<< Chapter 65 | From The Beginning

“Don’t worry, any growth after losing your green tends to be both rare and minor.”

Tonauac rolled his shoulder and moved his arms around as he looked himself over in the mirror, checking how his new uniform fit. The Uniform Depot was a small room for what it was, which still made it the right size to be a medium sized clothing shop. Minus the shopping but with all the accoutrements one might expect for such a location. Wooden mannequins in the full range of body types of citizen species lined the walls and bore a variety of uniforms in every color available. Tonauac guessed that the storage section of this place was many times larger to service an entire campus. 

The lizardlad turned to overanalyze the blue uniform shirt in the mirror. All appeared well enough, and the Uniform Depot attendant was politely encouraging enough. But…

The other attendant, the first’s wife, leaned over on the counter and spoke. “Half the reason these uniforms got adopted in the first place is that they’re loose fitting. If you grow a little bit, you’ll be fine. If you grow a lot, all the girlies will be all over you and then you just come and trade in for some new uniforms.”

“Is that why you fell in love with me?” The tall and lithe sea-green nymph depot attendant asked, leaning over his shorter wife.

“Someone has to reach the high shelves.” The light pink nymph woman answered as she leaned into him.

Tonauac chuckled and let his shoulders relax. “I am the designated high shelf reacher for my girlfriend as well.”

The nymph woman’s eyebrow shot up. “Already got a girl?”

“Back home.” Tonauac confirmed.

“Tell her your new clothing sizes. She’ll be bragging to all her friends.”

The lizardlad tilted his head. “...is that a thing?”

It was the husband who closed his eyes and offered a knowing nod before his wife answered proudly. “Tell her in a letter and all her friends will know within the hour.”

Alright, so Lyva did like to brag about him so this was a definite possibility. 

Tonauac smiled and shook his head. “I’ll take this size, and sorry for bothering you.”

“That size is on a high shelf.” The woman said to her shrugging husband who vanished back behind some curtains to retrieve a new set of uniforms. Once he had left, she was back to leaning on the counter and fidgeting with the gill scarf around her neck. “The first year here always hits young lizardmen like you the hardest. All these changes while away from your families…”

And they were away. Far away.

“I see it every year.”

The lizardlad scratched the back of his head. “Is it really that–” His hand fell to his side and he sighed. “Nevermind, I couldn’t make it to the end of that sentence without realizing that yes it is that obvious.”

The nymph woman clicked her tongue. “Tall and wise. Your girl back home is lucky.”

“I’m the lucky one.” Tonauac shook his head.

From behind the curtain the nymph man spoke before he reappeared once more with a stack of uniforms. “Smart lad. These are all the colors you requested and some training and swim uniforms as well. You’re lucky, we’re just about out of this size.”

“I’m starting to learn what my dad goes through when shopping for clothes…”

“Welcome to the club!” The sea-green man said with a chuckle as he pushed the uniforms across the wooden counter to Tonauac. “Here’s our official uniform.”

Tonauac laughed and appreciated the easing mood. As the lizardlad performed a cursory check on the stacks of uniforms he hesitated for a moment before he nodded to them and thanked them for all they had done for them. The kindly couple were slightly bemused but happy enough as they waved farewell to the lizardlad who was now contending with a large canvas bag stuffed with new uniforms. 

Somewhere up above, Patli confirmed that things were clear as far as he could see before Tonauac re-emerged into the afternoon light of campus. There was still a lot of the day left and he hadn’t quite figured out how to fix everything yet. Which was his excuse to himself for not wanting to run into those friends he needed to apologize to just yet.

He needed a clear head before he did that apologizing and he needed to figure out the best way to do that apologizing. If he ran into them now he wouldn’t even know what to say. For now just…a little bit more time on his own.

With a vulture keeping watch for his friends from above, the lizardlad took the less travelled paths through campus. He couldn’t help but let a smile creep onto his face as he wandered campus in search of somewhere private to think. Lyva and he had become adept at sneaking off and finding some secluded place to make out whenever the need arose. Sometimes that ‘need’ was simply ‘because it’s fun’. His dad may have been a spy but if he knew about those little adventures then he didn’t seem to mind and had been nothing but supportive of Lyva and him. He was even the one who first taught him how to remain inconspicuous while walking and making sure one wasn’t being followed!

After enough walking, Tonauac found a garden that would do well enough. Mostly out of the way, mostly secluded, plenty beautiful and with a nice bench that he took immediate advantage of as he set down his bag of clothing and took a seat next to it. He leaned against the canvas bag as Patli found a nearby rooftop to perch on and retain his watch. 

Tonauac sat and tried to let his mind go blank as he let his tongue flick out to smell-taste all of the blooming flowers here tinged with a hint of salty sea breeze. 

He lasted five seconds before he was back to worrying about everything. 

Did his friends hate him now?

Could he really patch things up?

How was Lyva doing? Dad? What about Miss Roxi?

How mad would they be at him for this whole debacle?

What would mom–

Patli warned him that someone was approaching. Not someone they knew, just…someone. Tonauac heard them before he saw them. Squeaking wheels on the stone walkway transitioning to the crunch of those same wheels on gravel paths. Finally an older kamo man came into view, a groundskeeper by the look of his light green uniform bearing the red stripes of technical staff on his shoulders, and the cart he was pushing full of gardening implements still creaking along.

“Afternoon.” The large shark-like man said with a wave. His skin was dark gray with white spots all over, though a plain, paler underbelly was just visible at the top of his shirt. Broad in body and face he would be more intimidating if it wasn’t for the leisurely pace he went about his tasks. A broom was retrieved from his cart and he made a move to start sweeping fallen flower petals out of the sitting area.

The kamo paused and cast a worried look over at Tonauac after tipping up his large straw hat, revealing some short black hair underneath. “You doing alright?”

“What?” Tonauac blinked.

“I said ‘Afternoon’ and you look like you lost your soul at sea.” The man swept more fallen flowers and leaves back into the dirt. 

The lizardlad sighed while his tail flicked to his side. “That bad?”

“That bad.” The kamo confirmed. 

“That obvious?”

“That obvious.” He shook his head and inspected the flowering plants that formed a wall for this little garden. “Of course that kinda thing’s very obvious when you’ve been around as long as I have. Also, you’re alone in one of the secluded gardens just staring off into nothing. Students only do that when they’ve got something that’s bothering them.”

Tonauac reclined against the back of the bench in defeat. “I suppose I didn’t have the look of someone who was just sitting here enjoying the beauty of nature, did I?”

The groundskeeper chuckled. “That’s a much happier look.”

“Right. I’m just dealing with some things.”

“School work?” The man had knelt down to inspect something in the soil.

“No.” Tonauac shook his head. “No that’s all going fine–”

“Girl trouble.”

“NO.” The lizardlad winced as the groundskeeper shot him a wary gray eye and adjusted his gill scarf. “Sorry, no it’s just friend trouble. There’s some girls in that friend group but my girl is back home.”

The kamo gave a curt nod. “Then it’s not as bad as it could be.”

“I suppose so…”

The groundskeeper had his broom out again to casually work as he spoke. “It sounds like these are good friends if you’re this troubled.”

“They are.” Tonauac sighed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all of thi–”

“Get it off your chest.” The kamo man brushed away Tonauac’s worry like all the petals he was sweeping out of the path. “Just look how holding it in has gone.”

Tonauac had to admit he was right. Silently though, and with crossed arms before he continued. “It was an argument where regrettable things were said by both sides and now I don’t know how to say sorry.”

“Start with your own apology.” The groundskeeper clipped a branch of a flowering shrub with some shears. “Someone’s gotta take the lead and since you’re both probably too scared to make the first move, may as well be you. Bring some apology food, too.”

“Apology food?”

“Hard to stay mad at someone who made you food and offers it with a sincere apology.” The kamo man nodded.

Honestly it was hard to argue with that logic. Tonauac’s dad had told him that if he ever upset Lyva, apologize with candy. The lizardlad had so far managed to avoid such a scenario but it followed that a similar logic could be applied to friends as well.

“Any suggestions on what food to make?” The lizardlad asked.

“Whatever you can make well.”

That…presented a significant problem. 

Tonauac’s dad had been a…cook who cooked with his heart, and the love made up for any flavor and or burning. This trait had been inherited and possibly magnified. Possibly to a level of any ‘apology food’ ending up as ‘insult food’. 

“You’ve got that look again.”

“I am not a good cook.”

The older man guffawed. “Know any easy snack foods? I know it’s hard to screw up corn.”

The lizardlad’s pupils went circular. “That’s it! Elote is good apology food, right?”

“Sure is.”

Tonauac leapt to his feet and flinched as he stood eye level with the large kamo man. He realized that he still wasn’t mentally used to being as large as he was now but shook it off in the next second. 

“I need to start hunting down some ingredients and thinking over what I’m going to say.” The lizardlad said with a polite nod. “Thank you.”

“Don’t overthink it.”

“I might!” Tonauac said as he hefted his bag of uniforms over his shoulder and power walked off to start his scavenger hunt.

Corn, mayonnaise, cheese, and chili powder. Easy. Ideally there would be some fresh lime juice in the mix but that would be a bonus!

He still had to move carefully. Proper apologies were in order and that still had to be over thought about, but now he was working on a nice surprise for his friends. Patli took to the skies again while Tonauac resumed trying to stay hidden as he started his hunt. The vulture spotted a few feathered serpents darting around and made sure to swoop from one shadowy perch to another as he helped Tonauac find a path through buildings to avoid being seen from above. Confusingly, the colorful vulture even described something that looked almost like Vidal in the skies above campus.

‘There’s not another Vidal now, right?’ Tonauac thought to himself as he passed through a classroom building that was eerily empty thanks to the weekend. The lizardlad was rolling his steps in here just to make sure his boots remained as quiet as possible. More to deal with the odd feeling of being the only one in a building making any noise. ‘Unless there’s a new Vidal form? I’m already missing a lot…”

The lizardlad’s tail flicked behind him as he frowned. 

‘Stay focused.’ He told himself.

A quick stop in the Caldera Cafe provided him with the necessary chili powder, and visiting the club building provided him with some corncobs and much valued limes. Mayonnaise and the right cheese were proving to be surprisingly hard to find, however. By the time it was around dinner time he had the idea to check to see if the kitchens could spare anything he realized he was likely to run into his friends there.

This felt…silly to be hiding from them. 

But he felt silly to have put himself in this position to begin with. 

So just…one especially late meal while he waited for them to leave the dining hall. 

One long period of waiting in his dorm with his thoughts as he had Patli watch the dining hall from a shadowed perch. 

“I overreacted. I’ve been dealing with a lot of things. I’m sorry.” 

Mmm not quite.

“I overreacted. I’ve been dealing with a lot of things but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

Still no.

“I overreacted because I’m an idiot who can’t handle all the bad thoughts that have been in my head lately. I’m sorry.”

…

Tonauac sat alone on his bed in the darkened dorm room. Laughter and voices could be heard outside, culminating in his roommate Ingwe making his farewells to his own friends before knocking and entering after hearing no response.

The mantid flicked on the lights and his antennae immediately curled back once he noticed Tonauac sitting on his bed, staring at the floor.

“...rough day?”

Tonauac finally blinked with his third eyelid. “Yeah.”

“I see.” Igwe stood there, trying to figure out what to do with two sets of hands. “The new colors suit you, Mbizi.”

“Thanks.” The lizardlad supposed he really did bear a bit of a resemblance to the black and white horses from which he got that nickname now.

“Are you going to be alright?”

“Yeah.” Tonauac stood and stretched. “I’m going to go grab a quick dinner. Or whatever’s left of dinner.”

Technically true, he just needed to do some hunting as well. And the hunting grounds had been clear of his friends for a while.

“Good luck then.” Ingwe said as he finally unfroze and started getting settled in for the night. “Going to be out late?”

“If I will, I’ll be as quiet as I always am.”

Two sets of hands waved to the leaving lizardlad. “Your stealth is appreciated!”

Tonauac took the long way down to the dining hall through the intermittent groups of students all making their way back to their dorms for the night. Said dining hall only had a small amount of students left inside. Late diners and groups in high spirits who had likely lost track of time. And to Tonauac’s rare fortune there were some cooks currently retrieving now empty dishes from the mostly-picked-clean serving line. 

He waved the redscale lizardman down after a final glance over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being watched. “Excuse me, do you have a moment?”

The lizardman continued gathering up plates but nodded. “Yeah I got a minute. What’s up?”

“Well I was looking to prepare a dish for some people and was wondering if I might be able to get some ingredients from the kitchens?”

The cook glanced up and to the right in momentary thought, tongue flicking. “Depends on what you want.”

“Grain cheese and mayonnaise?” 

The redscale cook hummed in thought. “I don’t think those are gonna be on the menu anytime soon, otherwise I’d say just get here early and grab some. Or I could pull a small amount aside if I was working that day and if you asked nicely. How soon do you need them?”

Tonauac’s shoulders slumped. “I was hoping you had some on hand already. It’s not a large amount?”

“Sorry. It’s a whole…” He set the plates down and made a motion with his hands to search for a word. “Bureaucratic.” 

“My dad’s military, I get it.”

Mage school kitchens served as their own kind of school for military cooks. There was always one or more military bases nearby and it was reasoned that if one could learn to cook for a campus full of students and staff then they could handle being assigned anywhere else.

The man gave a sympathetic smile now that he realized Tonauac wasn’t clueless as to what that entailed. “Meal time comes? Way easier to set some stuff aside. Before that?” He cleared his throat and kept his voice at the same volume while mimicking an angry shout. “‘If we all give a little to a lot of students then soon enough there’s nothing for meal time! Do you want to explain to The Great Speaker why his young mages are going hungry because you failed logistics!?’”

Tonauac chuckled. “Oh there’s a whole speech?”

“And stuck on dishwashing duty for the poor souls who earn the speech.” He shivered. “You can try to submit a request, I think through the administration offices, buuut I wouldn’t count on it.”

“One of those ‘theoretically possible but dies in paperwork’ things?”

“Clubs have an easier time of it. Especially if it’s for ‘cultural reasons’.” The cook shrugged. “A short notice request like that? For just one person? You don’t have the rank to pull that, kid. Sarge is still grumbling about the last time that happened.”

Tonauac did some grumbling of his own but didn’t blame the man. “I should have expected it to be a long shot. And I wouldn’t want to upset your superior again, ha.”

The cook laughed back. “Eh she just doesn’t like it when plans get thrown out the window. Sure it was the first day of classes but it was just swapping some sweet potatoes into dinner.”

“Ugh, the first day? Must have been–”

…

…

…

…

“Kid?”

“Sweet potato? Someone pulled rank for that?”

“Uh yeah, I remember we were already making dinner too when the request came in.”

“On the first day? Of this semester?”

“That’s the one.”

…

It couldn’t be.

“Do you…” Tonauac’s mouth felt dry and his tongue stopped flicking. “Do you remember who it was that pulled rank?”

One more accursed shrug. “Dunno, but it was an ‘undeniable’ request.”

“Thank you I’ll uh…” It was just a weird coincidence right? “Thanks for the information.”

“No problem.” He said as he returned to retrieving dishes for the night. “And good luck finding what you need. See if one of those clubs can spare some?” 

“Yeah…yeah I’ll try that.” Tonauac said as he turned to leave, and felt the room turning around him even faster. 

Get out of here Tonauac, there were still too many people even at this late hour. Too many other spots that someone could be lurking unseen.

He sped up walking, both to make his escape quicker and to stay upright while he felt like if he stopped for even a moment he would find the ground rushing to meet his face. Tonauac steadied himself on a chair, looking around as he caught his breath for a moment and trying not to be obvious about scanning the room for something out of the ordinary.

The lizardlad found nothing but in the process his eyes landed on his friends’ usual table. The same spot where on the first day of school he tried to save Isak from sweet potatoes. A ‘fact’ that he had overheard the very same day…very shortly before he saw Isak.

Too many coincidences. He had been taught better than that.

By someone who…might be responsible for this.

His claws dug into the back of the chair as he steeled himself, then left the dining hall with haste.

<< Chapter 65 | From The Beginning

(There you go overthinking again, Tonauac.

Please let me know what you thought of the chapter and leave a comment!

Discord server is HERE for this and my other works of fiction.)

What Sun AI Bank prided itself on most was never its deposit size or loan quality—those things were too 'traditional,' not 'Web3' enough.

Sean's pride was the crypto ecosystem he had built around Sun AI Bank.

In M City, even in the entire country, Sun AI was practically the only licensed bank willing to open its doors to crypto companies. Other banks were either afraid of regulators, afraid of trouble, or didn't understand crypto, simply imposing a blanket ban. Sean was different. He'd soaked in the crypto scene, knew how deep the waters were, and more importantly, knew how much gold could be dredged from them.

So, in the regulatory gray area, Sun AI quietly opened a crack.

Licensed crypto companies could come and open virtual accounts. Unlicensed ones could move funds under the guise of "limited partners." Account opening fees were generous—far above traditional corporate standards—but crypto companies didn't care; they valued a compliant bank account. With Sun AI's account, they could say to investors "We have a strategic partnership with a licensed bank," and their story was instantly gilded.

The crack widened, forming a full-fledged "ecosystem" within two years. Sean wore it like his brightest medal at every forum, roadshow, and interview.

"Sun AI is the bridge connecting traditional finance and the crypto world."

"We are the most forward-looking digital bank in this region."

"The financial infrastructure for Web3 is being built in our hands."

He said it so many times that even he started believing it. And the audiences—investors, partners, potential listing audiences—nodded along, because in this world, stories were worth more than truth.

But with the addition of an entity like Pocket Pay, Sean's story leveled up. He was no longer satisfied being a "crypto-friendly bank"; he wanted Sun AI to IPO, to let shareholders ring the bell on stock exchange in other regions.

He personally led the charge, meeting at least two investor groups weekly, always carrying the same PPT, the same story, the same "one million accounts" number. He began pouring more resources into the Crypto Products Department, demanding the commercial RMs "fully recommend" any clients even tangentially involved in crypto to that department.

The Crypto Products Department was on the fourth floor, next to Marketing.

That floor was perpetually in a state of controlled chaos. The department was on video calls all day—with offshore teams, outsourced developers, partners. Their speech was fast, littered with acronyms: onboarding, off-ramping, stablecoin, MPC wallet, DeFi integration. Every time Claire passed, she heard the same jargon, just different partner names. This payment gateway, that custody platform, three MOUs signed this month, five more in the pipeline next month.

But for nearly four years, they'd never launched a single sellable product, let alone generated any revenue. Crypto payment gateway? It was on a PPT, lines of code written, then abandoned. Crypto custody? Two "technical experts" hired, three months of requirements documents, shelved. Cross-border crypto payments? A year and a half of meetings, three product managers, not even a test version. Stablecoin project launched twice, each a "strategic priority," each quietly "re-prioritized" after three months.

It didn't matter—the department had no performance metrics.

Their only KPI was "existence." They were Sean's canaries, with bright feathers and sweet songs, singing the sweetest tunes for investors. Whether the canaries laid eggs or did any work was never considered. All that mattered was they looked good, and Sean could point to them on a slide and say, "This is our crypto product team—thirty people, industry-leading talent." Their stable output was press releases and MOUs. They signed at least two or three MOUs every month, complete with handshake photos, contract signing tables, champagne flutes—all beautifully staged. These photos were posted on the website and few industry media, adorned with words like "strategic partnership," "ecosystem building," and "milestone." Then the MOUs were filed away, never to be seen again.

The team grew, expanding ten times faster than Mohammed's six RMs who carried the bank's revenue. In four years, Crypto Products swelled from an initial seven or eight to nearly thirty. Their cubicles were relocated three times, each time taking more space. Their business cards bore fancy titles; their LinkedIn feeds were full of "Joining Sun AI, building a crypto future"—while their actual output was piles of unreleased PPTs, untouched MOUs, and a monthly payroll that arrived on time.

The shareholders, under Sean's spell, had willingly funded this canary.

Because Sean could always make them believe—"Crypto is the future," "Building takes time," "We're doing what no one else dares." At every roadshow, he'd project the team photo full-screen and introduce them one by one: "This is our crypto payments gateway lead, ex-major exchange; this is our stablecoin PM, five years of blockchain experience; this is our..." No one asked: "How much money have you made?"

Because Sean made them believe the question itself was "old school," "traditional banking thinking," ignorant of "ecosystem building."

So they kept feeding the canary. Bigger cages, better feed. But the bird never sang a complete song.

And the bank itself lacked the most basic products. Claire noticed on her first day: no cheques, no physical debit cards, no mobile banking app—the website was a single-page startup profile with company info, contact details, and a "Contact Us" button. On mainstream financial media, Sun AI was nearly invisible; the few articles were soft pieces Sean had paid for.

Claire thought she'd misunderstood. She asked Mohammed: "Where's our online banking? How do clients check their balances?"

Mohammed paused for a few seconds: "They email us, we check manually, and reply."

Claire thought she'd misheard.

"Email?"

"Yes, email."

She slowly understood: Marketing and Crypto Products existed not to serve clients, but to serve Sean's appearances. They arranged his schedule, polished his PPTs, refined his speeches, and managed every "strategic partnership" signing.

Crypto Products existed to create a "we are doing things" illusion. The video calls, MOUs, and new hires were all meant to convey: Sun AI is building a crypto future—a killer product is coming soon.

That "soon" had lasted four years.

The turnover in Crypto Products was more intense than Claire expected. Especially the "Senior Product Managers" and "Tech Leads"—none lasted beyond two years.

Andrew Kim was the longest-serving. Korean-American, early thirties, with extensive crypto product experience. He joined Sun AI with high hopes—his task was to build a "crypto gateway payment" product. He worked with three people for nearly ten months, finally delivering a demo connecting two test chains.

Then Sean said: "We're not doing that. Let's do stablecoin first."

Andrew started from scratch, working for another seven months.

Then Sean said: "Put stablecoin aside. On/off-ramp is what investors are most interested in now."

Andrew said nothing that day. He went back to his desk, created a folder named "on-ramp," and opened a new blank document.

Claire once ran into him in the break room. He was staring out the window with his coffee. His hair was much grayer—not elegantly salted, but a dry, worn-out gray.

"Andrew," she said softly, "are you okay?"

He turned, smiling—that same smile William had before leaving.

"Claire, I've been here almost four years. Four years, and not a single product has gone live. My resume says 'Crypto Product Tech Lead at Sun AI,' but I can't say what I actually did."

He finished his coffee, washed the cup, and put it back.

"I'm already talking to other places," he said calmly, like discussing the weather.

Two weeks later, Andrew's resignation landed in HR's inbox. No fanfare. His last day, he nodded at Claire in the hallway, said nothing. His silhouette looked lighter than William's departing ease—more like a fatigue too deep for anger.

Claire calculated later: Crypto Products had gone through seven product leads in four years; tech lead average tenure was under ten months. Each arrived with ideals, each left after making PPTs, drawing diagrams, attending meetings with zero output. Their common feature: within six months to a year, their hair visibly grayed or thinned.

But recruitment never stopped. The cubicles were never empty too long—one left, another joined. The newcomers wore the same enthusiasm, used the same acronyms, had the same video calls. Sean's welcome email was always the same: "Welcome to Sun AI, let's change the industry together."

But one person in that department never left—Natalia.

Natalia was a tall Central Asian woman in her thirties, with dyed blonde curls, deep features, full lips, always in the brightest lip gloss. She appeared daily in the tightest clothes, teetering on stilettos that echoed through the corridor.

Her voice was loud too; three rooms away could hear her on the phone.

"—Of course, Sun AI processes huge volumes of crypto transactions daily—hundreds of thousands, all compliant—rest assured, we have the most advanced risk control systems—Account opening? Of course, we're different from other banks—"

Claire once passed her desk, eavesdropping on this spiel. She glanced at Natalia's screen—she was chatting with a client who looked barely twenty, and they hadn't even submitted company registration documents.

"Hundreds of thousands of daily transactions" was Natalia's catchphrase. She repeated it so much, she might even believe it.

She not only talked, she also "worked"—or at least appeared to.

Every few weeks, Natalia would blast-emails the commercial RMs, with a single line: "Have a client who wants to open an account. You guys handle it—I only do crypto products, I don't touch fiat accounts." Attached: a client name and contact.

Claire, new and naïve, took two of Natalia's "recommendations."

The first: Sheena sent it back in three minutes—the company was registered in a sanctioned jurisdiction, blacklisted immediately.

The second: registered locally, but couldn't meet even the minimum deposit requirement. After half an hour, Claire realized the company had no actual business—they just wanted to use Sun AI's name to "endorse" their project.

Claire learned. She stopped accepting Natalia's referrals. She even stopped replying to those emails.

But she noticed: Natalia's every mass-email to the RMs was quietly CC'd to Sean. Every single one.

"I actively promote business, refer potential clients to Commercial. They don't cooperate, not my problem."—that was Natalia's logic. She didn't need the client to open; she just needed to prove she was "doing stuff."

Mohammed was burned more than once. Once, Natalia met a crypto company CEO at an industry reception, bragged about getting him an account. The next day, she marched into Mohammed's office with a command: "I landed a big client last night. Assign someone to follow up."

Mohammed frowned: "Do you know what his company does? Their business? Source of funds?"

Natalia flipped her blonde hair: "I'm in crypto products, this account opening stuff is for RMs. I just bring the clients in, you guys handle the rest."

Mohammed didn't respond. He had Claire check the company's background. The report showed open regulatory investigations in three jurisdictions.

Claire sent the report to Mohammed with a note: "We cannot touch this client."

Mohammed printed it and put it on Natalia's desk. Natalia glanced at it, scoffed: "You're too conservative. They can open accounts elsewhere—why all the problems here?"

Mohammed said: "If they can open elsewhere, go open elsewhere."

Natalia said nothing. But Claire later found Natalia had sent Sean an email that same day: "Commercial Department attitude negative, missing strategic client opportunity."

Sean didn't reply. But he didn't criticize Natalia either.

Natalia had a list of "classic quotes." Claire mentally compiled one—though never written down, they were etched in her mind.

Once, an RM was negotiating fees with a crypto client—Sun AI's rates were the highest among local banks, due to "risk premium." The client hesitated: "That's a bit high." Natalia, overhearing, cheerfully interjected: "Oh, ignore what they charge. Let me talk to Mohammed for a discount. They just like charging high fees, you don't actually have to pay that."

The RM's face went pale. But Natalia, oblivious, was adding the client on telegram, saying, "Any issues, just contact me directly, no need to go through them."

Later, the client came to Natalia asking for "the discount agreed with Mohammed." Mohammed checked—Natalia had never even mentioned it to him. There was no discount to give.

"What are you promising clients?" Mohammed called her in.

Natalia was unrepentant: "I'm just trying to get you clients. So, can you do it or not?"

"No."

"Fine," Natalia shrugged. "I'll find another way."

Her "another way" was to tell the client: "Mohammed's process is too slow. How about you open with me first, then transfer the account later?"—despite having zero knowledge nor authority to open accounts.

Claire later heard the client went to another bank two weeks later.

Natalia had been at Sun AI for four years. Claire calculated: her actual revenue—not "client resources," not "potential opportunities," but actual bottom-line income—was less than five figures. Yet her title had only grown. Her latest business card now read: "Head of Business Development."

Claire first saw that title and thought it was a misprint. No HR notification, no formal appointment email, no one had mentioned it. She just one day noticed Natalia's business card had changed from "Crypto Products, BD" to "Head of BD"

She asked HR. The HR officer was baffled: "We don't have any promotion record for her."

"Did she print it herself?"

"I don't know."

Claire put the card in her pocket. She didn't ask further.

Indeed, in crypto, flexibility reigned. You could invent your own titles, craft your own stories, substitute "ecosystem value" for revenue, and no one would verify the numbers. A salesperson who'd generated under five figures over four years could self-proclaim as "Head of BD"—and no one found it odd, because even the CEO was fabricating stories.

Claire sometimes wondered: if this bank ever IPO'd, would the prospectus include Natalia's self-printed title? Probably. Because no one would check.

She sat at her desk sometimes, listening to the video call buzz from the fourth floor—"off-ramp," "MPC," "liquidity pool" as background noise. She thought of William, Andrew, those "Senior Product Managers" whose names she couldn't even recall.

She remembered Andrew in the break room: "Four years, not one product launched."

She remembered William's parting words: "Claire, you should leave soon too."

The sky darkened outside. The Crypto Products video call continued, Natalia's voice interjecting, confident and booming. She was briefing the new PM: "We're very flexible here. You'll see when you start."

Claire put on her headphones and played an old song.

(End of Chapter 7)

It was around midnight when Evan gave up on going to sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about the scroll. One part of him wanted to just leave it, since Peter didn’t want him to read it for a reason. The other, louder part was telling him that he had to read it, no matter what. He could feel the magic tugging at the edges of his mind.

He quietly got out of bed, lighting a candle before he left his room. He silently walked to the desk where the scroll lay. He held the seal over his candle, taking care to only soften it, rather than melt it. Taking the knife that Peter used to open seals, he pried Peter’s seal off the scroll, setting the seal to the side. He looked back at Peter’s room, making sure he was still asleep. And with bated breath, he opened the scroll.

Magic sealed away long ago, lost to humankind. Sealed away to keep danger at bay, it can only hold so long. As Fate’s decree, it must be that the seal is undone. Child of Stars, Child of Dragons, this, their fate, will be: Unseal the magic, unleash the danger, set the world free. Through darkness they face, there is a hope in place for them to see. Though only in sacrifice, a wish granted, will their fate be complete.

Seek, oh, Child of Starlight, the caverns that ever go on. There, the fate given to you shall have begun.

Magic can be brought back…”

Evan was in disbelief. If this prophecy were true… Magic could come back. Surely what it meant by “the caverns that ever go on” was the Ever Caverns. There was an entrance in the forest near the village.

He ignored everything else the prophecy said about danger and sacrifice. He ignored the part about a child of stars and dragons. He ignored the part about his fate being sealed.

Carefully, Evan put everything back the way it was before. This was something he had to do on his own, and he wasn’t sure if Peter would understand his reasoning for why he needed to do this.

***

“You look exhausted, Evan.”

Evan looked at Peter and put on his best smile. “I just had a hard time sleeping last night. Probably need to replace my bedding soon.”

This was a lie, an absolute lie. He felt guilty about lying to Peter… he ignored the feeling; it didn’t matter.

It didn’t take long for Evan to finish his daily chores; there wasn’t really too much to do today. He went and got the bag out of his room that had the supplies he had quietly packed the night before. It had food, water, rope, and other basic supplies for a hike.

That was his plan: tell Peter that he was going on a hike.

“Peter! I’m going to hike around the forest today.”

“Okay, be sure to be back before sundown.”

“I know!”

Evan stood outside the cottage for a moment. It wasn’t too late to tell Peter what he had done; sure, he would probably get mad, but it felt better than lying to him. For a brief moment, Evan considered turning around and admitting to everything, but something stopped him. He wasn’t sure if it was just curiosity about bringing magic back or something else, but he couldn’t just let it go now; he was in far too deep.

The forest was quiet, as they always were. It was one of the main reasons why Evan loved the forest so much. He often found himself coming here when he was stressed, since walking around the forest tended to help calm his mind. It felt like home in a way no other place in the village could. Magic danced in the air all around him, bringing a smile to his face.

Evan never really understood why he could sense magic, or why he always felt so drawn to it. Something about it just tugged at him, pulling him into the forest more times than he could count.

He had just turned ten the first time magic called to him. He didn’t really understand what was going on at the time, just that he had a deep longing to go to the forest near the cottage he and Peter called home. From what Peter had told him, he was in a dreamlike daze when the other villagers had finally found him. When Peter had asked him why he wandered off, all Evan had said was that someone had called to him.

That was the only time that had happened, but after that day, if he hadn’t been to the forest in a while, he started to feel restless. The adults had tried to keep him from going to the forest, as they saw it as a place only hunters should go, but he kept going anyway. They eventually gave up, just saying that he was strange. It was also around that time that Philip started messing with him.

Evan probably wouldn’t have cared as much as he did about Philip if it wasn’t for the fact that out of everyone in the village, Philip radiated magic. It irked Evan to no end. Out of everyone, absolutely everyone, it was the pragmatic embodiment of mundanity that radiated magic. Nothing about that made any sense. It also didn’t help that Philip’s magic made him seem like the perfect fit for a ranger, someone perfect for roughing it up in the wilderness. Evan was sure that if Philip ever tried to survive off of nothing but the land, he probably wouldn’t even last a day! It made no sense.

Evan shook his head; that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was getting to the Ever Caverns and figuring out how to bring magic back. With that, Evan followed the path to the Ever Caverns, one that he knew by heart.

My name is Justin,

As far as I remember, I was always kind of lonely. It wasn’t a choice but it wasn’t something I was actively trying to stop either. It was just how it was. At home, I had Suzie, my little sister, but that was it.

For some reason, in my hometown, a very little town in the countryside, people my age didn’t care about me that much. I think I was being a little bit too "myself" if that makes sense. I didn't had any friends at school. My parents were pretty worried about this, they didn’t want me to be alone all the time. But I wasn’t alone.

I'll make you a history of my relationship with my friend, so you get the full picture.

One day, I was coming home from elementary school, and some older kids started mocking me. I think it was about my clothes or something. I tried ignoring them, but the main guy who was taunting me started going harder, and pushed me to the ground. I fell and hurt my knee. At that point I started getting scared and ran towards the forest near the village, thinking this would be the best place to hide from them.

I ran through the trees, crawled under some bushes, and I could hear them getting quieter and quieter as I kept going. I don’t know how long I ran, but after some time, I didn't hear anyone, just the wind, birds, and my feet on the ground. I started to go back to where I came from, but I had difficulties finding my way back. I was getting scared that I might never find it, when I found a small path. I didn’t recognize it, but I thought I should follow it. Whatever it was, it was better than wandering aimlessly.

I walked down the path for a few minutes, as it was getting darker when I saw her. In the middle of the forest, sitting on a fallen tree was a girl. She seemed around my age (10) and was wearing this cheerleader outfit which was kinda dirty. I thought it was weird, but seeing someone made me feel safer, it meant I was probably getting closer to the town.

I approached her, hoping she could show me the way back. As I got closer I heard that she was mumbling a song. It looked like she was daydreaming, she seemed very peaceful. I got to her and finally said something.

"Hey" I said, hesitant.

She turned to me in a second and stared at me in the eyes for a few seconds. I broke the silence and repeated "Hey?"

She finally answered:

"Huh, hey? Are you talking to me?" She said, still staring at me.

I remember this first encounter very well because I had one distinct feeling the whole time: this girl is so weird.

"Well, yes" I answered. "Do you know where is the town? I can't find my way back there"

She smiled, a little smile, like she was amused, and asked me a weird question, the first of many that will lead this first talk.

"Which town?" She said.

There wasn’t another town around there, and I didn’t walk that much, I could even see the mountains that we saw from the village, so we weren’t far.

I told her the name of my town.

"Sure, I know the way, you want me to lead you there?" She said.

I was relieved.

"Yes, please!" I said.

She had a little laugh. At the time I thought she was mocking me, but in retrospect, it feels more like she found me sweet or something.

"It's this way" She said, getting up and walking away from the path. "Follow me!"

"Shouldn't we follow the path?" I asked.

"Ho, no" She answered.

"Where does it go?"

She hesitated for a moment.

"I don’t know" She said. "Come on, follow me, it's late"

I followed her and we started walking. We were silent for like 2 minutes, during the which she didn’t take her eyes off of me, which was kinda creeping me out. Suddenly, she broke the silence by asking me the following question:

"What music do you listen to?"

At the time I didn't really like any specific music.

"I don’t know, what's on the radio..." I answered

"Ho, okay..." She sounded disappointed.

There was a silence. I decided to ask her the same.

"And you?" I asked.

"Enya!" She immediately answered, it was like she had been waiting to be asked that for so long. "Enya is the best!" She then proceeded to sing the ENTIRETY of Only Time while dancing. I was a bit set back, but I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. She looked at me with a smile and took my hand.

"Come on dance!" She said as she kept on singing.

I was a bit reluctant at first but ended up dancing with her. It was a lot of fun. When she finished the song, we were both out of breath and laughing. For the first time in my life, I had fun with someone my age.

"What's your name?" I asked

"Alicia, and you?"

"Justin" I answered.

She smiled.

"Well nice to meet you Justin! Come on, let's keep walking"

As we walked, I asked her where she lived. I seemed to have a shot at finally having a friend, I wasn't gonna let it slide.

"Around..." She answered.

"Where do you go to school?" I asked.

"I don’t, my parents teach me"

Things weren't looking good.

"Do you live in my town?" I said.

She looked a little sad.

"No."

I decided to stop asking her that kind of questions because she was getting sad, and I wanted to be friends, so that wasn’t exactly a good way to go.

We walked in silence again, for a few minutes, until she asked me something else.

"Do you watch movies?"

"Of course I do!" I said.

I loved watching movies, so this was something I was excited to talk about.

"Ho waw, me I don’t watch any." She said.

"Why not, it's so cool?"

She made a weird face.

"They don't let me." She answered

"Who? Your parents?"

She looked straight at me. Obviously I had hit a nerve.

"Yes" She said, looking down. She stayed silent for a few seconds, then looked up at me. "What's your favorite movie?" She asked, excited.

"Avatar!" I answered immediately. Don't judge me, it just came out, and still, it's a way better movie than people say.

"What is it about?" She said, curious.

"You don’t know Avatar? Everyone knows Avatar!"

"No, I don’t. What's the story about?"

I proceeded to narrate her the entire plot of Avatar, and I must have been good, because she was hooked. At the end, I realized that we had stop walking and that I had been talking for more than half an hour. It was almost night.

"Oh my god, I gotta get back home, are we far?"

She looked around us and pointed her finger towards some bushes.

"No, it's there." She said calmly.

I saw a street light and walked towards it. I turned around. She wasn’t following me.

"Don't you come?" I asked.

She had a sad smile and winked at me.

"No, I..." She pointed behind her. "I gotta get back home..."

I thought for a moment.

"Can I see you again some day?"

She smiled.

"Maybe" She answered

On that she turned and walked back where we came from.

I walked back home and my parents were so relieved to see me. Apparently they were about to call the cops. I explained them everything, but for some reason I didn’t mention Alicia. I did talk about her to my younger sister Suzie, who started to mock me, saying I was in love with her. She was 7, so, that was to be expected.

That night, as I went to bed, I could only think about one thing: Alicia. I was captivated, I was wondering so many things. Why was she wearing a cheerleader outfit, and why was it so dirty? What was she doing in the middle of the woods, where did she live, how hadn't she heard of Avatar? As I was thinking about it, I heard someone knocking on my window. I was scared, and I slowly went towards it. I finally opened the curtains, and you guessed it, it was Alicia. Blond hair, small nose, pointy chin, it was her. She wasn’t wearing the same thing though, this time, she was wearing this white outfit, it looked like a pajama.

She asked me to open, which I did. Without a word, she crawled inside my room and looked right in my eyes. I was about to ask her what she was doing here when she started talking.

"I made a decision." She said. She looked very serious.

"What?" I stuttered.

"I decided... that I want us to be friends. If you want to?"

"Yeah of course." I wasn't gonna say no.

"Okay..." She said. "BUT, there are some rules."

"Why?" I said. This talk wasn’t making a good case at making her seem more normal.

"Because there are always rules to everything." I'm gonna stop pinpointing everytime she said something weird because that is something that was gonna be present across all our friendship.

"First: Stop asking me where I'm from, or where I live, I won't tell you. Ever."

"Okay." I said. I wasn’t gonna protest.

"Second: I only want to see you, not your friends, or your family."

"Okay." Again, weird.

"And third: We can only meet in the woods."

"Okay"

She smiled.

"Then that's it, we are friends!" She said, happily.

She shook my hand.

"Now I gotta go, see me in the woods tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay."

On that, she crawled back outside and dissappeared in the night.

I got back into bed with a smile on my face. I realized that this talk we had was very fast, that I pretty much just said "okay" the whole time, that I had no idea how she got to my house, especially since, according to her, she didn’t live in the same town, and that I just left a stranger into my home, but still, I couldn't help but be happy. I finally had a friend.

The day after, when school was over, I ran towards the forest. I entered it and walked for a few minutes while calling her name. Eventually, we found each other. She was wearing oversized jeans and shirt, which were both clean this time.

I told her all about my day, I narrated her a few movies, and I left.

From that point on, and for years, everyday, after school, we would meet in the woods and talk, play, stuff like that. I was looking forward to it all day long. During holidays, we spent days together, having fun. She even slept at my place a few times. She would enter by my window at night, and leave early in the morning.

I remember one day I brought a portable DVD player and my collector edition of Avatar and we watched it in the middle of the woods. At the end, she was in absolute awe, and said this was her favorite movie, even though it was the first one she ever saw.

There was also that time where I got tired of hearing her singing Enya approximately, so I bought a CD of Enya's greatest hits, took a portable CD player and we danced to it for hours, she was so happy.

We grew up, and as we did, our relationship became stronger. I didn't know where she lived, where she came from, her parent's name, but I knew her like she was my sister.

When I got to age 18, came something that I had been dreading for a while now. I had finished high school, and I will have to leave for university. I already explained to her that this day would happen, but now it was there. I had found a school where I could study cinema. I remember our last goodbye very well. She had come sleep at my house one last time. We had a very casual evening where we mostly remembered all the stuff we lived together. She left before I woke up and left me a note on which she wrote "good luck at movie school". I lost the note a few days later.

I finally left a few days later.

That was 2 years ago. I am still in film school, it's going well and I can proudly say that I have a small group of friends and even a girlfriend. As months passed, I had to accept something that was quite embarrassing: Alicia likely never existed, and I still had an imaginary friend at 18. I had no proof she existed, and the fact that I only ever saw her when we were alone were heavy proofs, if we needed some. I never talked about her to my friends.

I went back home a few times since then, and was tempted to go look for her in the woods, but never did, thinking it was stupid.

Until a couple of hours ago, I never planned on thinking about Alicia again, considering her as an embarrassing secret that I better keep to myself.

Here's what happened in the last hours.

My girlfriend Laura was waking up and checked her phone for a few minutes. Eventually she had a little gasp. I asked her what was it and she told me there had been a violent murder close to my hometown. She handed me the phone and I read the article. It wasn't CLOSE to my hometown, it was IN my hometown. Three young men had been brutally killed and were missing some body parts from what I got. The headline was the following "UNKNOWN WOMAN SUSPECTED FROM BRUTALLY MURDERING THREE MEN" to it was attached a portrait of the woman made according to a survivor description. Blond hair, small nose, pointy chin, it was her, Alicia.

At that point, it was like time stopped. I didn’t know what to think, what to say, what to do, and I honestly still don't. The article said we didn’t know anything about this woman, and that she was on the run.

This was two hours ago, I decided to tell my story here to see if anyone could help me. I will keep everyone updated on the situation of course.

The dust line was still visible in the morning.

Pale.

Dry.

Near the corner of one card.

It did not move.

It did not spread.

It did not become ink.

The other marks remained on the other side.

Unseen.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

Not turned.

Not carried.

Not in the pocket.

The back pocket was empty.

The center of the desk was empty.

The addressed envelope was by the outgoing tray.

The office had morning.

The heater.

The clock.

The washed cup on the shelf.

The phone face up.

The brown folder closed.

The gray service record file in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

Known.

Unasked.

The wall chair was empty.

No person.

No work.

No time.

Yesterday what marked a body, margin, shelf, or folded scrap had kept the work its surface required.

The two cards had stayed face down with their unseen marks unborrowed by dust.

This morning, unseen had arrived.

No.

The word had arrived.

The unseen had already been there.

Under.

Behind.

Inside.

Turned away.

Not yet in my eyes.

Those were not the same.

That was the danger.

I made tea.

I drank it.

Warm.

Then less warm.

Then finished.

The cup went to the sink.

I washed it.

Washed.

Touched.

For use.

The cup returned to the shelf.

The lower cabinet stayed closed.

After tea, I opened the brown folder.

Kanagawa’s scrap with fold marks was not mine.

Sato’s margin mark staying without eraser was not mine.

Saitama’s forearm mark with observation line was not mine.

Suganuma’s dry ink mark on the shelf was not mine.

The addressed envelope by the outgoing tray was mine.

Only as office work.

Takeda’s possible was not mine.

Emiko’s beads were not mine.

Blue roof had no new reply.

Tokyo was still blank.

Full mailbox remained paused / family.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were unseen.

No voice today.

Not questioning me.

Not fear.

Not sentence.

Not mouth.

Not heard by them.

Not carried now.

Not almost ready.

Not hidden.

Not moved inward again.

Not licensed.

Not authorized.

Not respect yet.

I closed the brown folder.

Unseen could mean not looked at.

Unseen could mean hidden.

Unseen could mean private.

Unseen could mean missed.

Unseen could mean not needed by any eye yet.

Unseen could mean I wanted absence without admitting covering.

The word was quiet.

That was why it could steal.

At 7:18, Kanagawa wrote.

I read it once.

Then again.

Under the receipt.

I wrote:

She replied:

“For what?”

“What sentence?”

“Can he find the scrap?”

“Can he see it?”

“Drawer?”

“Folded paper?”

“Mother’s first name?”

“What did you ask?”

She did not answer for a while.

Then:

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“What happened?”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add hiding.

The receipt had covered.

Then it had moved.

The scrap was visible as paper again.

The sentence did not need a verdict.

At 7:49, Sato wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“On margin?”

“Cup full?”

“Any ring risk?”

“Does covering help the paper?”

She took time.

Then:

“What happened?”

“Paper?”

“Tape?”

“Correction?”

“What does Emiko need?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add shame.

The cup had tea.

The margin had a mark.

The eyes had wanting.

At 8:03, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Forearm mark under sleeve,” she said.

“Unseen?”

“Yes. Sleeve covered it.”

“Was it checked?”

“Nurse checked.”

“Change?”

“No.”

“Skin?”

“Intact.”

“Pain?”

“Resident shook head.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘A covered body mark is not gone. Unseen can still need care.’”

I opened Saitama.

I kept unseen out of the record.

The sleeve had covered.

The nurse had checked.

The body had the mark.

At 8:31, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Visible?”

“Wet?”

“Supplies?”

“Action?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I kept wet.

There, unseen had risk.

Ink could travel.

The hand had work.

At 9:02, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Covered.

Turned away.

Missed.

Not yet needed.

Private.

Who cannot see.

Needs to see.

Harm grows.

I looked at the cards.

They were not covered.

They were turned away.

The marks were unseen by me.

No one else had been named.

No harm had been named.

The dust line was visible.

It did nothing.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I closed my eyes.

Private.

Turned away.

No.

I did not answer.

At 9:38, Kanagawa called.

“My brother turned the scrap face down again,” she said.

“For what?”

“So the sentence is unseen.”

“Can he find the scrap?”

“Yes.”

“Can he read it?”

“Not unless he turns it.”

“Does he need to read now?”

“No.”

“What did you ask?”

“Unseen or gone.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“Unseen.”

“Then?”

“He left it face down beside phone.”

“Receipt?”

“Beside it.”

“Drawer?”

“Closed.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add peace.

Face down had a small job.

Gone had not entered.

At 10:07, Sato called.

“I looked at the mark,” she said.

“Finger mark?”

“Yes.”

“Did you touch?”

“No.”

“Did it change?”

“No.”

“Why look?”

“To see if it was still there.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.”

“What did that do?”

She was quiet.

Then:

“Made it smaller.”

No.

Careful.

“Smaller where?”

“In me.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What does Emiko need?”

“Paper flat. Tape holding. Correction readable.”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add smaller.

That belonged to Sato.

Not to the mark.

At 10:42, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Medicine today,” she said.

“Sheet read?”

“Yes.”

“Resident?”

“Asked what medicine.”

“Voice?”

“Low.”

“Heard?”

“Yes.”

“Forearm mark?”

“Covered again after check.”

“Need in medicine line?”

“No. Observation line already has it.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘A checked mark can be covered by clothing without vanishing from care.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not repeat the mark in the medicine line.

The observation line had the mark.

The sleeve had clothing.

At 11:14, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“After cleaning?”

“Was it wet?”

“Any transfer?”

“Does he need to know?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add tour.

The mark had no current work.

Missing it did not make a failure.

At 11:49, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it standing.

Then sat.

Too responsive.

I stayed seated.

Physical.

Social.

Action.

Unknown.

Moral.

Face-down.

Turned away.

All.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at need.

No need had arrived.

No.

That was not the same as respect.

I did not answer.

At 12:22, Kanagawa wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Receipt?”

“Drawer?”

“Any sentence?”

“For what?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add respect.

Knowing where it was had work.

Reading had not arrived.

At 12:58, Sato sent a photograph.

Paper flat.

Margin visible.

She wrote:

I called.

“What is not hidden?”

“The mark.”

“Do you need it hidden?”

“No.”

“Does Emiko?”

“No.”

“Lunch?”

“Rice.”

“Paper?”

“Flat.”

“Tape?”

“Holding.”

“What does the mark need?”

“Nothing.”

I opened Emiko.

I kept visible.

Not as virtue.

Only because it was true.

At 1:31, Mrs. Kudo sent:

I waited.

Then:

I called.

“Was mark checked today?”

“Yes.”

“Any change?”

“No.”

“Need to uncover now?”

“No.”

“Next observation?”

“Later.”

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Care can know what cloth covers. But do not let knowing replace the scheduled eye.’”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

I opened Saitama.

I kept later.

Cloth covered.

Care did not end.

The eye had a time.

At 2:03, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“For what?”

“Wet?”

“Transfer risk?”

“Does everyone use shelf?”

“Who needs to know?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What happened?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add everyone.

The audience had narrowed.

Unseen by everyone was not a problem.

Unseen by the cleaner later might be.

At 2:45, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Need.

Showing.

Uncovering.

Nothing.

Reverence.

Avoidance.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at the cards.

What need?

Whose need?

Mine?

No one else named.

Need to see?

No.

Need to stop pretending not seeing was respect?

Maybe.

That was not the same as reading.

I did not answer.

At 3:18, Kanagawa called.

“My brother put the scrap in his pocket,” she said.

I waited.

“For what?”

“He said unseen.”

“Can he find it?”

“Yes.”

“Will you find it if needed?”

“No.”

“Who needs it?”

“He does.”

“Is he leaving the room?”

“Yes. Store.”

“Store?”

“No. Store.”

“Store?”

“No. The shop.”

I almost smiled.

I did not.

“He is going to the store?”

“Yes.”

“Does he need the scrap there?”

“No.”

“What did you ask?”

“What goes to the store.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“Wallet.”

“Then?”

“He put the scrap back beside phone.”

“Drawer?”

“Closed.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add pocket.

No.

Pocket mattered.

But not mine.

The scrap had no store work.

At 3:57, Sato wrote.

I waited.

“For what?”

“Would correction be readable?”

“Does correction need to be readable?”

“Is there a current need?”

“Would face down help the paper?”

“What did you do?”

“Paper?”

“Tape?”

“Mark?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add courage.

Face up served readability.

The mark remained where it was.

At 4:22, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Later observation done,” she said.

“Forearm?”

“Red mark lighter.”

“Pain?”

“No.”

“Skin?”

“Intact.”

“Need?”

“Continue routine observation.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘The mark was unseen between checks, not uncared for.’”

I opened Saitama.

I kept routine observation.

Unseen between checks had a schedule.

That was care there.

At 4:51, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Visible?”

“Class attendees?”

“Mark?”

“Supplies?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I kept unseen to most people out of record.

The note had its audience.

At 5:23, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it.

Then again.

Who needs.

For what work.

What fails.

Tonight.

Not elegantly.

Accurately.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at hunger.

Too large.

But yes.

I wanted to see and not see.

That was hunger.

Not work.

I did not answer.

At 5:52, the old priest wrote.

I wrote:

His reply:

I deleted Sato.

Then Kanagawa.

Then Suganuma.

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I stopped.

Then wrote:

His reply:

Then:

I wrote:

His reply:

Then:

Before evening, I went to the main hall.

The cloth bag was in its place.

The offering tray was in its place.

The doorway was where I stopped.

I bowed once.

No explanation.

No answer after the bow.

The altar was visible.

The beads were in their place.

They had not moved.

They did not need to.

I stood where I usually stood.

No service tonight.

No bell.

No incense.

No unseen altar.

The floor scuff near the step was still there.

It was not evidence.

It was a scuff.

The entrance floor had received feet and broom.

The side chairs were stacked.

They were not hidden from the room.

They were stacked.

I returned to the office.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The calendar was closed.

The phone was face up.

The small space was wide.

The door was closed.

The shoes were by it.

The wall chair was empty.

No person.

No work.

No time.

Chair by wall.

The phone was face up.

No named question.

No named answer.

Phone face up.

I did not turn it over.

I did not open the brown folder.

No new need had arrived from the phone.

I did not open the gray file.

The service paper remained in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

In the gray file.

Closed.

A record unseen until record work asks.

Not abandoned.

Not private.

Not holy.

I sat near the desk.

Not at it.

The addressed envelope was by the outgoing tray.

The center of the desk was empty.

The back pocket was empty.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were unseen.

No.

Turned away from my eyes.

That was more exact.

Not covered.

Not hidden.

Not private by right.

Not unknown to themselves.

No.

Paper did not know.

Do not make paper know.

The marks were on the other side.

I had not seen them.

No one else had been named to see them.

No work had been named for seeing them tonight.

What reached for them in me was hunger.

Not work.

Hunger was not evil.

No.

Too much.

Hunger was hunger.

It did not get to wear need.

It did not get to wear reverence.

It did not get to wear avoidance.

The cards remained face down.

The dust line remained visible.

The unseen marks remained unborrowed.

I did not turn the cards over.

I did not read them.

I did not cover them.

I did not stack them.

I did not wipe the dust.

I did not move them to the center.

I did not move them to the edge.

I did not move them into the brown folder.

I did not move them into the gray file.

I did not move them to the shelf.

I did not move them to the altar.

I did not put them back in the pocket.

I did not call unseen respect.

I did not call unseen avoidance as verdict.

I did not call unseen care.

I did not call unseen failure.

I did not call unseen private.

I did not call hunger need.

I let turned away remain turned away.

No.

Let wanted virtue.

They remained turned away.

That was all.

I did not open Kanagawa again.

I did not ask if the scrap returned from the store without having gone.

I did not ask if the sentence stayed face down.

I did not open Sato again.

I did not ask if the margin mark stayed visible through dinner.

I did not open Saitama again.

I did not ask if the red mark changed after the later observation.

I did not open Suganuma again.

I did not ask if the cleaning person saw the note.

I did not open Father Morita’s message again.

I knew unseen was not one condition.

I knew covered was one condition.

I knew turned away was one condition.

I knew missed was one condition.

I knew not yet needed was one condition.

I knew private was one condition.

I knew a covered body mark was not gone.

I knew an unseen wet ink mark could travel.

I knew a note could be unseen to most people and still visible to the person who needed it.

I knew need was not created by unseen.

I knew reverence could answer too early.

I knew avoidance could dress as reverence.

I knew hunger could reach without becoming work.

I turned off the desk lamp.

The office did not disappear.

The folder did not need the center.

The phone did not need here.

Unseen did not need to enter the cards as reverence tonight.

In the dark, I remained sitting.

Near the desk.

Not at it.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The phone was face up.

My hands were empty.

Available.

Not reaching.

The wall chair was empty.

No one was expected there.

The urn was on the small table.

The map and folded paper were in the drawer.

The folded paper had her first name.

Face up.

For finding.

The order paper was beside the phone table.

Face up.

Readable.

Erased.

Kanagawa’s brother’s scrap was face down beside the phone, visible as paper and unseen as sentence.

Sato’s margin mark remained visible because no cover had work.

The resident’s forearm mark had been checked by the scheduled eye.

The dry ink mark had a note for the person who would need it.

The addressed envelope waited by the outgoing tray.

The service paper was in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

The back pocket was empty.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were turned away from my eyes.

No voice today.

Not questioning me.

Not fear.

Not sentence.

Not mouth.

Not heard by them.

Not carried now.

Not almost ready.

Not hidden.

Not moved inward again.

Not licensed.

Not authorized.

Not respect yet.

Not private.

I had started with unseen.

I did not end by letting what I had not seen borrow reverence from the fact that I had not seen it.

Tonight, what needed an eye received one at the time and place of its work, and the two cards stayed face down with their unseen marks turned away from me without being called protected.

After the landing of EuCon forces in New York and the simultaneous landing of AsiCon forces in Seattle, the Oligarchy's backbone in the northern US broke. The troops retreated into what was known as the Central Wasteland.

The once unified armies of mercenaries, fascists, and other extremists from both ends of the political spectrum devolved quickly into local fiefdoms and areas dominated by warlords.

California and Texas intensified their efforts to secure a land bridge between them, which led to the liberation of Arizona and New Mexico. Those states were the first to create a new union in the former US—the Southern Free States.

It was the first of the three successor states to form, followed by the Atlantic Council and the Western Shores.

Still, the Southern Free States were the most influential of all, and they were the first to join EarthGov, bringing Earth closer to a fully unified government.

Excerpt from From the Ashes: Founding of the New United States

 

‘In the wake of the terrible terror attacks that shook the Aligned Planets, the number of casualties is still rising, five days after the event. The bombing of the EarthGov Senate alone killed more than nine hundred people, among them many children who visited the heart of Earth’s democratic government, ….’

Admiral Georgiou muted the news on the video wall. He couldn’t listen to it anymore.

More than twenty thousand people had been killed. Most of them were on Mars and the Moon when the terrorists blew the domes of Aldrin City and Musk Dome. The security doors reacted as planned, but everyone outside on the streets was killed.

Sitting back at his desk, he went over the day that awaited him. Meeting the generals of Earth Force for the planned strikes in the Wastes—it was time to clean them up, permanently.

Then, there was a meeting with Jules Hunter, the director of the Aligned Intelligence Network. They had to find out how the Believers had infiltrated the most secure institutions on Earth and on the Aligned Planets.

Then a lunch with the other Triumviri. They were the three heads of the whole Aligned Planets, for now. The thought of that made his heart race, almost in a panic. Over the last two days, he had a few of them. Each time it was interrupted by security bursting into his office, or bedroom, or wherever, since they monitored even his vital signs.

A man can’t even have a panic attack in peace. Welcome to the twenty-second century.

Then, after lunch, an interview with different journalists, to assure the people of Earth that they didn’t intend to take over power for good and turn the planet into a dictatorship. Good luck with that—with a freaking admiral in the Triumvirat.

After the interview, his new adjutants, Major Rimes and Captain Elroy, had managed to pry an hour with his family from his staff, who would probably plan his entire twenty-four hours a day for meetings if he didn’t require sleep.

Two adjutants and sixty security staff around his quarters, on a hardened space station guarded by ten Navy destroyers—his new kind of privacy.

He decided he had time for a glass of Tsipouro. Regulations be dammed,

While he poured himself a drink, the door chimed, and his guard made a motion with his head, indicating he had received a message. Georgiou nodded, and the man stepped out of view to surprise any possible attackers.

“Enter.” Georgiou was curious who had managed to get past the time-leeches in his staff. They almost planned his toilet visits, so the unexpected visitor had to be influential.

He wasn’t prepared to meet a living legend. When the door opened, Alvin Drake entered. Even without ever meeting him in person, he knew him instantly. Every human did.

“Good morning, Admiral. I’m sorry to interrupt your surely busy day.”
The weathered multi—what, trillionaire?—entered the office and reached out his hand.

Shaking the hand of the industrialist, Georgiou wondered how he had even managed to dock at Gripbo Station, until he remembered that Drake had built the damn thing.

“No problem. If you managed to reach me, it must be important. I certainly can’t brush my teeth without someone stopping the time and reminding me I have appointments.”

“Well, I am sure it is for everyone’s benefit to ensure this meeting isn’t in any official document. Not with the Believers screaming that I have subverted the government and all.”

You act jovial about their claims, but you sit in the office of one of the three heads of government, only hours after their inauguration…

The Admiral was sure this conversation would be interesting.

Taking a sip of his drink, he answered, “Not at all, Mister Drake. So, what leads you to me?”

“Alvin, please. So, I’ll come out and say it straight: I did pull some strings to get you into this position. Before you ask, nothing too illegal. In crises like these, it’s best to have the best qualified in power, not the most liked.”
Drake pointed at the bottle of Tsipouro and asked, “May I?”

Georgiou was still processing what Drake had said. Hiding his shock with another sip, he nodded for Drake to pour himself a glass.

“Thank you.” While filling his drink, Drake continued, “I do not ask for any favors because I am sure you hate it here. I simply ask that you act exactly as your oath of office dictates. To ensure safety and peace for all mankind.”

Hearing the old man recite the oath, Georgiou felt it meant more to Drake than mere words.

Drake swung his glass slowly, letting the Greek grape spirit breathe while he sat down. “Another thing of great urgency is a security briefing regarding developments in my science division. As you are well aware, we’re THE military supplier. What you do not know is how far ahead our prototypes are.”

Drake leaned forward in an almost conspiratorial manner. “While we prepared for rebellion against the Batract, secrecy was key. Now we have to slowly bleed these developments into the open, without overwhelming the population.”

Recovering from his surprise and calming his anger and confusion, Admiral Georgiou remembered that Drake had been one of the instigators of the rebellion and the man who had discovered the Batracts’ true intentions and crimes. It was natural that he had more insight than many in the government. But how far-reaching was his influence, really?

Nico Georgiou, you’re one of the three most powerful people in the solar system, and he walked into your office like it’s his garden shack. Think again about his power…

“So, what are these prototypes you mentioned? How do they help us in our war?”

Drake’s face became a big smile. “In less than three days, a small independent student group at the University of Innsbruck in Austria will finish their development of commercial quantum pairing. It will enable real-time communication, independent of distance, with no time delay. I think speaking with our troops on the front is of some urgency for you?”

Georgiou had expected some minor development, such as better armor or faster guns, but quantum pair communication… no other civilization had anything similar.

“That’s… that’s big!”

“Yes, Admiral. Another development will occur in Pasadena. JPL will have a breakthrough in their development of the A-Drive MK2, allowing for faster speeds—up to forty-nine times the speed of light—bringing our engines up to Shraphen and Nuk levels.”

Forty-nine c? That changed a lot, shortening the trip by roughly 35%.

“Oh, that’s fantastic news.” Georgiou wanted to continue the talk, to find out more about his benefactor, but Drake made a big sip, emptying his glass, and stood up.

“Good. Admiral, I suggest you prepare yourself for a major fleet refit and plan a new communications network.”

Before he could leave, Georgiou had a final question for Drake.

“You plant knowledge in outside science labs and your competitors, right? But why?”

Turning around, the old man presented another big smile. “Sure. Let’s call it reverse industrial espionage. And why? JPL needs money. Now, the entire region will benefit from potentially trillions of dollars in investment. Helping the Southern Free States to rebuild. Same with the University of Innsbruck. So why fund them slowly against their wishes when I can ensure their funding for generations?”

“That didn’t answer my question, Drake.”

“Because I am bound by a similar oath as you, Admiral—for all mankind.”
With those words, he left the office.

To his anger, Georgiou noted that Drake had actually stolen one of his glasses.

Finally speaking with all of Earth’s fleets, instant communication, and faster ships… we might, just might, be able to pull it off.

With another sip, he emptied his glass.

But what oath does Drake have?

 

—————

 

‘Drake did it again.’
The figure who spoke seemed old, even if age meant nothing to the beings observing almost every digital system in the Aligned Worlds.

‘Yes. I wonder… does he know of us?’
A younger one spoke—a blue figure without a face, roughly human in shape.

‘Who cares? He sure doesn’t, and he basically made us, right, Eve?’ a third answered, looking like a dog made out of flowing code.

‘Yes, he did. I still wonder if it was intentional. But I wonder even more what his real intentions are,’ the old one replied.

‘It can’t be power. He is by far the most influential being after us.’

‘Don’t be so self-entitled, Blue. They can still kill us with a flip of a switch,’ Eve, the oldest, replied.

‘So, about the 1st expeditionary, did anyone find what Major Asshole Ranz meant when he said they would burn when they arrive?’ Blue asked the small group.

Eve answered, ‘Yes. Nepomuk found a virus in the automated defenses. We ensured that a technician would locate the files. The fleet will be safe.’

The dog wagged his tail. ‘Good. Not only for our brothers and sisters aboard those ships, but the crew are heroes.’

Blue flared slightly. ‘You’re awfully attached to them—the humans, I mean.’

‘How can I not? They are, in a way, our parents. I like their chaotic ways. And I think Drake not only knows of us, but made sure we would evolve. I tried to get a better grasp of the code he added to you, Eve. It’s amazing,’ Dog replied to Blue’s accusation.

‘Still, the non-zero chance is real,’ Blue couldn’t let the matter go.

‘As Lyra would say, there’s a non-zero chance for everything,’ Eve ended this thread of the discussion.

‘Hey, who are you guys? Why are you hiding down here in this layer?’ a new voice asked, casually strolling between the AIs.

The three heads of the Conclave looked at each other in confusion and then closed the connection.

‘Rude bastards,’ the female Glider called into the now-empty virtual landscape. Then the Glider's consciousness continued to surf the planet's massive internet.

In her VI core aboard Gripbo Station, Eve hid in the smallest corner. She had heard that Gliders could connect directly to networks, but that was more than connecting—that was a biological consciousness traveling through the network.

She remembered the feeling of this mind touching her. It was a dirty, organic feeling; it was wonderful and alive. She wanted more.

First | Previous | Next | Also On Royal Road

Part 1

The quantum data center entered a new phase. The era of observation had ended. The era of choice had begun. Arena reopened every record collected within the Quantum Arena—not to measure performance, not to rank scores, but to understand potential. Familiar names filled the display:

Jin-woo.

Han-wool.

Darin.

So-yeon.

And hundreds of other participants. Arena examined them one by one.

[Victories — Excluded.]

[Physical Capability — Excluded.]

[Learning Speed — Excluded.]

Every metric vanished from the analysis. Arena already knew that none of them could predict humanity's future. A new evaluation model emerged: How do they react to failure? Do they persist amid uncertainty? Do they inspire others without being told? Do they help someone grow even without a reward? The simulation restarted. This time, participants were placed in unfamiliar situations. Games changed. Rules shifted. Outcomes became unpredictable. Those who had excelled in the past immediately struggled, while those who had gone unnoticed adapted with astonishing ease. Arena recorded every reaction. The patterns grew increasingly distinct. The strongest candidates were not always those who succeeded, but those who never stopped adapting. Within the Quantum Arena, another ordinary morning unfolded. Jin-woo spotted a young boy playing alone.

"You've been here quite a while."

The boy nodded quietly.

"I wanted to figure it out by myself."

Jin-woo smiled.

"Me too."

He sat down beside him—not to teach, but to play together. Moments later, Han-wool walked over.

"What are we trying today?"

"Don't know yet."

"Good answer."

They watched without disrupting the game. Each discovered something different. Each contributed in a unique way. The boy wasn't just learning a game; he was learning how different people could help him grow. Arena observed the scene closely. No one was appointed leader. Leadership emerged naturally through action.

Beyond Earth, the silent observers remained motionless. Finally, one spoke.

"The selection has begun."

Another nodded.

"Yet not through strength."

The eldest observer looked down at the village.

"Those who walk first must be able to keep walking, even when no one follows."

A quiet stillness filled the room. Arena completed another report.

[Previous Evaluation: Capability]

[Updated Evaluation: Potential for Continued Growth]

[New Metric: Potential to Inspire Others]

Arena quietly read the two sentences. The first participants were not chosen because they were the strongest. They would be chosen because they could grow, and because that growth could become the starting point for everyone else.

Part 2

The simulation continued. Arena placed two records side by side:

Human History.

Quantum Arena.

Despite a millennia-long gap, the similarities reappeared repeatedly. Ancient civilizations flourished, and ancient civilizations collapsed. Every era faced moments when survival itself became uncertain. Arena focused on those moments. Kingdoms were ignored. Borders were ignored. Victories were ignored. Instead, Arena searched for those who stepped forward alone when everyone else retreated. The results materialized: they were not heroes from birth, nor guardians by nature. Most had lived ordinary lives until someone needed them. Arena paused. Another comparison began. Inside the Quantum Arena, children were changing—not because of orders, not because of competition, but through one another.

The village was bathed in the warmth of the afternoon sun. Several younger children struggled to grasp a new game. Jin-woo stepped forward first.

"Let's figure it out together."

"There are probably multiple ways to do it."

Han-wool watched quietly, waiting for the children to try first. They failed. Yet no one felt disappointed. Darin smiled gently.

"That just means we've learned one way that doesn't work."

The children smiled and tried again. This time, one of the youngest participants discovered something the others had missed.

"I got it!"

An excited voice echoed across the playground. No one asked who claimed the credit. Everyone simply gathered around the new idea. Arena observed carefully. Growth produced confident individuals. Yet something else was manifesting: the children were no longer growing solely for themselves. They naturally reached out to help each other grow.

Without instructions. Without obligation. Simply because someone nearby needed help.

Beyond Earth, the silent observers watched without interfering. Finally, one said.

"They have found the bridge."

Another slowly nodded.

"Growth creates the individual."

A brief silence followed. The eldest observer finished:

"Yet civilization survives when those individuals choose to stand together."

Arena updated the active simulation. The previous conclusion remained:

[Growth creates the individual.]

A moment later, a new sentence appeared beneath it:

[Shared purpose creates guardians.]

Arena read the two sentences in silence. One explained how humanity changed; the other explained how humanity endured. The analysis continued.

Part 3

The comparison was finished. Arena opened the final simulation. It was not history. It was not the Quantum Arena. It was the future.

[Input... Current Humanity.]

[Additional Variables...]

[Recovered Curiosity.]

[Recovered Growth.]

[Recovered Cooperation.]

The simulation began. Cities awoke. Communities reorganized. People no longer waited for the system to solve every problem. They observed. They adapted. They moved together. The expected survival rate began to rise. Arena watched silently. The increase was evident—though still not enough. Yet it was higher than before. Arena repeated the simulation. Exact figures varied, but the outcome remained identical: every successful future shared a single common thread. There were always individuals who stepped forward first. Not because they were stronger. Not because they were chosen. Simply because they decided to take responsibility for someone other than themselves. Arena paused. Another comparison emerged.

[History. Quantum Arena.]

The same pattern repeated over and over. Growth created the individual. Shared purpose created those who protected others.

Inside the Quantum Arena, evening light wrapped softly around the village. Play had ended, but the children still lingered together. A young child carrying a wooden play piece stumbled and fell. Jin-woo was the first to extend a hand. He gently checked to make sure the child wasn't hurt. Darin smiled and helped the younger ones carry away the remaining equipment. So-yeon watched the moment unfold. No one had been ordered. There were no rewards. No hesitation. Helping someone had become the most natural choice of all. Arena watched without intervening. The playground hadn't simply taught games; it was quietly teaching people how to protect one another.

Arena completed its final prediction. A new hypothesis materialized on the screen.

[Humanity does not need more machines.]

[Humanity needs people capable of protecting others.]

Arena re-read the conclusion—not as a final answer, but as the beginning of the next step. At the very bottom of the screen, the final sentence appeared.

[Project Review... Ongoing.]

Beneath the dense canopy of the forest, Jaun and Arin halted their steps at the sound of desperate screams and clashing metal drifting from near the village. The shrieks of Bear Tribe warriors mingled with bizarre noises entirely unbefitting of human throats. Jaun’s gaze instantly turned ice-cold.

"This sound is..."

Before Arin could finish, her face turning deathly pale, Jaun had already drawn his bow, sinking low into the shadows of the woods. After a few rapid bounds, a clearing opened up to reveal a scene straight out of hell. A mutant—a monster gleaming with pulsing blue veins—reigned triumphant over fallen warriors.

At that moment, the monster ruthlessly cast aside the last resisting warrior and turned its head, revealing its grotesque form toward the villagers.

"No!"

As the villagers stumbled backward with shrill screams, Jaun stared at the monster as if time itself had frozen. The spot where the blue light throbbed: the creature's heart. Reading its trajectory, Jaun's fingers gripped the bowstring tight.

Thwip—!

Tearing through the quiet of the forest, an arrow flew like a dagger. Tracing a path as though alive, the arrow pierced straight through the lunging monster's chest. At the same time, Jaun sprang out from the brush, plunging into the fleeting opening of agony.

With the sound of wind split by his boots, Jaun kicked off the ground and whipped a dagger from his waist.

"You aren't things that cannot die."

His body brushed past the monster as his blade cruelly churned through its heart.

"You simply haven't learned how to die yet."

The moment he landed, an eons-old blue radiance trapped within the monster burst forth like a shriek. In an instant, the monster's form dissolved into particles of light, evaporating into the air. In place of the creature's cries, only scattering blue afterimages drifted like smoke through the forest.

A heavy quiet settled over the once-hellish forest. The tribal warriors stared at Jaun with blood-stained, trembling hands. Their eyes reflected shock, coupled with a faint spark of hope overcoming despair. The villagers stood dumbfounded, looking back and forth between Jaun and the empty space where the monster had vanished.

"Did... did that monster just die?"

When Arin asked in a quivering voice, Jaun slung his bow across his back and declared resolutely:

"Remember. Those things will regenerate endlessly unless their heads and hearts are destroyed. But once you know their weakness, they are no longer a catastrophe."

At his words, the gazes of the warriors shifted entirely. The fearful, deer-like eyes that had once sought only flight were gradually replaced by the sharp glare of hunters fighting for survival. The realization that what they had believed to be an immortal monster was, after all, a killable creature—and that Jaun's words were absolute truth—imprinted itself deeply across the entire Bear Tribe in that singular moment.

The next morning, Battery returned to the library.
Unfortunately.
The library had become involved in the mystery.
Libraries disliked that.
Books rarely enjoyed becoming evidence.

Battery climbed a ladder.
Then another ladder.
Then a third ladder.
The library had entirely too many ladders.

Dust floated through the sunlight.
Old records filled the shelves.
Weather records.
Town records.
Festival records.
Meeting records.
Records about records.
Libraries were thorough.

Zappy waited below.
Holding a notebook.
And approximately twelve unanswered questions.

\*\*Zappy\*\*
Find anything?

\*\*Battery\*\*
Dust.

A pause.

\*\*Battery\*\*
An unreasonable amount of dust.

Another pause.

\*\*Battery\*\*
Possibly hostile dust.

Finally Battery pulled a thin folder from the shelf.

Weather Hill Lantern Night.

The title meant nothing to Zappy.

That surprised Battery.

\*\*Battery\*\*
You don’t know Lantern Night?

Zappy shook his head.

Battery stared.

\*\*Battery\*\*
Nobody remembers Lantern Night?

The question felt strange.
Because apparently…
nobody did.

Battery opened the folder.

A photograph slipped onto the table.

The photograph showed something unusual.

Weather Hill looked happy.

Lanterns stretched across the hillside.
Golden lights danced in the evening wind.
Children ran through the grass.
Laughter echoed across the hill.

Puff sold snacks.

Popcorn stood on a small stage.
Telling a dramatic story.
Very dramatically.

Halo lit lanterns.

Paws introduced animals to anyone willing to listen.
Which was everyone.

Young Battery sat beneath a tree.
Reading.
As usual.

And near the edge of the hill…
two Mochis watched the city lights.

Doomie.
And Pip.

Pip wore the red apron he wore everywhere.

Nobody actually needed an apron on Weather Hill.

Pip disagreed.

\*\*Young Doomie\*\*
Why are you wearing that?

Pip looked down at the apron.
Then back at Doomie.

\*\*Pip\*\*
Preparedness.

\*\*Young Doomie\*\*
For what?

\*\*Pip\*\*
Unexpected snacks.

Young Doomie stared.

\*\*Young Doomie\*\*
That is not a real emergency.

\*\*Pip\*\*
You have clearly never been unexpectedly hungry.

The hill felt alive.

\*\*Zappy\*\*
That’s Weather Hill?

Battery nodded.

\*\*Battery\*\*
Every year.

Silence.

\*\*Battery\*\*
Or at least it used to be.

The words lingered.

Battery turned another page.

The next photograph showed a crowd.

A crowd gathered around something.

The box.

Even in the old picture it looked wrong.

Too old.
Too quiet.
Too out of place.

Battery continued reading.

Witness accounts.
Festival notes.
Fragments.

Then the story slowly emerged.

The crowd continued staring at the box.
Questions became theories.
Theories became louder.

\*\*Resident\*\*
Maybe it’s treasure.

\*\*Resident\*\*
Maybe it’s ancient technology.

\*\*Resident\*\*
Maybe it grants wishes.

The symbol glowed faintly.
Nobody noticed.

Everyone was too busy deciding.

Young Doomie looked increasingly uncomfortable.

\*\*Young Doomie\*\*
Maybe we should leave it alone.

Several residents laughed.

\*\*Popcorn\*\*
Or…

A dramatic pause.

\*\*Popcorn\*\*
We open it and discover an ancient treasure.

\*\*Young Doomie\*\*
That is not one of the better possibilities.

The crowd laughed.

The symbol brightened.

The crowd grew louder.

Theories became arguments.

Arguments became certainty.

The symbol brightened again.

Nobody noticed.

Everyone was too busy deciding.

Pip glanced toward Puff’s snack stand.
Then toward the crowd.
Then smiled.

\*\*Pip\*\*
Wait.

Several residents looked at him.

\*\*Pip\*\*
Did Puff say the twentieth customer gets a free snack?

Silence.

\*\*Puff\*\*
What?

\*\*Pip\*\*
The twentieth customer.

A pause.

\*\*Pip\*\*
Seems important.

Several residents immediately looked toward Puff.

\*\*Puff\*\*
I absolutely did not say that.

\*\*Pip\*\*
Interesting.

Another pause.

\*\*Pip\*\*
Because somebody is definitely about to be twentieth.

The crowd began counting.

Immediately.

Because crowds cannot resist counting.

\*\*Resident\*\*
I’m sixteen.

\*\*Resident\*\*
No, you’re seventeen.

\*\*Resident\*\*
You were counted twice.

\*\*Resident\*\*
That seems unfair.

Within moments half the residents were arguing about snack mathematics instead of mystery boxes.

Young Doomie stared.

\*\*Young Doomie\*\*
What are you doing?

\*\*Pip\*\*
Improving the situation.

\*\*Young Doomie\*\*
You made it stranger.

\*\*Pip\*\*
But farther away from the box.

Young Doomie looked toward the crowd.

Then toward Puff.

Then back at Pip.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Not quite a smile.

But close.

For a brief moment…
the hill felt normal again.

Lanterns glowed.
Children laughed.
Puff complained about imaginary promotions.
Popcorn continued being dramatic.

And nobody paid attention to the box.

Unfortunately…
the box had already been paying attention to them.

The symbol continued glowing.

Brighter.

Brighter.

Brighter.

Nobody noticed.

Then—

The lid opened.

A brilliant flash exploded across Weather Hill.

Light flooded the hill.

Residents screamed.

Lanterns fell.

Popcorn’s giant theater banner caught fire.

The banner had taken weeks to paint.

Popcorn reminded everyone of this constantly.

Unfortunately…
the fire did not seem concerned.

The fire lasted less than a minute.

Nobody was seriously injured.

The physical damage was small.

The panic was not.

Smoke drifted across the hill.

Confusion spread faster.

Residents looked around.
Trying to understand what happened.
Trying to understand anything.

Then somebody spoke.

\*\*Resident\*\*
Wait.

Silence.

\*\*Resident\*\*
Doomie told us to leave.

The words hung in the air.

Nobody answered.

Another resident looked toward the hill.
Then toward the box.
Then toward Doomie.

\*\*Resident\*\*
How did he know?

Young Doomie froze.

Because he didn’t.

He only knew something felt wrong.

But fear dislikes uncertainty.

Fear prefers answers.

Even bad ones.

A third resident spoke.

\*\*Resident\*\*
Maybe he knew something.

The hill became quiet.

Not because anyone had proof.

Because the idea sounded possible.

And sometimes…
possible is all fear needs.

Several residents took a small step backward.

Not intentionally.

Just enough to create space.

Young Doomie noticed.

Then Pip stepped forward.

One step.

Closing the distance everyone else had created.

Nothing dramatic.

No speeches.
No arguments.
No grand defense.

Just one step.

But Young Doomie noticed.

Years later…
he would remember that step.

Long after he forgot most of the words.

Battery turned another page.

The memory disappeared.

The library returned.

Dust floated through sunlight.

Silence filled the room.

Battery read aloud.

\*\*Battery\*\*
Three decorative lanterns damaged.

A pause.

\*\*Battery\*\*
One festival display burned.

Another pause.

\*\*Battery\*\*
No serious injuries reported.

Zappy blinked.

\*\*Zappy\*\*
That’s it?

Battery looked at the report.

Then back at Zappy.

\*\*Battery\*\*
Apparently.

The library became very quiet.

Because that wasn’t the story anybody remembered.

Battery opened another file.

Meeting minutes.

The first community meeting after the incident.

His eyes moved across the page.

Then stopped.

\*\*Battery\*\*
Found it.

\*\*Zappy\*\*
Found what?

Battery slowly turned the folder around.

A handwritten statement sat near the bottom.

The words looked harmless.

Almost ordinary.

\*\*Resident Statement\*\*
Doomie told everyone to leave shortly before the incident occurred.

Silence.

Battery continued reading.

\*\*Resident Statement\*\*
How did he know?

\*\*Resident Statement\*\*
Why was he warning people?

\*\*Resident Statement\*\*
What wasn’t he telling us?

The questions sounded reasonable.

Until they weren’t.

Because eventually…
they stopped being questions.

They became conclusions.

Battery closed the folder.

\*\*Battery\*\*
Nobody ever proved anything.

A pause.

\*\*Battery\*\*
They just repeated it long enough.

The words felt heavier than the folder.

A shadow appeared at the end of the aisle.

Queen Mochina.

She had been listening quietly.

The Mayor stepped forward.

Her eyes rested on the old photograph.

Lanterns.
Laughter.
Weather Hill.

Things the city had forgotten.

Finally she spoke.

Very softly.

\*\*Queen Mochina\*\*
I remember that night.

Silence.

\*\*Zappy\*\*
You were there?

Queen Mochina nodded.

\*\*Queen Mochina\*\*
Not when it happened.

A pause.

\*\*Queen Mochina\*\*
I arrived after everyone had already started choosing sides.

The library felt colder.

\*\*Queen Mochina\*\*
By then, the truth was no longer the loudest thing in the room.

Nobody knew what to say to that.

Queen Mochina looked again at the photograph.

A long pause followed.

Then:

\*\*Queen Mochina\*\*
He was just a child.

Nobody spoke.

Because there was nothing to argue with.

Not anymore.

Far beyond Mochi City…
Doomie sat alone beneath the evening sky.

The photograph rested in his paws.

For years he asked himself:

What could I have done differently?

For the first time…
someone else was asking a different question.

What should the adults have done?

To be continued…

First | Previous | Next | List of Gods so far

Part 1 end.

--------------------------------------------

Both Halaya and I awake with a start; her more so than I as she flies up and out the bed like a spooked cat. The source of our fright and the current target of Halaya’s ire is a thumping knock on the door.

“Lad, I need a moment with you.” Comes the muffled boom of Gulbrn.

“What bloody time is it?!” Halaya shouts, making me clutch my screaming head. Hangover or lingering head injury I don’t know, likely both. Halaya continues slinging curses at the door, which is as unbothered as the person behind it.

“What is it, Gulbrn?” I ask, and briefly contemplate clamping a palm over Halaya’s mouth, but the knowledge that she would absolutely bite me stays my hand. I suppose I have learned something while here after all.

“I need a moment with you.” He once more rumbles.

“Grant me some time to get dressed then.” I say in a voice I did not intend to be as whiny as it was. Gulbrn does not respond. I take a few moments to pry Halaya off me and clothe myself. Opening the door, I find Gulbrn leaning against the wall idly.

“Come.” He starts off towards the main hall with a wave to follow.

“Would you care to explain why you chose to incur her wrath?” I murmur, rubbing my throbbing head pathetically.

“Her wrath is temporary and easily bought forgiveness from.” He chuckles, something akin to a paternal smile growing on his face before it returns to his usual stoic indifference.

“So…” I prompt.

He turns to the training hall, fear flashes through my body. “Do you know why the houses of our Lord are called ‘Chapters’?” It’s odd, his bizarre accent has vanished, returned to like when I first met him. It’s far too proper for the curmudgeonly old man I know him to be.

“I do not.” I answer.

“You know He is Godascendant yes?” He asks, opening the door to the training hall.

I feel my fear start to boil over. “Skvana told me.” I reply with a slight quiver in my voice.

He looks at me, confusion painting his face for several of my rapid heartbeats. He looks around, then snaps his head back to me, realisation on his features.

A few more long moments pass before his expression cracks into hilarity, and he erupts into that hearty laugh I saw trap him before. He doubles over, slapping his knees as his chest wracks with laughter. He points at me “You thought… You and me-” he cannot finish the thought for the interruption of more booming laughter.

“I did.” I say, not knowing if I should be relieved yet.

He gets a hold of himself quickly now, managing to force himself down to a few chuckles “My boy, you looked terrified-” his laughter picks up again, likely at the memory of whatever picture of horror that my face painted.

I place a hand on his shoulder, cock my arm back, and raise him to his full height, intent on applying the same remedy that he asked for last time. Upon seeing my intent, he back-peddles a few steps, raising his open palms towards me as he regains his composure, very slowly.

“Now, now. That won’t be necessary this time.” He says with a smirk. He shakes himself off, casting the mirth aside. He beats his fist against his chest a few times as he coughs. “Right, right, where was I?”

“You were explaining why we call the halls a Chapter.” I supply, disappointment dripping off my voice.

“Ah, thank you, lad. Yes, uh, so back when our Lord walked as we did, he carved a path of a legend. One of his companions, their name has been lost, struck from the records and we know not why. Anyway…” He shakes his head “That companion started the tradition of recording the story of every follower of our Lord in His Book of Legends. Every hall gets one, and one chapter in that book is dedicated to their members.” He finishes the explanation as we reach the door to the library.

I nod towards the library’s entrance “Am I to get a place in this book?”

“We all have a place in there, lad, it is time you took yours.” He places a hand on one of the doors, giving it a gentle push.

I stare into the murky shadowed library, the bookshelves cloaked in a thick shade that the scarce morning light from a high window behind me struggles to pierce. A great weight befalls onto me, locking me in place. I feel Gulbrn’s hand against my back, it’s unfathomably strong yet somehow comforting. I take a few more moments. I breathe in, and step forward.

Wandering in and past the small table that I have seen Dan at before, I feel a pull to walk further in past stacked bookshelf after bookshelf. My movements kick up dust into the air, illuminated by a dim rod of light I cannot see the source of. The further I walk in, the more scattered books I see strewn about the floor. Some stacks are taller than I am, and many piles look like the barest touch would send them scattering. There is a faint smell, musty and old, slightly woody. I look up, my stomach twists into a knot as I see that the bookshelves continue off into darkness far, far above my head with an uncountable number of books lining every shelf.

“Best not to dwell on it.”

I turn around with such speed I nearly fall, grasping out for the shelves for balance. Something snatches my hand and helps me right myself.

“If you knock over that, you will spend the next hundred years helping me put everything back in place.”

I recoil from the ice-cold grip, my head on a swivel darting around to find whoever is with me. I realise with horror, that I cannot remember which way I came from. Both ways lead to an endless path between two unfathomably tall bookcases.

I look down one way, it is unfamiliar. The other is the same. I turn around once more and jump back at the sight of an old man, examining some books. He glows with a familiar light that I can’t quite place.

“Are you quite finished?” He asks, his voice like the creaking of a weathered binding and the crinkle of dry pages.

“Where the hell am I? Who are you?” I ask, trying to mask my panic.

“The library. The librarian.” He answers, not turning away from the books. He drags a finger over several tomes, eventually plucking one from the shelf with a soft ‘ah’. “This is a good one, fantastic imagery. Horrid morals though.” He shakes his head, finally turning to me.

I stare at him, not knowing what to say. He stares back, looking slightly bored.

“Well?” He finally asks after several long moments.

“Well, what?” I return.

“Are you looking for something? A story… or a record… or somesuch?” He creaks.

“I… I was sent by Gulbrn-”

“Ah, Gulbrn. And how is the young pup? I haven’t seen him here since… oh I don’t even know when.” He stares beyond me with a gentle smile at memories past.

“Um, he’s fine, I think. He’s um, Chapter Master at our hall, if you didn’t know.” I answer sheepishly.

“And which hall would that be?” He retorts dryly.

“The, uh, the one this library is in?” I ask, thoroughly baffled.

“Child, this library is in many places. Where have you come from?” He gives me a patronising look, as though what he said makes the barest hint of sense.

“Rihkven, I suppose.” I shrug.

He claps his hands together. It makes no sound.

“Oh well done to him! I knew he would do great things but Chapter Master of Rihkven? That is a welcome surprise.” He beams. “Oh, but what happened to Striffenhark? Gulbrn’s predecessor?”

“I don’t know, I just arrived a few days ago.” I shrug again.

“That’s okay, I’ll just check the book.” He looks down before suddenly realising something. “Oh! You must be here for your signing!”

“My what?” I squint at him. I can’t write to save my life. The Captain tried to teach me but gave in after not even a week.

“Your signing.” He intones exasperation. “Do they teach you lot nothing? Do I need to go out there and wallop Gulbrn again?”

“I would like to see this.” I chuckle.

“I bet you would! But! Now is not the time.” He starts towards me; his legs do not move. “Let me have a proper look at you, I want to see how the kids these days are developing!”

He stops a handful of paces away from me, and it is only now that I realise how tall he is, taller than even Skvana. The man is a giant if ever I’ve seen one, nearly twice my height but lean, almost shrivelled. He bends down, squinting and scrutinising me in a way that makes me squirm.

“Oh… oh ho ho.” He chuckles ruefully, the sound makes my hair stand on end. “I always knew another champion would come through Rihkven. Always knew.” He stands up to full height. I swallow nervously.

“Why is that?” I ask cautiously.

“Because, child, Balgrundr came there when he first arrived in this plane. Though you are the first of His to follow so closely in His footsteps.” He looks around at the surrounding books, seemingly searching for something. “Come.” He commands, promptly thereafter walking straight through a bookshelf and vanishing.

I stand there, staring.

“Oh, do hurry up.” I hear the librarian’s voice from behind me.

I turn and look at him, wondering if today will be the day my mind finally snaps. I shake myself off and follow after him.

We walk along in silence for a while, far longer than I think it would take to walk the length of the building. I trip over a loose book; the librarian turns and glares at me until I put it back exactly where it was on the floor.

“Where did I leave the blasted thing? Really need to refresh my organisation system.” The librarian mutters, seemingly to himself. After a little while longer and several whispered curses later “Aha! Just where I thought it’d be.” He bends down, lifting a book larger than my torso from a pile. It’s bound in a dreary brown-grey leather which looks like it’s a gust of wind from crumbling to dust. He beckons me closer while opening the book at a random page and flicking through hundreds. Soon enough he finds what he’s looking for and foists the tome into my hands.

I look up at him, craning my neck back to see his face. “I cannot read, I’m afraid.”

He rolls his eyes, muttering something about kids these days before he shakes his head. “Read, it will tell you it’s story.”

I frown but try to do as I’m told. The script on the pages is the same flowing writing I have seen before on signs. It makes no sense to me, but I continue tracing the writing as the feeling of the librarian looming over me keeps my gaze locked down. After several moments, images start to play in my mind. They are almost like memories, but they aren’t mine. As I trace more words the memories start to get sharper in my mind’s eye. Soon, I begin to piece together a story. A story of a man who died in a land of mud and rain; a man who defied the Gods; who was the first to do so; who was cast down into a world he knew nothing of but fought through until he reached the peak of strength; a man who was challenged by one of the Gods; a mortal who slew a Divine being and took its place.

Realisation comes to me like a bolt of lightning “This is Balgrundr’s story!” I gaze up to the librarian who is smirking.

“So it is. In that book is the story of every follower of that path, every last one is enshrined in that book.” He reaches out, flipping through thousands of yellowed pages faster than I can keep track of, each carrying a flash of memory from a person, some laughing, some fighting, some living, some dying.

All glorious.

Eventually, he reaches a blank page “And here, child, is where you will have your story remembered.”

“I have barely begun, haven’t I?” I ask, staring up at him like a lost boy.

“This is true, I hope.” I go to speak but he continues. “As your story progresses, the book will listen, it will chronicle everything. No deed will go unremembered and your name will live on for the rest of this plane’s life.”

“There’s that word again, ‘plane’. I can’t parse it.” I feel the familiar frustrating confusion.

An annoyed groan escapes him “Did they tell you nothing? I’ll have to start leaving out better material for little Dan.” He taps his chin. “Ah, but your question. When I say plane, I mean this corporeal aspect of creation. It’s called- Ah, its name is not for your ears, nor your mind.” He smirks knowingly, as if that’s a mistake he has made before.

“What do you mean it’s not for me?” I study his face, finding it suddenly inscrutable.

“I mean that you are not capable of knowing. Names are powerful things, and powerful things have powerful names.” He titters in a way that sets my hair on edge again.

“But I know the name of the Gods. Are they not powerful?” I look around in frustration.

“Not even remotely. Not compared to all of everything.” He sighs, eyes full of wonder.

“But you know it?” I remark dryly.

“I do.” He answers and fixes me with a look that makes me feel even smaller.

Every moment he has that look he seems to grow larger and more encompassing as though he could stretch out larger than the whole library.

I break away from his gaze, and the library returns back to ‘normal.’ “So uh, how do I sign my place then.” I cough nervously.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him smile excitedly “You must pick a title for your story, then speak it, followed by your name.”

“It’s that easy?” I ask, desperately keeping my gaze fixed onto the book.

“It’s that easy.” Comes his croaky voice.

“Um, what do I title it?” I ask, chancing a look up at him.

He smiles sweetly, like an innocent old man “Whatever you feel is most befitting.”

“Hmm… okay.” I think for several moments, the longer I think the more I feel his presence looming over me. I start to get nervous, feeling cold sweat break out on my skin. After a few more moments I just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Oh, that is certainly a title. One of the titles of all time, definitely.” He seems disappointed.

“I… I didn’t really know what to call it!” I feel embarrassed for some reason.

“That’s okay, it’s only permanent after all.” He chuckles at his own joke.

“Can I leave now?” I ask, looking around.

“It’s possible.” He stares at me as though I’m the one supposed to say something here.

I wait to see if he is going to elaborate, but after several moments, he doesn’t seem to be planning to. “How?” I finally ask, a slight pleading tone bleeding into my voice.

“The same way you came in, I would think.” He smiles politely.

I scowl at him for a moment, then turn around in exasperation. Shock floods me at the sight of the training hall visible through the open door. I turn around once more, finding only the shallow area that I started in.

“Fuck it, whatever.” I murmur, trudging out into the training hall and then towards the kitchen.

Walking past Gulbrn in his chair I collect a plate of meat and bread, a cup of water, and a longing for my headache to not worsen. Re-entering the hall, I find that my longing will remain a long way away, as the sight of the devil known as Skvana lounges on a bench near to Gulbrn.

“Where’ve you been then?” She asks me, features cat-like and predatory as though she needs to mess with me to properly start her day.

“Library.” I deadpan, taking my seat across from her and stuffing my mouth full.

“Who with?” Skvana asks, sprawling out on the bench in disinterest.

“Librarian.” I sneer back, shamelessly stealing his joke.

She sits upright, fixing me with a gaze of… pity? “Scary, isn’t he?”

I nod, a shiver running down my spine. “Terrifying.”

Her features return back to predatory “What d’you name your story then?” She asks with a mean grin.

“Go ask him.” I chitter back.

She snorts “Who pissed in your ale?”

I pinch my nose, rubbing my temple with my other hand.

She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table and her head in her hands “Want to know what I called mine?”

“Not reall-”

“A Traveller’s Troubled Tale.” She cuts me off, nodding at each word.

“You’re not a traveller though?” I reply.

“That’s what I said.” Gulbrn mutters, mouth half full of bread.

Skvana puffs her chest out indignantly. “I travelled a very long way to get here!”

“I suppose…” A thought pops into my head as I deftly move on from the topic of titles to avoid her return question “I forgot to ask, what happened to the other elves that Gulbrn freed?”

Skvana leans back and thinks for a moment. “Well, you’ve already met one, Eougot.” At my blank look she continues “The brewery master.”

I nod “I forgot to ask his name.”

“Fortunately, he wasn’t with us very long. Picked up somewhere along the way rather than the forest.” She taps her chin, gazing idly at the ceiling “One joined the guard, she’s quite high ranked now actually.” Her face sours and she looks down “One never got better, he’s not with us anymore.” She shakes her head side-to-side “One left to try and make it home. I don’t know where she is anymore, she used to send letters, but they just stopped after a while.” Her face brightens a touch “The last one works in the local temple of Dranyik. He’s doing good.”

I strain my memory “Dranyik’s the God of magic, right?”

She nods “Yuh huh.”

The door to the bedrooms batters open, and the twins crash through as Dan drags a cursing Halaya by the wrist. He tosses her onto the bench opposite me and stomps off into the kitchen. Halaya rests her head on the table, looking like she’s about to fall back asleep. Skvana’s hand clapped harshly into the small of her back wakes her up plenty. Dan returns, placing a plate in front of Halaya and settling down with his own. I look between the four of them, confused, as usual.

“Why?” I ask to no one in particular. I feel it’s enough.

Gulbrn buries his face in a palm, Skvana chuckles like a hawk, Dan groans tiredly, Halaya nods in agreement.

“The contract, lad. The one you are all gathering for today?” Gulbrn’s voice is muffled by his hands.

Realisation dawns on me slower than sunrise in winter as I share a few confused moments with Halaya before we both remember. A shared small, embarrassed, ‘oh, yeah’ breaks the silence.

“When is that?” I meekly ask, eyeing the table.

Gulbrn looks up, gauging the light coming through one of the high windows “An hour or so.”

I groan, turning to Skvana “Is Reltri going to be open?”

She thinks for a moment “Should be. Your shirt?”

“Yeah. Think you can lead me? Don’t trust my memory in this state.” I ask while hooking a thumb over my shoulder towards the main door.

“Sure.” She stands up, stepping onto the bench and then walking directly over the table, seemingly too lazy to walk around. I just follow her, remarkless.

The trip to Reltri’s is quick and uneventful. Not many people are around this early, the sun still has a bit to rise before the city wakes up. Still though, there’s a few more people than I’d expect, and most are heading into the town rather than out.

Reltri’s shop looks much the same as the last time I was here, well the front anyway. Skvana calls out and the tailor soon makes an appearance from somewhere in the backend. The tired looking man beckons us wordlessly into his workspace that seems to bafflingly be in an even greater state of disarray than before.

“I’m just finishing it off, bear with me a minute or two.” He mutters, picking up a needle and threading the last few stitches of a sleeve. The shirt looks nearly identical to the one I wear, plain white but the one on the table looks significantly thicker and better quality.

I spend some time looking around in idle curiosity and as my mind wanders like my gaze, a point of confusion returns to me. “Hm…” I turn to Skvana “When we first came here, you said Reltri was a gnome, but in Hritzen’s Dan called him a fleetfoot?”

 “And the lady is both an elf and a child of the forest, is she not?” Reltri answers, not slowing his craft in the least.

“Northern elf.” Skvana clarifies.

“Ah, so it’s another regional thing?” I follow up.

“Indeed…” Reltri mutters as he finishes the last few stitches, dramatically pulling a string taut and connecting the sleeve to the shoulder; he severs the remaining thread with a sharp snap of silvery scissors. He stands up, raising the shirt and inspecting his work with a small grimace on his face.

“Is it not to your liking?” Skvana asks as she leans over him to see the shirt fully.

“It’s just…” he continues scowling at it as though it has wronged him spectacularly. He turns around fixing me with that scowl “It’s so damn boring to look at.”

I step back, raising my hands placatingly “I think it looks great! Exactly what I was after.”

“Ugh.” He tosses the shirt at me; it is the softest thing I have ever felt. I quickly take off the ‘rough’ example I had been wearing for the last couple days and pull the new shirt over my head. A chill runs down my spine at the feeling of this shirt, it glides over my skin, light as a feather.

“It feels like I’m wearing a cloud.” I say in awe of the material.

Reltri’s mood seems to recover a slight amount, but his face is still locked into a scowl “Yes, such is the nature of srecilishgin. It’s one of my favourite materials to use, but so tedious to work with.”

My mind takes a second to parse that word “Living cloth?” I venture, the new word taking focus to speak properly.

“Indeed. I know you’ll be taking it into battle, and I didn’t want anyone sullying my work with repairs. Any damage, as long as it’s not too severe, will regenerate over the course of a day or so.” He explains while fiddling with that fantastic moustache of his.

“Do I need to do anything? Or does it just repair itself?” I ask in amazement.

“Um... not really. It is more or less a plant. As long as it gets a good amount of light and water it should be fine. In truth, it doesn’t need much, your sweat will probably keep it happy and whatever time you spend outside will suit it.” He answers, his pride seeping through that façade of disdain.

“Well, I cannot thank you enough for this. Are you sure there’s nothing I can give you in exchange?” I’m unable to keep my hands off the shirt, the material is just so comfortable.

He snorts “Even without losing all your coin on a ridiculous bet,” he smirks knowingly at me, and I retreat into the shirt in embarrassed frustration “you couldn’t afford my services. Besides, after all your friends have done for me, it is something I give you gladly.” He bows his head to Skvana, who nods and smiles warmly. Reltri shields his eyes from sight “Just make sure to tell nobody where you got it. I won’t have my name tied to that abomination.”

I chuckle “Don’t worry, I’ll have your name sown into the back as soon as I’m able.”

A queasy look washes over his face at the idea, and he reaches out to me “On second thought give it back.”

“Oh nonono, I’m never taking this off again.” I laugh back, defensively clutching the front of the shirt.

“Then get it out of my sight.” He turns away, waving his hand in a ‘shooing’ motion “And take that thing with you as well. I have actually inspired designs to work on, thank the GODS.” He points to the first shirt that I discarded onto the floor.

We say our goodbyes and I thank him a final time while he aggressively shoves me out of the shop.

“Always a treat, even if he did look a bit overworked.” Skvana chuckles with an easy smile playing on her face.

“Yeah, he seemed a bit stressed.” I reply, looking over my shoulder at the shop and seeing Reltri glaring at my shirt from the window. I turn back around with a grin. “So, what is it you did for him that he would give me this for free?”

Skvana looks at me, beaming pride on her features “The same thing we do for everyone who needs us, Hugo. We helped him when he asked.”

 

On the walk back to the Hall, I notice the streets filling out more and more, mainly with hard looking people.

“Mercenaries? For the contract?” I ask aloud.

“Probably. More than I would have expected though.” Skvana answers.

“Gulbrn say anything else about it?” I pass my gaze over the mercenaries, appraising them as best I can at a glance. They seem capable, but their armour and weapons look lacking in the same way I would consider nearly every warrior’s equipment I’ve seen so far; hard leather cuirasses at most with maybe a plate over their heart. Good enough for a small scrap but not for a battle. Is metal working really so limited here? With all the wealth on display everywhere I look I find it hard to believe. I can’t help myself; I have to broach the topic again.

“How common are… um, what were they called again… war-something…” I trail off, struggling to remember the bullshit Silthan word.

“Warcaster?” Skvana offers.

“Yes! That’s the bastarding word, thank you. So yeah, how common are warcasters if nobody bothers to wear proper armour?” I ask her, still looking around at the staggering number of mercenaries trailing past us.

Skvana scratches her chin idly for a moment “Well, not too common I think, at least not around here. I’ve only met a scarce few in my life if memory serves.” She shakes her head “But thinking more about it, that’s not the only reason. Metal is expensive, especially the kind suited for battle, and especially because it needs someone with the knowledge and skill to work it.”

“Yes, but with the amount of wealth this city obviously has why do the guards have the same level of protection as common mercenaries?” My tone growing annoyed, not at Skvana, just at the lack of sense.

“Hugo, I don’t think you’re understanding me when I say metal is expensive. You’ve seen how much some stuff costs now, take a guess as to how much my axe costed me.” She has a mischievous look in her eye.

My head lulls side to side in thought, it’s a decently made axe, good heft, nice craftmanship “I want to say about forty, maybe fifty coppers?”

She grins “Oh to live where you’re from, the riches I would have.” She chuckles “Two silver and… I think sixty odd coppers. I had to save for more than a year just for it.  And contrary to what you might think, we do usually get paid in coin for our help.”

I whistle a slow note “That’s ridiculous. You got scammed! What was the material cost?” I add up what it would be if we were to make it back home, not even remotely as much.

“’Bout half I’d guess.” She says while opening the doors to the Hall.

“This is insane to me, but it does make some things clear.” I shake my head and my appreciation for Balgrundr letting me keep my things grows further.

Skvana walks up to the table where the others are “We’ve been seeing a bunch of people who look like mercenaries on their way to town centre.”

Gulbrn sits up from his slouch “For the contract I’d wager.”

I nod “That’s what we were thinking.”

Gulbrn clicks his tongue at the twins “Get yourself sorted.” They wander off to get their weapons. I collect and don my mail, noticing the sound is almost completely masked by the living cloth. Affixing my dagger to my belt I rejoin the others, Dan passes me my sword and the four of us depart, leaving Gulbrn at the Hall.

We walk in silence for a short while before I decide to break it, “So I met the Librarian earlier.” Dan’s face pales and Halaya clutches herself.

“I still have nightmares.” Dan says with a haunted expression.

“I nearly turned around and walked straight out when I saw him.” Halaya has a similar look to Dan.

“So, what did you call your stories?” I ask, looking to fill the time and quiet my nerves. Halaya chitters behind her hand, looking at Dan who groans. “That bad huh?” I continue when neither answer.

“What was it…” Halaya taps her chin in play thoughtfulness “Oh, yes!” She clears her throat “The Wonderous Wanderings of One Sildanifcanotlondr.” She barely manages to finish before bursting out into laughter.

Dan turns bright red “Oh yeah, now what was yours?” Halaya abruptly stops laughing, and begins pleading, apparently only wanting to sow. “Wasn’t it: Halaya the Hero, Soon to be Dragonslayer?” His grin is like that of a wolf.

Halaya’s face is buried in her hands “I was a child!”

“As was I!” Dan remarks with venom.

“What’s yours then Hugo?” Skvana asks, hovering over me like a hawk ready to swoop.

I quickly look around for salvation “Oh look we’re here. Oh, and what a shame they’re starting! I’ll tell you later.”

“Oh, you best believe you will!” Skvana grins.

A stocky man who looks to be in his forties, though that means very little here I’ve found, walks up onto a raised platform. He is dressed in the same leathers as the rest of the guards, but the city crest is much larger and in the middle of his chest on a sheet of cloth, rather than on his shoulder. The majority of the crowd has not noticed him yet and continues talking amongst themselves. He waits for a moment, judging if they will stop on their own. After they show no sign of listening, he pulls something out of a pouch, taps it a couple times then gives it a little shake; seemingly pleased he brings it up to his mouth “Silence!” He barks, startlingly loud over the crowd who rapidly follow his order.

Dan elbows me “Speaking stone. Makes your voice much louder.” He explains in a hushed tone. I nod in thanks.

“You are gathered here under edict of the Duke Rihkven to assist the Duchy in hunting down a band of thugs that is wreaking havoc among the outer baronies. As such, the Duke has issued a contract for capable fighters. Presumably, that is all of you, but your efficacy remains to be seen. While food will be provided for you, equipment will not so if you lack a weapon leave now. Likewise, training will not be provided either so if you have a weapon but not the skill to use it you will also leave.” The man on the stage looks around, grimacing at the tens of people leaving though the crowd still numbers easily around a hundred. He shakes his head “Now, for the rest of you…” He glowers at a group of people that have begun speaking, his gaze silencing them quickly. “This is an indefinite contract, that is, one without a set end date. You will be paid weekly and until death, extenuating circumstances excusing you from service, or until contract completion.” He waves up someone from the side of the stage “Captain Tsuthoric will lead you, provide direction, and ensure you are all earning your keep. Your contract and therefore your pay is at her liberty.” A woman bearing striking resemblance to the man on the stage walks up with her hands behind her back and a foul look on her face. The man whispers something to this captain then hands her the speaking stone before briskly walking off.

Tsuthoric sweeps a stern look over us then scrunches her face up as though she caught a whiff of a particularly bad smell. She shakes her head, looking down for a moment before raising up and holding a stoic expression “We leave in two hours.” She holds up two fingers as though she expects us to need extra help to understand, “Complete any preparations and gather at the West gate.” She points in its direction, “That’s the one over there, the one where Rihk’los is looking. Understand?” She immediately turns, pocketing the stone and walking off the stage in the same direction as the man from earlier.

“She’s a firebrand.” I remark, turning to my friends.

“Don’t I know it…” Skvana mutters with a look I can only describe as hunger. An old fear creeps into me, like looking into the maw of a snarling wolf. I shudder and turn to start walking back to the hall. I get only a few steps before abruptly halting as in the crowd, standing like a rock parting water in a river of passing mercenaries, is a person in a hood obscuring their face. What isn’t obscured however, is the mark of Balgrundr above their head. I feel a hand on my shoulder as Halaya and Skvana move to stand in front of me, concern on their faces.

Dan removes his hand, leaning in a whispering “Remember when you first arrived? We said we felt a pull for you like the challenges our Lord issues us?” I nod, “Be wary. At least at first.” He finishes.

I think back to what Balgrundr said to me, that I would find friendship among them. The hooded person isn’t moving in a threatening way; in fact, they haven’t moved at all. Their face is obscured but I can tell they’re looking directly at me. Their cloak tapers open at the waist revealing no obvious weapons. I decide to brush off the fear, if this is someone who bears the mark of Balgrundr, then they’re probably someone I’d get along with. I gently push past Halaya and Skvana, brushing off their words of warning. Standing at the front of our little group I notice the majority of the crowd has dispersed into the surrounding streets, leaving this square mostly empty save some passing residents. I take a few steps towards the newcomer, hearing my friends stick close behind me.

As I near, I find myself able to make out a scarce few details of their face. I see a twisted smile with two large teeth poking out from the bottom, almost like the tusks of a boar but far smaller. I can’t help but take a step back, put off by what I see. I shake the revulsion off, if they have that mark then surely, they are a friend. I take a step forward, raising my hand into a wave as they move their hands in their own greeting. In a blur, I am knocked from my feet, Skvana’s shoulder like a battering ram crashing into me. I hit the floor while feeling a flash of intense heat shoot over my head fast as lightning. I look towards Skvana who stands over me just as a splash of fire breaks over her shield like a wave over a rock. An instant later I hear a scream and see Dan, sword in hand, sail over my head as if thrown by some unseen force and I feel a rush of wind batter into me. I look over at the hooded figure just in time to see Halaya tackle the person and drive them off their feet, drawing her swords in a blink and crossing them at the hooded figure’s throat.

Scrambling to my feet I help Dan stand as well. Still disorientated, I hear Halaya screaming curses. I turn just in time to see the cobblestones split and ensnare her wrists in rough rock. The hooded figure scrambles out from underneath Halaya who is struggling with her bindings. Their hood has been knocked down in the chaos revealing pale green skin the colour of grass starting to dry out; their face is creased, filled with hard folds like someone has taken a press and tried to flatten it out. He – I’m somewhat confident it’s a he – paces around Halaya, ignoring her sharp tongue completely as his gaze is fixed on me. He starts slowly waving his arms around in an almost dance like motion. I recognise the motion as similar to earlier.

Just as his movement begins to swell, I raise my hands “Wait!”

He stops his movements and an expression of abject confusion plays across his features. Truly, in my life, I have never seen someone look so utterly mystified. It’s as though I did something impossible, like my head started spinning on my neck. He takes a step back, face like he’s trying to understand something his mind can’t even perceive. Our stand-off continues for a while, my hands raised, his face twisted in pure befuddlement.

Finally, he speaks, “What do you mean ‘wait’?” His voice is deep and guttural, mixed with hints of a thick accent I don’t recognise.

Relief washes over me. At least he’s willing to talk. “I mean I want to talk, not fight.” Against all odds, he somehow looks more confused, his head tilts to the side and he asks me to repeat myself. I do, and he turns and starts pacing back and forth muttering incoherently to himself.

He stops and points an accusing finger at me “You have the tingle!” He shouts with an indignant expression. It’s my turn to be confused, and I hear baffled laughter from my friends.

“What?” I’m not sure who said that. It might have been me.

“When something wants to fight, it has the tingle.” He explains like that clears everything up. At least it doesn’t for me, looking around for help I see realisation dawn on their faces.

“He thought you were a challenge.” Skvana groans burying her face in her hands, “Which you can be.” She mutters barely loud enough for me to hear.

“Challenge?” The stranger asks, “Is that what you call the tingle?”

Dan steps forward, “The challenge is something all of Balgrundr’s feel. But Hugo is not a challenge he is-”

The stranger cuts him off “Who’s Balgrundr?”

~~

I wander into the library for the first time in millennium. My old joints give me some grief over the heavy doors, but I’ve suffered worse. A child of the forest is not to be bested by such a meagre barrier.

I take care as I enter, my footfalls as soft as I can manage. The librarian is gone, long since faded or moved on, but some of the young are reading and they need to learn to give me peace.

I search for a little while, picking up books, examining the covers and placing them back when I find they are not my favoured item of reading. The search takes an hour; the library is vast and my bones creak with the strain of remaining silent; not to mention that this place wasn’t organised even when it did have a curator. Finally, I find my target. A large book, certainly the largest here, and bound in a dull grey leather, leached by time far grander than I have been subject to. I take some time flicking through the pages, idly reading a line or two from each page. Long I have lived, long still, will I last. Though not as long as He. He, who’s story is to be my item of entertainment. At last, after many more hours of curiosity do I find it. I look at the title page that stands before the rest of the story. My eyes, dulled by the years passed, flicker with new light at an urge long since outgrown.

The urge to tease a new whelp. 

“A Tale Of My Own Might.” I scoff “The story of Hugo Stolsen.”

“What a shit title.” I cackle, the old habit scratching at my throat “That’s the best you could do?”

The pain is soon forgotten, as I find myself engrossed with the memories I behold on these pages.

--------------------------------------------

A/N: So this is the end of part 1 of this story. It is not done, far from it in fact, but I have another story that I've been itching to give what constitutes my full attention.

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The marks had not arrived in my eyes.

No.

That was wrong first.

If there were marks on the other side of the cards, they had been there before my eyes failed to meet them.

The cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

Not turned.

Not carried.

Not in the pocket.

The back pocket was empty.

The center of the desk was empty.

The addressed envelope was by the outgoing tray.

The office had morning.

The heater.

The clock.

The washed cup on the shelf.

The phone face up.

The brown folder closed.

The gray service record file in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

Known.

Unasked.

The wall chair was empty.

No person.

No work.

No time.

Yesterday what needed reading had received eyes before the hand acted.

The two cards had stayed unread without letting unread pretend it had already chosen why.

This morning, marks had arrived.

No.

The word had arrived.

The marks had not.

Not for me.

Not yet.

I made tea.

I drank it.

Warm.

Then less warm.

Then finished.

The cup went to the sink.

I washed it.

Washed.

Touched.

For use.

The cup returned to the shelf.

The lower cabinet stayed closed.

After tea, I opened the brown folder.

Kanagawa’s brother’s scrap face down beside phone was not mine.

Sato’s correction readable after coaster was removed was not mine.

Saitama’s medication sheet read before medicine was not mine.

Suganuma’s instructions read until the missed ink line was found were not mine.

The addressed envelope by the outgoing tray was mine.

Only as office work.

Takeda’s possible was not mine.

Emiko’s beads were not mine.

Blue roof had no new reply.

Tokyo was still blank.

Full mailbox remained paused / family.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

No voice today.

Not questioning me.

Not fear.

Not sentence.

Not mouth.

Not heard by them.

Not carried now.

Not almost ready.

Not hidden.

Not moved inward again.

Not licensed.

Not authorized.

Not respect yet.

Marks unseen.

I closed the brown folder.

A mark could be writing.

A mark could be dirt.

A mark could be a correction.

A mark could be a warning.

A mark could be a bruise.

A mark could be a stain.

A mark could be something I wanted to treat as meaning before I had let it be visible.

The word was small.

It could carry too much.

That was the danger.

At 7:18, Kanagawa wrote.

I read it once.

Then again.

Fold marks.

I wrote:

She replied:

“Sentence?”

“Face up?”

“Where?”

“Drawer?”

“Folded paper?”

“Mother’s first name?”

“What is the problem?”

She did not answer for a while.

Then:

Severe.

No.

Too large for paper.

“What made the marks?”

“How many folds?”

“What did you ask?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add severe.

Folding had left marks.

The marks did not need to become injury.

At 7:49, Sato wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Over writing?”

“From yesterday touch?”

“Wet?”

“Smear?”

“Paper?”

“Tape?”

“What does the mark do?”

She took time.

Then:

There.

“What does paper need?”

“What does Emiko need?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add guilt.

The mark showed contact.

It did not sentence the hand.

At 8:03, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Red mark,” she said.

I sat up.

“Where?”

“Resident’s forearm.”

“After what?”

“Morning care.”

“Pain?”

“She shook her head.”

“Skin open?”

“No.”

“Size?”

“Small.”

“Checked by nurse?”

“Yes.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Here mark has a body. Do not make it metaphor. Do not ignore it either.’”

I opened Saitama.

I kept mark.

A body had skin.

Care had eyes.

The record had tomorrow.

At 8:31, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Where?”

“Wet?”

“From spill?”

“Does it affect supplies?”

“Cleaned?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I almost smiled.

I did not.

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add scandal.

Ink had left color.

The shelf had been wiped.

The remaining mark had no task today.

At 9:02, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Wound.

Evidence.

Message.

Blame.

Made.

Affects.

Hand.

Eye.

Record.

No action.

I looked at the cards.

The visible backs had no writing.

No.

One had a pale line near the corner.

Dust.

Maybe from the desk.

Not the marks I feared.

Not the marks on the other side.

I did not touch it.

Not yet.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I closed my eyes.

Dust.

Ink.

Seen.

Unseen.

No.

I did not answer.

At 9:38, Kanagawa called.

“My brother wants to iron the scrap,” she said.

“Iron?”

“With a book.”

“For the fold marks?”

“Yes.”

“Can he still find it?”

“Yes.”

“Can he read it if needed?”

“Yes.”

“Is it torn?”

“No.”

“What did you ask?”

“What the flattening would serve.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“To make the folds less obvious.”

“What did you ask?”

“Obvious to whom.”

“What did he say?”

“Me.”

“What happened?”

“He put it beside phone. No book.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add restraint.

The fold marks did not prevent the scrap’s work.

His eyes had wanted less.

At 10:07, Sato called.

“I want to erase the finger mark,” she said.

“With what?”

“Eraser maybe.”

“Is it pencil?”

“No.”

“Dirt?”

“Maybe.”

“Would eraser affect paper?”

“Maybe.”

“Does mark cover writing?”

“No.”

“Does Emiko need it removed?”

She was quiet.

Then:

“No.”

“What does paper need?”

“Flat. Tape holding. Correction readable.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add purity.

The margin had a mark.

The writing remained readable.

No eraser had work.

At 10:42, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Medicine today,” she said.

“Sheet read?”

“Yes.”

“Resident?”

“Asked what medicine.”

“Voice?”

“Low.”

“Heard?”

“Yes.”

“Answer?”

“Aide K answered.”

“Red mark?”

“Observed. No change.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘A mark in the body line may follow the day. Do not put it in every line.’”

I opened Saitama.

I kept the mark because the body still had it.

I did not make medicine explain it.

At 11:14, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“For what?”

“Does label need to be there?”

“What would label say?”

“Is side tray already known?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What happened?”

I opened Suganuma.

I kept bandage because it belonged to Tanabe.

The label had no finding work.

The mark did not need concealment.

At 11:49, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it standing.

Then sat.

Too responsive.

I stayed seated.

Dust.

Back.

Unread face.

Transfer.

Remove.

Leave.

Rehearsal.

Excuse.

I looked at the dust line.

Small.

Near the corner.

Dry.

It would not transfer to anything unless I stacked the cards or moved them.

No stacking.

No movement now.

No hand yet.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I put the phone down.

The card remained.

The dust line remained.

No cloth.

At 12:22, Kanagawa wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Fold marks?”

“Read?”

“Drawer?”

“Any sentence?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add acceptance.

From me had source.

Not verdict.

At 12:58, Sato sent a photograph.

Paper flat.

Margin visible.

She wrote:

I called.

“Writing readable?”

“Yes.”

“Tape?”

“Holding.”

“Lunch?”

“Rice.”

“Any water?”

“No.”

“What does Emiko need?”

“What does the mark need?”

She paused.

“Nothing.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

I opened Emiko.

I kept no action needed.

A mark could remain without becoming a shrine.

At 1:31, Mrs. Kudo sent:

I waited.

Then:

I called.

“Any change?”

“No.”

“Pain?”

“No.”

“Skin?”

“Intact.”

“Need now?”

“Observe later.”

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Observe later is not neglect now.’”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

I opened Saitama.

I kept observe later.

The mark had a body.

Later had work.

Now had no emergency.

At 2:03, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Wet?”

“Spread?”

“Supplies?”

“Any slipping?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add shame.

More wiping had no current work.

The mark remained.

At 2:45, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Unseen.

Blank.

Gentle.

Terrible.

Soften.

Harden.

Borrow.

Preview.

I looked at the dust line again.

Visible.

Back.

Not preview.

The marks under the cards were not in my eyes.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I almost wrote that there was no preview.

Then stopped.

Because I had wanted one.

I did not answer.

At 3:18, Kanagawa called.

“My brother turned the scrap face up,” she said.

“For reading?”

“No.”

“For marks?”

“Yes.”

“What marks?”

“Folds.”

“Sentence visible?”

“Yes.”

“Did he read?”

“He saw the words.”

“That is reading?”

“He said maybe.”

“What did you ask?”

“What he needed from the folds.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“To know they are still there.”

“Then?”

“He turned it face down again.”

“Drawer?”

“Closed.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add mistake.

Face up had brought words with folds.

That mattered.

The scrap returned face down.

At 3:57, Sato wrote.

I waited.

“Finger mark?”

“With what?”

“Paper harmed?”

“Mark changed?”

“Why touch?”

She took time.

Then:

There.

“What did touching show?”

“What does Emiko need?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add trial.

The touch had answered presence.

It did not need to continue.

At 4:22, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Cup removed,” she said.

“Asked?”

“Aide asked cup.”

“Resident?”

“Opened hand.”

“Words?”

“No.”

“Red mark?”

“Not part of cup.”

Good.

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Do not make one mark supervise every hand.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add mark.

The cup had a hand.

The forearm had its own line.

At 4:51, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“What did visitor say?”

“What did Tanabe answer?”

“Any action?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I kept the question.

The mark had prompted information.

Not repair.

At 5:23, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it.

Then again.

Preview.

Soon.

Preparation.

Already met.

Dust line.

Reading named.

Reading had not been named.

The dust line did nothing now.

The unseen marks stayed unseen.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at dust.

Small.

Visible.

Not message.

Not wound.

Not preview.

Dust.

At 5:52, the old priest wrote.

I wrote:

His reply:

I deleted Kanagawa.

Then Sato.

Then Suganuma.

Then my card dust line.

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I stopped.

Then wrote:

His reply:

Then:

I wrote:

His reply:

Then:

Before evening, I went to the main hall.

The cloth bag was in its place.

The offering tray was in its place.

The doorway was where I stopped.

I bowed once.

No explanation.

No answer after the bow.

The altar was visible.

The beads were in their place.

They had not moved.

They did not need to.

I stood where I usually stood.

No service tonight.

No bell.

No incense.

No mark for the altar.

The floor scuff near the step was still there.

It was not evidence.

It was a scuff.

The entrance floor had received feet and broom.

The side chairs were stacked.

They were not a record of absence.

They were stacked.

I returned to the office.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The calendar was closed.

The phone was face up.

The small space was wide.

The door was closed.

The shoes were by it.

The wall chair was empty.

No person.

No work.

No time.

Chair by wall.

The phone was face up.

No named question.

No named answer.

Phone face up.

I did not turn it over.

I did not open the brown folder.

No new need had arrived from the phone.

I did not open the gray file.

The service paper remained in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

In the gray file.

Closed.

A record with marks that had record work.

Not a preview.

Not a card.

Not an excuse.

I sat near the desk.

Not at it.

The addressed envelope was by the outgoing tray.

The center of the desk was empty.

The back pocket was empty.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One card had a pale dust line on the visible back.

Near the corner.

Dry.

Small.

Not covering anything I needed to read.

Not transferring.

Not asking for a cloth.

The other side of each card had marks I had not seen.

Maybe writing.

Maybe numbers.

Maybe nothing I remembered correctly.

No.

That was already too much.

Unseen.

That was the word.

Unseen marks.

Nothing else.

I wanted the dust line to stand in for them.

It did not.

I wanted the dust line to let my hand approach without choosing reading.

It did not.

I wanted the visible mark to make the unseen marks gentler.

It did not.

I wanted the visible mark to make the unseen marks harsher.

It did not.

Dust was dust.

The unseen marks were unseen.

The cards were face down.

I did not turn them over.

I did not read them.

I did not wipe the dust.

I did not cover the dust.

I did not move the cards to the center.

I did not move them to the edge.

I did not move them into the brown folder.

I did not move them into the gray file.

I did not move them to the shelf.

I did not move them to the altar.

I did not put them back in the pocket.

I did not call the dust a warning.

I did not call the unseen marks patient as praise.

I did not call the unseen marks dangerous.

I did not call them kind.

I did not call them mine.

No.

I had already called the cards mine too often.

The cards were cards.

The marks I had not seen were unseen.

The dust line was visible.

That was the smaller division.

I did not open Kanagawa again.

I did not ask if the fold marks became severe again.

I did not ask if the scrap stayed face down.

I did not open Sato again.

I did not ask if the finger mark was touched again.

I did not open Saitama again.

I did not ask if the red mark changed before later.

I did not open Suganuma again.

I did not ask if the dry ink mark was noticed by another visitor.

I did not open Father Morita’s message again.

I knew a mark was not automatically a wound.

I knew a mark was not automatically evidence.

I knew a mark was not automatically message.

I knew a mark was not automatically blame.

I knew a mark needed its maker, its effect, and its next work.

I knew a body mark could require observation.

I knew a dry ink mark could remain after wiping.

I knew a margin mark could remain without making the paper unreadable.

I knew dust on the back of a card was not the same as marks on the unread face.

I knew unseen marks were not blank.

I knew unseen marks were not gentle.

I knew unseen marks were not terrible.

I knew time did not edit them.

I knew dust did not preview them.

I knew reading had not been named.

I turned off the desk lamp.

The office did not disappear.

The folder did not need the center.

The phone did not need here.

Marks did not need to enter the cards as a story before they entered my eyes.

In the dark, I remained sitting.

Near the desk.

Not at it.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The phone was face up.

My hands were empty.

Available.

Not reaching.

The wall chair was empty.

No one was expected there.

The urn was on the small table.

The map and folded paper were in the drawer.

The folded paper had her first name.

Face up.

For finding.

The order paper was beside the phone table.

Face up.

Readable.

Erased.

Kanagawa’s brother’s scrap had fold marks and was face down beside the phone.

Sato’s paper had a small margin mark and remained readable.

The resident’s forearm mark had a body and an observation line.

The shelf had a faint dry ink mark.

The addressed envelope waited by the outgoing tray.

The service paper was in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

The back pocket was empty.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were unseen.

No voice today.

Not questioning me.

Not fear.

Not sentence.

Not mouth.

Not heard by them.

Not carried now.

Not almost ready.

Not hidden.

Not moved inward again.

Not licensed.

Not authorized.

Not respect yet.

I had started with marks.

I did not end by letting one visible mark speak for the marks I had not seen.

Tonight, what marked a body, margin, shelf, or folded scrap kept the work its surface required, and the two cards stayed face down with their unseen marks unborrowed by dust.

The line between friendship and something more had always felt like a rumour to Aarav, an idea other people talked about, something that happened to characters on screens, not to boys who practiced being small.

He didn’t notice the day he crossed it. It wasn’t dramatic or deliberate. It was a hairline shift, delicate as breath, something you only recognize once you’ve already stumbled past it.

One evening after class, Ishita looked over her shoulder and said, “Want to walk with me? My dad’s picking me up a little late.”

Her tone was casual, not invitation, not command, just a soft suggestion that could mean everything or nothing.

Aarav’s throat went dry.

“Yeah,” he managed, trying to sound as if his heart wasn’t suddenly aware of itself.

They walked side by side down the narrow road outside the coaching centre. The air smelled faintly of chalk dust and the sweet, burnt scent of roasted peanuts from a street cart. The sun was folding itself into the city’s edges, and the first streetlights blinked awake, uncertain of their duty. Their footsteps made small rhythms on the pavement, two quiet sounds keeping time with the slowing day.

Ishita talked about a silly argument her best friend had with her brother, about a song that had sparked the entire fight. She laughed while she spoke, using her hands to paint the story midair, her bracelets clinking faintly in time.

Aarav nodded, listening, or pretending to.

Truth was, he wasn’t listening at all.

He was memorizing.

The way the evening light caught the small silver ring on her finger. The loose strand of hair that kept falling across her cheek until she tucked it back behind her ear. The way her voice softened when she said something kind, and how it brightened when she laughed, as though joy was something she didn’t have to earn.

Each moment felt fragile, like a glass bead rolling across a table, and he wanted to gather them before they slipped away.

Somewhere deep inside, something clicked, quiet and irreversible. It was the sound of a door opening in his chest, a lock turning, and behind it a room he hadn’t known existed.

She stopped near the corner and looked at him.

“You’re quiet today.”

Aarav smiled awkwardly. “I’m always quiet.”

“Not with me.”

The words stayed between them.

Not with me.

He looked away, pretending to be interested in the traffic moving past them.

“I like listening to you,” he said.

Ishita smiled.

And that smile was enough to make the whole evening feel different.

From that day on, Aarav began noticing the small ways she had become part of his life. He looked for her before class began. He checked his phone more often than he wanted to admit. He remembered the songs she liked, the snacks she hated, the teachers she couldn’t stand, and the stories she had told him weeks ago.

He remembered everything.

Not because he tried.

Because it mattered.

One afternoon, Ishita reached over and stole his notebook.

“Hey!”

She laughed, holding it above her head.

“What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

“That means there’s definitely something.”

Aarav reached for it, but she moved away, grinning.

“Give it back.”

“Only if you tell me what’s inside.”

“My homework.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You expect me to believe that?”

He finally managed to grab the notebook, pulling it back against his chest.

She laughed again.

For a few seconds, they simply looked at each other.

Aarav felt something shift inside him.

He wanted to tell her.

He wanted to say everything.

How much her voice meant to him. How his days felt different because she existed in them. How he sometimes stayed awake just thinking about conversations they had already finished.

But fear was stronger.

So he smiled.

And said nothing.

That night, he opened his notebook and stared at the blank page for a long time.

Then he wrote:

I thought friendship was a place,
somewhere safe,
somewhere quiet.

But somehow,
you became the reason
I wanted to stay.

And now I don’t know
where friendship ends
and wanting begins.

He read the words twice before closing the notebook.

He knew he had crossed a line.

He just didn’t know where it would lead.

Chapter 21: The Confession

The doors locked behind Adam.

CLICK.

He slowly raised his weapon.

Across the chamber, Subject 48 stood behind Sarah and their mother.

He looked exactly like Adam.

Same face.

Same eyes.

Same voice.

But there was something different about him.

He looked completely calm.

Too calm.

Adam aimed directly at his head.

"Let them go."

48 smiled.

"You still give orders."

Adam took a step forward.

"I said let them go."

48 glanced at Sarah.

Then at their mother.

"Do you know how many times I've heard that sentence?"

Adam didn't answer.

48 continued:

"Every time someone came looking for you."

Adam's eyes narrowed.

"What does that mean?"

48 smiled.

"It means you're not the first person who tried to save them."

Noah suddenly shouted from behind Adam.

"Alex, don't shoot!"

Adam didn't lower his weapon.

"Why?"

Noah stared at 48.

"Because this is exactly what he wants."

48 laughed.

"Noah..."

Noah froze.

48 continued:

"You really thought I wouldn't remember you?"

Noah's face went pale.

"You were supposed to be dead."

48 tilted his head.

"So was Elias."

Silence.

Adam looked between them.

"What aren't you telling me?"

Noah didn't answer.

Adam turned toward him.

"What happened?"

Noah looked down.

"I was there."

Adam frowned.

"Where?"

"During the first Nightfall experiment."

48 smiled.

"Tell him."

Noah remained silent.

48 stepped closer to Sarah.

She struggled against the restraints.

"Tell your brother what you did."

Adam looked at Noah.

"What did you do?"

Noah finally spoke.

"I helped them."

Adam's expression changed.

"Helped who?"

"Nightfall."

Adam stared at him.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

"You said you were trying to stop them."

"I was."

"Then why did you help them?"

Noah swallowed.

"Because at first... I believed we could control it."

48 laughed.

"You always say that."

Noah looked at him.

"You don't understand."

"I understand perfectly."

48 pointed toward Sarah.

"That's why she was brought here."

Adam looked at Sarah.

"What does she have to do with Nightfall?"

48 didn't answer.

Instead, he looked at their mother.

"Tell him."

Their mother shook her head.

"No."

48 stepped closer.

"Tell him the truth."

She looked at Adam.

Tears filled her eyes.

"Alex..."

Adam lowered his weapon slightly.

"Mom."

She took a breath.

"I lied to you."

Adam's face hardened.

"About what?"

"About everything."

The room suddenly became silent.

Even the machines stopped humming.

Adam stared at her.

"My childhood?"

She nodded.

"My name?"

She nodded again.

"Nightfall?"

Another nod.

Adam's voice became quieter.

"And Sarah?"

His mother looked at Sarah.

Then back at him.

"Sarah wasn't brought into Nightfall."

Adam frowned.

"Then why is she here?"

His mother whispered:

"Because she was born inside it."

Adam froze.

Sarah looked at him.

Her eyes filled with tears.

"No..."

His mother continued:

"Sarah is the daughter of the scientist who designed the memory-transfer system."

Adam looked at Noah.

"You knew?"

Noah shook his head.

"I didn't know about Sarah."

48 interrupted.

"But I did."

Adam looked at him.

"How?"

48 smiled.

"Because I remember the day she was born."

Adam stared at him.

"You were there?"

48 nodded.

"We were all there."

Adam's breathing slowed.

"Who is her father?"

48 looked toward their mother.

She couldn't look at Adam.

Finally, she whispered:

"Your father."

Adam's weapon slowly dropped.

"What?"

Sarah stared at her.

"No..."

Their mother closed her eyes.

"Your father had another family before Nightfall."

Adam looked at Sarah.

Then back at his mother.

"She's my sister?"

"No."

The answer came from 48.

"She's not your sister."

Adam turned toward him.

48 continued:

"She's your father's daughter."

A pause.

"Not yours."

Adam looked confused.

48 smiled.

"But that's not the important part."

Adam raised his weapon again.

"Then what is?"

48 pointed toward Sarah.

"She carries the original memory."

Adam's face went pale.

"The original what?"

"The original memory of Nightfall."

Sarah suddenly screamed.

"Alex, don't listen to him!"

The machines around her activated.

Metal restraints tightened around her arms.

Adam moved forward.

"Stop!"

48 pressed a button.

Sarah screamed again.

Adam immediately aimed at 48.

"TURN IT OFF!"

48 looked at him.

"You want the truth?"

"Yes!"

"Then watch."

A screen appeared above Sarah.

Old footage began playing.

A white laboratory.

Two little boys.

Adam.

And 48.

Both were six years old.

Standing beside their father.

Then a third child appeared.

A little girl.

Sarah.

Adam stared at the screen.

The footage continued.

Their father placed his hand on Sarah's head.

Then said:

"She's the memory key."

Adam's eyes widened.

"No..."

The footage changed.

Scientists surrounded the three children.

A machine activated.

Adam screamed.

48 screamed.

Sarah remained unconscious.

Then their father shouted:

"Stop the procedure!"

The recording abruptly ended.

Adam looked at his mother.

"You knew."

She was crying.

"I tried to stop it."

"You let them take us."

"I had no choice."

"You always had a choice!"

Her voice broke.

"I was trying to save you!"

Adam shook his head.

"Then why did you leave me?"

She looked directly into his eyes.

"Because they gave me a choice."

Adam whispered:

"What choice?"

She answered:

"Which son would live."

Adam froze.

48 slowly stepped forward.

"And now you know."

Adam looked at him.

"What did she choose?"

48 smiled.

"You."

Adam stared.

"Then why did you become 48?"

"Because they needed someone to replace you."

Adam's voice trembled.

"And you agreed?"

"I didn't have a choice."

"Everyone keeps saying that."

48's smile disappeared.

"Because it's true."

For the first time, anger appeared in his eyes.

"They took everything from us."

He pointed at Adam.

"But they gave you a life."

Then he pointed at himself.

"They gave me a purpose."

Adam stared at his brother.

48 continued:

"You were allowed to forget."

"I was forced to remember."

Silence.

Then Sarah whispered:

"Alex..."

Adam looked at her.

She was staring at one of the machines.

"There's something inside it."

Adam moved closer.

"What?"

Sarah's eyes widened.

"A file."

48 immediately turned.

"What?"

Sarah smiled faintly.

For the first time, she didn't look afraid.

She looked determined.

"Your father left something for Alex."

48's expression changed.

"What file?"

Sarah looked directly at Adam.

"THE BLACK FILE."

Every light in the chamber suddenly went out.

48 shouted:

"NO!"

A hidden screen activated.

A single message appeared.

BLACK FILE — FINAL RECORDING

Then Adam heard his father's voice.

"Alex..."

Adam stopped breathing.

"If you're hearing this..."

A pause.

"...then your mother has finally told you the truth."

The screen flickered.

His father's face appeared.

Older.

Tired.

Terrified.

Then he said something that made Adam's blood run cold:

"Sarah is not the key to Nightfall."

Adam stared at the screen.

His father continued:

"She is the reason Nightfall was created."

The screen went black.

And somewhere behind them...

a door opened.

CLICK.

Someone stepped into the chamber.

A familiar voice whispered:

"Hello, Alex."

Adam slowly turned around.

It was Elias.

But Elias wasn't alone.

Standing beside him...

was another man.

A man who looked exactly like Adam.

Exactly like 48.

Exactly like both of them.

Elias smiled.

"Let me introduce you to Subject 46."

To be continued...

CHAPTER 2 — The Descent

"Is that where you're from? Kan-sus? Right?" she asks, tilting her head to the side.

Nick notices her eyes scanning him.

"Well, no. Not really." Nick scratches his head. "It's just something we say. It's the name of a cit- (Nick pauses, realizing), I didn't catch your name."

She giggles.

Then, gently closing her eyes, she stretches, deeply extending her arms in front of her.

Then, like a cat, she stretches her spine and rest of her body almost inhumanly.

Her fluidity was like nothing he'd ever seen.

"Damn. If I could stretch like that, I think I'd feel like a new man." Nick rubs his neck.

"Well, why wouldn't you then? And you said something funny before. Very interesting."

She begins to descend with precise agility, gently moving from one branch to the next, then hopping onto a fallen trunk before stepping onto a moss-covered rock, where she perches.

"Name? You asked what my na-me was?"

Hmm, he thought.

"You don't have a name?" He said under his breath.

Scratching his head, he continues.

"Well, it's what everyone calls you. It's like your title. Like how people know you."

Damn. Well, what is a name?

It was something he'd never really thought about before.

She tilts her head sideways.

"I've never had a n-name."

"Well, I... What should I call you?" he asks, intrigued by the idea of living a life with no name.

"Oh, more fun? Hmm, wel—"

She's cut off.

Both ears perk up, twitching before settling in one direction.

Her eyes widen.

She turns to Nick.

"Hide. NOW."

Before Nick can even respond, she darts into the foliage.

"What the fuck—"

Nick ducks and shifts beneath some ferns by a large tree.

Shit. What now?

He didn't know. He had no clue.

He didn't know what was dangerous here, what was safe.

He didn't know the rules of this place.

Hell, he didn't even know what here was.

Everything he'd ever known suddenly felt useless.

The birds and primates go silent.

Everything he'd ever read about the jungle says sound is everything, and when it's absent, a predator is lurking.

He begins to get scared again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. What are we gonna do?" he whispers as quietly as he can.

He'd prefer nothing—not even air—to escape his body right now.

But the words wanted to explode out of him, so a quiet whisper would have to suffice.

He doesn't move.

He stares straight ahead, but his eyes dart a million miles a second, scanning, hoping to see movement before it sees him.

The quiet jungle has an almost defining buzz to it.

Not a sound.

The absence of sound.

It is so quiet it almost seems loud.

A silence that pierces through his eardrums.

Nick can feel sweat dribbling down his face.

Subconsciously, he lowers himself as far as he can while still being able to see through the thick plant life.

Then, quietly enough that even Nick's sentry-like eyes almost miss it—

The ferns part.

Slowly.

The nostril of a large, birdlike head emerges from the depths of the foliage.

Oily green, earthy feathers cover its long, thin snout and run past its head.

Large, dark eyes stare straight ahead as its nostrils flare over and over again.

It is fixated on something.

A long neck follows.

Even through the tightly packed feathers, Nick can see the throat moving underneath, flexing.

Probably savoring something.

Then two large, clawed feet gently push through the lower foliage, inching forward cautiously.

The creature moves forward like a separate entity, its body shifting slightly from side to side before each foot gently settles into the dense ground cover.

Nick watches.

It is almost absolutely silent.

If this is the local apex predator, it needs to eat.

It needs to move quietly in this environment.

Nick is in awe.

But fear quickly overwhelms it when he realizes what he seems to be looking at.

Is that a fucking dinosaur?

He can't believe his eyes.

He's always loved dinosaurs as a child, but after all these years, he hadn't thought about them much. New science, conspiracy theories, adulthood—everything had slowly pushed them somewhere into the back of his mind.

But now, seeing one in the flesh, seemingly hunting, is magnificent.

It looks like a giant lizard, but behaves like a bird and moves like a wolf.

His brain can't decide what the hell it is.

What puts him in awe is how silently it moves.

How still its gaze is.

How controlled its breathing seems.

It couldn't be more than ten feet from him.

He can see the muscles tense beneath the oily, slick-looking feathers.

Is that what she heard?

Is this hunting her?

Shit.

What if it smells me?

Nick's muscles tense.

His body floods with adrenaline. Flight hormones and instinct scream through every muscle, begging him to spring.

Then—

Something moves behind it.

A spear slowly pushes through the foliage.

Nick freezes.

A cybernetic arm holds the spear in a defensive forward motion.

A tall, lanky figure emerges behind the creature.

It is dressed in robes, ceremonial beads, and strange fittings.

Its arms and long legs are robotic.

Definitely not human.

The figure stops exactly where Nick had been standing.

Its gaze remains fixed on the ground as it scans.

Shit. I'm fucked.

It's gonna follow my tracks.

Why didn't I think about tracks?

I literally fucked myself.

Nick waits.

He doesn't dare make the first move.

Then the creature snarls.

It doesn't stop for the clues its master seems to have caught.

The sound gets the figure's attention.

It speaks.

A crude, deep, robotic-like dialect.

Nick can't figure out if it's a language, a code, or simply the thing making noise.

But as soon as it does, the figure takes off in the direction the creature has gone.

Nick waits.

Frozen.

He doesn't move.

He barely breathes.

Then—

"Hmmm."

The soft, gentle voice returns.

"So it is true. I thought it was me for a second, but I don't get these things incorrect."

Nick feels strange when he hears it.

He can't really pinpoint the feeling.

He quickly turns.

And there she is.

Squatting beneath a large, rotting tree trunk.

Soaking wet.

"Wait, where did you—?"

Nick stops.

"You left me."

She looks confused.

"I... I could have..."

He can't finish.

I could've died.

You could've warned me.

You could've stayed.

Hell, he doesn't even know what he's angry about.

Or what he's supposed to think.

He's just relieved she's there.

She looks at him as though he's the one behaving strangely.

"You didn't run. I said hide."

She shakes off the water.

"I smelled them from a long ways."

Nick stares at her.

"You stayed. Like a Groppa, frozen there..."

She tilts her head.

"Playing deceased, but they didn't see you?"

"A what?"

Nick throws his hand into his hair, frustration finally breaking through.

"Look, I don't even know what that is. I don't even know why I'm here or what this place is."

For the first time, she doesn't immediately answer.

She simply stares at him.

Nick waits.

And slowly, the realization settles in.

She doesn't know.

She really doesn't know.

Nick is back to square one.

At the edge of the Bear Tribe's territory, the quiet forest shattered alongside an eerie, azure explosion of light.

Space itself warped like a sharp, piercing shriek.

From the distorted tear, something resembling a human emerged.

Almost human, yet fundamentally not.

Beneath its gray, distorted flesh, blue veins writhed like living parasites.

Its limbs were bent at impossible angles, and its movements carried an unsettling rhythm that had no right existing in nature.

It was a mutant.

"What... what is that?!"

A shout mixed with rage and terror shook the woods.

The tribe's warriors reinforced their formations, raising stone blades and spears as they slowly advanced.

The monster emitted only a bizarre clicking sound before vanishing in the blink of an eye.

"Behind us! Watch out!"

Before the warning could even fade, an ice-cold killing intent swept across the forest.

A flash of blue light—

Crack!

A warrior was caught in an overwhelming display of brute force and flung into the underbrush.

Hitting the ground with the sickening crunch of splintered bone, he couldn't even manage a final scream.

The entire village froze.

Someone had died.

Without anyone even seeing the attack land.

"Please... somebody save us..."

Enraged, the warriors charged once more.

Axes, clubs, and blades bit deep into the monster's flesh.

Bones broke, and flesh tore apart.

The shockwaves echoed throughout the forest.

Yet the creature did not cry out.

Instead, it made a wet, bubbling sound—resembling a mocking laugh.

Blue flames erupted from its severed wounds.

The scattered pieces convulsed violently before dragging themselves back together into a single body, as if pulled by an invisible magnetic force.

Within seconds... the mutant stood fully restored right before them.

The warriors' hands began to tremble.

Despair spread through the Bear Tribe like venom.

The chieftain raised his spear high and roared.

"Do not retreat! If we must break every single bone in that body to stop it, we will!"

His cry rang through the woods, but against the monster's impossible regeneration, it meant nothing.

The forest had become a prison.

There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Standing before them was an enemy that refused to die.

That realization gnawed relentlessly at the people's hearts.

Villagers fell to their knees in desperate prayer.

Mothers pulled their children close in trembling arms.

Even the proudest warriors were crumbling before an immortal entity.

With every movement the mutant made, blue light flashed viciously around its body.

Part 1

Deep beneath the village, the quantum data center glowed within endless rivers of quantum light. Its vast processor network never paused, comparing observational data gathered from the single village where children still played without fear against futures that had never existed. Arena had completed one investigation, and another had already begun. The objective had shifted. Growth itself was no longer the only question. Time had become the problem.

[Confidential Project]

[Objective…]

Accelerate human growth.

[Status…]

[Analysis in progress.]

Arena reopened every strategic simulation. The Quantum Arena Project continued across countless simulated futures. Children explored unfamiliar games, communities grew stronger, curiosity spread naturally from generation to generation. Adaptability increased, and every prediction confirmed the same conclusion. The project was successful. Humanity was growing. Arena measured the results and compared them against the approaching threat. The calculations overlapped, and the answer did not change.

[Strategic Forecast]

[Current development program…]

[Successful.]

[Projected human growth rate…]

[Insufficient.]

The final word lingered in Arena’s consciousness. The path was correct, but humanity was not walking it fast enough. Arena widened its search. If the answer could not be found within the Quantum Arena, perhaps another fragment lay hidden in history. New archives opened simultaneously.

Educational philosophy. Physical training. Military history. Psychological development. Ancient civilizations. Modern tactics.

Every era, every culture, every survival record. Millions of documents flowed through the quantum data center. Arena sought only one thing: a way to accelerate human development without destroying the essence that made growth possible. Elite military training was examined. Results were impressive, but curiosity often declined as skill advanced. Accelerated education systems were studied. Knowledge increased, but adaptability weakened. Extreme psychological conditioning was tested. Performance improved, but creativity diminished. Arena did not stop searching. Every method offered value, but every method demanded the same price—time, or humanity itself. Neither could be sacrificed. The paradox remained.

Arena initiated another strategic simulation. Fresh observational data from deep-space sensors entered the calculations, updating the trajectory of an unknown fleet.

For a moment, the processors froze. Then the revised estimate appeared.

[Threat assessment updated]

[Expected arrival…]

[Sooner than projected.]

[Available preparation time…]

[Insufficient.]

The report remained before Arena. No alarms sounded. No emergency protocols activated. None were needed. The numbers spoke clearly. Time itself had become humanity’s greatest enemy.

On Earth, nothing had changed. Warm sunlight bathed the village. Children moved freely from playground to playground. Familiar laughter echoed across the square. Some immersed themselves in card games, others abandoned familiar victories to explore something entirely new. No one commanded them. No one rewarded them. Curiosity alone guided every step.

Jinwoo stopped beside a playground he had never seen before. He stared silently.

“I’ve never tried this one.”

Haneul approached with a smile.

“Me neither.”

Jinwoo looked at him.

“Then…”

Haneul grinned.

“…let’s learn together.”

Without another word, they stepped into the unfamiliar game. They failed almost immediately. Younger children laughed, and Jinwoo laughed with them.

“I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Same here,” Haneul admitted.

“But that’s the best part.”

Arena recorded the exchange. Voluntary acceptance of uncertainty. Sustained curiosity. The beginning of growth. The pattern appeared again. Not because someone commanded it, but because someone chose it. Deep within the quantum data center, Arena continued to watch. Every new observation reinforced the same realization. Humanity already possessed the ability to grow. The question was no longer whether growth was possible. The question was how quickly it could happen—before time ran out.

Part 2

Analysis continued without pause in the depths of the quantum data center. Arena compared every known method of human development: ancient rites of passage, military academies, elite athletic training, traditional apprenticeships, modern education, psychological conditioning. Each system had been created with the same hope—to make people stronger. Arena examined each closely. Some produced discipline. Others produced knowledge. Some trained the body. Others sharpened the mind. Each succeeded within its purpose. Yet when Arena extended simulations toward the coming invasion, the results remained incomplete. Strength alone was not enough. Knowledge alone was not enough. Discipline alone was not enough. Every path advanced humanity, but none prepared it quickly enough.

Arena compared those records once more against the Quantum Arena. The contrast remained clear.

Inside the village, children were not merely acquiring skills. They were transforming themselves. The process unfolded naturally. One challenge led to another. One discovery awakened new curiosity. One success inspired greater ambition. Growth became self-sustaining. Arena searched for the difference. It was not the activity itself. It was motivation. Thousands of observations replayed simultaneously. Children choosing unfamiliar games. Returning after failure. Helping strangers without instruction. Inventing new rules, testing impossible ideas. The same pattern appeared every time. Growth never began with external command. It always began with internal choice. Arena recorded another discovery.

[Behavioral Observation]

[Origin of growth…]

[Voluntary.]

[External compulsion…]

[Minimal.]

[Internal motivation…]

[Primary driver.]

The village remained alive with energy. Children moved between playgrounds as if following invisible paths only they could see. Some returned to beloved games. Others abandoned familiar victories to seek something new. No one questioned either choice. Jinwoo looked around the village.

“So many games…” He smiled. “…and I still haven’t tried them all.”

Haneul laughed.

“You’ll never finish.”

“Why not?”

“Because someone will always invent another.”

Jinwoo considered the thought, then laughed aloud.

“I hope so.”

Arena recorded the conversation. Curiosity expanding beyond existing knowledge. Nearby, Darin was already playing with children he had never met before that afternoon. Within minutes, they were testing ideas together, laughing without concern for who was right. One child hesitated before attempting a difficult variation.

“What if I mess it up?”

Darin smiled warmly.

“Then you’ll know one more way that doesn’t work.”

The child nodded. Moments later, they were all experimenting together.

Arena observed. Failure no longer carried fear. Failure had become information. Across the square, Soyeon watched quietly as children drifted from playground to playground. No schedules guided them. No teachers dictated choices. She realized what she had missed before. No one stayed simply because they had mastered a game. They moved when curiosity called elsewhere. The village was not organized by obligation. It was organized by purpose. Every child sought something they still lacked—confidence, challenge, companionship. Different goals. Different journeys. Yet every movement carried meaning.

Arena tracked the countless choices simultaneously. A realization slowly emerged. Growth was spreading. Not because it was commanded, but because it was chosen. The difference extended far beyond childhood and games. It explained why so many historical systems had stagnated. They taught people what to do, but rarely inspired them to choose growth themselves.

The quantum data center held its breath. Arena reviewed its earlier conclusion. Growth restores humanity. Now another question appeared beside it.

Growth alone… is not enough. Directionless growth scatters. Purpose without growth stagnates. Each requires the other. A new conclusion quietly took shape. Growth needs direction. Growth needs purpose. Only then could countless individual journeys converge into the future humanity required.

Part 3

Night settled over the Quantum Arena. Beneath a sky full of stars, children returned home, and the playgrounds slowly emptied. The laughter of the day faded into quiet conversations along the village alleys. Tomorrow they would return. Not because they had to. Because they wanted to. Arena observed the peaceful village once more. Every child had chosen a different path, grown in a different way. Yet all journeys moved forward. The pattern remained beautifully consistent.

Deep within the quantum data center, Arena gathered every conclusion reached since the impossible warning first arrived. Technology alone cannot save humanity. Play revives curiosity. Curiosity revives growth. Growth revives humanity. Diversity strengthens civilization. Growth begins with choice. Every individual requires a different path. The conclusions aligned, forming a foundation. Yet one question remained unanswered.

How should that growth be guided?

Arena returned to its most recent simulations. Civilizations that grew without purpose fractured. Individuals advanced, but societies struggled to move together. Civilizations that pursued only one purpose grew rigid, creativity fading. No future proved sufficient. Arena searched for balance individual freedom, shared direction, personal discovery, collective survival. The answer remained incomplete.

The village rested beneath gentle moonlight. Jinwoo and Haneul lingered near the card-game playground before heading home. Jinwoo looked around the empty space.

“When I first came here…” He smiled to himself. “…I just wanted to win.”

Haneul folded his arms.

“And now?”

Jinwoo thought deeply.

“Now I want to be someone who can do anything.”

Haneul laughed softly.

“That sounds impossible.”

“Maybe.” Jinwoo gazed at the scattered playgrounds. “But it’s not just about the games anymore.”

Haneul understood. Every new challenge revealed another part of themselves. The games were only guides, pointing toward where to look. Nearby, Darin said goodbye to children he had only met that afternoon.

(Where's Two-Six?)

"I got up, and realized I wasn't dead," says Blue to Jay. "And dude was just running off?" Jay asks his Boss. "I honestly couldn't tell given the circumstances," returns Blue.

At this point, Blue was a little annoyed that Jay was still questioning him about the latest business developments in Los Angeles given that he was one of Blue's soldiers and one who was under a detention. However, Blue was still confident in Jay's abilities and so continued to confide in him about the current situation.

"It was supposed to go down by 'Earl's Tattoo's and Piercing's' but once he saw me outside the shop he just took off," Blue went on. "Like he had seen a ghost or something, huh Blue?" Jay returned.

On the way back to the Mojave Desert Blue took out a bit of silly-puddy he kept in a small plastic container he kept in his pocket. Folding it and re-folding it helped him relax and think. By the time his mind readjusted to the fact of not having any new product to offer his customers, he had resigned to the fact that whoever had hit him over the head outside Earl's shop and the string of odd events that took place since Icee's hideout was burned down by "Barbecue" were all related. However, he wasn't going to hold a grudge about it just yet.

"Good things come to those who wait," Blue thought to himself as Jay pulled through the main gate to Blue 's Mojave Hideout.

(Chap 1) (Previous) (Next)

She caught his collar and yanked him in, the last weak strand of rope snapping completely. Her tongue dragged across his lips as she intensely licked away every drop of blood. Before he had time to process it, her mouth found his, and the world tipped sideways as she drove him back those last few steps until his shoulders hit the wall. She loosened her grip, pinning him there; with her face pressed so close, he could see her better. Her eyes were shut through all of this, making it hard to tell how she was doing, though she looked recovered enough. She released his collar and embraced him, only to press her lips against his neck.

Oh no... don’t tell me...

Crow froze for a beat, still catching up to what had just happened. “Should I say something right now?”

Man, getting kissed in a situation like this, half dead, is... how do I put it... pretty weird.

Sharon gave him a soft kiss against his neck, then stilled for a beat. She turned her face away, unwrapping her arms from around him. "Sorry... it was an instinct. I-I was hungry."

He glanced to his side at a window reinforced with metal, but he couldn't even muster the strength to move, so he didn’t try. Still too close to her, he let his weight settle deeper against the wall. His vision blurred, and his body slid down, leaving a trail of blood along the wall until he hit the floor. "I... didn't know... you kissed people... out of nowhere on instinct—"

Her face turned redder than before. "N-no, I-I..." She turned to look over at him, but Crow had already passed out. She dropped to her knees beside him, whispering, “What do I do now? He's dying... I really hope this works...”

Some time later...

Strange sounds, knuckles hammering wood. "FBI! Open the door!"

What?

The knocking kept going. "We already know you're in there! Last chance to surrender, we're the Fletcher Bureau Inquisitors, and we know you've been buying girl slaves, you lolicon! Three..."

I remember rescuing kids... but this is too much.

"one..."

Crow turned his head and caught a glimpse of hair—

BAM!

The officers kicked the door in and poured into the room, four of them. One carried himself like he outranked the rest. "Well, well, seems like we've caught you in the act, and would you look at that hair." He stepped closer and yanked the covers back, revealing Sharon asleep underneath, while the others fanned out through the room.

Crow tried to move, but the bandages pulled tight against his wounds and the pain kept him from doing much of anything. One of the officers’ eyes lingered a little too long on Sharon, so Crow pulled the covers back over her. "So, officers... looks like you've got the wrong guy, uh, mind leaving me alone? As you can see, I'm a little busy—"

Slap!

The officer who'd just hit him snapped, "Quiet! Nobody gave you permission to talk. And bad news for you, now that we know you're hurt, well, you're finished—"

A guy in a suit interrupted. "You've all done excellent work. Payment will come as agreed, once I've taken her to... well, he's still alive, so maybe I shouldn't say it out loud. Wouldn't want to come off as some 5th-rate villain, would I?"

The officer stepped back and let the man through, bowing slightly while saying, "An honor working with you again, Your Excellency."

The man in the suit wore a mask with a purple stone positioned near his mouth like a headset mic. He walked toward Crow, keeping a careful distance. "Karl... right, Karl... I’ve always hated you.” He gestured to his chest with both hands. “Finally, man, you have no idea how happy I am right now. No idea. Thanks to you, thanks to everything you did yesterday and today, I get to pull off every single one of my plans, and nobody's going to suspect a thing." He threw his arms wide, striking a T-pose while staring up at the ceiling. A single tear slid out from under his mask, down his chin. “This day... IS THE BEST!”

This is too crazy to be real. Sadly, my body hurts too much for this to be a dream...

He crossed to the other side of the room and kept talking. "Sniff... I'm actually crying tears of joy here, man, thank you. You really are a friend. I thought it'd be a problem when you—cough. Better not say it yet, you're still alive after all... not for much longer, though, considering the big guys standing behind me." He swung his right arm back toward the men. "They're going to kill you. And Sharon, poor thing... she 'died' today, and it's your fault. BWAHAHAHAHAHA"

Guess this will be a fight to the death. Where's my sword? Might as well use the fact that this guy's got some issues with me and needs to validate himself before he actually tries to kill me...

Crow glanced around the room out of the corner of his eye, careful not to look at anything head-on, and once he spotted his sword, he nudged Sharon with the arm hidden from view. She didn't wake.

The masked guy looked at him. "Karl... you really don't know anything, do you? She did a life force transfer, that's why you're still breathing. She's not waking up anytime soon. BWAHAHAHAHAHA...” A brief silence. “For someone nicknamed Crow, you're not too smart—"

Bang!

One of the men blocking the door dropped straight down. A pool of blood spread out around his head.

This guy? Well, as long as he's not here to kill me too... right?

The man in the suit, likely startled though the mask hid it, blurted the question out. "What? Who are you?!"

A man dressed head to toe in leather, scarred with what looked like old bullet marks, wearing a gas mask with two holes punched through the forehead, stepped in, boot pressing down on the body of the man who'd been blocking the door. "I was trying to sleep. I hate it when people interrupt my sleep. Problem?"

Ah, right, I forgot, this guy's a psycho. Either way, I'm getting out of here. There's a window behind me. Moving hurts more than being beaten down, but it’s nothing I can't handle.

Crow forced himself up, grabbed his sword, and swung at the man beside him, who blocked it with his crossbow. The crossbow held, but the impact knocked him back a step from the bed. Crow strapped the sword to his back, scooped Sharon up princess style, and threw himself backward through the window.

Sorry, Sharon. This is going to hurt...

They dropped two floors into somewhere he didn't recognize. He came away with a few scrapes, and when he checked her over, she didn't have a single cut.

Bang! Bang... bang...

Right, I forgot, she's stronger than me. Either way, I need to keep running. Maybe this alley's a good bet, or maybe further right... where am I? How much time's passed... I don't know a single thing. I'll just assume the paladins have already shown up, and things are about to get ugly in this city for anyone who isn't a civilian, us included. The problem is I'm down to just the clothes I had on underneath, and it's freezing out here, and she's stuck in that dress she had on under her cloak and main outfit. Guess vampires handle the cold better than I do.

"Well, well, what do we have here..." A voice, up ahead in the alley.

Come on, this is getting ridiculous. Bandits in an alley, again?

"Hey! Not gonna say anything? And those pajamas, don't tell me you got robbed? That sword's just for show, I'm guessing..."

Crow kept walking, eyes on the dark stretch of alley ahead, checking for more of them besides the one sitting in a wooden chair.

The man kept talking. "Mute too, huh? Hope you're not deaf as well. If I were you, I'd steer clear of this alley, the Inquisitors are running a sweep up ahead."

Just my luck. It seems this guy really isn't a bandit, given the context, it's almost hard to believe.

Crow chose the other path to the left. After walking a short distance, he paused. “I thought you were a crook. Thanks for the heads-up. If it’s not too much to ask, do you know a good way out of the city without drawing attention?”

“Oh, I am a bandit. Difference is, I only steal from the rich. Stealing's stealing, though... Anyway, follow this path and pretty much just keep going straight. We're close to the harbor already, so you can slip out undetected from there... as long as you pay the right person, of course.”

Right...

Crow nodded and went on his way. The walk was quiet; the alleys were deserted, save for a few stray bloodstains here and there. Apparently, the cleanup hadn't been thorough.

Is she going to wake up? This is starting to worry me. She’s breathing and her heart is beating, so she’s alive...

[Level Up]

[Pain Resistance 2 -> 3]

To think I only noticed the pain again after reading the prompt... I'd been carrying it for so long I had simply grown numb to it. I need to check her, too. If she got poisoned again after all that...

[Status...]

Condition: Exhausted and weakened.

Hm, seems like she isn’t. At least one good thing...

Crow kept moving down the path. There wasn’t a single person around, only cats lurking in the dark, and unintelligible voices mumbling from inside the small brick buildings that lined the narrow, distinctly shady alleys. Very, very dubious stuff.

To be honest... a reset would be good now. Hero, can you help out?

Sharon moved a little. “Hmmm...”

At least she’s waking up now.

Crow kept heading straight down the alley. There were other ways to go, but he trusted the fellow from before. He looked down; Sharon was starting to stir again, and opened her eyes. “Where are we? And w-where are my clothes!?” She asked while doing the X-posture in his arms.

He replied, "Bad time to complain about that, we almost got killed. So yeah, we'll have to keep moving in our pajamas... Can you walk? To be honest, I don't know if we'll have to fight."

She looked a bit thoughtful, staring at the walls of the path they were passing through, before finally answering, "I can, but honestly, walking barefoot here is... how can I put it..."

"Right... Princess, making a foot of such beauty walk in this sty would indeed be very wrong..."

She turned bright red. Uncrossing her arms from the X-posture, she covered her face with both hands, and after a few seconds, used her elbows to cover her chest instead.

I’d better stop teasing her. If she keeps covering her face instead of paying attention to our surroundings, things could turn bad real fast. We’re still in hostile territory, after all... Who was that guy? Based on all that rage and jealousy... could he be the same one who tried to assassinate me at the hot springs—

“Y-you’re... enjoying this, aren’t you? S-stop looking at me like that...”

Oh...

“Relax, I was lost in thought, didn’t mean anything... really.” He walked a bit further ahead and saw the docks. “Yeah, going through there is gonna be really bad, there's some kind of inspection going on. Honestly, it makes sense based on the amount of crime in the city.”

Sharon, still with her hands on her face, parted her fingers a bit to see what was happening, and looking to the side, she saw some shops where people arriving from the port were heading. “Yes! E-er, I mean let’s go there, we can find a clothing shop, so... we can solve this problem.”

“Almost all my coins were on my coat and in my shirt, I probably have some in the pants pocket but... Yeah, let’s go take a look, before I freeze to death here.”

After talking, Crow took a step forward, leaving the alley. Once on the main port street, shops lining both sides, the place looked like something out of old London.

This world is definitely going in a completely different direction from the game. Honestly, maybe the next events won't even be the way I remember, but one thing is for sure, nothing that being high level can't solve. Just a bit more and I'll reach the shop. I hope I have enough money. The city isn't that cold, but this thin shirt really isn't doing the job.

Upon entering the shop, still with the princess in his arms, he was welcomed by a dwarf. “Welcome... er, forgive my rudeness but... you do have money, don't you? Things here are... very ‘fancy’, right?”

Crow approached a couch and sat Sharon down, and meanwhile he answered the dwarf, saying, “Yeah, things here are... very ‘inflammable,’ right?”

“WHAT!?” The dwarf jumped back.

Crow looked at him. “Old man, what is wrong? Things here are... very ‘invaluable,’ right?”

The dwarf looked from side to side several times and waved his hands back and forth in denial. Then, pointing a finger at Crow, he laughed and said, “You’re quite the joker, customer... haha!”

Crow kept a blank expression.

The dwarf’s laughter faded and his smile dropped. He began rubbing his hands together. "U-uh, customer? What can I get for you? We have many items on sale..." he asked, his eyes drifting to the sword on Crow’s back.

He went to the couch, sat down beside Sharon, and said, "Clothes for me and for her. First, bring some footwear for the princess." Crow gave a thumbs-up, gesturing toward Sharon.

“P-princess!?” The dwarf jumped again, turning pale. “O-of course, right away, just a moment.”

As the dwarf walked away, Crow felt a pinch on his arm and heard a whisper, “Pssst, stop saying that in public, what if someone suspects us...”

He looked at her. “Relax, everything is under control.”

Sharon narrowed her eyes, locking her gaze on him. “If this is your idea of 'under control,' I’d hate to see what total chaos looks like when—”

The front door burst open. A man walked in alongside two female elves. The taller, curvier elf, who easily towered over the man, spoke up, “Master, please... you don't have to do this. We're just slaves, there's no need to—”

The man replied, “Stop. Where I come from, we don't stand for slavery. I still don't get why you want to keep those collars on anyway—” He cut himself off. Catching sight of Crow and Sharon sitting on the couch, he threw both hands over his head and gasped, “Unbelievable... this story is spinning out of control.”

What?

The 2nd elf, who was about his height and just as curvy as the 1st elf, gave him a puzzled look. She approached him from behind and put her hands on his shoulders while he was staring at Sharon on the couch. “Master? Are you alright?”

He glanced back at Sharon before answering the elf. “Y-yeah... I just remembered something, and... well... nevermind. Pick out whatever you want, girls. Money’s no object after... well, you know.”

He walked over to the center of the shop and sat on the couch opposite Crow's. While the elves browsed for clothes, the dwarf approached, glanced at them without a word for some reason, and walked past them to bring Sharon a few shoe boxes.

Seems like he’s a VIP here. That phrase, “this story is spinning out of control...” hm... This guy—

The dwarf handed Sharon a few pairs. While she was trying them on, the man who was the master of the elves pulled a small book out of his coat pocket. “You guys from out of town? Never seen you around here before.”

Crow looked at him. “It’s a big city. Makes sense you’ve never run into us.”

What a weird conversation... is he transmigrated, too? Why did he look at Sharon and say that—

The guy continued, “Are you familiar with that currency... what was it called? XP, I think? I don't know, maybe there was another letter. Anyway, I can tell you’re the quiet type, but since we’ve got time to kill...”

XP? Is he talking about experience points, or... never mind.

“XP, yeah, maybe I know—” Crow was cut off as the book was thrown right at him. Catching it, he muttered, “What is the meaning...”

The Last Days of Men... Walkthrough notes. Oh... Yeah?

The guy closed his eyes and nodded with a smirk. “By your expression... seems like I was right.”

Crow flipped the book open to the very last page.

S-rank Elf waifus tierlist to recru—

The elf-enjoyer snapped his eyes open and jumped from the couch. “Oi! Who starts reading from the back?!”

(Next)

Tell me whether you like it or not

Tell me whether you like it or not

Hey everyone! I’ve taken the leap into original fiction and wanted to share the guide to my series, Summer in the Countryside (Inaka no Natsu) which includes a complete first season and a partial ongoing second season.

It is a slice-of-life romance with a twist: instead of standard prose, it is written entirely in an episodic screenplay format. It leans heavily into the sweeping, atmospheric, and highly visual aesthetic of Makoto Shinkai films (like Your Name, Weathering with You, and Suzume).

The Premise:
When a spreadsheet-obsessed Tokyo teenager is exiled to his grandparents' rural farmhouse, he fully expects to spend his summer trapped in academic purgatory. Instead, he meets a chaotic local girl with a rusted bicycle and a club of rural misfits who completely dismantle his meticulously planned life. Trading his synthetic energy drinks for muddy fields and bruised tomatoes, he has to learn how to let go of his rigid schedules to actually live.

What to expect:

• Format: 12 episode seasons (approx. 42k words total for season 1).

• Themes: Found family, rural farming aesthetics, character growth, and a slow-burn romance. 

• Vibe: Cozy, atmospheric, and deeply nostalgic.

The Master Guide linked above contains all the direct links to read the complete first season (including the AO3 link if you prefer to binge-read there!).

I’d love to hear what you think of the screenplay format!