 20, but he¡¯d seen something in her, the spark of patience that told him she¡¯d be able to do this job for centuries to come. He had a feeling that she¡¯d take his place as an Elder, one day. But that was still in the distant future ¨C although he had amended his will, requesting that she be the one to bury him when the day came.

    ¡°Now you stitch the head back in place while I stitch his soul back onto this plane and see to it that he gets his choice like everyone else did before.¡±

    They¡¯d commandeered the local [Keeper]¡¯s workshop for this, something the old man had gladly allowed them to do at no expense, giving them permission to use any and all of the substances he had at his disposal to maintain the bodies fresh as long as possible. That wasn¡¯t going to be necessary in this case: most of the poor fellow¡¯s body had already started to rot.

    ¡°Savages,¡± he heard his apprentice whisper.

    ¡°Less talking, more stitching. We¡¯ll have the whole of the return journey to lament the barbaric ways of these people.¡±

    And with that the room fell in a nearly religious silence ¨C nearly, for the dwarves no longer prayed to any of the gods, not after what had happened during the Silken Wars.

    The apprentice, Gravia, started stitching, her hands¡¯ movements slow and methodical as her gloved hands began searching for the blood vessels, using a very small needle threaded with an even thinner thread to stitch those back in place. Her efforts were admirable, but there weren¡¯t many of those left in a good enough condition to do that sort of work.

    ¡°Don¡¯t concentrate too hard on that, the damage is already too advanced.¡± She nodded, finishing the last stitch on the artery she¡¯d been working on and, carefully, joining the head to the neck, beginning to work on connecting the two.

    Meanwhile Mramur rummaged in his bag of holding, taking out a small wooden box, intricately carved with designs reminiscent of ores and gems. It was, perhaps, the fanciest thing the dwarf possessed. Inside, stored on a velvet cushion, was a simple looking needle, longer than his hand. If one were to look at it with their vision greatly enhanced they would notice some¡­ writing, carved in the metal. And then, when trying to read it, they¡¯d see that it was not, in fact, written in any known language, for those were runes. Runes for a type of magic that was forbidden all over the world: Soul Magic.

    Mramur got to work, channeling the ambient Mana into the needle, mixing it with his limited supply to leave an imprint in the runework, a way for the carved magic to understand what type of soul he was trying to get in touch with: the soul of a dwarf.

    He stabbed the index finger of his left hand, letting the drops of blood flow down, soaking the carvings, where they stayed, making the needle shine with a kind, red,

    glow. Most people liked to think that Soul Magic was an evil art, made only to corrupt and change others, bending them to your will. And, while that was certainly true¡­ it wasn¡¯t the whole of it. Soul Magic could also be used to contact the souls of the dead, for example.

    Like he was doing now.

    He began moving the needle, threading the air over the body¡¯s heart as he chanted one of his Skills: ¡°[In The Name of a Promise, I Call Thee]. Come, Dorian Ironborn, and make the choice your predecessors gave you the chance to make.¡±

    The needle shone brighter while his apprentice finished stitching the neck and head back in place. She¡¯d done a good enough job.

    And then, suddenly, the needle caught onto something, the point seemingly stuck in the air, trapped in place.

    ¡°Help me, apprentice,¡± he said as he began to pull with all of his strength. Hopefully he¡¯d caught the right soul: too many times in the past things other than his kin had attempted to find a way onto this plane of Creation through this simple yet nuanced rite.

    He felt his apprentice¡¯s hands grab onto his arm and pull with him.

    It took them an entire minute but, in the end, without a sound, the needle moved and, suddenly, there was no resistance. They stumbled back, his assistant falling on her back, the thunk of flesh on stone the only sound in the room.

    Now, though, there were three people in the room.

    Or¡­ two and a half? No, still three: not having a physical body didn¡¯t mean you weren¡¯t a person anymore.

    A smile, the first one in a few days, formed on the Elder¡¯s face as he bowed: ¡°It is an honor to meet you, Dorian Ironborn.¡±

    The soul of a dwarf, looking like a ghost from the tales of old, floated there, over his own body, looking around with clear confusion written all over his features. Then he looked down at Mramur, seeing his smile, and he smiled back himself.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll admit I wasn¡¯t expecting this.¡±

    A low chuckle accompanied these words, together with a tired smile. ¡°Why am I here?¡± he asked.

    Mramur sat down on the ground, patting his apprentice¡¯s shoulder as she tried to get the world to stop turning and twisting.

    ¡°You¡¯re here to make a choice.¡±

    Another chuckle, this one bitter: ¡°I already made a quite final choice, Elder Mramur. I¡¯m dead. People like me don¡¯t get to choose much.¡±

    ¡°Our dead do,¡± was the answer he got.

    Silence, blessed silence, hateful silence to Dorian: he¡¯d been trapped in a silent, dark, place for a very long time. He¡¯d become so used to the constant rambling of his friends and the other adventurers that the sudden lack of it had been worse than the ¨C wrong ¨C knowledge that what he¡¯d done hadn¡¯t been enough.

    ¡°She¡¯s alive,¡± said Mramur, looking up at the spirit, ¡°I don¡¯t know how Miklish knows it, but she¡¯s alive. Your sacrifice wasn¡¯t for nothing.¡±

    The spirit¡¯s head whipped up at that, surprise clearly visible in all his features: ¡°Really? She made it?¡±

    He nodded: ¡°With your help and that of others, I imagine. I don¡¯t know all the details but, apparently, a retired Player of the Game helped her out. Like you, he paid with his life.¡±

    Again they stood ¨C and sat ¨C there in silence, letting the information sink in.

    Then Dorian spoke: ¡°I was in Airm. I can remember it. There was fire, and pain but¡­ it all feels so distant now. Like a bad dream.¡±

    Mramur nodded: ¡°I can only imagine, and I¡¯d rather not. But¡­ let me tell you of the choice in front of you now. Listen well, and make sure you won¡¯t come to regret it, for you won¡¯t get a chance to change your mind.¡±

    Gorizia checked the rune around her neck for the umpteenth time that day. She knew that it would start to vibrate if someone attempted to communicate with her, but she was nervous and couldn¡¯t help the gesture.

    Her eyes rose towards the literal tower of paperwork that had accumulated in the last week. She¡¯d tried to get through it in the last two days, but every time she managed to get the letters to stop moving around the page she just couldn¡¯t concentrate on them, being forced to read and reread each and every passage multiple times only to at some point forget it all, needing to start over.

    Needless to say, not much work had been done and, for the first time in the decades she¡¯d worked as the [Secretary] of the Guild of Assassins Guildmistress¡¯ she understood why the woman hated paperwork so much, especially because she knew just how useless most of it actually was. Nobody cared about the number of recruits who¡¯d taken the easy way out of training and swallowed some poison!

    She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly afterwards. allowing her mind to settle down: stress would get her nowhere, especially because, until she was told otherwise, she couldn¡¯t help in any way.

    The rune on her neck vibrated lightly, causing her eyes to fly open as she fumbled the little piece of stone, her mind noticing just how warm it had become by staying in contact with her skin.

    She pressed on the rune, channeling a small amount of her limited mana, initiating the connection with whoever was on the other side.

    ¡°This is Gorizia Everburn, Undersky Identification Number 38451. Who am I talking to?¡±

    A rough, familiar, voice answered from the other side: ¡°This is Elder Mramur speaking, no Undersky Number. The safety code is: ¡®Baron-Lagoon-Magmatic-Twenty Seven-Irevian Cupcake¡¯. Do you confirm.¡±

    Gorizia immediately recognized the code her old mentor, Elder Mramur, had forced her to memorize before allowing her to leave Mountainhome. Unlike so many other dwarves before her, she¡¯d decided to leave her homeland not as a ¡®vacation¡¯, but because she¡¯d desired to expand her horizons. People like her were rare in the old underground city and treasured beyond measure.

    ¡°I confirm. Elder, what¡¯s the status of your mission?¡±

    ¡°You can stop worrying, Gorizia, dear. The [King] gave us back our comrade¡¯s body after I promised a big enough payment.¡±

    Money wasn¡¯t really much of a problem for dwarves: one of the advantages of having a closed economy, you could say. The gold that moved around Mountainhome proper was pretty much the same, give or take, while the money they gained from selling to the people outside was hoarded and kept for emergencies.

    Like this situation.

    ¡°I contacted his soul and explained things. He made his choice. You can stop worrying about the contingency plan.¡±

    Gorizia took another deep breath, feeling an enormous weight leaving her shoulders. ¡°That is good,¡± she finally managed to say after a while.

    ¡°Rest, Gorizia. If I know you, you haven¡¯t slept in the last week while thinking about who to send over in case the negotiations didn¡¯t end well.¡±

    A small, bitter, chuckle escaped her lips unbidden: ¡°The lack of sleep is the last of my problems, Elder Mramur. I once spent near on three weeks awake helping the Gardener manage a crisis that could¡¯ve gotten the Guild destroyed. No, the lack of sleep wasn¡¯t a problem.¡±

    ¡°Still, you can rest easily now. As for me, I¡¯m glad the return journey will be on foot and by boat: teleportation always messes up my stomach too much.¡±

    ¡°The problems of old age, Elder.¡±

    ¡°Now don¡¯t you start getting witty with me.¡± They both chuckled at that.

    ¡°Goodbye, Gorizia. I hope the next time we have a conversation it¡¯ll be in person and not in a situation like this.¡±

    ¡°I hope that too, mentor. Goodbye.¡±

    The connection cut off and she sighed, sinking deeper into her chair.

    ¡°Well, time to sleep,¡± she told herself in the end, hopping off the chair and promising herself that tomorrow morning, bright and fresh, she¡¯d get that pile of documents done.

    And then a little girl appeared seemingly out of nowhere right in front of her desk. The dwarven woman immediately stopped, recognizing her: Ama, one of the three survivors of the Devil¡¯s Claw Family and, more recently, the Gardener¡¯s new proteg¨¦.

    ¡°Hi Ama. What are you doing here?¡±

    The little girl had been with them for nearly a week now and most of that time had been spent grieving the loss of her family.

    Behind her, timidly, stood a little devil, red skinned with itty bitty little horns sprouting from her scalp, her big, blood red eyes staring at her murderously. It was a strange combination, really, one that made the dwarf smile while also desiring to pet the life out of both of them ¨C because, Stars above, was it cute that that slip of a girl was trying to intimidate a woman who worked for one of the most dangerous and

    powerful people in the world and talked back to her on a regular basis.

    ¡°The Gardener said to come when I felt like talking again,¡± she answered in a small voice, the barely repressed emotions in her tone making the dwarf¡¯s heart ache.

    ¡°There¡¯s no urgency, dearie. The Gardener¡¯s been around for over a thousand years, she can wait a few extra days.¡±

    Ama shook her head vehemently, her long hair whipping around behind her, nearly hitting the little devil behind her: ¡°No! I can¡¯t wait! Mama and papa always taught me to keep moving forward, to never give up! I¡­ I can¡¯t keep staying locked in my room, I have to do something!¡±

    She was nearly screaming near the end, her eyes shut so forcefully that tears were beginning to form in the corners.

    The door to the Gardener¡¯s office opened, a figure stepping out. She was a striking woman, even beautiful by many standards: that is, if you liked the idea of a rugged elf with more muscle than fat on her body and an agile figure that seemed to cut the air wherever she walked. Her hair was black and kept short in a butch cut, a masculine look that was counteracted by her not-too-big¡­ frontal endowments. Like usual she wore black, form fitting clothes, making her look ready to go on a mission in a matter of moments. The one, most striking, feature of her, however, were her eyes: they were green, greener than the most verdant tree in the jungles of Eva. She liked to joke that they were the concept of green brought to life. Gorizia knew that was an effect of one of her Skills, although she couldn¡¯t even begin to guess which one could do such an apparently useless thing.

    ¡°Ama, dear, are you ready?¡± she asked, bowing her head deeply in greeting.

    The girl, too, bowed deeply: ¡°I am ready to hear your proposal, Gardener.¡±

    The elf nodded, motioning the girl into her office: ¡°Gorizia, would you kindly get us some refreshments? This will take some time.¡±

    She nodded, immediately moving towards the kitchens to gather something tasty and simple to eat, something even a kid could¡¯ve liked. It took her five minutes to get back and knock on the office¡¯s door.

    ¡°Come in!¡± she heard her employer¡¯s voice from inside.

    She walked in, carrying the tray with the refreshments, and was greeted by an unusual scene: the Gardener, standing by the window overlooking her expansive garden, her hand on the little girl¡¯s shoulder, while on the other side she stroked the small devil¡¯s hair gently.

    ¡°My offer is simple, dear. I will help you avenge your family: I¡¯ll teach you all I can, give you the required resources to do what needs to be done, and when all that is said and done, you¡¯ll be given a choice: follow in your parents¡¯ footsteps, or be free from the Guild completely.¡±

    Ama nodded her little head, a hand rising to touch the glass wall: ¡°You already know I¡¯ll accept.¡±

    Gorizia remembered meeting the girl before¡­ well, before her family¡¯s massacre. She¡¯d been so cheerful, so¡­ innocent. One would¡¯ve been hard pressed to even think she¡¯d been raised by a family of [Assassins]. Now though? The signs were there. The decisiveness in her tone, the unyielding look she could see in her reflection¡¯s eyes¡­ she wasn¡¯t a little girl anymore, for all that her heart was still shredded to pieces, and she hated it.

    ¡°Very well. For the next three months you¡¯ll be staying with me: no interactions with the people outside other than Gorizia here will be allowed. It would only complicate matters with my Skill. The good news is, the cost for this will be set completely on my shoulders: you won¡¯t lose a single second of your life. The bad news¡­ well, I¡¯d like to say that you won¡¯t get to live through your youth, but I get the feeling you won¡¯t care.¡±

    The little girl shook her head, turning towards the Gardener: ¡°Do it."

    The old, so very old even by dwarven standards ¨C but probably middle aged by elven ones ¨C woman smiled bitterly, falling to a knee and looking Ama in the eyes: ¡°I¡¯m sorry, little one. I¡¯m sorry this had to happen.¡±

    She took a deep breath.

    And the next thing she said shocked even Gorizia: ¡°[Like a Flower, She Matured].¡±

    Ama began getting older.

    <hr>

    Dorian opened his eyes.

    And this time found that he could feel his body, unlike when he¡¯d been a spirit in Elder Mramur¡¯s presence.

    He could feel on himself the weight of his clothes, the rough leather grip of the axe in his hands, together with the presence of the ceremonial drinking horn around his neck.

    A shadow hovered at the edge of his vision and he blinked, trying to focus on it. Then the shadow came closer, its figure resolving in a smiling, round, face.

    ¡°Ah, a new one! Welcome to Airm, friend. It¡¯s been a while since anyone¡¯s joined us down here.¡±

    Dorian tried to sit up but the figure put a hand on his chest: ¡°Now now, no need to be hasty: this stronghold is well defended and deep in our territory, you can take your time. Let your weary soul settle and acquaint itself with its newfound physicality of a sorts.¡±

    The hand disappeared, but the man, the dwarf, didn¡¯t, sitting by his side if the scraping of a chair on stone was anything to go by.

    ¡°I trust that everything was explained to you, yah?¡±

    He nodded. Of course everything had been explained.

    Elder Mramur had told him he had a choice to make: either he allowed the old dwarf to trap his soul in what was, basically, a soul cage, where he¡¯d be ¡®asleep¡¯, put in stasis, allowed to rest for the rest of eternity or until things became better;

    Or¡­ he could join his many comrades who, before him, had chosen to walk the soil of Airm.

    Why?

    But of course, in search of their old friends: the arachne.

    They were certain that their souls had been sent to Airm. It was a natural assumption to make, seeing how their very existence was a sin in the eyes of the gods. So¡­ they¡¯d decided to help them just as the arachne had helped them.

    They¡¯d given up everything for them in life, it just¡­ didn¡¯t seem right to leave them to rot and suffer for all of eternity in Airm. And, since they were already all condemned to that place, well, they told themselves, ¡®may as well make the best out of a bad situation¡¯.

    So they¡¯d started a crusade on endless armies of devils of Airm, all to look for their friends, all in the hopes they could ever feel like they¡¯d done enough to repay their debt.

    They didn¡¯t, couldn¡¯t, know that the arachne, their beloved friends and companions, more so than any other species in the world that had ever existed, weren¡¯t in Airm. They were someplace else, in Death¡¯s warm embrace, resting after a life of fighting a battle they hadn¡¯t started. They didn¡¯t know the sacrifices being made by their old friends and, even if they had, they couldn¡¯t have told them.

    That¡­ That¡­¡­.

    ¡­

    That is perhaps the most bitter thing about the dwarves.

    For a friendship, for a sacrifice that had saved their entire species, they were doing all of this. Hoping against all hope that, at the end of it all, they¡¯d be allowed to meet their friends again one more time, hoping that they¡¯d be able to feast together with them once again, hoping that they¡¯d hear them laughing raucously at their bad jokes, hoping that they¡¯d be able to embrace each other and have fun with their spiderlings (so many of those had died¡­), hoping¡­ hoping.

    It was all about hope.

    Not the debt. That was, maybe, an excuse given to the gods and the System and everyone who could¡¯ve ever asked. They cared not for the debt itself: they only cared for their friends and the good times they¡¯d once been able to spend with them. And for those memories, for those smiles and chuckles and laughs, for those chitters and hisses made by their young as they attempted and failed to talk, for all of that, they went to war against the will of the gods themselves.

    A useless war that wouldn¡¯t get them what they wanted, in the end.

    ¡­

    Dwarves all over the world are known as the friendliest, kindest, people one could ever have the pleasure to meet. You want a drinking buddy? A dwarf¡¯s the best you could find! You need to smuggle something that¡¯s extremely illegal only ¡®because the churches say so¡¯? Well, that dwarven ship¡¯s transporting several tonnes of rock and marble for trade and the inspectors usually don¡¯t ask them to move the cargo around. You¡¯re looking for a short [Barbarian] who can reliably go for the enemy¡¯s knee or knee equivalent? Well, you probably won¡¯t find a dwarven [Barbarian], but there¡¯s a surprising amount of [Axe Warriors] around the world. They also don¡¯t backstab their companions for loot!

    Dwarves all over the world are known as the most cheerful, happiest, race of them all.

    Unbeknownst to everyone, even to the dwarves themselves, they may be the most tragic race of them all as well.

 Chapter 14: Trouble in... Not-Really-Paradise

    What do you do when you fail at something?

    The answer varies, naturally: if you¡¯re undertaking a madman¡¯s task, then you should definitely stop. Things like trying to make a frog fly by surgically attaching a pigeon¡¯s wings to it are¡­ not impossible, considering the powers the System grants, but inadvisable at any Level inferior of 50, therefore being part of this category.

    Alternatively one can go about things in two different ways: either keep trying ad infinitum until things work out, changing small details here and there and hoping it won¡¯t cause anything to explode in your face ¨C again, a somewhat inadvisable method to use¡­ on Rodar, that is ¨C or one can plan things out, analyze information until your eyes bleed and your brain begs for sleep all while the rest of your body keeps on barely functioning, constantly wondering ¡®how is this possible?¡¯

    Finally, there¡¯s the solution to most of life¡¯s problems: giving up.

    And let me be honest here: sometimes giving up is the best option. If one knows one¡¯s limits and sees that they¡¯ve been reached ¨C and maybe even exceeded ¨C then it can be good to just¡­ stop, and do something else, or just forget about it.

    Continuing bullheadedly down that same road will just hurt you more and more, until your metaphorical horns break, leaving you with less than what you started.

    Giving up, changing one¡¯s mind, does not make someone ¡®less¡¯ than they were before: it is, sometimes, even a sign of wisdom.

    And maybe this option may sound the same as the first¡­ well, trust me: they aren¡¯t the same. Some things are just impossible, while others may just be beyond you at the time. That is the main difference between the two.

    Liam sat in his bedroom, having chosen to undertake the third of the four options: planning. A lot.

    His room, once clean and sparsely decorated, was now filled¡­ not floor to ceiling, because to do such a thing would have required him to climb up stairs, which, considering he lived in Rodar, wasn¡¯t a good idea, but floor to ¡®Liam height¡¯, with pages upon pages of sketches and drawings and projects for his impossible dream.

    But¡­ not just that.

    If one were to overlook the sketches of components for his ¡®Endless Gun¡¯ ¨C he was still working on the name ¨C and other items Sigmund was teaching him to make, they¡¯d see a lot of less¡­ professional things.

    Like drawings of Amarie in various poses, a few of Sigmund doing something extremely silly or working at a workstation or other, and then, if one had looked deeper down, removing some of the surface chaff, they would¡¯ve found¡­ more disturbing things. Drawings of an endless plain with a black sun, with barely visible things on the ground, a single figure standing over it all: a knight in armor, its head missing. There were dozens of such sketches, all well and truly hidden away underneath a wave of pages and parchment ¨C Liam wasn¡¯t picky ¨C that showed off the things he loved, while he tried to hide away his fears.

    After all, there was no reason to worry Sigmund further, and there certainly was no reason to tell Amarie that nowadays the pendant he used to sleep without nightmares at night was no longer enough: for now, the Headless Knight appeared even in his waking moments. Whenever he got too distracted and let his mind wander, he could feel the nightmarish thing¡¯s grip on the back of his thoughts. Every time he sat down and started working on his projects, the bloody being¡¯s presence lingered in the back of his thoughts, tainting his reasonings, trying to give suggestions on how to achieve what he desired, attempting to trick him into making use of that damnable Skill: [Gift of Blood].

    He knew, deep down, that if he allowed himself to succumb to the temptation, he would get what he desired, what he needed: a way to make his impossible dream into a reality.

    But he was also certain that it would come at a heavy price: namely, the creation being Its and, probably, with it, his mind.

    The only thing that gave him rest was a strange thing happening to the Red Skill binding the Headless Knight to him: it was changing color.

    [Condition: Dreams Painted Red]

    And, with it, the strange sense of urgency beyond the armored specter¡¯s actions.

    Something, he didn¡¯t know what but something was changing the nightmares in which the Knight existed, and whatever that something was it was completely out of the being¡¯s control.

    He hoped that, whatever it was, it would rid him of his problem if he just waited long enough.

    But that was the thing poor Liam hadn¡¯t understood, couldn¡¯t understand because he couldn¡¯t know and he didn¡¯t talk about it with anyone: waiting wouldn¡¯t help. If anything, it would make matters worse. For in his attempt to wait out the storm he was just suppressing it, trying to do the impossible and lock a hurricane in a glass jar hoping it would calm down.

    Because that¡¯s what Red Skills were: a representation of trauma. A weakness in a

    being¡¯s mind, a crack that allowed things from beyond the veils of reality, the strata of Creation to get in, to colonize the mind and turn it into something dark, twisted, broken beyond repair. Red Skills were a band aid, a hopefully temporary solution to help the poor soul fight off the invasion. But they were just that: temporary. Not a solution, not a cure, but an antidote to help the body restore itself, one that couldn¡¯t help if the person was too weak to fight off the poison.

    The only way to get rid of the Skill was to fight it off on its home ground, to face the problem head on.

    Hiding away, not facing the problem, would just make it fester.

    And right now, for all that something was happening to the Red Nightmare, as he¡¯d come to call it, for all that the band aid was being helped, even supported, the wound underneath was beginning to fester.

    So he began to draw.

    He¡¯d drawn what he remembered of the first few nights without the pendant to protect him, hoping against all hope that vomiting graphite on the pages would somehow help alleviate the pain of the Knight¡¯s presence, that it would somehow capture it and trap it eternally in the drawing.

    Maybe it was helping, who knew? But that alone wasn¡¯t enough. Not by a long shot.

    Still, he¡¯d gotten something out of it: he was now a Level 13 [Sketcher]. What had once started as a [Painter] Class obtained out of pure randomness by doing a simple repetitive action had turned into a little passion, something his and his alone. And sure, maybe some would¡¯ve said that going from a [Painter] to a [Sketcher] was a downgrade, but not for him: he was no good with paints and colors, never had been, but back in his younger days he¡¯d been¡­ decent at drawing with pencils. So many people liked to think that anything made in black and white wasn¡¯t the same as something colorful, but there was a great amount of nuance to it, to communicate the idea of color with its utter lack, or so he¡¯d always liked to think.

    So there he sat, in his not-so-little room, the windows set to let the starlight mixed with the waxing moon¡¯s light filter in, illuminating his room¡¯s desk, assisting the tiny light he¡¯d installed not long ago.

    It didn¡¯t illuminate his workstation much, but that was the way he liked it: the sparse light served him better in his inspiration. It also helped remind him that sleep was something he required and that actually he should probably be doing just that right now.

    With a sigh he rose from his hunched over position, letting go of the drawing

    charcoal he¡¯d been using (which was just a normal piece of charcoal sharpened on one end and wrapped in cloth so as not to completely blacken his hands) and pushed himself back.

    His chair immediately caught onto a floorboard and tipped backwards, resulting in a barely contained curse and a rather loud bang as wood met wood. Luckily for him he¡¯d tied a cushion to the very top of the chair just for this possibility ¨C because this wasn¡¯t even close to the first time this had happened.

    Recently he¡¯d started to feel the effects of Rodar¡¯s proverbial misfortune a lot more and he didn¡¯t know why: luckily for him, though, Sigmund¡¯s home and laboratory ¨C together with the lizardkin¡¯s lessons ¨C had been proofed against the many smaller misfortunes that could affect a person¡¯s daily life.

    With a groan he rose from the floor, putting the chair back in place while inspecting the floorboards: naturally, he saw nothing out of place. Even when he tested the damning floorboard with his foot he didn¡¯t get a single groan out of the wood.

    With a sigh he moved towards the bed, sitting down on the soft covers, his hand going for the pendant sitting on the bedside table, beneath a framed mage picture of Amarie and her team of [Knights] from that night out they¡¯d all had together.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    His fist closed around the simple gem. And someone knocked on his door.

    ¡°Come in,¡± he said, his voice scratchy from lack of sleep.

    A moment later the doorknob turned and in walked Amarie. Immediately Liam¡¯s face lit up as a smile parted his face, showing his whitish teeth, a few of them slightly yellowed by the antibiotics he¡¯d been forced to take as a child.

    ¡°Amarie, hi! Sorry if I woke you up.¡±

    The woman with fiery red hair smiled back, stepping inside and closing the door behind herself with her foot, a gentle click filling the silence of the room.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I wasn¡¯t sleeping.¡±

    A low chuckle escaped Liam¡¯s lips as he patted the bed beside him: ¡°The great [Knight Commander] Amarie not sleeping at the appointed time? You¡¯re going to make it snow!¡±

    That got a chuckle out of her in turn: ¡°Liam, it¡¯s already snowing.¡± He frowned: ¡°Really?¡±

    A look outside the window revealed that it was, indeed, snowing. For a moment he wondered how he hadn¡¯t noticed it up until now then he just shook his head.

    ¡°Well, that just proves my point,¡± he shot back.

    Another shared chuckle filled the kind silence of the room as Amarie sat down and they shared a gentle kiss. When it, sadly, ended, she leaned against the wall while he leaned against her side, sharing in each other¡¯s warmth.

    Then she spoke: ¡°The visions are getting worse, Liam, am I right?¡±

    He froze, immediately trying to hide it while knowing full well that she¡¯d noticed it. ¡°Why do you keep trying to hide it?¡±

    The answer wasn¡¯t forthcoming, of course. It wasn¡¯t rational, as these things tended to be, but he couldn¡¯t bring himself to talk about it, even with his lover.

    A firm hand settled on his chin, turning his head up and to the side, deep eyes staring down into his own: ¡°Liam¡­¡±

    Her voice promised violence¡­ well, not really, but he imagined she would use that same tone when talking to an unruly underling.

    A sigh escaped his lips and he shook his head, or rather, tried to, her hand was still keeping him in place. So he just spoke: ¡°Look, you don¡¯t need to worry about it. I¡­ I¡¯ll find a way. I just need to wait a bit and everything will solve itself. This ¨C¡± he gestured around the room ¡°¨C it helps, a lot. The drawing distracts me, it helps me focus, and it¡­ it just helps, Amarie, and that¡¯s what matters most.¡±

    Her eyes narrowed dangerously but, in the end, she let go of him, her arms rising to give him a hug.

    ¡°...I¡¯ll trust you, Liam, but remember: whatever happens, I¡¯m here.¡± His arms rose in kind, hugging her back: ¡°Thank you.¡±

    They stayed like that, until sleep claimed them both and they fell to the side, their hug unbroken throughout the rest of the night.

    Or so they would have liked.

    <hr>

    The battlefield was all around him.

    It didn¡¯t matter where he looked, how he turned, how many times he tried to close his eyes and hide his head under the blood drenched earth, it was there, always, filled with the screaming and shouting, the dying and still living abominations that called themselves human.

    Nothing more than monsters, that¡¯s what they were: little monsters wearing the wrong skin, too big for them, too unwieldy, made for beings that should¡¯ve been better, had to be better, because if this was what they truly were then he was better off tearing his skin off his muscles and letting himself bleed out on the ground screaming.

    He tried to hide, but there was nowhere to do so.

    He tried to run, but no matter where he ran, or how fast, he never escaped the baleful glare of the crimson sun shining over his head.

    He tried to kill himself, but he didn¡¯t have the strength of will to do it, so instead he just fell to the ground, looking at his blood drenched hands and clothes, desperately trying to understand why this was happening, what he had done to deserve such a cruel fate.

    Then one of the screams came closer, his eyes rising to meet those of an approaching, running, soldier, his jaw unhinged as it made that animalistic, horrifying, sound, his eyes open so wide that they looked like they were a moment away from popping out; his teeth were yellowed and broken, reminding him more of a wolf¡¯s fangs. Anything else he could¡¯ve ever possibly gleaned from the raggedy figure was either hidden by the blood covering practically every inch of him or downright broken. No insignia adorned his armor, which seemed to be assembled from pieces scavenged all around the battlefield, ill fitting and too heavy for the soldier¡¯s small figure.

    This war had been going on for so long¡­ did the two sides even remember why it had started? For that matter, were there even sides left to begin with? Or had War walked these battlefields so many times, feeding upon its bloody entertainment, that the people had devolved into an all out fight, forgetting their brothers in arms and just turning everything into a frenzy of blood and flesh and steel?

    These and many other questions flitted through his mind in the moments before the soldier reached him, his hands rising to protect his face desperately.

    Only then did he notice that he, too, was holding a sword, bloody as the rest of him.

    His hands trembled and he tried to drop it as fear pervaded him, but just a moment before he could do this, fingers covered in metal wrapped around his own, forcing his grip not to waver.

    Liam¡¯s eyes widened in incomprehension as the steely grasp moved his arms, raising his sword to block the incoming attack. The two weapons clanged against each other, the vibration traveling up Liam¡¯s arms and making him want to let go, but the moment he tried to ease his fingers off the handle the gloved hands squeezed tight enough to hurt.

    A scream escaped his lips as he felt his knuckles creaking and, he could¡¯ve sworn, even cracking, as the hands moved him again, raising his sword higher and bringing it down, cutting the man¡¯s head off in one, swift, motion. Then the scream changed from pain to panic. His head whipped up and around, but all he saw was the dark red sky filled with pinkish clouds that promised rain with a chance of more blood. But that was to be expected: after all, the being behind him didn¡¯t have a head.

    The Headless Knight stood behind him, emanating an aura of pure, unadulterated, pleasure that would¡¯ve made War itself run away with its tail between its legs. This was Its element, what It existed to do, what It had dedicated all of its non-life ¨C for the beings of his ancient Court weren¡¯t truly alive in a meaningful way ¨C to. Fighting and blood and entertainment and suffering in an endless dance with Death and the numerous facets of it that they¡¯d forcedly created in their eternal game until it had completely given up on them.

    More soldiers came and It got ready to force Liam into the fights: It was certain that, with enough training, It could convince the boy that the situation he was in wasn¡¯t bad at all, that it was an opportunity, and with enough work, who knew, maybe It could one day find way to lea ¨C

    The train of thought was stopped right in its tracks as the Headless Knight felt something grasping at its legs. ¡®Looking¡¯ down, it saw the reason for this offending disturbance: vines of ivy, the despicable gift left by that delightful woman who smelled of ancient knowledge, the one who could¡¯ve revived the Court!

    No matter how hard It fought them, these blasted plants, this¡­ greenery that broke up the beautiful continuity of this memory of a wonderful battle, was, to put it extremely simply, the worst. Not only was it infesting this nightmare, it was drinking the blood right out of it, feeding and feeding and growing and growing endlessly, like the god It had once slain. Unlike that god, though, these were mere plants: they had no heart, they had no soul, they had only their will, the order given to them by the girl of wonder, impressed upon them by simple thoughts and memories of multiplication. And, because of that, It couldn¡¯t get rid of them. Not yet, at least.

    The vines contracted like a muscle, tearing him away from Its prey, the subject of Its undesired ministrations, the one that would lead It to the freedom that had been taken from It by that despicable wandering god!

    The Headless Knight fought them, his own sword coming down and cutting at the green parasite, managing to free Its legs but, at the same time, unable to reach Liam, who¡¯d started running again, away, leaving It behind.

    It would¡¯ve raged if It didn¡¯t know better: calm was the virtue of the greatest of warriors, with patience being a close second. He would come back, eventually. He couldn¡¯t escape from It, for It was bound to him by the will of that god above gods, the One-Of-Many-Eyes that judged all.

    And then Liam woke up.

    <hr>

    He didn¡¯t scream as he opened his eyes, which surprised him.

    What didn¡¯t surprise him was how wet his clothes felt: he¡¯d soaked through them with his sweat.

    Then he noticed something else: Amarie wasn¡¯t in the room and he was tucked away under the covers.

    Did she see? he asked himself.

    That was when the door opened and his lover peaked through: ¡°You¡¯re awake! I was coming to get you up on your feet. Breakfast¡¯s nearly ready!¡±

    ¡°Thank you Amarie,¡± he said, a tight smile on his lips as he hid under the covers, feeling guilty for no real reason.

    ¡°I¡¯ll come out in a moment, just let me put on my work clothes.¡± ¡°Alright!¡±

    And she stepped out.

    While Liam changed ¨C and stubbed his little toe against one of the bed¡¯s legs ¨C the [Knight Commander] walked into the kitchen, seeing her father looking at her seriously, their breakfast sizzling away on a pan.

    ¡°So?¡± he asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s getting worse,¡± she answered, sitting down with a huff and grabbing at her hair in worry.

    ¡°He keeps on saying that he can deal with it, that it¡¯s just a matter of time, but¡­ the nightmares aren¡¯t stopping. Tonight he accidentally didn¡¯t put on that pendant of his and I woke up in the middle of the night to his screaming. I tried to put it on him but it didn¡¯t do anything and¡­ I¡¯m so sorry but I don¡¯t know how to help him!¡±

    For the first time in¡­ over a decade, Sigmund saw his daughter show a sign of weakness and that, more than anything that had happened in these years, shocked him silent. She was always so certain of her choices, so self assured and calm, always ready to give a warm smile when needed¡­ he¡¯d never seen her cry, not since the day her mother had died, but now? Now there were tears in the corners of her eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard horrible stories of what happens to people who can¡¯t keep their Bloody Skills in check, of how they turn into poor copies of themselves, wrong shells, an - hic - and¡­ I don¡¯t want that to happen to him. I don¡¯t want that! But I don¡¯t know how to help him!¡±

    Now she was actually crying and Sigmund¡­ he didn¡¯t know what to do. He wasn¡¯t prepared, he didn¡¯t have a plan, because this had never happened, not with his daughter. Still, he tried his best: ¡°But you do know what you¡¯re dealing with, right? After all, you can somehow control Dame Giulia.¡±

    He stopped before adding: ¡°I fear for the world if you weren¡¯t there. She¡¯d probably manage to burn down all of Rodar.¡±

    And then: ¡°Not that I think the rest of the world would be against it.¡±

    He hoped to get a chuckle out of her, which¡­ he failed at, but at the very least she was no longer crying, her hands rising to dry her tears as she shook her head: ¡°No, no, I don¡¯t¡­ deal with Giulia. I just keep her a bit in check. The real work was done by her uncle.¡±

    Sigmund raised an eyebrow: ¡°Wait, she has family?¡±

    ¡°Sort of? He¡¯s¡­ a very strange man. Calls himself ¡®Uncle Soot¡¯ of all things. Apparently he took Giulia in when she was a child and taught her ways to control herself. And anyways, the situation is different: she was born with her Red Skill.¡±

    The lizardman father didn¡¯t know what to say to that, so he turned around towards their breakfast.

    It was only after a while that he finally said: ¡°I know you both will do the right thing: you¡¯re good kids. As for me, don¡¯t hesitate to ask for help: if it¡¯s something I can do, I¡¯ll help. Now, eat. Everything¡¯s always easier with a full stomach.¡±

    He slid a plate of eggs and sausages towards her, putting aside two others as he waited for Liam, who was taking noticeably more time than needed to change.

    When, finally, he arrived, he was smiling as he greeted them with a ¡®Good morning¡¯ that seemed sincere on the ¡®good¡¯ part. It didn¡¯t even seem that he¡¯d spent the night having a capital N Nightmare.

    As he calmly ate Amarie looked at him, wondering what to do, how to help him in the little time she had left before she was forced to go back to the front, to her [King]¡¯s war. She still had two weeks¡­ she would use them as best she could.

 Chapter 15: Sketch Your Woes Away

    ¡°...We¡¯re not working today?¡± asked Liam as he stood by the entrance to the laboratory, which was conspicuously closed, the key dangling casually from Sigmund¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Nope! This, dear Liam, is one of the advantages of being your own boss: you do the hours you want.¡±

    Liam looked at the lizardkin as if he¡¯d sprouted a second head ¨C he checked surreptitiously his neck to make sure he had not, in fact, done just that again ¨C before frowning: ¡°What have you done?¡±

    ¡°What? Nothing!¡± answered the innocent lizardkin, looking confused.

    ¡°You don¡¯t just ¡®not work¡¯. It¡¯s not like you. There¡¯s something more to this. What is it? Have you accidentally destroyed the laboratory again?¡±

    ¡°Nope, lab¡¯s as good as it was yesterday.¡±

    ¡°Then you want to ask me something.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, sure, want to play a hand of Adventurer¡¯s Journey?¡±

    Adventurer¡¯s Journey was a game of cards created on Rodar long, long, long ago as an effect of the continent¡¯s misfortune and its impact on the gambling business. Namely, the total impossibility of any such business being profitable: in the course of one week after the curse took hold of the land every single gambling den found itself bankrupt ¨C the winners lost their money in other ways not even a week afterwards ¨C and afterwards nobody ever attempted to set new ones in place. That is, until one day an enterprising [Crafter] decided to create a game of cards that wouldn¡¯t require someone to just be lucky to win ¨C or be able to count cards.

    So it was that Adventurer¡¯s Journey was born. Hundreds, thousands of cards were created, all different, all with depictions of adventurers of the man¡¯s time with abilities and powers that affected other cards. In short, a game of luck, sure, but also of tactics, of being able to come up with tactics on the fly with whatever life gave you. In a way, the game reflected the adventurer¡¯s life.

    In short time the simple [Crafter] became rich and, by the end of his life, he was a Level 55 [Maker of Cards, Bringer of Joys and Sorrows]. A strange Class to be sure, but a golden one that was surprisingly powerful, especially because one of his Skills allowed him to temporarily gain the abilities of any adventurer depicted on his cards.

    Liam stared at the lizardkin for a few seconds more.

    ¡°Oh, come on! Why can¡¯t you just relax?¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯re you¡­?¡± it ended up sounding more like a question than he would¡¯ve liked but it communicated perfectly his feelings on the subject.

    ¡°Ok, look, I know my lessons can sometimes be a bit traumatizing.¡±

    ¡°You nearly made me explode on my first day.¡±

    ¡°Nearly! That¡¯s the key word! You¡¯re still here with all your body parts! Anyways, with all that, is it really so strange that every now and then I give myself and my, admittedly rare, apprentices a moment to rest?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°...I mean, you¡¯re not wrong, but I have the key, therefore I have the power, therefore today is a lazy day. Go do lovey dovey stuff with my daughter or join me in a game of cards or get drunk and regret it. Today you¡¯re free from my tyranny.¡±

    And with that he started whistling, pocketing the key and walking up the stairs, his prosthetic leg clunking slightly on the stone steps that lead upwards towards the floor dedicated to his shop.

    As for Liam, he looked at his back in confusion, before a sigh escaped his lips and he found himself following the man. A free day wouldn¡¯t hurt him anyways: for all that Sigmund was a great teacher, he also ran him ragged every lesson. It was an effective and efficient teaching method, that much had to be given to him, but dear gods it was tiring.

    His steps were light, making nearly no noise as he got up the stairs, entering the near total darkness of the lizardman¡¯s strange shop. Apart from a few scant candles lit all over the place with no rhyme or reason behind their positioning everything was shrouded in darkness that formed shrouded corners and darkened corridors, a labyrinthine place of mystery that perfectly reflected the persona Sigmund tried to project on all his clients ¨C with various degrees of success ¨C which is to say: the old merchant selling not what you wanted, but what you needed. That was his whole gimmick, what all his Skills as a [Secretive Merchant] revolved around.

    He created magical items of all sorts ¨C and even some non-magical ones ¨C and then left them randomly around the shop. One of his Skills reshuffled the location of every single object daily together with, he had found out, the shop¡¯s very layout. His Skills then helped guide customers towards what they would need, however esoteric that might sound. He felt, for all intents and purposes, like one of the fae whenever he sat down behind his shop¡¯s counter, always there, smiling slightly towards the people within, waiting patiently for them to find the thing that maybe would change their lives, hopefully for the better.

    Now Liam walked through the new corridors, following the patches of light, hoping to find the door that would lead him outside, but the corridors seemed to twist and turn around him, hiding the exit from his sight, as if trying to trap him in.

    With a grunt of disgruntlement the young [Crafter] hastened his steps, as if trying to get to the end of each corridor of shelves faster could prevent them from moving.

    His foot caught on a floorboard and he fell down, his hands automatically rising up to try and prevent his face¡¯s close encounter with the floor and succeeding¡­ barely. He still felt the sting of his elbows compressing too much, but his nose merely touched the wood, his eyes crossing as he stared at the crack between two boards.

    Well, fuck this shit, he thought. Recently these accidents had started to happen a lot more often for some unknown reason.

    With a groan he pushed himself back to his feet, his hands rising to brush themselves off on his clothes, the gesture more automatic than necessary since, for all that the place may look dark and abandoned, Sigmund always found the time to keep his shop fastidiously tidy.

    As he shook his head, Liam¡¯s eyes landed on something at the bottom of the shelf he¡¯d nearly unwillingly kissed, the light of a suspiciously close candle shining over the small item: a pen. Not one of those he used to take notes, no, this one was made entirely from metal, probably simple iron from what he could see, closely resembling more modern fountain pens from Earth. Without him noticing his hand had already reached for it, closing around it.

    As he examined it closer he noticed that the fountain pen wasn¡¯t completely made out of iron: no, there was silver decorating it, the lines of the beautiful, once-shiny metal having dulled by the moving of the sands of Time. He could see, clearly, that they¡¯d been fashioned into words, although he couldn¡¯t read them: they weren¡¯t in Rodarion.

    He jumped when he heard someone talk behind him: ¡°Ah, so you finally found something!¡±

    Liam whirled around, nearly throwing the pen away in his surprise, but the instinct to keep hold of it was nearly overpowering ¨C that, together with the knowledge that the shop probably wouldn¡¯t let him go if he did it ¨C as he noticed the reddish scales and then the smirk on Sigmund¡¯s face: ¡°How in Airm are you so silent?¡±

    The smirk grew into what he could¡¯ve called a cheshire smile as he answered: ¡°[Cryptic Presence], boy. So long as I¡¯m in the shop I am much more silent, secretive and feel like giving cryptic hints that leave people with more questions than when they started.¡±

    Liam felt the sigh coming but, this time, managed to keep it in: this was the lizardman¡¯s Class, there was nothing to be done about it, and it wasn¡¯t like he was doing anything bad other than giving people a scare before being... sort of helpful.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    So, instead, he showed him the pen: ¡°What is this?¡±

    Yellow eyes settled on the small writing implement, a frown crossing over the lizardman¡¯s face before, in its place, an expression of pure surprise appeared: ¡°Oh, I hadn¡¯t seen that one in years! It was¡­ well, it was a fair trade. Nearly a decade ago a [Witch] came here saying she needed something only I could make for her, a specific amulet crafted out of rare and delicate gemstones.¡±

    A chuckle left his lips, his sharp white teeth glinting in the warm candlelight: ¡°She despised every second she was forced to spend in this city, kept saying something about the ¡®sins of Rodar haunting her dreams¡¯ or some such, but she knew I¡¯d need time to make what she needed. Her name was¡­ [Witch] Aria, yes, that was her name. Old woman, probably older than some forests, at least that¡¯s what it felt like to me.

    ¡°Anyways, as payment for the work I¡¯d done she gave me this little marvel. She called it a ¡®Deepwell Pen¡¯. Strange name, but it never runs out of ink as far as I tested it. Stranger thing is, I never managed to see a connection to anything that could store all that ink, and I¡¯m not dumb enough to think it just creates it out of thin air.¡±

    Liam nodded: ¡°Because Transmutation Magic is a bitch,¡± he agreed.

    ¡°Because Transmutation Magic is a bitch, and because this was made by a [Witch], which ¨C Ha, nice ¨C means there¡¯s more to it.¡±

    His eyes looked dreamy for a moment as he added: ¡°Oh how I wish I could be half as cryptic as those crafty women. I¡¯m certain it would help with my business!¡±

    Liam put a hand on the excited lizardkin¡¯s shoulder, an expression of pity clearly visible on his face: ¡°Please. Don¡¯t.¡±

    Sigmund deflated faster than a pierced balloon, giving him a forlorn look that quickly disappeared, a sly smile taking its place: ¡°Well, you can keep that pen anyway. I¡¯ve got my own and they¡¯re way less frightening than that thing which I cannot understand. And anyways, the shop brought you to it.¡±

    With that he turned around, moving back towards the now-visible counter, his gait as silent as it had been when he¡¯d appeared behind him.

    As for Liam, his eyes couldn¡¯t seem to decide whether to look at the lizardman or the unexpected gift.

    Which more than suited the being who¡¯d planted the item where it was now.

    A shadow with white circles in place of eyes, hiding in a lightless corner and observing the whole interaction with, had it still had a mouth, a smile.

    The last piece was in place.

    <hr>

    Liam found Amarie in the company of, of all people, Dame Giulia and Sir Neville. The other [Knights], apparently, had better things to do, like spending time with their families and loved ones or, in one case, organizing a snowball war in a city block.

    All in all, extremely good reasons, and Liam couldn¡¯t say he disliked the company he was keeping right now.

    ¡°So my father¡¯s Skill strikes again,¡± said the [Knight Commander] with a smirk upon hearing the rather humorous tale of how Liam had ended up owning the Deepwell Pen.

    ¡°I mean, I¡¯m pretty certain the shop just kept looping me ¡®round and ¡®round until I found it, so yeah. Does it do that often?¡±

    Amarie shrugged: ¡°I don¡¯t really know: so far he hasn¡¯t received a single complaint, so I can¡¯t be sure if it ever happened to anyone else, but knowing him? Yes, there¡¯s a good chance it happened other times too.¡±

    Well, that was some disquieting knowledge.

    ¡°Anyways, so this pen supposedly has an endless supply of ink?¡± asked Neville as he looked in curiosity at the small probably-enchanted item.

    ¡°Yes, although I can¡¯t¡­ sense any mana coming from it,¡± admitted Liam, his eyes flashing down, ¡°If it could really just¡­ create ink out of nothing this little thing would probably be comparable to an Artifact, what with Transmutation Magic being one of the most complex to ever exist,¡± he started rambling, causing a small smile to form on his girlfriend¡¯s lips as she got comfortable.

    ¡°But since I can¡¯t sense any mana either this is a closed off circuit with no leakage whatsoever, which would be¡­ revolutionary doesn¡¯t even begin to describe the idea; or it¡¯s using something else as a source, but whatever that is I cannot for the love of me imagine what that might be.¡±

    He sighed, his eyes going back to the words written in silver on the side of the pen, written in a language he didn¡¯t know. Learning Rodarion had been¡­ surprisingly easy, all things considered, taking him no more than two weeks to become fluent, which was probably a miracle in and of itself, but afterwards he hadn¡¯t thought about trying to learn any of the other languages simply because there had never been a need for it: he could, after all, understand all the spoken languages of this world, apparently.

    ¡°He did say that this was gifted to him by a [Witch], so maybe she did something else to make this work? Honestly, I can¡¯t say, I don¡¯t know jack about their magic.¡±

    Giulia siddled closer, hands behind her back and looking extremely innocent, which was usually¡­ actually, he wasn¡¯t sure whether it was a good or bad sign, the woman was unpredictable.

    ¡°It¡¯s Evarion,¡± she said in her low, crystalline, voice. The rare sound shocked everyone in the group, causing them to turn and stare at her as if she¡¯d sprouted a second head¡­ or set something on fire. Again.

    ¡°You can tell?¡± asked Neville, completely dumbfounded.

    ¡°Mhmm,¡± was all the answer he got.

    ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°Uncle taught me. He knew a lot of languages. He was ooooold.¡±

    A chuckle escaped Amarie¡¯s lips at that: ¡°He wasn¡¯t that old. I mean, he was what, forty?¡±

    Giulai shrugged: ¡°I don¡¯t know, but he spoke like an old person. And only old people know all the languages,¡± the certainty in her tone was disarming, especially because it was used in such a childish argument.

    ¡°Ah, because you¡¯d met a lot of old people when you first got to know him, right?¡±

    The dame nodded, her mouth firmly set in a resolute line.

    ¡°Can you read it?¡± asked Liam, stopping the woman he loved and his pyromaniac friend from beginning a debate that probably wouldn¡¯t end well for any of them.

    Giulai turned back towards the pen and nodded. Her hand rose, an unspoken request in the gesture, and he gave her the pen, which she began to turn this way and that as if she were uncertain at which angle the words should be read.

    Then, finally, she spoke: ¡°¡®Pour your heart into every creation¡¯, that¡¯s what it says.¡±

    Silence, followed soon after by Neville¡¯s voice: ¡°Well, that tells us nothing. It¡¯s just a corny inspiring phrase. Now it almost feels like a recycled present.¡±

    The group burst into laughter, Giulia merely letting a chuckle out even though her smile stretched out her face.

    And then Amarie came up with an idea: ¡°Liam, how about you draw us? That pen¡¯s got endless ink, somehow, and I know you¡¯ve got that [Sketcher] Class of yours.¡±

    ¡°What? Wait, really?¡± asked Neville, looking first at his [Commander], then at the [Crafter], before saying, ¡°But I haven¡¯t even combed my hair!¡±

    Liam chuckled at that: ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I can do some ¡®editing¡¯ in process and make you look as good as you¡¯ve never been.¡±

    ¡°Hey! That hurt! I¡¯ll have you know that I¡¯ve got a line of ladies waiting to get my hand.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see them,¡± deadpanned Giulia, waving her hand around them, clearly showing how empty the area around them was.

    That, again, got everyone in the small group to laugh ¨C except for Neville, who just grumped away at the ground with a booted foot.

    That¡¯s how they found themselves sitting outside a bar ¨C or was it a tavern ¨C which had placed heating enchantments on the pavement before their entrance, allowing them to set some tables outside.

    Amarie, Giulia and Neville sat in different poses: the first acted relaxed, her head supported by her hand under her chin, a gentle smile carved on her face; the second was slouched in her seat, attempting her best imitation of a melting cat and, surprisingly, managing rather well at communicating how comfortable she felt in the spellborn heat; the last sat with his feet on another chair as he leaned back in his own seat, looking for all the world as carefree as could be.

    Liam sat some distance away, a small tablet of wood under in hand, a square of paper he¡¯d found lying in his bag of holding ¨C not the one claimed by the Knight, that one he¡¯d hidden in his room under a floorboard ¨C placed on top of it as he sketched away at the trio of [Knights]. He, too, like them, was smiling, feeling a soothing calm mixed with joy at being able to do something so simple yet rewarding with people he cared for and, in one case, loved.

    The pen indeed didn¡¯t seem to run out of ink, nor, he noticed, did the substance form drops that moved around, ruining the drawing. That, more than anything, gave him a feeling of true, great, satisfaction.

    And then, nearly thirty minutes later, he was done.

    The trio, as you can well imagine, was mesmerized.

    ¡°Look at that! I look like a queen on her throne,¡± joked Amarie before bursting out in uproarious laughter.

    ¡°Cat Giulia,¡± is all the dame says, smiling gently at the image of her very unstable and probably uncomfortable position.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t get my best angle!¡± cried out Neville in false outrage, causing everyone around him to burst out into laughter, which he soon joined.

    All around them the patrons of the bar looked at their group and smirked, memories of their youth emerging.

    That night, as Liam fell asleep, pendant around his neck, he felt happy.

    [Conditions Met: Sketcher -> Inker]

    [Inker Level 15!]

    [Skill ¨C Bound Item: Deepwell Pen Obtained!]

    [Skill ¨C Album Obtained!]

 Chapter 16: Favors... Always Favors

    You know? I find that favors are the greatest currency ever created by humanity as a whole. It¡¯s the quintessential show of trust between two (or more) individuals, a way for both parties to say ¡®I trust you, I trust that you¡¯ll repay me when the time comes¡¯.

    It is, in a way, beautiful.

    Why?

    Because, for some reason or other, people have an inner desire ¨C some intrinsic component not unlike the matrix of commands that lead the existence of a golem ¨C telling them to repay all favors owed.

    Some people could say that this is, in fact, false, that humanity and the other races of the world do not have this oh so noble desire.

    I¡¯d like for you, my dear readers, listeners and observers of this tale of wonder and woe, to take a good look at those who state such things: bankers, criminals, owners of casinos or other such places, debt collectors, generals (or tacticians) and their ilk, politicians and even some of the most crooked priests; basically, some of the worst people performing some of the worst jobs to ever come out of the darkest pits of humanity¡¯s minds.

    No, seriously, only humans could ever come up with the need for currency and, together with that, the need for someone else to keep that currency and do things with it that, supposedly, are meant to get you more of it. I suppose my opinion may be biased as someone who no longer has a need for money¡­ or food¡­ or air¡­ but I can still sleep!

    ¡­

    Stars this existence is so empty.

    Anyways! Let us not dwell on such dark thoughts, there has been enough of that in this story, am I right?

    Instead: Promises.

    What do they mean? What do they represent? And, most important of all: why do we give their concept such depth?

    The answer¡­ is simple. Indeed, this time it is quite direct: a rare occurrence, I¡¯m very much aware of it, especially considering how varied the nature of a promise can be. And yet it is oh so simple to find an answer to this question.

    To put it simply: it¡¯s because we need hope.

    Humanity, as a rule of thumb, is always, constantly, desperate.

    Desperate for a better life, for a better future for themselves and the generations to come, desperate for change and desperate for things to stay the same. We are always, constantly, consistently, desperate.

    It is because of that desperation that we never stop moving forward.

    It is also because of that desperation that, probably, we will never achieve that distant dream of true happiness, for how can a being that has known nothing but despair their whole lives even comprehend what contentment truly feels like. Oh, we can imagine it. That simple idea of a sunlit field of green grass, the stalks ruffled by a gentle wind caressing your face while little white clouds move in a sky of a perfect shade of blue, their strange forms turning into cute little animals or other beautiful things¡­ that idea, it is hope.

    Hope.

    Our fuel. Our drive. Our chains.

    So what are promises other than a way to garner more hope out of a world that we turned into our personal Airm where we are the demons that stoke the flames meant to torture us?

    We make promises to each other and hope that we and the person on the other side of the handshake will keep our word, for if the promise is broken then that ray of hope we held upon so hard will crumble apart, plunging us deeper into our despair.

    It may be a grim view of life, I know¡­ but it is what I witnessed.

    Hopefully, I will be proven wrong.

    <hr>

    When Liam woke up the next day it was to find himself in Amarie¡¯s arms.

    Well, rather, locked in place by one of her arms: the other was currently supporting her head underneath the extra pillow she¡¯d brought from her room.

    For a moment in his sleep addled mind surfaced the memory of Sigmund jokingly proposing to buy them a bigger bed to put in Liam¡¯s room so that they could have more space. He also distinctly remembered Amarie saying that they had no need for a bigger bed: the small one made cuddling much easier.

    He was pretty sure both he and Sigmund had done a spit take, but then he just turned off his brain again ¨C something that was made quite simple by the presence of the enchanted pendant around his neck ¨C and simply shuffled closer to Amarie, her arm moving on his back, turning their position into something more reminiscent of a hug.

    And like that they stayed for¡­ probably a long time. Thinking was difficult and time was meaningless, especially because Amarie was drooling slightly from the corner of her mouth and that was extremely cute and not for the first time Liam lamented not being brought to this world with his phone, e????v???e????n????? ????t?????h???????o????u?????g?????h???t????? ?????i??????t???? ????h?????a??????d????? ????b???e??????e???????n????? ?????i????n????? ?????h??????i????s????? ????p???o????c?????k???e??????t?????.

    He blinked his eyes, then went back to looking at the love of his life, a little dumb smile forming on his lips as sleep began claiming him again.

    Eventually, sadly, Amarie woke up, absentmindedly wiping the drool on the back of her sleeping gown¡¯s sleeve.

    ¡°G¡¯morning,¡± she said through a yawn.

    ¡°Good morning,¡± he said back as he took off the pendant, the fog covering his thoughts immediately beginning to dissipate.

    And then they started their day.

    <hr>

    Liam had expected many things that day upon waking up, as he always did: he¡¯d expected Sigmund to work him to the bone after yesterday¡¯s pause (he hadn¡¯t), he¡¯d expected the [King] to come visit them again ¨C the man really liked coming to talk to Sigmund in disguise ¨C or that Giulia would appear at the shop and find some new fire related magical item that she¡¯d nab and use to burn down the nearby forest.

    What he hadn¡¯t expected was for Neville to arrive and ask to meet him.

    When he found the young [Knight] he was fiddling with a Wand of Water Arrow by the shop¡¯s counter, looking extremely nervous.

    ¡°Hey Neville! How are you doing?¡± he asked him, raising an arm in greeting, ¡°Did that wand find you or was it just on the counter there?¡±

    The young [Knight]¡¯s eyes rose from the apparently simple wooden wand ¨C which was the result of hours of careful work that could¡¯ve resulted, if anything had gone wrong, in the entire laboratory below being flooded and them drowning painfully ¨C and he waved back, a hint of a smile crossing his face before it disappeared, killed on the spot by a wave of anxiety. Liam couldn¡¯t remember the last time he¡¯d seen the boy so nervous.

    ¡°Ah, hello Liam. I¡¯m fine, I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m quite fine, thank you.¡±

    He moved the wand around in a gesture Liam imagined would¡¯ve caused many a people from Earth to try and recreate the ¡®It¡¯s LeviOsa not LeviosA¡¯ scene and he had to force himself from doing it himself, because ¡®For the Memes¡¯ didn¡¯t seem like a good enough explanation for his actions.

    ¡°And no, I just found the wand here on the desk. I wasn¡¯t looking for anything, so the shop didn¡¯t make me go ¡®round and ¡®round for hours like last time.¡±

    Liam raised an eyebrow, attempting to steer the conversation towards something that would likely help Nevile destress: ¡°Hours?¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah,¡± he said as a smile graced his face, this time unbidden, ¡°The first time I came to this shop I was trapped inside for three and a half hours because I kept missing the item I ¡®needed¡¯. I¡¯m surprised Sigmund never told you the story, it was only last year and he found it extremely amusing.¡±

    The young [Crafter] shrugged noncommittally, a smile of his own appearing as he said: ¡°Sigmund doesn¡¯t really talk about the customers. He¡¯s really not the gossipy type, to my utter amazement.¡±

    This managed to get a slightly strained chuckle out of Neville: ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure he¡¯d tell you to fuck off if he heard you say that.¡±

    ¡°Meh, it¡¯s a fifty-fifty chance of him doing that or just laughing and saying some cryptic bullshit.¡±

    Another chuckle, this one free of the previous one¡¯s nervous shaking, escaped the [Knight]¡¯s lips, before he put the wand down delicately on the counter, right beside the bell that would instantly summon Sigmund like some kind of second rate genie.

    Silence filled the dark, possibly non-Euclidean, definitely labyrinthine, room.

    Anyone would¡¯ve thought it to feel oppressive but, in truth, the shop was always permeated by a strange aura of calm that seeped right into your being, making anyone walking through the seemingly endless corridors of items for sale feel at ease, no, at home. A welcome guest who would find what they needed, who would always, always, leave through the main door satisfied.

    It was, in a way, a promise, from Sigmund to all who walked through the entrance.

    In the end, though, it was Liam who had to break the silence: ¡°Neville, why are you here? And why did you tell Sigmund that you needed to see me?¡±

    The [Knight] looked away from him, towards the corridors of shelves.

    Only, now, there no longer was a direct way that led towards the exit: it had been blocked off by a shelf covered in random knick knacks, illuminated by no candles or other sources of light. The shop seemed to close in around them, isolating the duo of young men in their personal bubble of privacy, the building itself seemingly coming to life in that moment, whispering at them sweetly that, at any moment, they could leave, turn back and walk out¡­ but it would be better for everyone involved if an accord was reached, if something was traded, as was tradition ¨C if not Tradition ¨C in front of that simple, wooden, desk.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Liam¡¯s eyes, for but a brief moment, stopped on the surface of the counter, observing the many small scratches and scuff marks left behind by nervous scratching done by small and once-sharp nails, the falling and moving of coins of all types. Here and there he could see old stains that, had he not known better, he would¡¯ve said had been caused by coffee, but the beverage had been discovered only last year and the marks seemed so much older.

    Finally, Neville spoke, breaking him out of his reverie: ¡°I know of the contracts, Liam. I¡¯d like to sign one.¡±

    The boy¡¯s voice felt piercing as it broke the silence, entering in one ear and feeling unpleasant for a few moments, like a child¡¯s sudden cry on a train.

    Then the actual words registered and Liam¡¯s heart skipped a beat in surprise mixed with fear: ¡°What? How?¡±

    The only time he and Amarie had talked about the contracts other than in his bedroom had been on that first week of his new life, riding on horses towards the capital and he clearly remembered her activating a ring enchanted with a [Bubble of Silence].

    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. Or rather, I have a theory¡­ of sorts.¡±

    He took a deep breath, before nodding to himself and proceeding: ¡°You know how the First Dealmaker stayed with us that evening, right?¡±

    Liam nodded: ¡°Yeah, I know. She was the one who gave me the contracts, although she didn¡¯t tell me she was the First Dealmaker.¡±

    ¡°Yes, well, you know what Amarie said: if we made any sort of promise in front of her, we¡¯d better keep it. People say not keeping a promise given in her presence is a good way to call Consequences upon themselves.¡±

    ¡°Neville, please, I don¡¯t need a folklore lesson right now. How do you know about the contracts? And why in the world would you want to sign one?¡±

    Neville nodded his head nervously: ¡°Right, right. So¡­ when we were talking with her that evening, while you¡¯d gone to sleep, I¡­ I may have boasted that I¡¯d see every corner of the world. The First Dealmaker, she¡­ she asked me if I was willing to put my word on it. And I¡­ I did it. I promised to the skies I¡¯d see every corner of the world.

    ¡°The next day, well, while you were talking to Amarie, I saw her activate the enchantment on the ring, but¡­ it didn¡¯t work on me. I could hear everything, Liam. I heard her read the contract, I heard you two talk about what they meant. And¡­ and I¡¯m afraid, Liam. I¡¯m afraid, because we¡¯ll be going back to the battlefields in little over a week. What¡­ what if she found a way to help me? What if I heard you just because the promise I made her would be impossible to fulfill unless I knew about the contracts, Liam? What if I had to find out, so that I could keep my word, because there was no other way?¡±

    Liam looked at Neville, his eyes wide open in surprise, not wanting to understand but comprehending the reasoning behind the young [Knight]¡¯s words perfectly. And, with that, getting the strange feeling that he was right.

    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m afraid, Liam. So, so afraid. Afraid that I¡¯m right, afraid of the wars to come, and I don¡¯t even know why I¡¯m so afraid now. When I signed up to become a squire I wasn¡¯t this fearful. I just thought about the glory and about wanting to help my country but now¡­ now I can¡¯t do it. I just can¡¯t. But I know I can¡¯t leave, because I¡¯d be hunted down, and I don¡¯t want that. So please, Liam, please!¡±

    The young [Crafter] didn¡¯t want this.

    He didn¡¯t want that kind of responsibility. Didn¡¯t want this¡­ whatever this was.

    The only reason why he¡¯d allowed Amarie to sign that contract weeks ago had been¡­

    Oh.

    Because she¡¯d been afraid.

    Just like Neville.

    Because she¡¯d said that the war wouldn¡¯t be going well for much longer, or that she feared it wouldn¡¯t.

    Fear.

    It comes down to that so often.

    When humans are filled with fear they grab for any ray of hope, no matter how distant, how cruel, or how risky.

    And Liam¡­ he was too soft hearted for his own good.

    <hr>

    On another continent, no more than two weeks before Liam¡¯s second contract was signed, Isse was curled around her eggs, sleeping fitfully. She was so used to sleeping in a hammock nowadays that doing it on the ground was nearly uncomfortable. She liked the sensation of floatiness that came with being up in the air, the way the silk hugged her body as her weight moved her downwards, how she didn¡¯t have to move a single muscle to be in total comfort.

    In comparison, even with the strata upon strata of silk she¡¯d put underneath herself to make the ground softer, she still felt like she was sleeping on hard rocks. Still, she didn¡¯t trust herself with building a nest high in the air to keep her eggs with her ¨C it hadn¡¯t crossed her mind to leave them alone for even a moment after she¡¯d laid them.

    Because what if she messed up? What if she put some string or other in the wrong place, causing everything to collapse and, worst of all, making the eggs fall, killing her children, her legacy, her chance at not being the last one anymore.

    It didn¡¯t make sense, it was irrational beyond anything she¡¯d ever done since coming to this world: she knew she was a great weaver, Siidi had told her as much. The mechanisms of the criss-crossing silken threads came to her as naturally as breathing, her mind seemingly always knowing where and how to weave her creations to make them stronger, more resistant, more beautiful. Maybe it was because of her Skill, [Magic School: Thread], which helped in her spell weaving, or maybe it was something that came from her nature as an arachne, or maybe even it was just the way this body, which had not been meant to be hers originally, worked.

    She was good.

    No, great even.

    And yet her mind screamed incoherently at her every time she even so much as thought about moving upwards, maternal instincts going into overdrive and practically forcing her to stay put on the ground below.

    Had any of the older arachne from the forest been there with her, be they Makira, Pochi, Aru or even Grandmother, they would¡¯ve chuckled ¨C well, except for Grandmother, chuckling wasn¡¯t something she did¡­ ever ¨C and told her that it was normal, that all of them had experienced that very same sensation when they¡¯d laid their eggs.

    Makira had stayed curled around her trio of not-yet-born spiderlings for four days straight, hissing at anyone daring to even so much as step too close to her, and even after she¡¯d calmed down she¡¯d been extremely reluctant about the [Carers] shuffling her eggs around as was tradition among their people.

    So there she laid, sleeping lightly and uncomfortably.

    Until she heard her window open with a gentle creak.

    Immediately she shot to her feet, her hand rising to cast her [Colorful Water Arrow] at whatever may come through ¨C not any of her more¡­ destructive spells though. She feared she¡¯d hurt the eggs.

    She calmed down only slightly when her eyes alighted upon the being that¡­ probably shouldn¡¯t have been the cause of the window opening, considering its lack of hands.

    For on the stone floor, right on the edge between her room and the balcony that overlooked the city outside, stood a proud, big, crow, most of its feathers a pale white reminiscent of the moon¡¯s milky surface, turning ashen gray as they neared the articulation between wing and body. Its eyes, though, were as black as the darkest, moonless, night, where clouds promising rain and lightning hung in the sky hiding the stars, and sharper than a soldier¡¯s sword to boot.

    The crow jumped into the room, looking at her tense form all the while.

    Then it opened its mouth and¡­ spoke: ¡°I want a CRACKER!¡±

    The words, for all that they came from a crow¡¯s mouth, were perfectly articulated, the voice piercing and, at the same time, somewhat melodious.

    In short, it almost felt like a very old androgynous person had just spoken to her, asking for snacks.

    As one can easily imagine, Isse was¡­ surprised, to say the least.

    And then the general apathy she had recently developed for most things in life that weren¡¯t her unborn children and beautiful landscapes reared its ugly head up. Her face turned neutral, the tiredness that seemed to pervade her every movement in the last few days causing her to fall back to the ground, curling around her eggs once more, the legs of her spider half cradling them while she bent her human half down to give them a strange sort of hug.

    She found the sensation of their exterior somewhat strange: she could clearly remember floating inside her own egg, the sliminess of the birthing fluids that had housed her unborn body as they clung to her form for a short while after hatching, drying up and falling off of her in the open air¡­ the sensation still felt vivid when she recalled it ¨C when she recalled Makira smiling down on her, Anda slamming against her ¨C and so it was strange to feel how¡­ dry her eggs felt from the outside.

    They also didn¡¯t look particularly special. Actually, in a way, they looked exactly like chicken eggs, only, for now at least, they weren¡¯t firm. They were, in fact, very malleable and, sometimes, when she hugged them tight, she thought she could feel movement from the inside.

    That always brought a smile to her face.

    Not long now¡­

    Then the crow spoke again: ¡°Oh, so you think I¡¯m too good for crackers? Why, I know us crows are superior to parrots and their ilk, but betimes that even mine own kind enjoys the crunchiness of a simple cracker!¡±

    ¡­

    Did I just go insane, Siidi, or did that crow just speak like a normal human?

    She could feel the presence of her soul half outside her body as she used one of her Skills to look at the flying beast [Through Eyes Of Her Own], before she answered:

    A rather verbose human, I¡¯d say. Either we¡¯ve both gone insane, or the crow actually spoke.

    Seeing that they probably hadn¡¯t gone insane, Isse decided to go with the safest approach: ¡°I don¡¯t have any crackers.¡±

    The crow titled its head one way, then the other, observing her with both eyes, before seemingly becoming quite certain that she did not, in fact, have any crackers in her possession, and said: ¡°Why that is an extremely dire circumstance indeed, young woman! We must fix it posthaste, lest you become unable to properly feed me and my spawn! Come, rise from your decidedly barbaric bedding, and let me accompany you to the kitchens!¡±

    ¡­

    Siidi, are you sure we¡¯re not insane?

    Isse, my dear sister, these days I¡¯m not certain about anything.

    ¡°I¡¯d rather stay here,¡± said Isse, attempting to turn the other way and then remembering that doing so would require her to actually rise from her hug and skitter around her eggs, which would require her to use energy she lacked the will to find in herself.

    ¡°Poppycock! Come, rise! The day is young and I may even allow thee to snack upon some of the crackers reserved for me! I can assure you, they are delightfully crunchy and tasty! You would regret not having tasted them when I gave you this rare possibility for the rest of your impermanent existence!¡±

    Isse groaned and closed her eyes, attempting to isolate the bird¡¯s incessant chatter.

    ¡°Alternatively I could easily stay here and keep talking about inconsequential things for hours upon hours.¡±

    Wow, that bird is a real shit, said Siidi with a grumble.

    As for Isse ¨C who completely agreed with her sister ¨C she weighed the hassle of having to hear this bird prattling on about whatever came to its tiny mind for stars knew how long and just rising up to follow it and get those damned crackers. In the end the latter won.

    Slowly, tiredly, she rose from her improvised nest on the ground, glaring daggers at the damnable bird.

    ¡°Excellent! Come, I shall show you the way!¡±

    The crow flew off the ground, landing on her shoulder and settling on it as if it were second nature. Its talons didn¡¯t even manage to pierce through her dress, while its feathers felt soft against her head.

    ¡°Oh, what a momentous occasion! It has been millennia since one of my kind has been able to be in the presence of an arachne! You, my dear spiderling, may refer to mine illustrious personage as Huginn!¡±

    With a sigh she started skittering towards the door, stopping but a few steps later, turning towards her eggs.

    ¡°Worry not about your unborn offspring: they shall be safe here. I can swear this upon my old companion, whose name I shall not state for it would bring trouble upon this city.¡±

    Isse turned her head slightly, her eyes alighting on one of the crow¡¯s blacker than night ones: ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± she asked.

    The bird didn¡¯t have a face but, in that moment, she was certain, deep down, that, had it had one, it would¡¯ve been smiling kindly, the sort of old, worn smile that makes one wonder what the person making it must¡¯ve gone through.

    Its answer was surprisingly calm and measured compared to how it had spoken so far: ¡°For a favor, young one. To repay a favor that allowed this place to exist. And for an ancient friendship.¡±

    Silence fell on the two as she reached the door to her room, the one she hadn¡¯t left for two days now.

    ¡°Now let us go to the kitchens! You are far too thin for your age!¡±

 Chapter 17: Spiders and Broccoli

    Isse stepped out of her room.

    And immediately stopped.

    ¡°Now now, my young lady,¡± said the crow, ¡°our journey in search for the most exquisite crackers will be a rather long one if we are to stop at every corner.¡±

    The arachne glared down at the crow sitting comfortably on her shoulder, its little clawed feet digging into her dress and not reaching skin.

    ¡°I can¡¯t just leave my¡­ my ¨C¡± she didn¡¯t manage to finish the sentence for some reason. She knew that those eggs, those beautiful, off white, spheres were her children but, at the same time, something in her screamed against the idea.

    An old, near forgotten, part of her being, one that had slowly disappeared in these last few months, absorbed into her new her, pieces of it rotting off every time tragedy struck. She¡¯d thought that part of her dead by now.

    And yet, here it was: her humanity. A small part of the seventeen year old girl who¡¯d died powerlessly in that hospital back on Earth, a girl who was way too young to be a mother. She reared up her ugly little head and shouted that no, they couldn¡¯t possibly be her kids ¨C despite the quite obvious contrary ¨C saying that she couldn¡¯t accept it.

    Isse silenced that part of her and, for a moment, she wished she¡¯d just¡­ disappeared. It would¡¯ve been better for both the new her and the old one. She wasn¡¯t a human anymore, after all. Not by a long shot.

    ¡°My children¡­ I can¡¯t just ¨C¡°

    ¡°As I said, there is no need to worry, young woman. Your unborn progeny will be completely safe here. My King has sworn to protect you and yours, and that means your eggs as well. Trust the word of a father.¡±

    Anxiety clawed at the back of her mind, trying to carve its way in but, for once, failing miserably, for the walls of her Castle had been repaired, the taint of Blood washed out.

    We¡¯re safe, Isse, added her soul half, attempting to calm her down ever further.

    And, for once, succeeding.

    She heaved a big, long, sigh, tasting the air travelling through her mouth, feeling it travel towards her lungs for a few moments, and then letting it all out, her slightly more closed mouth turning the ¡®puff¡¯ into a light whistle.

    Then she nodded: ¡°Show me the way.¡±

    The way, as it turns out, was¡­ extremely simple. Whoever had designed this castle had put a lot of thought in making life simpler for the people working here, for she only had to travel down three long corridors and down a set of stairs before she reached the kitchens.

    She stood in front of the simple door, the wood only slightly aged and lovingly well kept. She was quite sure she could still see the light sheen of oil that had been applied recently. Her hand rose to the doorknob, a simple thing of¡­ at a first glance it looked like brass, it certainly had its color, but she¡¯d worked with the metal enough to recognize it. This was copper. Actually, even the hinges and the nails were made of copper.

    But why was that? She couldn¡¯t think of a single valid reason for that.

    She tried to turn the doorknob but, it turns out, it was there mostly as a decoration in this case, for it didn¡¯t budge. The door required someone to merely push it.

    In she went, into the silent kitchen, and immediately she was struck with how¡­ modern, it looked. Staring at the room, it felt like she¡¯d stepped back to Earth, into the kitchen of some kind of michelin restaurant right out of television. Every surface looked clean enough that she half expected sparkles to start appearing on them. And in regards to the surfaces, they were all marble, except for a few that had sheets of metal on them, steel or iron she couldn''t tell (she¡¯d worked only with brass, she wasn¡¯t a [Blacksmith]¡¯s apprentice!). There were pans hanging in near rows on the walls, going from small enough she doubted someone could¡¯ve put three sardines side by side in them up to so ridiculously big she couldn¡¯t fathom what someone would cook in them. Which went to show how little she knew about cooking.

    Two of the walls sported cabinets that, she imagined, were filled with pots of all sorts and spices and, maybe, simple foods.

    Like the damned crackers the crow on her shoulder had so insistently requested she get him.

    But, in truth, the thing that truly surprised her was the single figure standing in the room, on the other side of the central island, looking at her with a raised eyebrow as it, no, he munched on¡­ a sandwich.

    His skin was green from head to toe, a darker green that reminded her of the grass in the Forest of Tusca after it rained. His eyes were a deep red, without any sclera to speak of but, other than that, he looked¡­ normal. Like any other man she¡¯d ever encountered. His nose was on the small side, although it pointed upwards slightly, and his lips were so thin they may as well not be there. His hair was a dull red, complimenting his eyes, and cut short, exposing his pointy ears. For some reason there was a pencil tucked behind each one.

    They stared at each other in silence, both absolutely not caring about how awkward the moment was becoming: the arachne because she was beyond caring, the goblin¡­ well, actually for the same reason, but the way he¡¯d gotten there was completely different!

    Finally, Isse spoke: ¡°You¡¯re a goblin.¡±

    As far as first impressions went, this wasn¡¯t looking like the start of a good one.

    Said goblin kept on chewing on his bite of sandwich, taking his sweet time grinding it to a pulp before swallowing.

    ¡°And you¡¯re an arachne,¡± he stated matter of factly, as if it was the most boring thing to happen to him that day.

    Isse felt a wave of outrage trying to worm its way up to her face at how dismissive he was being: he couldn¡¯t have possibly met another arachne! How could he act as if this meeting was nothing?

    Then she took a deep breath, calming down.

    ¡°Sorry, that was rude. Hi, I¡¯m Issekina Silksoul, but you can call me Isse,¡± she introduced herself, bowing her head slightly in hello.

    The goblin, who, meanwhile, had taken another bite out of his sandwich, again, took a while to chew. The sound of him swallowing filled the room and, this time, Isse actually felt a bit of awkwardness.

    Finally, he said: ¡°Well, you found your manners. The name¡¯s Archie. I¡¯m the local [Architect].¡±

    Isse heard Siidi snort in the back of her mind: An [Architect] called Archie. Abso-fucking-lutely fitting!

    Then she started laughing and Isse had to fight hard against the chuckle bubbling up in the back of her throat. That was one of the problems ¨C if it could be called that ¨C of having someone living in your head: they could be a bad influence on you.

    So instead she decided to continue the conversation and, while pointing at the surprisingly silent crow on her shoulder, said: ¡°Huginn here wanted crackers and wouldn¡¯t leave me alone if I didn¡¯t follow him.¡±

    The goblin raised an eyebrow at that: ¡°How did you find out his name? Did you see some of the staff while coming here?¡±

    Another bite. She noticed there was something green between the slices of the sandwich.

    ¡°Uhh, no, he just told me.¡±

    This time around Archie didn¡¯t gulp down his food, his mouth opening up as a low, long, chuckle left his lips: ¡°Heh, he sure did, and I¡¯m the King of Dwarves. Nah, that dumb bird can only say one thing, and it¡¯s ¡®I want a cracker¡¯.¡±

    As if to confirm what had just been said Huginn spoke in a much more ¡®cawish¡¯ voice than the one he¡¯d used with her, screaming to the ceiling (and right into her ear, making her wince): ¡°I WANT A CRACKERRR!¡±

    Archie gulped down his bite of food and nodded: ¡°See, told ya.¡±

    He pointed towards a cabinet near him: ¡°The crackers he so loves are in there. Give him, like, three and he¡¯ll shut right up. Stars know why the [King] likes him so much.¡±

    ¡°CRACKER! CRACKER! CRACKER!¡±

    ¡°Oh shut the fuck up, I just wanted a snack, not a hearing check!¡±

    Isse was stuck in place, extremely confused by the current situation. She was sure, completely certain, that she¡¯d heard Huginn speak to her in some of the poshest and most refined jargon she¡¯d ever had the distinct displeasure to hear¡­ oh Airm he¡¯d infected her.

    Anyways, she was sure she¡¯d heard him speak, but now¡­ now she was starting to question her (admittedly debatable) sanity.

    ¡°CRACKER!¡± somehow the crow seemed to be slowly becoming more agitated.

    ¡°Ok, ok, I¡¯m getting you the crackers, calm down,¡± she said, more out of impulse than anything.

    Immediately Huginn seemed to settle down, its puffed up feathers going down as he comfortably sat down on her shoulder.

    Archie raised his eyebrow again: ¡°Huh, he actually listened to you? Every time he does¡­ that,¡± he made a wide gesture with the hand holding the sandwich, encompassing all of her, ¡°with me, either I start running for the kitchen or he tries to kill my hearing. You got some [Trainer] Class or something?¡±

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    ¡°Err¡­ no. I just have a [Pet Owner] Class,¡± she said, shaking her head as she skittered around the central island and reached the goblin, who didn¡¯t seem to be the least bit intimidated by her presence, or the fact that she practically towered over him.

    ¡°Hmpf, well, maybe it¡¯s that. I don¡¯t know and, truth be told, as long as he shuts up I don¡¯t care.¡±

    He raised a hand and snapped his fingers, the cabinet door opening up ¨C it didn¡¯t impress Isse ¨C and showing a lot of breadstuff, among which was a tiny basket where, she could see, were being kept a bunch of crackers. She raised a hand up towards them, ready to get a few of them and be done with this whole charade ¨C she missed her children ¨C but then she stopped, her eyes alighting on something at the very top of the cabinet: some sort of sigil that shone dully in the bright light of the room.

    Although, to her eyes, or rather, to her [Mana Sight], it shone as bright as a small star. Immediately she retracted her hand, instead forming a thread with her own mana and sending it up towards the strange sigil she¡¯d never seen.

    It made contact.

    Her magic was poured into the strange carving ¨C which she¡¯d feared was some form of trap ¨C and suddenly her vision of the kitchen disappeared, in its place a breathtaking sight.

    For she was now standing in an endless field of wheat. Everywhere she looked she could see bright yellow stalks rising up towards the skies, like hundreds of thousands of fingers pointing towards the unreachable skies out of mother earth¡¯s gentle hand. Her fingers moved in that reflection of the purpose given to this fragment of the world¡¯s soul, trailing through the wheat, feeling its gentle kiss and light prickliness. A young boy stood by her side, admiring the scenery with a beatific smile. They watched in want of change as the Spell unfolded in front of their eyes, the fields endlessly growing, endlessly expanding, promising fertility and abundance, promising that none would ever go hungry so long as even a fragment of the world¡¯s soul kept on existing.

    She felt like laughing in glee, like jumping around and running.

    For a moment, she felt like a child again, both the human and the spiderling, and she hadn¡¯t realized she¡¯d actually started running around and cheering, Siidi by her side with Baron Bloodsworth the First, Destroyer of Flies and Savior of Our Sleep on her shoulder.

    Then a loud sound snapped her out of this vision of what she imagined Heaven, or Larnos, should¡¯ve looked like.

    She blinked, her vision returned to the castle¡¯s kitchen, her eyes focusing on a green hand that was right in front of her face. Another blink. Yup, the hand was still there.

    ¡°That right there, arachne, is a Rune of Preservation. Don¡¯t worry, it won¡¯t burn off your hand, it¡¯s just there to keep the food fresh.¡±

    For a moment, she stood there, her mouth opening without words managing to leave it, her brain still trying to reconcile the beauty of the Spell and the absurdly normal reality around her.

    ¡°Hoy, you alright? Did your brain just decide to give up?¡±

    Those words, finally, managed to shake her awake. She looked down at the goblin, shaking her head: ¡°No. As far as I can tell my mind¡¯s still my own.¡±

    At that Archie smirked, his throat bobbing up and down as he kept down a chuckle: ¡°That¡¯s more than can be said for most, then.¡±

    He then went rose to the tip of his toes ¨C she noticed only then that he wasn¡¯t wearing any shoes ¨C his arm seemingly becoming longer than it should as it reached for the basket of crackers, before in the blink of an eye it went back to normal as she watched him offering it to her.

    ¡°Give one to the crow so that he won¡¯t start again, then try one yourself. Everybody says they¡¯re quite tasty.¡±

    A question rose unbidden to her lips then as she did just that, grabbing two crackers, which were simple squarish things, and reached up with one for her, hopefully temporary, feathery companion.

    ¡°Everybody? And what about you?¡±

    He shrugged: ¡°I¡¯m no judge of taste. When you spend half your life living on military rations everything tastes like Larnos. And I¡¯ve been told I have strange tastes.¡±

    As if to prove the point, he shook his sandwich left and right towards her, as if that could explain his strange statement.

    Her raised eyebrow probably was more than enough to express her confusion, because he explained: ¡°This is broccoli,¡± he raised his sandwich and took off one of the bread slices, showing her the vegetables¡­ and nothing else, inside. Calling what he was holding a sandwich, she thought, would¡¯ve been a disservice to sandwiches all over the world that would¡¯ve caused every baker alive to cry bloody murder. This thing¡­ was just pure sadness.

    Archie looked up at her, narrowing his eyes: ¡°There we go, already judging me. Well, you and everyone else in this castle can fuck right off!¡±

    That said he slapped the slice of bread back in place and took a vindictive bit out of his crime against bread products that not even a dwarf could¡¯ve ever approved of.

    ¡°In my defense,¡± said Isse, her tone completely unapologetic, ¡°I¡¯m a carnivore.¡±

    And she distinctly remembered absolutely despising broccoli even back on Earth.

    ¡°And I¡¯m a ¡®food-i-vore¡¯,¡± shot back the goblin through a mouthful of not-yet-a-war-crime.

    Throughout this conversation Huginn kept on eating the cracker she¡¯d handed over, leaving behind not even crumbs, which she guessed was proof enough that they were good. For a moment before she¡¯d thought about the possibility of them being poisoned, but then she¡¯d remembered that she was completely immune to all types of poisons so it would¡¯ve probably just added to the taste.

    So she went to take a bite.

    And immediately her mouth was filled with the taste of childhood memories.

    Not that she thought childhood memories tasted like a lightly salted flatbread, no, but¡­ in its absolute simplicity, this mere cracker brought back memories of days spent with friends and family out camping or just walking around aimlessly, watching the clouds as the sky slowly changed color from bright blue to purplish with hints of red and gold to a stygian black dotted with lights.

    A tear slid out of her eye and she didn¡¯t care to keep it in.

    ¡°Heh, always has that effect the first time. All thanks to Nivera, I tell you. She¡¯s got some Skill that makes food made with things grown in the kingdom just taste better. We¡¯d probably make a killing just by selling these, but we can¡¯t produce them fast enough.¡±

    A chuckle left him as he went and got a cracker himself, taking a satisfied bite out of it as a smile spread on his face.

    Isse had to agree with him: if she had a way to get a near unlimited supply of these crackers she¡¯d still keep them to herself.

    Still, all good things had to come to an end, and as she turned towards the crow she saw that he looked extremely satisfied ¨C also prim and proper, much more so than when it had started screaming about crackers.

    She poked him in the¡­ probably the chest, she wasn¡¯t sure if it was called the same for birds or if it had another name. Anyways, she poked him there and, upon seeing it open an eye, she raised an eyebrow questioningly.

    For an answer, Huginn cawed in a low tone, seemingly pleased, and went back to napping on her shoulder. She still wasn¡¯t sure about the whole talking thing: she was certain the bird had spoken, even Siidi had heard him, but now he was acting like an absolutely normal bird, albeit an absurdly loud one.

    ¡°Well, now that this one¡¯s satisfied I¡¯ll be heading back to my room. It¡­ it was a pleasure to meet you¡­?¡±

    It sounded like a question more than she wanted, but she hadn¡¯t spent that much time with this goblin. She didn¡¯t know much about their race, about their history of bloody war that had lasted for decades, about the hate that was still reserved for them even though they¡¯d demonstrated that they were as much of a civilized race as anyone else.

    She didn¡¯t know that the goblin standing in front of her was the one who¡¯d designed the entire kingdom she now found herself in. Nor did she know that he was one of the main reasons why the goblins had ever even won the wars, his fortifications and Skills having saved the lives of thousands, tens of thousands, of his kin.

    If she¡¯d know, maybe, just maybe, she would¡¯ve tried to spend more time in his presence, she would¡¯ve talked longer, asked him how he did it, how he managed to move on every time he wasn¡¯t good enough, where he found the strength to keep trying during those long decades. She would¡¯ve heard, then, the tale of how he survived where his brothers-of-battle died, of the struggles of seeing the purpose of his work after that, of how he did it. Really, of all the people in the kingdom, no, in that castle, he was probably the one who could understand her more than most.

    But she didn¡¯t know, and history, as we all know, sadly isn¡¯t built on ¡®maybes¡¯ and ¡®ifs¡¯.

    So instead she rose to her feet and turned around.

    She stopped only when she went to open the door, noticing that the little man was following her, the last few bites of his sandwich firmly held in hand.

    ¡°Uhh¡­ what?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Coming with you,¡± he simply said, ¡°Can¡¯t have you losing your way around the castle now, can we? Otherwise you¡¯ll take longer to go back to your nap.¡±

    She frowned: ¡°I found my way here, I can certainly find my way back. It¡¯s a pretty straightforward route.¡±

    And there it was again: the smirk.

    ¡°You sure?¡±

    In lieu of answering, she turned around and began skittering down the corridor to her left¡­ but wait, hadn¡¯t there been a set of stairs leading up that way? There was only a corridor now. A windowless corridor illuminated brightly by [Light] Spells hanging from the ceiling on fake candelabras.

    ¡°What the¡­?¡±

    The goblin tottered up to her side.

    He had finished his sandwich.

    ¡°The palace sometimes likes to change,¡± he said, as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

    ¡°Stairs don¡¯t just move around!¡± she nearly shouted, her hand shooting up towards the corridor, pointer pointing accusingly at the empty air as if she could force the stairs to come back.

    ¡°We live in a world where magic can cause an entire continent to fall underwater and then bring it back up in a matter of hours, and you think that moving stairs are strange?¡±

    ¡°Wait what? A continent underwater?¡±

    ¡°Rodar is a very unlucky place.¡±

    I¡¯d never heard that one, thought Isse

    Honestly? Me neither.

    ¡°Follow me, I know the way.¡±

    And like that he began calmly walking down the corridor, whistling a rhythmic tune that, for some reason, made her heart beat faster and her blood boil slightly in¡­ indignation? Determination? She couldn¡¯t quite tell.

    ¡°How will I move around if the place just keeps on changing?¡± she asked after they¡¯d turned down the third corner.

    ¡°Seeing as you haven¡¯t left your room in the past few days, I¡¯d wager that won¡¯t be much of a problem,¡± there was quite a lot of sarcasm in his tone.

    She opened her mouth to shoot back something, anything, but nothing came to her, so she just closed it back up, letting silence fall on them like a heavy, wet, blanket.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I understand. And as for the how, well, people just deal with it. They treat it as a sort of game. The throne room always stays in place, and from there, well, as I said, a game.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not much of a liar, you¡¯ll find out.¡±

    Then they turned another corner and, suddenly, they found themselves someplace rather familiar: the corridor that led to her room.

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t this a floor up?¡±

    ¡°As I said, the palace likes to change. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m sure finding your way around won¡¯t be too hard for you: the corridors and rooms may move around, but the outside stays the same. You could probably just climb the walls or something and look through the windows.¡±

    He wasn¡¯t wrong about that, now that she thought about it. Well, except for the places with no windows.

    ¡°Well¡­ thank you,¡± she said, turning back towards him when they reached the door to her room.

    ¡°No problem, arachne. No problem at all. Welp, I¡¯ll see you around.¡±

    Isse nodded, a small smile forming unbidden on her lips.

    She opened the door.

    And her eyes immediately alighted on something very big and very green floating over her nest on the ground, moving towards her eggs.

 Chapter 18: The Verdant Menace

    How would you react if you saw something big, green, exceedingly long and scarily menacing hovers over the most precious thing in the world you can call yours?

    Well, the answer, you¡¯ll find out, is surprisingly easy: either you panic, or you fight it.

    And Isse was so far gone after all the tragedy she¡¯d been through that she didn¡¯t think for even a moment about doing anything other than open the palm of her hand and throw a well aimed [Fireball] towards the window, at a distance that wouldn¡¯t endanger her precious eggs.

    She heard a sound not dissimilar to someone slapping something behind her, probably coming from Archie, but she didn¡¯t care.

    The ball of heat and compressed flame, fueled by fear and anxiety and a hundred other unnameable emotions swirling around her grieving mind, was much less powerful than it should¡¯ve been, some instinct deep inside Isse making her ¡®pull the punch¡¯, reducing the amount of Mana she¡¯d fed to the Spell, turning what should¡¯ve been a very destructive ball created by humanity with the sole intent of bringing despair¡­ into something more akin to a very hot suggestion to get the fuck away from the caster.

    It made contact with the green thing.

    And it immediately caught on fire.

    The thing shouted. No, not screeched, as she¡¯d expected: shouted. A very feminine and extremely panicking voice shouted: ¡°AGH! SORRYSORRYSORRYSORRY I DIDN¡¯T MEAN IT WHATEVER I DID I¡¯M VERY SORRY PLEASE PUT IT OUT PUTITOUTPUTITOUT!!!¡±

    The serpentine form resolved itself and Isse realized that she wasn¡¯t dealing with some kind of overgrown snake which existence would have proven the world over why the jungles of Eva were not a place for the faint of heart. No, what was now thrashing around her room¡¯s window, visibly moving away from her eggs, was made of leaves and branches, not scales. It also had something akin to a face that was, currently, looking very frightened as she kept on screaming for someone to ¡®put it out¡¯.

    For a moment Isse felt a sly satisfaction in knowing that she was the reason for this thing¡¯s panic.

    Then Archie stepped beside her and, with a very tired expression and a sigh that spoke volumes of how little patience was left in him, shouted: ¡°STOP WITH THE FARCE YOU DAMNED TWIG! YOU¡¯RE IMMUNE TO FIRE!¡±

    And immediately the plant snake stopped shaking around, her face ¨C now that she thought about it, how could she tell it was a her? ¨C locking in place as she registered the goblin¡¯s words. Then she turned around, looking extremely surprised as she realized that yes, the leaves composing her body weren¡¯t burning at all ¨C which begged the question of what, exactly, was causing the fire to keep on burning merrily ¨C and smiled, slapping her forehead: ¡°Oh right! I¡¯d completely forgotten about that Skill!¡±

    She waved a hand, water appearing out of nowhere in the form of a little heart that she then chucked at the burning¡­ whatever, dousing the flames.

    Then she turned back towards the duo ¨C trio if you counted the very unimpressed crow ¨C and smiled a smile so wide it nearly split her face in half: ¡°Hi!¡±

    Isse raised a hand and prepared to throw a lightning bolt: this thing may be immune to fire, but there were many, many other ways to kill something.

    Before she could throw the Spell though, Archie stepped forward, putting himself in the line of fire, and sighed again, looking ten years older and extremely weary: ¡°Isse, this is Nivera. Nivera, Isse. Please, young arachne, stop trying to kill her: people stronger than you have tried and failed, and this isn¡¯t even her main body, just an appendage she uses to look around.¡±

    Then he turned towards¡­ Nivera? Yes, that¡¯s the name he had used for her. He looked up at her smiling face, opened a hand, which now contained a pebble she was pretty certain he hadn¡¯t been holding up until now, and threw it with pinpoint accuracy right into her forehead.

    ¡°Ow! What was that for?¡± shouted the plant woman as she reeled back slightly.

    ¡°That was for being a nosy little insubordinate shit who cannot follow orders or a plan even to save her own life. What did I and Henricks say about going near the arachne or her eggs?¡±

    Nivera pouted, her lips seemingly enlarging to make the action more noticeable, and in lieu of an answer said: ¡°But they¡¯re so small and cute!¡±

    ¡°THEY¡¯RE GODSDAMNED EGGS! THEY¡¯RE NOT CUTE, THEY¡¯RE NOT ANYTHING YET! THEY¡¯RE NOT EVEN BORN!!!¡±

    He pointed at Isse, becoming more and more incensed as time went on: ¡°This one is less trusting than a wild goblin and is thrice as dangerous as one of our best soldiers. There¡¯s enough Mana inside her to put to shame a [Mage] with a [Mana Well] and she was raised by people who consider murder a chore instead of a crime. And still nothing in that Stars-damned head of yours made you go ¡®Yeah, maybe leaving the arachne¡¯s unborn progeny alone would be a good idea¡¯. No, of fucking course not.¡±

    He sat on the ground with a heavy sigh and put his face in his hands: ¡°Why am I surrounded by idiots?¡±

    Nivera made a grouchy face and stuck out her tongue: ¡°I¡¯m not an idiot!¡±

    The glare she got from the goblin made her slither backwards a bit more.

    ¡°I¡¯m really not! I just really like kids!¡±

    Archie¡¯s hand shot out towards the eggs: ¡°Do those look like kids?¡±

    Nivera nodded, arms appearing out of the serpentine form, which she crossed: ¡°Yes, they do! They¡¯re small and cute and fuzzy and I can see them through the shell. They¡¯re the most enchanting little darlings!¡± there was, again, clear excitement in her words, her arm uncrossing, her hands closing into tiny fists as she moved them around energetically, looking for all the world like a kid who¡¯d just seen a doggy playing in a puddle.

    At those words Isse lowered her arm, her eyes as wide as dishes, her pupils slowly expanding as the idea of being able to see her kids before their time came travelled through her mind and brought only joy.

    ¡°You can see them?¡± she asked at the same time as Archie, although the [Architect]¡¯s tone was more surprised than delighted.

    ¡°Of course I can. I¡¯m a [Carer], for Verdancy¡¯s sake!¡±

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    ¡°Could you show me?¡± without her noticing a smile had appeared on Isse¡¯s face, her canines showing through and dragging everyone¡¯s attention to them.

    The arboreal figure¡¯s smile turned slightly sour, a hand rising to the back of her ¡®head¡¯: ¡°Erm¡­ nope. Sorry, it¡¯s a Skill I have, I sadly can¡¯t show you. But don¡¯t worry: you¡¯ll only have to wait a few more days, then you¡¯ll see them.¡±

    Her cheerfulness came back with a vengeance at that last part as she gave her two thumbs up, the leaves forming her hands shifting around to make them look bigger.

    But Isse¡­ she didn¡¯t want to wait, to put it simply. Now that she knew that someone else could see her children, even before her, before their very own mother could get the chance, now that she knew that the possibility was there, out of her reach just because of some simple fucking rule imposed upon her by some nitwit gods and some incomprehensibly ancient being she¡¯d never met, well¡­

    She got angry.

    Then she remembered: arachne had always been very good at breaking the rules. And she just so happened to have the exact tool for that kind of job.

    So she smiled, a sinister gesture now, the other two could tell: ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about that, I¡¯m sure there is a way.¡±

    She raised her finger, a strand of webbing seemingly emerging from it, shining of a light of its own as she imbued her Mana into it. With a gentle, nonchalant, gesture, she waved her hand towards Nivera, her palm pointing up as if to offer a deal.

    But there would be none: she would just get what she wanted, if only because she was jealous of the possibility offered to this thing of nature. And it wouldn¡¯t hurt her, not at all! She¡¯d just sift around her memories a little bit, get to see her kids as the woman had seen them, and leave. Maybe she¡¯d even leave her a gift as she did that: repair some damage on the way out.

    The thread never reached Nivera.

    Instead Archie¡¯s hand rose with the speed of lightning, closing into a fist around the thread as he shouted: ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡±

    She didn¡¯t have time to react: her mana touched his. Their souls connected.

    And she was in.

    <hr>

    Darkness.

    It was so dark.

    Blacker than the depths of this world¡¯s trenches.

    Blacker than the hole in the world in Airm, the one the lead out.

    Blacker than Nothing itself.

    She stared into that darkness.

    And felt warmth. The warmth of an embrace she had felt once already, the day she had died on Earth. A warmth that Siidi recognized, even though she, like Isse, had forgotten.

    Then there was light.

    Only a pinprick, distant, oh so distant, and yet in that utter darkness it was blinding.

    Then there was agony: a sword piercing through her chest, passing right by her heart and piercing a lung, then going through on the other side. She screamed, looking down, trying to see the weapon that was killing her, but there was nothing, the pain was just a ghost of what had been, a distant memory kept fresh in some unknown way, like trying to freeze a person in ice to keep the body fresh.

    She screamed as the agony seemed to intensify. She screamed, and Siidi screamed too, and then they were one and still they were screaming together.

    Then the warmth touched them again.

    The agony was gone.

    The light was closer, less bright, friendlier.

    And then they ran away.

    <hr>

    Isse and Siidi, Issidi for now, two and one, fell to the floor, their body seemingly crumbling like an overly complicated sand castle under the unstoppable force of a stupid child. They could still feel the agony of those few moments spent in the recesses of the [Architect]¡¯s soul, the feeling of a sword stabbing through their body, a hair¡¯s breadth away from their rapidly beating heart.

    They wheezed, feeling the air going into their mouth, down their throat and into two whole lungs, and yet it still felt as if one of them had collapsed, as if their throat would flood with blood at any moment.

    And, beyond all of this, beyond the distant agony that they were certain shouldn¡¯t have felt so distant, there laid that memento of warmth, the distant, total opposite of the womb of their egg, and yet the same: the embrace of Death, the call of their creator, the promise that, in the end, there would be calm. They longed for that touch, longed to be welcomed, to be allowed to meet those they had lost so, so long ago and those they had lost only recently.

    A hand touched their hair, combing through them gently, like the hand of a kind [Teamaker] who wanted to help, who didn¡¯t, couldn¡¯t know better. They leaned into the kind touch, if only to escape that deep desire for those they had lost.

    The fingers felt cool as they travelled through their hair, as if the person had dipped their hand into a bucket of cold water. They were made all the more soothing because of that. It took them a while, seconds, or minutes, they couldn¡¯t tell, but in the end they also heard a voice singing tunelessly at them.

    Or maybe it¡¯s a song from somewhere else, they thought with an unexpected certainty, for there were words in the song, even though they couldn¡¯t understand them.

    ¡°Don¡¯t think, dear. Feel and rest. You¡¯ll get to see your young, that I promise to you.¡±

    They did just that: it felt good to let go for a moment, to forget about every problem, to just sit there, in the moment, and let go of everything.

    The voice spoke again, but not to them this time: ¡°What did you do to her?¡± it sounded angry, but that made no sense, for how could something so beautifully calming be capable of such a thing as anger.

    ¡°Me? Nothing. It was all her work. You know what the arachne are capable of, Ravenspoken told us the stories. She was going to do strange shit to your soul.¡±

    ¡°Archie, I don¡¯t have a soul.¡±

    ¡°...Pardon?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a plant Archie. Yes, I can think and feel and do all that stuff you fleshies can do, but I don¡¯t have a soul. I am an anomaly, I am a part of this world that learned to think. Trying to do ¡®strange stuff¡¯ to my soul would be like trying to read the world. It wouldn¡¯t have worked.¡±

    ¡°Well how was I supposed to know? I¡¯m an [Architect], not some godsdamned [Priest]!¡±

    The hand combing through her hair stopped for a moment as the woman sighed: ¡°I don¡¯t know. This situation¡­ it is different. I know how to deal with kids, that¡¯s my speciality.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s no kid.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re wrong: she¡¯s a kid who was forced to grow up too fast. I can tell. She suffered through a lot, too much for anyone her age. I¡¯m surprised she¡¯s not drowning in Blood.¡±

    The hand stopped combing her hair again as, suddenly, she felt tendrils of something cold and soft wind around both halves of her body gently, lifting her in the air with the kind of slowness one would reserve to a most precious package. She felt the air move on her skin as she was moved around until, in the end, she was placed back down on a silky, comfortable, surface, her human half placed against something warm: her eggs.

    A happy hum left her, a small smile on her face.

    Then: ¡°Sleep, dear. And remember: [Tomorrow Is Another Day].¡±

    With those words a strange sense of hope and calm filled her: it felt alien, maybe because she hadn¡¯t allowed herself the kindness of hope in a long time. But oh how sweet it felt right then and there.

    In the Mind Castle, she and Siidi cuddled close to each other and allowed oblivion to get them.

 Chapter 19: Meet the Alraune

    Either she slept for only a few minutes, or she was under for an entire day, because when she opened her eyes again the first thing Isse noticed was that the sun was shining from the same angle as before.

    The second thing she noticed was how refreshed she felt, as if she¡¯d slept the entire night under a blanket enchanted to always be chilly in just the right way. She stretched, being very careful not to jostle her little ¨C or rather, not so little anymore ¨C eggs. A smile crested her lips as she gently put her hand on one of them, caressing the smooth surface with all the care of someone handling a precious book that could crumble into dust at a moment¡¯s disattention. She opened her eyes further, allowing herself to see the Mana all around her, watching the endless, meaningless, threads slowly disappear as she concentrated on the ones she cared about: the threads that bound her to those eggs, to the souls they contained.

    Her smile only grew at that sight, the momentary joy managing to overwhelm even the slight headache that came from using this aspect of her magic. Oh, if only Grandmother had still been alive, how much more could she have learned to do? How many Spells, how many tricks, how much more power? But she wasn¡¯t, and Isse was alone now, knowing the basics of a school of magic that was despised by the rest of the world and, therefore, had been forbidden, forgotten, if not even Forgotten entirely. She¡¯d tried to teach herself more, she¡¯d tried to apply what she¡¯d been taught, hoping that she could be like a character from the books she¡¯d read while trapped in that hospital bed and recreate an entire branch of magic alone like they had.

    Those stories hadn¡¯t come even close to explaining the true complexity of that endeavor: after all, magic was that which allowed a person to change the very nature of the world and, apparently, the world was very much happy to stay the way it was.

    With a sigh she stopped her gentle caressing, finally rising from the ground and noticing just how hungry she felt.

    Welp, one more clue for the mystery of how long I slept.

    G¡¯mornin¡¯, slurred Siidi¡¯s voice from the back of her mind.

    Good morning sleepyhead.

    Says the sleepiest of them all.

    She chuckled, stretching again as she tried to remember what had happened yesterday.

    She¡¯d gone out, exploring the castle in search of food, and had found the kitchen. Inside she¡¯d met a rather grumpy goblin ¨C Archie, right, his name was Archie ¨C who¡¯d been eating some ungodly sandwich made from bread and broccoli. They¡¯d talked a bit, he¡¯d told her he was an [Architect] ¨C Archie the [Architect], pftt! ¨C and that the castle apparently liked to change, as if it was some horrible knockoff of an Escher painting.

    He¡¯d accompanied her back to her room, chatting with her all the while as if she wasn¡¯t the strangest thing he¡¯d seen all his life, as if she was¡­ normal. Not a monster, not a kid who¡¯d lost everything, not the last of her species: just two strangers who¡¯d hit it off well and were spending time together knowing full well that they may never speak again when they went their own way.

    She¡­ she hadn¡¯t realized how much she needed this until now.

    Then they¡¯d reached her room, she¡¯d opened her door and¡­ everything started blurring together after that: she thought she could remember some kind of big green snake slithering through her window, getting dangerously close to her eggs, how she¡¯d thrown a [Fireball] at it in an attempt to protect her children, and how the creature had, after only a moment of panic, shrugged the attack off. And after that she couldn¡¯t piece anything else together other than a general sensation of anger, followed by a memory of agony and, afterwards, by sleep.

    Siidi, do you remember what happened yesterday before we fell asleep?

    Her soul half, unexpectedly, didn¡¯t immediately speak, and not because she was uncertain of the answer, no, her Skill, [Perceive Emotion], was telling her that she was hesitant.

    When she answered that last part was confirmed: I do, and if you don¡¯t then it¡¯s better it stays that way. You weren¡¯t at your best, Isse. You still aren¡¯t.

    Siidi, please, what happened? I need to know, if only to make sure it won¡¯t happen again.

    Her soul half hesitated again, then seemed to come to a decision: You were about to do something that would¡¯ve made Makira furious.

    That, more than anything, made her stop right in her tracks, her mind screeching to a halt like a train that''s had its emergency brake pulled by a too-curious child. If Siidi had been there with her physically she would¡¯ve turned her head towards her slowly, eyes wide in horror mixed with curiosity. Why?

    Because angering Makira was nearly impossible: she¡¯d never seen the ¡®Smiling Arachne¡¯ as anything other than cheerful, always filled with a boundless energy that she used to take care of them, be that by herding them together when they had to move someplace in the forest, or by climbing after the more rebellious children who liked to hide away in the trees, or even just by tucking them in at night, one by one, wishing them sweet dreams and leaving with a gentle caress on the head.

    She was the kindest person Isse had ever met. The idea of making her furious¡­

    ¡­

    Well, there had been two times actually.

    Once, the time she tried to forget the most, during that night, when she¡¯d seen the woman she considered her mother become a thing of nightmares. But that¡­ it was understandable, explainable even: she was defending them, trying to keep them safe by any means necessary.

    The only other time had been¡­ when she¡¯d tried to use the Skills that allowed her to change other people¡¯s emotions. Makira had not liked it and she¡¯d made sure that Isse understood the gravity of her actions, but even then, she¡¯d been merely angry.

    What could she have possibly done that would¡¯ve made her furious?

    Just¡­ please, if you ever feel like you¡¯re starting to lose control, talk to me. I¡¯m not exactly a paragon of calm, but two heads working together is usually better than one.

    There was a sense of playfulness in that last line and the young arachne had the distinct impression of a smile from it. With a sigh, she nodded.

    Alright, I¡¯ll do that.

    Promise?

    Promise.

    Pinky promise?

    Fuck off Siidi.

    Her soul half giggled.

    Then she stepped towards the window, remembering something Archie had told her: only the internal layout of the castle changed. With her ability to climb up walls she could easily move around the building without getting lost. Now, the only problem was that the kitchen didn¡¯t have a window to comfortably use in her venture for food and snacks, so she¡¯d probably have to either find and scare a servant ¨C she imagined a castle would have some, even though she hadn¡¯t seen any yesterday ¨C into telling her the way, or go exploring.

    Of the two options the former was the most appealing.

    With a sigh she placed the palms of her hands on the pristine glass of her window, her eyes straying back towards her yet unborn progeny, a smile tugging at her lips at the sight. Then she pushed, opening up her way towards the world outside.

    Many things caught her eyes and other senses the moment she stepped on the balcony. First and foremost among them was the cloudy sky, an expanse in different tonalities of gray and white covering the blue beyond from, she liked to imagine, one end of the horizon to the other. Then, after that, her eyes landed on the walls that surrounded the city, blocking said horizon. She admired the decorations that had been painstakingly painted on them, from scenes of workers building, she imagined, the very city she was in, to more lighthearted moments of joy in the form of people dancing to the tune of a [Bard].

    Why had they done this? Why spend so much time and resources for something so¡­ useless. And, she imagined, overlooked, especially after one had spent years living in this city? It didn¡¯t make sense to her, nor to Siidi either for that matter.

    Her thoughts were then stopped anew when she noticed another thing, one that warmed her heart immensely: it was snowing. Softly, slowly, flakes of white wondrousness were falling from the sky, painting the city¡¯s roofs in white. She imagined how much more beautiful the sight would be when the sun would manage to shine upon them, reflected a thousand times over and turning everything even white, brighter still, turning the city into a vision from Larnos itself.

    The next thing that registered in her mind was, surprisingly, how mild the weather was: it was chilly, sure, but not to the point of her needing a coat ¨C not that she had one. Albert had bought her one a while back, but it had been left behind in the workshop during her¡­ exciting escape ¨C more like a mild memory of autumn¡¯s last days.

    Which made her realize another thing: the garden underneath her, the one that was hidden in the very center of this palace, wasn¡¯t covered in snow. In fact, the trees were as green as could be, the lush leaves moving to an invisible, gentle, breeze, seemingly stuck in eternal spring. From the groove also came an unexpected sound: laughter. Childish laughter and screeching. There were kids under there.

    She wanted to explore it, if only because she was curious about what a bunch of children were doing in the royal palace, but mostly, because the trees made her feel at home. Sure, they were a lot less colorful than the one from her beloved forest, but¡­ they were there, unlike her old home, which had been turned into ashes.

    Her spidery feet were already on the railing when she noticed one last thing: there, right by the window, sitting on the stone (or marble, or whatever it was), were five little¡­ statuettes? Did that word apply when the things were made from leaves and bark? She decided that it did.

    Curious, she stepped closer, letting her eyes roam over the strange little display.

    It took her only a moment to realize that the statuettes were made in the form of arachne, the little spider halves made out of darker bark that seemed, at a glance, to even recreate the fuzziness of actual fur, thin twigs sprouting out of the abdomens to recreate paws. Their bodies, too, were made out of bark, although this one was lighter in color, as if trying to replicate skin. Long arms emerged from the distinctly feminine human halves, going as far as ending with hands with visible fingers. Whoever had made these must¡¯ve been a master [Crafter] with how detailed everything was. The final detail was the hair, made out of dark green pine needles that were somehow bound together to recreate a long, ¡®silky¡¯, mane.

    Had the artist behind these made five little statues of her?

    No, upon further inspection she saw that the faces were all subtly different from one another: one had a more rounded nose, another¡¯s lips were more defined, while another had bigger and more noticeable eyes than the others. All of them had a resemblance to her, but at the same time none looked exactly like her.

    She heard Siidi gasp in the back of her mind, followed by what might¡¯ve been a glass-shatteringly shrill ¡®EEEEEEEEEE¡¯ had it been uttered in the real world.

    As it was, it only managed to make her wince slightly while, with her mind¡¯s eye, she saw her soul half¡¯s feet tippy-tap on the stone floor of the highest tower of their Mind Castle.

    Then she screamed: Those are our children!

    For the second time in not even five minutes Isse¡¯s mind ground to a halt as she registered those words.

    As she understood them.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Internalized them.

    At which point she, too, began to scream in joy and jump in place.

    <hr>

    ¡°Miss Nivera, someone is screaming!¡±

    Nivera the Alraune, [Carer] for most of the children in the City of Occultism and good friend of the local king, had been playing a game of hide n¡¯ seek with a small group of kids. She was, of course, the Seeker, seeing as her body was quite hard to hide, what with it being stuck in place. Of course that meant nothing, not with the Skills that allowed her to turn all that was verdant in this world into an extension of herself, which was how she was playing.

    That is, until a little girl¡¯s small voice interrupted her.

    She looked down with a large smile that she had spent months perfecting back when¡­ when she¡¯d become what she was today. She was quite proud of this smile: it showed just the right amount of teeth, hiding the fact that they were sharp enough to make most predators in the jungles of Eva feel inadequate. Her full light green lips fit her bright viridian eyes perfectly, somehow complementing the paleness of her ¡®skin¡¯ made out of birch bark, the black lines twisted and turned into some sort of primitive makeup. All in all, she was not as beautiful and motherly as her actual body, not in this form built out of the garden she called home, but it was good enough, and the children loved it.

    ¡°Did something happen? Did anyone get hurt?¡± if a child had actually managed to hurt themselves then she¡¯d probably have to reward them: she could feel everything in her garden, so either they had somehow managed to sneak out ¨C impossible ¨C or they¡¯d found a way to confound her senses ¨C not as impossible actually. We are talking about children after all and they have the sometimes bad tendency to do surprising things.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± said the child, shaking her head hastily, her long hair whipping around her in a delightful way that made Nivera coo and want to hug her. She even had a Skill to make it better: [False Self: Soft Skin].

    Still, the fact that one of her children had heard someone scream wasn¡¯t good in the slightest.

    With a sigh she lowered her hand, patting the young girl¡¯s head kindly: ¡°Thank you for making me notice, Filia. Go, I¡¯ll take care of it.¡±

    The girl nodded energetically and ran away towards, she thought, her friends. Another sigh left her lips, this one with a hint of sadness to it: she was nearly six now, she¡¯d be leaving her side soon to go to school.

    School. The word still didn¡¯t quite fit in her mind for some reason. She knew it was a good thing: kids would go to school and there they¡¯d learn to write and count and do all sorts of things that would help them in the future. Even her makers, Nav and Sera, had talked about these schools back when they¡¯d still been with her, before their body had become more plant than corpse. And yet¡­ they were taking her kids away from her! Sure, they weren¡¯t hers hers, but still¡­ she didn¡¯t want them to go, didn¡¯t want them to grow up and leave and be made to do things that would keep them from her.

    She¡¯d long since come to accept that things had to be this way, of course, something that had even given her a Level in her [Carer] Class, but that didn¡¯t mean she liked it.

    Although the previous generation of kids she¡¯d looked after still came to visit her every so often, some of them even with kids of their own!

    Oh, they truly grew up so fast.

    Shaking her head, she centered herself: right, the screaming.

    ¡°[I See You],¡± she whispered under her breath, both with her true body, tucked away safely in a corner of the garden that wasn¡¯t supposed to be a corner ¨C she didn¡¯t question how that was meant to work, Archie said it would give her a headache ¨C and with her [False Self];

    The world opened up around her: no longer was her sight reduced to the mere few meters around her, no, now she was distinctly aware of all that was happening in her garden. She could see Norman and his friends playing tag in the Afternoon Clearing while Filia finally reached her friends and they went back to building a grand mansion with the wooden building blocks she created for them. She saw where her little hiders were, well, hiding, giggling quietly to themselves ¨C they were some actual good spots too! Maybe she could get away with surrendering in a few minutes.

    She saw Chrysalis ¨C such a cute name! ¨C climbing one of the trees nearby. She saw ¨C

    Wait a moment!

    ¡°Chrysalis! What did I say about climbing trees?¡± she appeared beside the girl, her body forming out of the trees and leaves nearby. She ¡®eeped¡¯ cutely, one of her hands losing its grip, although the other was still holding fast to a branch so she didn¡¯t fall. Not that she could¡¯ve ever hurt herself, Nivera would¡¯ve caught her in an instant.

    The girl had the decency to smile sheepishly as she put her wayward hand in place: ¡°Do not anger the squirrels,¡± she answered self assuredly in that childish voice that made Nivera¡¯s days brighter.

    She opened her mouth to contest that¡­ then closed it, narrowing her eyes: ¡°You cheeky little squirrel.¡±

    That caused the girl to giggle while Nivera shook her head and took her in her arms: ¡°You¡¯ll be the death of your mate Chrysalis, I¡¯m certain of it.¡±

    ¡°Mate? Blegh! I don¡¯t want no mate! When I grow up I¡¯ll go to Eva and climb the Tiurna Mountains, like that [Mountaineer] from the stories the King tells us! I won¡¯t be able to do that with a whiny little boy with me!¡±

    Nivera broke out into laughter at that and, had this false body of hers been able to, she would¡¯ve probably shed a tear. Instead she limited herself to laughing, and then laughing even harder when she saw the little girl¡¯s pout.

    ¡°Oh, Chrysalis, please never change.¡±

    Then she added: ¡°But do stop climbing trees when I¡¯m not around please. At least if you fall I can be there to catch you, and you remember how angry your mama was the last time you came back home all bumped and cut up. Can you promise me you¡¯ll ask me to look after you when next you want to climb a tree?¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re always looking!¡±

    ¡°Not always, Chrysalis. Not when I play hide n¡¯ seek, otherwise it¡¯s not fair for the other kids.¡±

    ¡°Aww.¡±

    ¡°Please, can you promise me you¡¯ll call me next time? Pleaseeeeeeeeee!¡± She did her best impression of puppy dog eyes at the girl, which made her giggle and nod.

    ¡°Ok ok!¡±

    ¡°Good. Now go play with the others, there¡¯s something I have to do!¡±

    ¡°Alright ¡®ta Nivera!¡±

    And she was off. That little promise would keep her careful for a few days, maybe even a couple of weeks. Then she¡¯d forget about it and they¡¯d have to do this whole dance again.

    She chuckled, shaking her head in resignation. Had anyone told her, decades ago ¨C or was it nearly a century now? Time had been strange back in the jungles ¨C that instead of eating these children for nutrients she would be taking care of them¡­ well, actually, the way she had been before her friend had changed her, she would¡¯ve probably just smiled wrongly and then eaten the messenger.

    Hmm, but maybe this figure of speech was to be used in reference to after the change. Yes, yes, that made more sense!

    Proud of herself ¨C while still scanning her garden ¨C she continued on that line of thought: had anyone told her this, she would¡¯ve been confused, maybe even scared. A while after that, she would¡¯ve found the thought adorable. Now? Well, she would¡¯ve told the person that they¡¯d forgotten to tell her how absolutely chaotic children were¡­ but still she wouldn¡¯t have changed anything.

    Finally, she was certain that none of the kids had hurt themselves. She¡¯d also come to the conclusion that maybe she should stop playing hide n¡¯ seek fairly with the kids: there were way too many chances of things going sideways while she wasn¡¯t overlooking the children, especially when the other nannies and carers were on their off days and couldn¡¯t help her.

    The most logical conclusion to come to with these findings was that Filia had just thought she¡¯d heard someone scream, but then again, she was a quite intelligent child, so maybe¡­

    That was when she remembered: there was someone whose room had been placed to overlook her garden. Someone for whom she had left a little present after the way her encounter had ended yesterday: their new guest.

    The arachne.

    She smiled then: she¡¯d woken up, seen her little gift and, well, the excitement had gotten the best of her.

    With but a thought she created another [False Self], dividing her mind in half, her thoughts becoming simpler in the process to make things easier.

    With a delighted smile she sent her new self towards the window, her body turning more and more serpentine as she ascended, losing its humanoid aspects such as her femininity, then her clothes, and finally her hair (nothing in regards to her legs: she¡¯d never had any and found them strange to begin with). The only part of her that didn¡¯t transform was her face.

    Finally, she reached the window that she was certain led to their new guest¡¯s room¡­ and actually she¡¯d gotten the wrong one. How silly of her!

    A few seconds later she got the right one and, sure enough, there was the arachne, still somewhat dancing in place as she admired the little figurines she¡¯d made of the children she¡¯d seen through her Skill.

    ¡°Well, I see you liked my little gift,¡± she giggled at her own joke. The statues were small after all, so the gift was little!

    The girl jumped in place and, at the same time, turned around, a shout of surprise escaping her lips.

    <hr>

    ¡°Well, I see you liked my little gift!¡± said a voice from behind her, followed a moment later by a girly giggle.

    Isse jumped in place and turned around, hand rising to launch a Spell if worse came to worst.

    She found herself looking at a serpentine figure with a rather human face that was smiling brightly at her. An arm emerged from the strange thing, waving merrily at her, little fingers that seemed quite skeletal wiggling with the motion.

    For a moment she remembered the strange vision from yesterday, of a creature so much like this one hovering over her eggs, and she got ready to throw a [Lightning Bolt] at it.

    But then she saw the smile, so kind and happy, and she replayed the being¡¯s words slowly, and, as if that wasn¡¯t enough, her Skills shouted at her that the being was feeling nothing short of joy!

    So she calmed down, lowering her hand and tilting her head sideways, allowing her curiosity to peak through as she spoke: ¡°Who, and what, are you? I¡¯m Issekina Silksoul, by the way, an arachne and, apparently, a guest.¡±

    At her words the creature squealed and ¡®jumped¡¯ in place, if moving up and down could be counted as jumping, and she nearly went for what Isse imagined was a hug, although she stopped at the last moment: ¡°Hello! My name is Nivera and I¡¯m so glad to meet you! Oh, this is already going so much better than yesterday! You didn¡¯t even try to set me on fire!¡±

    Ok, so she hadn¡¯t imagined that part. Honestly, she didn¡¯t feel too guilty about it.

    ¡°But I forgive you! No need to worry! After all, I was maybe a tad too close to the eggs and my teachers always said that I should be careful with mothers and their kids, both born and unborn, so that is absolutely on me and I don¡¯t hold it against you that you tried to protect your eggs ¨C¡±

    Wow, she really liked to talk¡­

    ¡°¨C Oh and yes, you did ask, I¡¯m an alraune! Yes yes, I know, alraune aren¡¯t supposed to be sentient like me, nor are we supposed to have Levels, and yes, we are known for turning people into food after seducing them, but that¡¯s aaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllllllllll in the past! At least for me! I¡¯m one hundred percent earth-itarian, which is like, vegetarian but for plants, so I, like, only feed on stuff from the ground, although Archie and the others do give me some tasty animals every now and then! Mhhhhmmmm, I want some pig now.¡±

    Alraune? Never heard of them.

    They¡¯re originary of Eva, from the jungles, unsurprisingly. Supposedly they¡¯re a kind of plant that evolved to attract prey by recreating a human form. Basically, they¡¯re a human sized flytrap. But, as she said, they¡¯re not sentient. They don¡¯t think, unlike this one. I wonder how that happened? Some kind of Spell that went awry maybe?

    Interesting.

    Meanwhile the alraune, Nivera, kept on blathering on in the background, until she finally stopped: ¡°Anyways, it¡¯s very nice to meet you!¡±

    For a moment there Isse felt the sting of embarrassment as she wondered how in the world she could¡¯ve ever thought that the woman in front of her could¡¯ve ever been anything but kind, but then, her motherly instincts were in overdrive most of the time nowadays, so she could be excused.

    ¡°The pleasure is all mine Nivera. So¡­ what do you do here?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I think I told you. Or did I not? Did I forget? I can be such a clutz sometimes! Anyways, yes, I¡¯m a [Carer]. Well, not just that, naturally, my Class did all that evolution and consolidation stuff, but most of the time I¡¯m the [Carer] for all the children that are brought here. Daycare! Yes, that¡¯s the word! I¡¯m the [Carer] for daycare! Oh, it even rhymes,¡± she giggled.

    ¡°I¡¯ll probably do the same for your children when they get out of their eggies! If you want, naturally,¡± her tone changed slightly on that last sentence, going from that bubbly voice that promised nothing but joy to a strange seriousness that seemed out of character for the Nivera she¡¯d come to know in these short minutes.

    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯ll think about it, thank you.¡±

    ¡°No problem!¡± and there she was, back to the Nivera she knew.

    ¡°Oh, I gotta go back to the kids now! Dividing myself like this is fun and all that but it makes keeping them in check so much harder. Will I see you this evening for dinner?¡±

    Dividing? What did she mean by that?

    ¡°I¡­ maybe?¡± she wasn¡¯t sure she wanted to, so she went for the first thing that came to mind, ¡°I don¡¯t know where the dining room is.¡±

    She realized how stupid of an excuse it was the moment the words left her mouth.

    ¡°Oh don¡¯t worry, I can show you! Sure, you¡¯ll have to get in from the window, but that¡¯s why Archie made them so big in the first place! But don¡¯t feel obligated, alright? I don¡¯t want you to be uncomfortable¡­ and stuff.¡±

    Isse felt the sudden weight that had appeared on her heart dissolve into smoke: it was still there, graying out her emotions and thoughts, but at least it wasn¡¯t as bad.

    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯ll think about it. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll knock on the window when it¡¯s time, alright?¡±

    Isse nodded.

    ¡°Then have a nice day!¡±

    And, with that, she disappeared, her body dissolving in front of her eyes, turning into sticks and leaves, falling impossibly gracefully towards the ground. In the end, only a single leaf was left as it gently fell on top of her head, its near-absent weight feeling like a gentle caress.

 Chapter 20: A Ragtag Gang of Idiots

    In the end Isse got lost.

    It wasn¡¯t surprising, really: she didn¡¯t know the new layout of the castle and had no idea where she was going, and it turns out that the trick of ¡®always take a left turn¡¯ only worked for labyrinths, whereas in a castle built by someone relatively sane it only managed to make you go in circles.

    Of course she wasn¡¯t really lost, not completely at least: there were windows in most of the corridors she wandered through, which meant that, at any moment, she could¡¯ve just walked out of one and climbed back up to her room. So far she had found a lot of bedrooms, broom closets, a stairway that led down and down and down into impenetrable darkness, more broom closets, what she was pretty certain was meant to be an office but looked more like a museum for bladed weapons of all kinds, a library that she was pretty certain had to be contained inside one of the five towers because there was no way it could otherwise be so big, even more broom closets ¨C Archie must¡¯ve really worried about where the [Maids] would keep the cleaning supplies ¨C and a few other strange rooms which function she hadn¡¯t managed to decipher.

    And still, no kitchen.

    ¡°This is just evil,¡± she told aloud, taking a deep breath and releasing it in a single, long, sigh.

    ¡°Meh, you get used to it,¡± said someone to her side.

    ¡°Really?¡± she asked the mysterious voice, for some reason finding it completely normal and not frightening at all that someone had managed to sneak up on both her and Siidi.

    ¡°Yeah. I still remember my first day here: I left my room and, after a while, had to go to the toilet, but I couldn¡¯t for the love of me find a single one. In the end I threw myself out of a window and did my business behind a tree in Nivera¡¯s garden.¡±

    She snorted at that, while in her mind she was trying to understand just why she didn¡¯t find the appearance of this stranger at all threatening. She knew for certain that, normally, she would¡¯ve gone for an attack.

    ¡°Hey, what are you doing to me?¡± she asked, as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

    For some reason she couldn¡¯t even make herself turn around to look at the source of the voice and, she also realized, she couldn¡¯t tell whether it was male or female.

    ¡°Hmm? What do you mean?¡± it asked, curiosity trickling from every word. She could nearly imagine the thing¡¯s featureless head tilting to the side.

    ¡°I can¡¯t feel your presence, I can¡¯t turn around to look at you, even your voice is somehow camouflaged.¡±

    ¡°What¡­ oh fuck! Sorry, sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to do this, I¡¯m really sorry. It¡¯s my Aura, I tend to forget about it because people who know me are unaffected. Just give me a moment!¡±

    As he said that, suddenly, she felt like an invisible blanket she hadn¡¯t noticed had been there had just been removed from her head. Everything seemed somehow clearer, her breathing came easier and the world seemed filled with scents she hadn¡¯t noticed had disappeared up until now.

    Finally, she turned around, looking at the cause of this strange and surreal experience.

    He was¡­ unassuming was the best way she could use to describe him. Or maybe saying that he ¡®fit¡¯ where he was standing would¡¯ve been better. His face wasn¡¯t memorable, with dull brown eyes, a small nose, thin lips that were nearly indistinguishable from the rest of his face, all of this crowned by short, straight brown hair. He could¡¯ve easily disappeared in a crowd, becoming one with the flow of people. In a word, he was meaningless, but, somehow, in a¡­ purposeful way?

    The only thing that stood out about him was the amount of pockets in his otherwise nondescript black trousers, while above he wore a white button up shirt with two more pockets on each breast completing his look.

    ¡°Well, as far as first impressions go, that could¡¯ve gone better,¡± he said, a slight smile worming its way on his face, communicating both guilt and no little amusement. Not that it would¡¯ve been easy to understand: he was clearly trying to hide his emotions behind a facade of meaningless repetitive words; the only reason why she could even see them was thanks to her Skill and her training as a [Spy].

    ¡°Yeah, well, I¡¯ve had worse,¡± she said, thinking about how her relationship with Siidi had started.

    Hey! You would¡¯ve done the same in my place.

    I don¡¯t really want to think about it, what happened to us wasn¡¯t exactly¡­ typical.

    ¡°Yes, I can imagine that, what with you being an arachne and all,¡± there was no judgement in his voice. Another person who treated her¡­ normally.

    ¡°By the way, where are my manners? The name¡¯s Fred. Just Fred. I¡¯m the [Minister]. Actual Class too, unlike the others.¡±

    ¡°...What?¡±

    ¡°Technically speaking we¡¯ve got a lot of [Ministers]. Archie¡¯s supposed to be the Minister of Infrastructure, Nivera¡¯s the Minister of Agriculture, Tiana is the Minister of War. Problem is, they¡¯re just titles ¨C and not even ones recognized by the System at that ¨C they never got the Classes since they never wanted them. They just do their job and that¡¯s it.¡±

    ¡°So, what sort of minister are you?¡±

    ¡°The [Minister].¡±

    ¡°Yes, but of what?¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯m the [Minister], it¡¯s my job to¡­ minister things.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not a word.¡±

    ¡°Well, as a [Minister] I have the power to say that it is.¡±

    ¡°...Oh, I get it, you¡¯re the funny one. Archie¡¯s the grumpy one, Nivera¡¯s the ditz, Tiana is the crazy one, Henricks is the mysterious one and the king¡­ we¡¯ll see. I imagine he¡¯s the wise type seeing how he¡¯s the king and everything.¡±

    Fred smiled at that, a genuine gesture that managed to pass his carefully controlled expression. He was emanating amusement and it was a bit disquieting with how neutral he looked otherwise.

    ¡°Hmmm, let me give you a tip young lady: this is the Kingdom of Occultism. It is a place of mystery and strangeness, where the lost and the outcasts find a home and like minds, where strange paths to power are explored and peace is found for the weary souls. In short, don¡¯t judge the many books of this grand library by the cover, it¡¯s a mistake that has caused the downfall of many of our enemies.¡±

    He can¡¯t do that! He¡¯s supposed to be the serious-funny guy stereotype, he can¡¯t suddenly become ¡®the sage¡¯. That¡¯s against the rules! shouted Siidi in fake outrage.

    She agreed wholeheartedly.

    ¡°Alright then mister [Minister]. I guess I don¡¯t need to present myself, am I right?¡±

    ¡°Issekina of Clan Silksoul, plus a guest, arachne, apprentice of a [Spymaster] of the Greatest Game, [Mage] of some sort, don¡¯t ask me which one I¡¯m useless when it comes to magic. I¡¯ve got an idea of what you are, yes, but not of who you are. That¡¯s going to take more time.¡±

    In truth she had stopped listening the moment he¡¯d mentioned the part about her having ¡®a guest¡¯. Could he possibly¡­?

    ¡°Guest?¡±

    ¡°Hmm? Oh, yes, there¡¯s something more to you. Among the things I have to do as a [Minister], the most important of them all is understanding people, learning to know them, their habits, the ways they think and act. I¡¯ve got a few Skills that help with that. And right now they¡¯re quite literally shouting at me that it¡¯s not just you and me talking in here. Haaa, you [Spies] are the worst, always with tricks up your sleeves, although in your case I don¡¯t understand what those might be. You were brought here to get help, to find peace of a kind, and you don¡¯t seem the type to betray us, so what I¡¯m feeling is probably not a communication Spell that leads to someone outside the city.

    ¡°I have no idea what it is, so I¡¯m just labeling that second presence as a ¡®guest¡¯ and hoping that I won¡¯t regret not digging into it more.¡±

    Isse¡¯s heartbeat began to slow down at that, her pupils slowly dilating from the pinpricks they had become.

    ¡°That¡¯s going to be a poorly kept secret, Issekina. All the people that matter¡­ more than the others, in this castle, have ways to tell what I did, they¡¯re just more polite than me. Except for Archie: he¡¯s just a spinach headed idiot who snores loudly and eats things that horrify the [Chefs].¡±

    She latched onto that last part nearly desperately, wanting to steer the conversation away from the fact that he¡¯d felt the presence of her soul-half. In many ways it didn¡¯t make sense for her to keep the secret: it¡¯s not like Siidi was some kind of evil mastermind ¨C

    I interject! I¡¯m plenty evil and plenty masterminded.

    ¨C she was an objectively good person ¨C

    Well now, let¡¯s not exaggerate. I¡¯m good for and with you.

    ¨C but at the same time¡­ having her as a hidden ally seemed like the best thing. Because¡­ what if everything went wrong? What if she had to escape again and the enemy somehow knew about Siidi, creating countermeasures against her?

    She was being paranoid, she knew it, and yet¡­ was it truly paranoia now? After all her escapes, after all her suffering.

    No, it was better to try and keep it all secret.

    So she changed the subject: ¡°Yeah, I met him yesterday in the kitchen. He was eating a sandwich with broccoli.¡±

    Fred made a face at that, disgust painting his features: ¡°Stars and devils, he¡¯s worse than a pregnant woman with cravings.¡±

    Isse felt her throat contract at that, a powerful snort escaping her nose without her saying so.

    ¡°Speaking of, you want a snack? It¡¯s way past lunch but the [Chefs] should already be working on the dinner and if I¡¯m there they won¡¯t be against making us something on the fly.¡±

    ¡°About that: why does the kitchen not have a window? It would make everything so much easier for me to get there.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s Nivera¡¯s fault. We had a window in there, but she kept using it to steal snacks, so we had to wall it up.¡±

    ¡°What? You don¡¯t have the money to spend on some extra food?¡±

    He snorted, a smile creeping on his lips: ¡°What? No! It¡¯s just bad for her. Niv gets bloated if she eats too much and afterwards she hibernates. We lost her for three months the last time because of her excessive snacking. The parents were amused, but not very happy that the only kindergartener of the city had decided to take a nap for all of winter.¡±

    Ah. Well¡­ that felt like something the plant woman would¡¯ve done.

    ¡°It¡¯s your fault for not thinking about a contingency plan!¡±

    ¡°I mean, on the one hand, you¡¯re not wrong, on the other, none of us were politicians at the time ¨C still aren¡¯t for the matter ¨C or knew how Niv worked ¨C still don¡¯t by the way.¡±

    ¡°Does she even have a stomach to eat now that I think about it? She¡¯s made of plantstuff after all.¡±

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    Fred shook his head: ¡°Wondering about that woman¡¯s biology is a surefire way to walk the road of insanity. Whatever happened to her that allowed her to think also¡­ changed her in ways we don¡¯t quite understand. And, truth be told, we don¡¯t even need to. She¡¯s our friend and companion, and a good [Carer], and that is all that matters.

    ¡°Now, if you want to get something in that stomach of yours, wherever that may be in your body, follow me, and I¡¯ll tell you a few tricks to orient yourself better in this castle.¡±

    So it was that she followed Fred, listening as he told her about this particular decoration on a wall that meant she was close to the library, or that particular window with a slightly askew windowsill, and so on and so forth. There were so many little things in the castle, tells and secret errors that spoke of years of hard work and love, memories and emotions infused in every brick, every wooden beam, every door and every tile, it was as if it was all¡­ alive and joyous about it.

    For his part Fred, the [Minister of Life], smiled at the lost girl that had found her way into their life. He could already tell that she was going to be a lot of trouble. Good trouble, at least.

    This castle really needed a bit more life in it.

    <hr>

    I¡¯m still not sure how he managed to convince me to come to this dinner, thought Isse.

    He said there would be lots of good food. Especially meat since you were going to be there.

    It scares me how certain he was that we¡¯d show up.

    He¡¯s a politician Isse, they¡¯re good at predicting and manipulating people.

    You sure we¡¯re thinking about the same politicians?

    Nah, I¡¯m talking about the ones in this world. Your world¡¯s politics is just a lot of dudes and lasses playing at who¡¯s got the biggest dick. They wouldn¡¯t last five minutes in a debate against a [King] from here.

    She let her darkest impulses win over and imagined a group of pantsless politicians from her time showing off the size of their genitals, while the women wore big strap ons to join in. Siidi choked on nothing in the back of her mind and began cackling madly, soon followed by Isse.

    Nivera, who was walking beside them on the forest ¨C garden, it was a garden, no matter how big it was ¨C floor, looked at them with an amused smile, raising an eyebrow questioningly but not saying a single word.

    Interacting with her was so strange now: she¡¯d gotten used to talking to her more¡­ ditzy persona. Speaking with her normal self, without her mind being ¡®stupidified¡¯ by literally dividing her brain in half was an experience. She talked like a well learned woman, her voice low and controlled, her smiles small but heartfelt, the motherly warmth she¡¯d radiated even in the version of her she¡¯d known at first increased even further. She looked and felt like¡­ like Makira, in a way. A kinder, less broken, Makira, who didn¡¯t feel the need to hide the scars and still weeping wounds behind all her smiles. Not that Nivera felt scarred.

    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Oh, nothing, just¡­ had a funny thought. Very stupid.¡±

    ¡°Stupid thoughts aren¡¯t stupid if they¡¯re funny. Nothing that can bring a genuine smile is stupid.¡±

    ¡°What if someone smiles because they killed someone else?¡±

    ¡°Killing isn¡¯t stupid. It¡¯s cruel.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t so certain: Albert had always said that war was the stupidest thing in the world exactly because it involved a lot of senseless killing. She told this to the alraune and the woman shrugged: ¡°You¡¯ll seldom find people who find the prospect of death so pleasant, especially among people who¡¯ve been through a war already. Some will find it necessary, maybe, but pleasant, funny even? If so, either you¡¯ve been touched by Blood, or you will be.¡±

    Yep, strange! The way she spoke, the calm aura that surrounded her, it was as if she was talking to someone else entirely.

    ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking dearie: I¡¯m strange. A completely different person from who you thought I was.¡±

    Isse shrugged: ¡°I mean, can you blame me? The first time I met you I apparently went berserker and tried to do something bad to you, and I can¡¯t even remember what it was, while the second ¨C arguably first at this point ¨C time we interacted you were this ditzy woman with hearts for eyes. And now you seem so much more mature and¡­ as you said, it¡¯s kind of strange.¡±

    She chuckled, a low, gentle, sound that flowed out of her like honey being drizzled into warm milk, a soothing melody played in piano and violin that promised all would be well and all manner of things would be well.

    ¡°Well, it is the spirit of this Kingdom after all: it feels appropriate that things here are strange.¡±

    Then, finally, they reached the end of the garden, the trees suddenly stopping and letting them see the wall ahead. Or rather, where she expected the wall should¡¯ve been. Instead, she was greeted by the sight of a small, cozy, dining room. Four columns that were clearly merely decorative, with stony vines that crawled all over them, supported a small fronton filled with sculptures of flying crows, all pointing towards¡­ was that a wreck of a ship? Yup, it was indeed. A rather peculiar choice of subject but, so far, it didn¡¯t even come close to being the strangest thing she¡¯d seen.

    Beyond the columns was a cozy little room, with a big, yet simple, wooden table in the middle set for seven people.

    One of the seats, the one to the right of the one at the head of the table, was already occupied.

    The two women walked into the charming space, Isse taking her time to admire it from every angle, before she let her gaze settle on the only other person in the room. The man had dark black hair, which he had cut short. His eyes were a warm blue that made her think of the depths of the ocean. He wore simple clothes: a button-up shirt that, once upon a time, must¡¯ve been black, but was now more dark gray, and comfortable looking white pants.

    But the most striking feature about him were his hands: they were scarred beyond belief, as if someone had taken a knife to them with glee before ripping the skin off for good measure. While the rest of his skin looked slightly tanned, the hands were nearly as white as the snow outside.

    Deciding that she didn¡¯t care for social norms, she stared at them intensely, as if by looking at them the man would suddenly act up a little puppet show with them and tell her the tale of why his appendages were in such a sorry state.

    ¡°Good evening, my dear ladies. Nivera, how does your garden grow?¡±

    The plant woman bowed her head slightly in greeting as she answered: ¡°It is at peace, my friend.¡±

    Isse stared at the two, completely flabbergasted by how alien this simple greeting had been.

    As if reading her mind, Nivera explained: ¡°It was a greeting among the people of my teacher. A people who no longer exist, sadly.¡±

    The arachne couldn¡¯t contain herself as she bitterly said: ¡°What, were they all killed? Sounds like a habit in this world.¡±

    She shook her head no, her expression turning far away as she seemingly allowed herself to fall into distant memories: ¡°No. The sands of time buried them, simple as that. Their death was silent, or so my teacher always liked to say. It was inevitable.¡±

    Silence fell on the small room like a wet blanket, locking them in place, the wetness soaking into their bones ¨C or bone equivalent ¨C and filling them with unease.

    That is, until the man at the table clapped his hands, the sound breaking the spell: ¡°Well now, let us not reminisce of sad things. Tonight is a night of celebration, after all! We have someone new joining our ranks!¡±

    With a grand gesture made only slightly sillier by him still sitting in the most ungentlemanly way imaginable on his chair, the man pointed at Isse, bowing his head deeply: ¡°I welcome you, Issekina Silksoul, to the Kingdom of Occultism.¡±

    She couldn¡¯t contain herself, raising an eyebrow, as she countered: ¡°[General] Tiana already beat you to the punch mister.¡±

    ¡°Really? She betrayed me like that? Oh, my poor little heart,¡± he put a hand to his chest, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water and acting as if he was having a heart attack, ¡°She always hurts me so, that differently tall woman.¡±

    ¡°Differently tall?¡± she asked.

    "Textual words I¡¯m afraid,¡± said a new voice. Turning towards its source she saw Archie walking in through an opening in the wall that hadn¡¯t been there a moment ago. As he stepped inside it closed on silent hinges. A secret passage, really?

    Oh my Stars I need to visit them!

    Didn¡¯t you get enough of those in [Lady] Serafia¡¯s mansion?

    Isse, my dear, my sister, my eternal soul half ¡®till Death do us apart, there can never be too many secret passages in a person¡¯s life.

    ¡°The last person who described her with something that came close to the word ¡®small¡¯ was never found again,¡± continued the goblin as he took his place on the left of the head of the table.

    A moment later she felt someone else approach and, turning around, she saw the reason she was here to begin with: Fred.

    ¡°She can be quite bloodthirsty, our disgraced [Archer],¡± he nodded a greeting towards her as he passed by, going to sit beside Archie, who immediately glared up at him, although without any real heat behind the gesture.

    Nivera chuckled at that, going to sit beside the man whose name she still didn¡¯t know: ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting someone to beat me in terms of blood thirst.¡±

    ¡°Vampiric plants like you don¡¯t count for such things Niv,¡± said the man beside her.

    ¡°Aww, and here I was, hoping to beat the lot of you at one more thing.¡±

    ¡°Still can¡¯t beat me at Adventurer¡¯s Journey.¡±

    At that the alraune pouted: ¡°For someone who never played anything you took to that game like a shroom to wet mulch.¡±

    ¡°I had a great teacher.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s talking about me?!¡± shouted a familiar, boisterous, voice from somewhere behind and upwards of her.

    A moment later Tiana dropped onto the grass, wearing civilian clothing and carrying a much smaller bow. Her usual smile stretched even further on her face the moment she caught sight of Isse. She jumped up, probably to go for some sort of tackle hug, but was grabbed mid air by the second to last member of this ragtag group: Mr Henricks.

    The [Cleaner] had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, one arm calmly resting behind his back, the other raised to grab the little woman who, Isse decided, made her think of a chihuahua. The half-elf raised her fists like the tiniest boxer in the world and attempted to hit the man in the face, with little success seeing how long his arms were.

    Henricks, for his part, simply looked at her with a raised eyebrow that expressed so much judgement that Tiana¡¯s cheeks reddened slightly. He then proceeded to carry her towards the free spot by Fred¡¯s side, giving Isse what she thought was an apologetic look as he passed by her.

    And all the while the others bickered among themselves, filling the room with chatter and chuckles or outright laughs and making it look for all the world like she wasn¡¯t standing in the same room as ¨C as Fred had told her ¨C the people who ruled this entire country.

    Finally, Henricks moved towards the last man, his fist rising towards his mouth as he coughed politely: ¡°That would be my spot.¡±

    His words managed to attract the strange man¡¯s attention, who sighed as he started to rise: ¡°Seriously, Henricks? For once you could take the head seat: your chair¡¯s so much more comfortable.¡±

    ¡°They are all the same chairs.¡±

    ¡°Nah, yours is more comfortable, I¡¯m sure! I bet it¡¯s some secret Skill of yours.¡±

    The [Cleaner] shrugged, revealing nothing.

    As he finally took his place, the man with no name so far smiled one last time at her, clapping his hands, causing everyone at the table to fall silent.

    The sudden absence of noise felt jarring: it reminded her of the lack of sounds in Grandmother¡¯s clearing, and she straightened her spine slightly as the memory and the moment became one, half expecting her Elder to poke her head into the room and tell her off for slouching.

    Then, finally, he spoke: ¡°Welcome, Issekina Silksoul. I¡¯m Ravenspoken and, well, you¡¯ve met the others, one way or another. I¡¯m the [King] around here.¡±

    He said it with such nonchalance, as if the Class, the title behind it, the meaning and the power put in those four, simple, letters, was completely meaningless.

    And, she realized, to him, that was just it. [King] was a Class, with Skills and advantages and everything, but in the end, it didn¡¯t mean anything. He had gained the title through the sweat of his brow and the keenness of his mind. Not through blood, not through conquest.

    And because of that his title gave him more power, his Class more solid, more anchored into the depths of his soul, all the more empowered by the way he¡­ didn¡¯t take himself seriously? That¡¯s the read she had gotten from him so far and¡­ she had to admit, it didn¡¯t sound half bad.

    ¡°I¡¯m also one of the last [Storytellers] left in the world and, maybe, most important of all, one of the last people to know the tales of the arachne. Their actions, both kind and unkind ¨C mostly unkind, but what choice did you have?¡±

    He gestured towards the last empty seat at the table: ¡°I welcome you among my own, Issekina. To repay a kindness to an old man who saved my life and helped give it meaning, and to help one of the last of her kind.¡±

    She looked at him.

    Uncertainty boiled in the depths of her belly, mixing with a tinge of desperation and hopelessness, all of it inside a pot brought to a simmer by the flames of her past experience.

    The doubt was a known one: can I? Or rather, better even: should I?

    Could she allow herself to sit¡­ not on that chair, it was too small for her, but you get the gist of it. Could she let herself do it? Would it doom the people in this room?

    And, worst of all: could she allow herself to relax, to feel at peace? These people had spent the last few days trying to subtly help her, trying to make her feel at home, safe, protected. But¡­ what if they failed at some point? What if she was forced to escape? She was quite sure that her heart and mind wouldn¡¯t take that well, especially now that she wouldn¡¯t be the only arachne.

    Coul ¨C

    Isse.

    Siidi¡¯s voice stopped her racing thoughts in their tracks, her calm tone soothing her soul.

    Sit down. You have earned this much. We¡¯ll take things as they come, overthinking will just hurt you.

    But ¨C

    No buts. Isse, please, trust the woman who comes from another time: thinking in ¡®what ifs¡¯ and ¡®maybes¡¯ will not help you. It¡¯ll only damage you, until you¡¯ll be unable to do anything for fear that it could hurt you further. If you care about yourself even a bit, and if you care for our children to be, please, sit down, relax, tell them the story of what happened to you, cry if you feel the need to, and then start anew. We¡¯ve always been good at that, at least.

    The words bounced around in her mind ¨C literally, she could feel little ¡®boing boing boing¡¯ sounds ¨C as she internalized them.

    Thank you, Siidi.

    Always.

    She sat down.

    And the first plate for the evening was brought in.

 Chapter 21: Fine Dining

    While Isse and Siidi, Issidi for a short while, dined on fine meats that tasted like nothing they¡¯d ever eaten in this life or the previous one ¨C courtesy of the appropriate application of spices by masterful [Chefs] ¨C and listened to this small group of friends as they chattered among themselves about their day and its happenings, trying to make her feel at home and welcome, waiting for her to join the conversation and tell them about herself, in other places of the world different people enjoyed more or less complex meals.

    The closest group to our ragtag gang of broken mirrors was a quartet having a jolly good time in a tavern not a kilometer away from our arachne.

    Moon and Shriya, together with the naga Murgia and his lover, the [Sky Captain] Furioso, sat at a worn but lovingly kept table in the ¡®Miner¡¯s Retreat¡¯. The owner of the place, Alan Gris, had, once upon a time, before joining Ravenspoken and his people, worked as a [Miner] on Eva, part of a crew owned by a company which name was better left unremembered.

    He and a few of his friends had left the day this strange man, accompanied by, of all things, a goblin, had passed by the mines, telling a story of a people who¡¯d travelled to this world using the roots of some strange, ancient, tree. He¡¯d told them he had come looking for people willing to help him achieve something insane, maybe even slightly impossible: create a new city. They¡¯d accepted, on the one condition that they¡¯d never have to work in a mine for the rest of their lives.

    And so here they were. Alan had become the owner of this relatively fine establishment, one of his friends working as the [Cook] while another worked the counter and made drinks. The others had chosen the most disparate jobs: one had become a [Baker], another had chosen to undergo hellish training under Tiana, now working on the walls ¨C ¡°As far away as possible from the ground¡±, he liked to say ¨C and so on and so forth.

    They were happy.

    Just like the quartet currently chatting at the table.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be honest, with treatment like this the crew could very well choose to burn our flag,¡± said Murgia as he took a sip from his mug of beer, his serpentine tongue first flitting out to give it a taste and, finding it good, he started chugging.

    ¡°I¡¯d like to say this is insubordination, but he¡¯s not lying,¡± agreed the captain as he cut through a nearly blue rare steak.

    His lover looked at his choice of dish with a raised eyebrow ¨C much the same way Moon and Shriya both were in truth ¨C that spoke volumes of his approval for the choice of food.

    ¡°What is it with you jungleborn and a good, saucy, rare steak? Every single time I buy one you always act as if I¡¯m the dumbest man alive, Murgia, but I thought that was only a you thing. Now I¡¯m feeling judged even by your friends.¡±

    The naga chuckled at that, shaking his head slightly: ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ a habit, shall we say.¡±

    ¡°More like a way to stay alive,¡± disagreed Moon vehemently, ¡°Rare meat in the jungles is just a surefire way of getting some bad parasites that will turn you into their personal broodmother.¡±

    Furioso had been bringing a forkful of delightfully juicy meat to his mouth but, upon hearing those words, he stopped, mouth half open, a little drop of fat slowly travelling the whole length of the piece of meat he¡¯d cut off and dropping to his plate soundlessly.

    He very slowly put down his bite, crossing his hands in front of himself, staring Moon deep into her eyes: ¡°I¡¯m not hungry anymore.¡±

    Friya quirked an eyebrow, then grabbed the plate and started eating with gusto, to the captain¡¯s absolute astonishment. Three bites in she looked up at him and spoke through a mouthful of food: ¡°What? She said it was a bad idea in the jungles. We¡¯re on another continent. And you weren¡¯t hungry anymore.¡±

    And at that the other two broke down laughing, the tip of Murgia¡¯s tail tapping rhythmically against the wood as he did, causing a drink on a nearby table to spill. The customer, who¡¯d just watched ten coppers worth of beer fall on the table, fortunately away from his food, gave an irate look at the group of jungleborn ¨C and an extra ¨C and decided that he didn¡¯t fancy fighting ten meters of packed muscle, a [Mage] of some kind, a woman whose smile reminded him too much of [General] Tiana and a grizzled [Captain] over some beer.

    After they¡¯d all calmed down ¨C and Moon offered to pay for their neighbor¡¯s spilled drink ¨C and ordered some extra food, their conversation turned more serious.

    ¡°How¡¯s it going, Murgia? Really going, not the propaganda,¡± asked Moon, unusually serious.

    ¡°Last time I was in Alanna the situation was¡­ tense, to say the least, and that was years ago,¡± she added.

    The naga sighed, looking to his lover, his eyes asking a question whose answer was a slow nod.

    ¡°The situation isn¡¯t¡­ great. We haven¡¯t been back to base for a few months now but voices from the clouds say that the College got a delivery.¡±

    He gave them a meaningful look, his tone turning dark upon that last word.

    ¡°Wait, really?¡± Shriya¡¯s eyes had become as big as saucers as, in her excitement, she had risen from her seat.

    Furioso nodded: ¡°The Brothers Two came and plowed through everything the city threw at them. Apparently even managed to destroy part of the inner walls. Then they just¡­ disappeared.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean disappeared? Did they teleport somewhere?¡± asked Moon, whose curiosity had been picked.

    ¡°If it was just them, then sure. But no, even their carriage disappeared. Who in their right mind teleports an entire carriage?¡±

    ¡°Someone who cares?¡± tried the [Engineer].

    The naga shrugged: ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right, maybe you aren¡¯t. Point is, they delivered something and then they weren¡¯t there anymore, and ever since then the College¡¯s been in an uproar. The Grandmaster has called in every man and woman that wasn¡¯t already in the city. I think something big is brewing, and you know just as well as me that that doesn¡¯t bode well.¡±

    Both Shriya and Moon sighed, hitting their foreheads on the table at the same time, before the latter said: ¡°Let¡¯s just hope they don¡¯t attempt another crusade on the jungles.¡±

    The birdkin [Shaman] shook her head: ¡°No way they¡¯ll do that again, not after how¡­ welcoming the mountaineers were the last time.¡±

    At this point Furioso piped up for the first time in a while, his tone gruff and thoughtful: ¡°Ain¡¯t no need for permission from them mountain folk if you can just fly over them. And winter¡¯s about to end in not two weeks'' time, so they¡¯ll be able to sail in armies without repercussions.¡±

    ¡°I hate how right you are,¡± agreed Murgia with a sigh of his own.

    ¡°Well, nothing we can do about that now,¡± said Moon, rising back up and raising her tankard of beer, ¡°We¡¯re down here in Irevia, after all. Say I, let¡¯s toast instead: to a more peaceful future and less interesting times. To a world without the churches trying to capture me wherever I go.¡±

    The naga laughed uproariously at that, raising his own tankard and practically crashing it against hers.

    As for the captain and Shriya, they looked at each other with resigned expressions, the weight of their patience enough to sink a ship.

    When the duo calmed down, sitting back in their places, Shriya asked what was probably the most pertinent question: ¡°What will you two and your crew do now?¡±

    Furioso shrugged: ¡°I have no idea, truth be told. We could very well go back to Alanna and report your last known location. It¡¯d probably net us some good money too.¡±

    That gained him a glare from his naga boyfriend, one he attempted to ignore.

    ¡°Of course we¡¯d have to act as if you¡¯d damaged the airship just to make it more believable. And we¡¯d have to get the crew to agree with the plan in the first place. Most of them are loyal to the alannian cause.¡±

    If possible Murgia¡¯s glare had only intensified, upgrading from simple ¡®disapproval¡¯ to ¡®I can sear the flesh off your bones if I choose to¡¯.

    ¡°But that¡¯s inconvenient, am I right?¡± asked Moon with a little self-satisfied smile.

    ¡°A hassle is what it would be. I¡¯d give myself two hours back in Alanna before someone came to get me and put a rope around my neck.¡±

    ¡°So, what are you gonna do?¡± asked Shriya.

    ¡°Act like I¡¯ve just brokered us a deal for our lives. We¡¯ll give up, say, half our cargo, and say that was the price to leave with our lives. Then we¡¯ll go back to Alanna and act as if you¡¯re some kind of merciful angel out of Larnos. How¡¯s that sound?¡±

    Murgia¡¯s glare had softened slightly, but it was still clear that he didn¡¯t like the idea.

    ¡°Hmpf, I mean, can¡¯t say I dislike the plan,¡± started the [Engineer], ¡°especially since I¡¯m getting something out of it. Making ends meet ain¡¯t easy as a private flier. But¡­ I don¡¯t know, it doesn¡¯t sound good enough to me.¡±

    The captain raised an eyebrow: ¡°What, you want the entire cargo?¡±

    She shook her head dismissively, her hair rustling slightly with the force of the motion: ¡°No, I didn¡¯t mean it like that. It¡¯s just¡­ you said it yourself, Alanna¡¯s got its panties in a twist. They¡¯re gonna be thrice as suspicious about anything and everything. I fear they¡¯ll start looking into things here, and you know as well as me that when they start doing that they find things¡­ even when there aren¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°So, what you¡¯re saying is¡­ we¡¯re fucked whatever we do,¡± said the captain. Considering how grim the subject was he didn¡¯t sound too worried, probably the effect of years working on a boat with a giant, fragile, balloon, in a sky where a bird that could spontaneously catch on fire was the least of your worries.

    ¡°Pretty much.¡±

    Furioso looked pensive for a while, staring into his beer as if the golden, frothing, liquid contained the answers to all of his problems ¨C and it did, although the answer wasn¡¯t satisfying enough ¨C before a sigh left his lips: ¡°The options are reduced to us somehow capturing the two of you and bringing you to Alanna, or becoming a pirate. The problem with the former is that I couldn¡¯t live with myself and Murgia here would hate me ¨C¡±

    ¡°And a good chunk of the jungles too,¡± added the naga.

    ¡° ¨C and a good chunk of the jungles, yes. The problem with the latter is that I¡¯d have to¡­ get rid of the loyalists, in a permanent manner, and I¡¯m not fond of the idea of straight up murdering half my crew. So, suggestions?¡±

    Moon and Shriya looked at each other, the [Engineer]¡¯s face lighting up after a moment: ¡°Hey, do we still have some of those parasitic brain worms?¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    The [Druid] shook her head: ¡°We lost the box somewhere in Rodar.¡±

    The naga¡¯s eyes widened: ¡°You lost a box of those little fucking monsters somewhere on Rodar of all places?!¡±

    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s not our fault!¡± tried to defend Shriya, ¡°It¡¯s that place¡¯s misfortune!¡±

    ¡°What city were you in when that happened? What city is about to be fucking wiped out of the maps?¡±

    ¡°Erm¡­ I¡¯m not sure¡­?¡±

    The naga put his face in his hands and sighed, a resigned look crossing over his face: ¡°Well, whatever, not my problem! We¡¯re just not going to take a job on that continent. Not like we ever have.¡±

    Silence fell on the quartet as they all tried to come up with a plan.

    Not long after their food arrived and they began eating again, munching silently on various cuts of meat with fresh or seared vegetables to the side, which the jungleborn enjoyed immensely more than the meat. Getting good vegetables to grow in the jungles was hard between how difficult it was to keep any plot of land free of the cover of the canopies ¨C which were also required to keep the flying predators out of sight ¨C and the many animals who enjoyed eating them.

    When they finished the [Captain] sighed: ¡°Why was I ever born with a conscience? And why is killing always the easiest choice?¡±

    Murgia smiled sadly at him: ¡°So that you could meet me and fall in love with me.¡±

    ¡°Murgia, for all that I love you back, sentimentality won¡¯t help us right now.¡±

    And then Moon spoke: ¡°You could run away with us.¡±

    The table fell silent again, the two men turning to look at her with raised eyebrows that shouted ¡®Go on¡¯.

    ¡°The ¡®Amissa¡¯ is big. Sure, technically speaking a single person could make her run without a problem, but she was made to house a lot more people than just me and Shriya. If you don¡¯t mind working with me, you could join us. I mean, we¡¯re already wanted by the silvers, what¡¯s an extra reason?¡±

    Furioso sat there, staring at her as if she¡¯d sprouted a second head ¨C which, thank you very much, she had not. She¡¯d taken her potions against that particular parasite ¨C trying to understand if she was being serious or if this was some kind of elaborate joke. Murgia, by his side, was slowly starting to smile as he realized that no, this was not a joke.

    ¡°Who¡¯s going to be the captain of the ship in that case?¡± asked the naga.

    ¡°Still me, thank you. And Shriya¡¯s going to be the First Officer. You can be¡­ I don¡¯t know, the Pilot and the Cook?¡±

    ¡°Fuck off!¡± both men shouted.

    Then they started animatedly discussing the details.

    <hr>

    A young teen and a positively ancient elf (by non-elven standards, that is) sat at a small table in a well lit room, a dwarven [Secretary] taking a nap on her favorite armchair nearby.

    The young teen hadn¡¯t always been, well, a young teen, which isn¡¯t a strange sentence all things considered. No, what was really strange was the fact that, until not even a month ago, she had been a child of six, nearly seven, years old. Now though? Any observer would¡¯ve given a look at her tall, lean, slightly muscular, figure and given her twelve, maybe less, years of age.

    Her name was Ama, and she was an [Assassin] in training under the woman by her side, the Guildmistress of the Assassin¡¯s Guild, an elven woman simply known as ¡®The Gardener¡¯.

    Not much could be said about this mysterious figure whose past was shrouded in lies and false leads, but one thing was certain: she really leaned into that title. Her assassins were her gardeners, the world around her, her beloved, endless, garden. Her and her people¡¯s job was to make sure the verdant field filled with flowers and bushes and trees could thrive, which required them to¡­ trim a few plants here and there.

    Currently they were eating a salad with fresh vegetables from the woman¡¯s actual garden. Some of these were mildly poisonous, but that didn¡¯t worry any of them: the girl needed to train her body and develop a resistance to most poisons, while the elf had become immune to most poisons known to humanity well before she¡¯d gotten the Skill for it.

    Crunching was the only sound in the room for a while, sometimes interrupted by the dwarf¡¯s gentle snoring. Gorizia wasn¡¯t one for sleeping: she could stay awake for days on end if she wanted to, like she had right now.

    An entire week: that¡¯s how long she hadn¡¯t closed her eyes. Between helping her friend, the Gardener, lead the organization while also supporting the girl she was training the dwarf had run herself ragged.

    ¡°How do you feel, Ama?¡± asked the Gardener in her mellow, soft, voice.

    Ama had learned to distinguish the elf¡¯s different voices: there was the ¡®work voice¡¯, mildly boisterous and just a step below loud; then there was the ¡®serious voice¡¯, more calm, low, capable of turning dangerously sharp at a moment¡¯s notice, but also capable of being calming and reassuring.

    Finally, there was the ¡®private voice¡¯, the one she used only in those moments where it was only the three of them. It was just as calm and soft as the ¡®serious¡¯ one but, at the same time, lacking its hidden sharpness. It was also much sweeter, like honey trickling down from an overstuffed beehive, the queen inside asleep and surrounded by her workers and guards, cuddling together for warmth.

    ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know,¡± she answered.

    She¡¯d learned long ago that the Gardener was very good at distinguishing truths from lies, even without the use of Spells and Skills ¨C the woman was a firm believer of mastering everything. To her Skills were a crutch and one should learn to do the same thing a Skill allowed¡­ without actually using it. It was a strange philosophy, one that was followed by most elves, one that didn¡¯t apply to the short lived races as well since they couldn¡¯t live for literal millennia.

    It was, apparently, an idea they¡¯d developed back when slavery was still a practice accepted worldwide and [Slavers] had found a way to create chains capable of locking a person¡¯s Skill.

    Anyways.

    ¡°You¡­ don¡¯t know. Hmmm, mind telling me more?¡±

    Ama put down her fork, savoring the foxglove¡¯s aftertaste for a few moments, before answering: ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m¡­ ah, fuck it. I can¡¯t stop thinking about that night, alright? I can hear mama¡¯s screams in my nightmares, and¡­ and ¨C I feel alone. My devil, I¡­ I miss her.¡±

    Ah, separation anxiety, thought the Gardener. She could tell that the nightmares weren¡¯t truly affecting the girl, not as much as they had when they¡¯d started. To her the memory of that day was distant now, as if years had passed since that fateful night. It was one of the advantages granted by her Skill, although it had meant that for the first month the nightmares had been even worse than they normally would¡¯ve been. Those first few days had been a constant battle against the Blood attempting to seep into her mind, one that had been won only thanks to Gorizia¡¯s gentle care and strange techniques.

    Still, in the last week they¡¯d done something that was arguably as traumatizing to Ama as losing her family had been: they¡¯d separated her from her devilish companion.

    The Gardener had found the instructions for this specific rite in the book the girl had brought with herself. The book her father had used to tell her strange stories from the past, tales of a violinist and a writer, tales of two Wishers. The book which, she¡¯d found out, had pages she couldn¡¯t read.

    The book which, on its first page, had a single sentence that she¡¯d never thought she¡¯d hear or read again:

    ¡®You know what to do, old pal. How does your garden grow?¡¯

    She shook her head: no time for remembrance, not now.

    The book, in one of the few pages she could read ¨C the others were just filled with gibberish ¨C had described a simple rite ¨C by elven standards, that is ¨C that would temporarily break the connection between Ama and her devil, allowing her to go back to Airm and become more powerful. It was, apparently, a tradition in their family, and Ama had told her that her parents had done the ritual three times as far as she could remember.

    She hadn¡¯t been ready for the sensation of something missing that came with severing the thread that bound her to her devil.

    And that had lead to them now.

    Without her devil to support her, Ama¡¯s nightmares had come back with a vengeance, fueled by the fear that she wouldn¡¯t be able to come back, that something would go wrong and that she¡¯d be¡­ alone. Oh, sure, she had her brothers still, but it wasn¡¯t the same! They were merely blood of her blood, her devil was a fragment of her very soul.

    ¡°Would you like me to spend the night with you, Ama?¡± asked the Gardener, putting down her fork and placing her head on top of her hands, looking her in the eyes.

    The teen, who, like most teens, fancied herself to already be a grown woman, looked down at her plate, mulling over the idea. A part of her, that prideful side that all young adults held so close, wanted to deny her request, to march on through this situation, to let this challenge forge her into something better, greater.

    But then there was also the child, still alive, still seeking comfort.

    A child who told the adult that they had a lifetime ahead of them to forge themselves into greatness.

    An argument, which won.

    ¡°Please,¡± she said.

    The Gardener smiled softly, nodding: ¡°Sure. I do hope you like long stories: we elves don¡¯t tell short ones.¡±

    A giggle escaped the girl¡¯s lips, then she smiled up at the ancient assassin, a thankful smile that was worth more than a hundred words, and went back to her salad.

    And my parents said I¡¯d be an awful mother, thought the Gardener, remembering her family bitterly. But that had been a long time ago now. So very long.

    <hr>

    His name was¡­ actually, it doesn¡¯t matter.

    He wasn¡¯t going to stay alive long enough for that to matter.

    He ran through the twisting corridors of his home, of what he thought was his home, was supposed to.

    But it wasn¡¯t. Not anymore. It was theirs.

    The things made of shadows. They had started hounding him a few days ago, appearing in the corner of his eye, staring at him whenever he went to sleep, and then slowly doing more: moving things around the house, snuffing out lights wherever he walked through, leaving sharp things where he spent most of the time.

    And now? Now they¡¯d touched him.

    They¡¯d started talking in gentle whispers, but there were many, so so many, and they spoke all at the same time, their voices uniting into a crescendo that had nothing gentle to it. He didn¡¯t know what they were saying, they were talking in a language that didn¡¯t sound like anything from any of the continents, even though nobody could¡¯ve really told with how their voices were whispers shouting all together.

    He tripped, because of course he had to, he was tripping so much on loose floorboards, that had never been loose to begin with or on carpets that had been bunched up in just the right way.

    Then he saw it: salvation! The door to his bedroom, left ajar, light coming through it. He had tried everything else: from opening the doors to escape his home to breaking a window to going as far as trying to climb up the chimney in the kitchen. Nothing had worked. There was no way out.

    He scrambled for the door to his room, opening it and slamming it shut behind him, feeling for all the world like one of the characters from the stories he¡¯d read years ago. At the time he¡¯d thought them idiots. Now? Now he understood them completely.

    He took a deep breath, trying to center himself.

    And then the light that had illuminated his bedroom was snuffed out.

    A figure stood in front of the window. Imposing. Tall. Wide. With white circles in place of the eyes. And wearing a hat.

    Then a second figure stepped to the side, one he hadn¡¯t noticed with how dark it was, managing to blend in with the much bigger figure behind it.

    This one¡­ it was a child¡¯s form. He was certain it could¡¯ve reached no higher than his waist. It also lacked the white circles like all the other shadowy beings that had hunted him down.

    It giggled, and there was something so very feminine and childlike about the sound.

    ¡°Thank you for the meal,¡± she said.

    Then the hulking form of the hatted man shot forward, faster than he could blink. A big, cold, hand reached for his neck, closing around it with the strength of a raging [Barbarian]. The being turned around, dragging him along like a sack of potatoes, moving for the bed.

    He tried to scream, naturally, of course he did, and he was pretty sure that the hatted man had lightened his grip just for that purpose alone.

    They reached the bed.

    The man began disappearing in the darkness underneath, as if he was stepping down some stairs.

    The noble feared what would greet him in that darkness.

    Luckily, he needn¡¯t worry about that.

    Because he wasn¡¯t made of shadows, nor was he one of the [Shadowers]. He couldn¡¯t enter that realm. Instead, his body smashed into the floor.

    That was where his luck ended ¨C not that there had ever been some to begin with. Why? Because the Hat Man¡¯s grip ¨C how did he know that that was its name? ¨C didn¡¯t lighten. He kept dragging him down, even though he couldn¡¯t move downwards.

    That didn¡¯t stop the shadow.

    It kept pulling, and pulling, and pulling.

    And then:

    SNAP!

    Of course the sound of his breaking neck wasn¡¯t so loud. It was only loud for the nobleman, before his eyes went blank and he died.

    They found his body the next morning, his face frozen in a rictus of horror.

    He was the fifteenth victim of the last two weeks.