I stared at the door as it slammed shut. While he left me with no explanation, I still walked over and barred the door. I may not understand why Dorian was so upset, but I could understand the value of his simple advice. In my brief experience, this place was far too dangerous not to take precautions. Better safe than sorry.
I turned back around to survey the room. All mine? It wasn't really, of course, but it was my likely home for the indefinite time being. Given how this place is segregated, I didn’t expect any company any time soon.
I walked to the back of the longhouse and examined the door I had ignored earlier. I opened it and found darkness. The room, sectioned off by a thick interior wall, had no windows, but I peered around the corner and found another light stone. The depths of the shadows that covered over half the room piqued my curiosity. They hinted at something more than a walk-in closet. Light clarified the role: a bathroom.
What it had and lacked both impressed and disappointed. They had mirrors, washbasins, a tub for baths, and even rudimentary internal plumbing, but I found no running water. My morbid curiosity got the better of me, and I walked to the last unopened door, its top and bottom quarter cut away to let light enter from above and below, and opened it.
What I found wasn't pretty, but it was functional. A bench with a small round lid. I paused before lifting it up. I wasn’t much of a camper, but some pungent memories gave me second thoughts about breaking the seal. Still, it was doing an amazing job however they had built it. Morbid curiosity drove me. After all, sanitation was one of the pillars of health.
I lifted it quickly and peered downward. I flinched at the sight, the lid slipping from my fingers and falling with a small bang. Except nothing else came with the sound. Where was the smell? I lifted it again, but only the faintest scent of wood wafted upward. I took another peek.
Oh yeah, there should be something.
How? I scanned the room. No toilet paper. Did they even have the ability to process paper? At least here, it was unlikely. In the toilet paper’s typical place sat a bucket with a stick with a spongy-like substance wrapped around it. That definitely wasn’t sanitary, but more importantly, it was definitely a distraction from the real mystery.
How did they get rid of the smell?
Putting my face closer to the hole was not an option, but the lack of light did me no favors. Instead, I took a step back, pushing the door open.
“No way,” I whispered as the light revealed subtle patterns etched into the large boards making up the wall. The etchings covered each wall, and they ran down to the boards, making a bench housing the toilet’s hole. I touched one, and my finger tingled. Magic? A way to suppress the smell? No way I could prove it, but on a hunch, I grabbed the bucket with the stick and brought it into the light. Another pattern just as intricate ran its entire length.
I leaned back against the wall, trying to digest all the implications. This world’s technology was lacking, but did they need it when magic was a birthright? I turned my gaze toward the polished bronze sheets and touched my temple. My denial had gone on long enough. It was time to face the truth.
----------------------------------------
I walked over to the mirrors hanging over ledges with small basins likely for washing hands or faces. The mirrors weren’t the same as home, but the metal had been polished enough to provide a more than adequate reflection.
I took a deep breath and faced…myself. Except, it wasn’t me. That surprised look was 100% Daniel, but I was no longer the 30-something-year-old I had been before.
“I am a fucking baby.”
That wasn’t completely fair. I had fallen into the habit of thinking of third-year and fourth-year medical students on their neurology rotation as young. However, I looked younger than that. College-aged? High school? I struggled to remember photos from that time. My best guess placed me around eighteen to twenty years old. However, when I was that age, I didn’t have a massive tattoo on my face.
I leaned in. I definitely was “marked,” though my Mark was nothing compared to the Quartermaster’s—or anyone else’s, for that matter. It lacked any of the complexity, though it did seem to have the beginnings of a fractal pattern. I ran my fingers along the lines. Smooth to the touch. No strange sensations. Just normal skin. Except…I slightly tilted and slowly rotated my head such that the Mark caught the light of the stone. I had to rub the dirt off my face, but with each pass, the Mark, when the light hit it, reflected more and more of a vivid blue and purple before returning to its static dark blue hue. Iridescence.
I was never one for ink, but it did look good. A consolation prize?
I pried my eyes away from the tattoo and took a step back to view the disheveled young man in the mirror. That couldn’t be… I squinted, then opened my eyes wide. I turned my head so the light caught my eyes. They…weren’t that shade before. A vivid sapphire blue now ringed my pupils.
Was I even me?
Memories from past photos surfaced. Yes. My parents would not struggle to recognize me even with the Mark, though they would have had some words about my hygiene. I sure as hell had never been this dirty before. Dirt and grime caked my scrubs and white coat, but my face and hair gave them a run for their money.
I eyed a large pail of water near the tub. I put a finger in one to confirm what I suspected. The water chilled my finger in seconds.
This day keeps getting better and better.
No way was I going to take a cold bath. Except, if they had light stones, maybe they also had heat stones. I peered inside the tub. Markings lined its walls and bottom. I was a mess. I gritted my teeth, becoming more aware of my fatigue as the events of the day finally caught up with me. Just the face then. I had enough energy left in me to wash that much. After all, if I dirtied the bed too much, I had other clean ones to sleep in.
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I had just grabbed my battered white coat to put it on when a loud knock sounded on my door. I put my coat down and walked over to answer it. Light had long slipped into the room through small cracks, indicating night had passed. So, I lifted the bar, pulled open the heavy door, and found Dorian carrying two trays with plates of food and a large grin on his face.
“Good, you’re up.” He walked in without invitation, not that I would think of stopping him when he brought breakfast.
“How could I not be?” I had woken up on my own, but even if I hadn’t, the outrageously loud bell would have guaranteed it.
He laughed. “You will get used to it. Also, next time, ask who it is before opening it, you fool.” He placed the plates on the table and gestured for me to sit. “So you know that’s the bell for the first shift. Technically, it’s for the guards switching from night to day watch, but it also signals the mining companies that they have an hour before they need to enter the mines. Enough time to get ready and get food.” I eyed the plate. It looked bland—some type of porridge—but my stomach growled regardless. He pushed the tray towards me. “You should eat. You will need the energy.”
I stopped with the wood spoon right before my lips. “This safe for me?”
“Yeah.” I took a bite, and as before, the flavor far exceeded expectations. He let me take a few bites before speaking. “You figure out your space?”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Yes. I took your advice and took some clothing. What I had was quite…soiled.” Dorian snorted at my understatement. After getting a good look at the state of my coat and scrubs, I had, despite everything that had happened, managed to find a bit more energy to wash a bit more than just my face.
“You haven’t seen nothing yet. The self-cleaning enchantments work wonders, but even then, it is good to have another set or two.”
Of course, self-cleaning enchantments were a thing. I pulled at the woolen sweater. “Do these have them?”
“Hard to know. Most likely, but they weren’t part of the standard allotment. If they were, they would have been returned.”
I hesitated but then pointed to my white coat and scrubs lying on the bed. “Is there any way to patch up my old clothes?” I didn’t need them with the new gear, but they were one of the few things that I had left from home. And the scrubs were more comfortable than the itchy wool I was wearing.
He drummed a quick rhythm with his fingers on the table. “Definitely not the standard gear. Were they part of your allotment when you started?”
“I am not sure. The Quartermaster offered me a coat, but I did not take it because it would be added to my debt.”
“If you skipped the standard gear for them, that should be good enough to qualify for subsidized repairs from a [Tailor]. It won’t hurt to ask. You can also see the cost of adding some [Self-cleaning] or [Self-mending] enchants on your other clothes.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“Might be. Hard to know. Your clothes might not even be able to accept an enchant. You won’t know if you don’t ask. I would recommend it. They might qualify for a discount. You didn’t hear this from me, but I know one [Tailor] that enjoys sticking it to the Alfa—especially over life debts.” I cocked an eyebrow. “You will find that Oresiani can have a very strong view on life debts.” Good to know that slavery wasn’t a foregone conclusion. “If you finish up quickly, we might have time to stop by her ‘shop.’ She opens up earlier than most.”
I took another bite, savoring the taste. I hated to rush. This food was good, and yesterday was long. Dorian just shook his head at my obvious reticence. “I think it is worth it. You can even bring your old clothes to see what they net you.”
I eyed my pile of dirty clothes. Calling it a white coat now was being generous, but it was one of the few things I had left. When I didn’t know if I would return—no, I had to be positive—when being a long way from home, nostalgia took on a new meaning.
“Now, enough about clothes, did you level?”
I stopped mid-spoonful and peeked at his face, which glowed with excitement. “How long have you been waiting to ask that?“
His face reddened for a few seconds. “I was trying to be polite,” he mumbled. I just finished my spoonful and took another long and exaggerated bite. “I see how it is. Maybe I will forget about stopping to pick up breakfast tomorrow.”
“Fiiiine. I did level.”
This time, I didn’t need to ask how to find out. The words were echoing in my head when I woke up:
[New Level Obtained: Physician, Level 2]
I would never forget them. I don’t think I could. They felt carved into my very being.
“How many?”
I furrowed my brow. “Just one.” He frowned, and I pointed my spoon at him. “Hey now, where did that excitement go? You had better not be disappointed.“
“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure.”
“Should there have been more?”
“Not necessarily. It’s hard to tell. You killed a decent chunk of monsters. You also pushed yourself to the brink physically and possibly mentally. I think this more or less confirms that your class is in the noncombatant and Mind categories. While it is possible that your Aether toxicity stunted your class growth, I think that it’s less likely given how well you’re doing now. Though, did you get a skill?”
“No.”
“Well, then maybe the Aether toxicity was more severe than I thought. Hopefully, you will recover it. These early skills tend to be foundational in your class.”
“Damn. I should have received a skill?”
He nodded. “Typically, skills are front-loaded. Not every class gets a new skill with every level in the first tier, but most do. They are often weak but flexible, but they act as a foundation for the class.”
Could this place be any more unfair? “Can I get it later?”
“It isn’t guaranteed, but you are acting as if you didn’t almost die yesterday. As important as a skill is, you are lucky to be alive. Though, given how well you have rebounded, I bet you pick it up before or at your next level. It is also quite possible that you didn’t one because your Mark isn’t mature enough to support a stronger skill.”
A slight tension in my shoulders that had crept in without my notice had released at his last point. And I did feel good, much better than I would have expected after having another near-death experience. But more importantly, his words eased an internal tension I didn’t know I was carrying. Something had felt off—missing—since I woke up this morning. Now I knew what it was: a skill.
“Regardless, I can guarantee that you have a Mind-based class. That should have made it difficult to level in the mine. However, you did, which says something.”
“If it was so hard, why did you look so excited when you asked if I leveled?”
“Intuition?”
“Bull.”
He snorted. “[Scholars] gain levels through researching an area. However, they have to know an area well. My friends in those classes gained their first levels extremely easily. It would be unfair if they didn’t hit a pretty hard soft-cap at their first-tier transition. You had exposure to lots of new things yesterday. After watching you with those light stones last night, I would swear you are teaching yourself to channel for the first time.”
Dorian, you don’t know how right you are. However, I kept that thought to myself. “I clearly need practice, but I am hearing you right, you are saying that I should have gained more levels if my class was primarily a [Scholar]…category?”
“Archetype,” he corrected.
“Since it wasn’t, it is fall under another archetype.”
“Yes. Now, did you do anything else besides learning about mining, killing terrorvoles, and being a fool by almost dying from Aether toxicity?”
“It couldn’t be from the processing that much Aether?”
“No. The toxicity would have overwhelmed any gains.”
I gave it some thought. “Honestly, the day is a blur. The only other thing that stands out is using a potion and bandaging you.”
“By the Depths, I can’t believe I forgot that. Though,” he rolled his shoulder, “didn’t help that I don’t have much of a reminder. Potions normally don’t heal so well… Are you sure that you are not a [Healer]?“
“Well, I didn’t actually heal your wounds. The potion did it, but I might have helped it along. When I was applying it, my fingers tingled like they did when I lit the light stones.“
“That is a pretty typical sensation for Energy transference.” He tapped the table. “That doesn’t exclude a [Healer], but it means an [Alchemist] archetype is possible. You did say potions are part of your class. Unfortunately, that would complicate things. Healing potions aren’t cheap. Healing balms and ointments aren’t much better.
“Could I prep them?”
“You are eight levels away from doing that easily. You need the right class to get an apprenticeship. No one here will waste time on you. Too much to do.”
“So what do I do?
“We could try other types of consumables that might fall under an [Alchemist]’s purview. Otherwise, you will need to think about whatever [Phy—]” He stumbled for the word.
“[Physicians], but you can call them doctors, short for medical doctors. That was what most people do from where I am.”
“Still a mouthful, but better. I hope you don’t mind, but I talked to the Quartermaster.”
“Oh, is that where you went after you left last night in a hurry?”
“I didn’t—fine. I did, but you shouldn’t be denied the right to level, especially if you are someone who can heal.”
“Right to level? How does that work with life-debts?”
He grumbled, “It doesn’t, which is why she told me to keep my mouth shut. She did pass on some useful info. New classes aren’t unique. People do get rare variants of classes. It is rare, clearly, but it happens. Their paths are often harder but more rewarding. The common thread is that they inevitably need to walk the ideal of the class to progress.”
A bit more succinct and his advice could fit in a damn fortune cookie. I sighed. “I should be able to do that.”
In theory, it should be simple. I already had a guide—I had sworn an oath when I finished medical school. However, that didn’t mean it would be easy. I had tried to live up to the tenets of my oath the best I could—correction, the best the system allowed, and my best was far from the ideal. Hard to be a compassionate champion for your patient on the twentieth admit of a call night.
Could I do better here?
A tough call night might be a walk in the park compared to ethical quandaries that could arise in a world that allowed slavery in all but name. And, I couldn’t forget that people here could heal wounds, but I couldn’t. Should I even be offering my services? Taking a step back, were parts of my oath even appropriate here? The Vísir had cut herself so that I could prove my skill. Sure, she wasn’t a patient, but that made me question this world’s opinion on the tenet of “do no harm.”
“Is there anything else I can do?”
Dorian registered none of my concerns. “Keep practicing channeling the energy. I would have sworn you had no training after yesterday, but you clearly do. I just forget your situation. While many would kill to be in high-density Aether, that would be after earning quite a few levels, especially for a Human. However, you are doing well out here. So, whatever training you’ve done seems to be paying off. So keep at it. It is clearly working because,” he pointed a thumb at a lit light, “I have never seen a level 1 do that without weeks of practice.”
He nodded at my near-empty bowl. “Now hurry that up, or we won’t have time to drop off your clothes.”