Do Dead Gods Dream?

There was once a town built upon a river red. This town was small, built by early Man, back when the skies were still Black and the seas still Burned.

The town had a name, once, but that name was long lost to time. Buried, beneath the weight of the countless lives who came after it. It was never that important, anyway.

(Never Again)

One day, a Dragon appeared. It was powerful. So powerful, that with a single flap of its wings, the sky was turned Blue, and for the first time in countless years the Sun warmed the land.

But it did not flap its wings, for why should it? The Dragon did not need the Sun—it was a being of the Earth, a being of Fire. What did it care for the sky?

But Man loved the Sun. Man loved the Sky. Man loved Light. And in the Age of Dark, a being capable of bringing back the Sky was Beloved indeed.

(Never Again)

The Dragon curled around the Town, and whispered its blessing unto Early Man.

"Worship me," it whispered. "When I am hungry, bring me food. When I am thirsty, bring me blood. And when I am insatiable, bring me wealth unending. Do so, and I shall return to you the Sky."

And the townsfolk agreed. For Early Man would do anything to see the Sky again.

(Never Again)

And for many years the Town of the Red River worshiped the Dragon as a God. When it was hungry they brought it sheep and fowl. When it was thirsty they fed it the blood of those unwanted and unmourned. And when it was insatiable, they brought it treasures unending.

But soon their herds grew thin, their undesirables few, and their coffers empty.

It was okay, though. Their neighbors had wealth enough.

(Never Again)

But one day someone new arrived. Men from the south, who clamed the name [____]. With them came armies of Bronze and Steam. They marched on the Town, and demanded their surrender. And in return, they would return to them the Sky.

The Dragon answered. It melted their Bronze and blew away their Steam. Only a single soul survived, who returned south to warn his home of the Dragon.

The Dragon did not care. Why should it? Nothing the New Men could do could harm it.

(Never Again)

Foolish. It was not the New Men the Dragon should have been wary of.

For the Townsfolk had grown tired of their God. Of the constant sacrifice. Of the people who starved while their God grew fat. Of the wealth which piled endlessly beneath its feet, unused and uncared for.

These New Men could return to them the sky. What need did they have of a God?

(Of all mortals, Men were the most ambitious. It would not be the last time they slew a God. It would not be the first, either)

(Never Again)

The next morning, the God demanded its sacrifice. And so the Town brought forth a feast. They smiled pretty smiles and said it was as thanks for defending them against the New Men.

The Dragon gorged happily. How could it not, when it knew it was so beloved?

Foolish naivety. For a God should never trust the words of Man.

(Never Again)

The Dragon choked. It spat and hissed. It gagged and screamed.

Hidden within the feast was Black Poison, harvested from the corpses of the Bronze Men. The Black Poison filled the stomach and throat with liquid death. But the Dragon was strong! It was a God! It roared in defiance, turning to burn those who betrayed it!

Flames licked the Dragon's throat.

The Dragon died.

(Never Again)

The Townsfolk cheered, and the Girl cheered with them. The Man who presented the meal to the Dragon was named Ammazzadraghi, and he crafted a weapon from the Dead God's toe. And when the New Men arrived, the Townsfolk welcomed their new lords, and cheered as the Sky was returned forevermore.

The Girl smiled, feasting in the piazza with the rest of the people. They cheered and they laughed. They carved homes within the God's corpse and every year they celebrated its death. The Girl celebrated with the Townsfolk. And then with their children, and their children's children. And for countless generations after that, the Girl smiled and laughed and cheered with the people of the Town and the Castle and the City that followed.

The Girl did not question this. She did not question why she did not question this. Perhaps she should have. But who would question their own happiness?

(I will Never be betrayed Again)

The Dragon was not dead. Its flesh had rotted and its skin had decayed. Its heart no longer beat and its blood no longer flowed. But the Dragon still dreamed. For even a False God such as it could never truly die.

Vesuvius roared, rising from death. It screamed of rage and anguish, of betrayal most foul. From its rotting mouth poured magma and ash, burying the city in molten stone.

The Girl cowered. Smoke and ash filled her lungs. And in an instant she followed the rest of the city, buried under the rage of Vesuvius.

But this was nothing new, was it? The ash, the smoke, the fire. Even as it swallowed her, even as it burned her, the Girl was liberated from her part in the story. The Girl remembered, and the Dream that had replayed a thousand times in a thousand ways broke.

(She was not supposed to be here. She was not supposed to be here. But her mind was not as solid as it once was, and a Dead God did not care who fell into its dreams)

Palmira screamed as she burst from the molten stone. Her hands burned as she tore herself clear, out of the black rock that had consumed the city. She gagged and gasped for clean air, but all she tasted as ash.

But the taste of ash was familiar. It reminded her of her childhood, both of the before and the after. It grounded her, let her cling to herself even as everything around her burned.

Vesuvius noticed her. How could it not? She wasn't supposed to be here, and now she ruined it's crowning achievement.

(It's empty, vain desire)

It drew back to obliterate her.

And the Sun turned Dark, and even the Dragon paused as Something arrived.

"Shh, child," a woman whispered, arms wrapping softly around her. "It is only a dream."

That made sense. Looking around, this was obviously a dream. But the dragon stared down at her anyway, so angry. An anger that transcended dreams and death. An anger that had burned for thousands of years.

This was a dream. But she did not feel any safer.

"I see," the woman whispered. "You've been touched by the Ancient King. Oh Vesuvius, your rage unending. A Tyrant slain through Sin and Suffering."

Vesuvius roared, and her soul shuddered.

"Oh Vesuvius," the woman continued, her voice soft, yet it clear to all. "Calm thyself. What is before you is an innocent child. Save your rage for those who deserve it, and return to your slumber forevermore."

Vesuvius no longer roared, but continued to glare down at them, teeth bared and pulsing with magma. It wanted to end them both, but even it knew its limits.

(Two Dead Gods warred in the mind of a Mortal. And the Mortal suffered, but their mind had been long since reinforced by Something else. So despite the fact she should be dead, the Mortal lived regardless)

"Oh Vesuvius," the woman finished. "Return to your quietude. Let go of your rage and ruin. All whom you hate so are long dead—as you are. As I am. Let us remain so, shall we? The child is innocent—let her return to her own mind."

Vesuvius snarled, but turned its back. The Dead God returned to destroying Firozzi, and the woman holding her let out a breath of relief.

"Finally," she sighed. "I suppose even that one would mellow out after so many years."

Palmira blinked, and suddenly they were nowhere. All that remained was the woman who held her in her arms, and the dark sun burning overhead.

"I apologize that your Teacher was not here to protect you," she whispered softly. "But he is busy in the world of the living. Had he known what you were going through, I imagine he would have stepped in long ago."

"…What was that?" Palmira croaked, tears burning in her eyes. "What just happened?"

"…You had a bad dream," the woman replied at last. "Your allies awoke the ancient pact, if only for a moment, and by consequence you obtained the attention of something you should have never encountered. But from now on, it will be nothing more than a bad dream."

"Will I forget it, like all the others?"

"Do you want to forget it?"

"…No. I want to remember."

"Ah. You'll regret that."

"I know. But I'll regret not knowing more."

"Fair enough," the woman smiled, and for a moment Palmira was struck by it. Her smile was warmth and forgiveness and purity and love unending. "Don't tell your Teacher I was here, will you? He'll accuse me of poaching his apprentice."

"…You didn't teach me anything, though?"

"Haven't I?" she raised an eyebrow. "Ah, but I suppose you aren't learned enough to understand yet. Don't worry though, with someone like Him on your side, you'll learn soon enough. I suppose we can only hope you won't end up regretting it."

Palmira said nothing, but hugged the woman tighter. Something told her she wouldn't see her again.

"Now, it's time to wake up."

--

Palmira woke up to the sound of arguing.

"No no no and no! And get the hell out!"

"Eh? But we're friends, she's fine with it~"

"Like hell she is!" Morte snapped, sounding for the first time genuinely frustrated. "Just because you had one conversation with her doesn't give you the right to break into her bedroom and watch her while she sleeps!"

What.

Palmira's eyes snapped open, as she finally registered that there was someone else in her room with her.

Tintinnia's pink face sat mere inches from hers, smiling from ear to ear.

"Good morning!" she chirped happily.

"What the fuck!?" Palmira screamed in return, nearly leaping out of her bed. "How did you get in here!? Why did you get in here!?"

"The window, duh!" Tintinnia shifted over to the edge of her bed, kicking her feet cheerfully. "You should probably get that fixed by the way. It'd be really easy for someone to break in like that."

"They'd have to be mad to break into a fucking adventurer's guild," Palmira snapped, having pressed herself as far against the bedframe as she could. "Like you apparently are! Wait, how long have you even been here!?"

"A couple hours, unfortunately," Morte answered her, sounding genuinely apologetic. "I've been trying to get her to leave for a while. I'm a bit surprised it took you this long to notice, though I suppose after yesterday you probably needed the sleep."

Palmira jerked. Right, that dream…

"Pfft," Tintinnia scoffed. "Sleep is for the weak. That's why I don't do it!"

"What."

"Anyways, I wanted to come see you! Sinbad told me about the whole battle yesterday, and I was all, 'Oh noes! My friend is Ambrosi! What if he killed her?' So I tracked you down to make sure you were okay!"

Palmira was nowhere near mentally prepared enough to deal with this. "Why didn't you just come in the front door like a normal person? …Wait, you know Sinbad!?"

"'Cause I'm not allowed to interact with the guilds at all," Tintinnia huffed, and wow, it turns out her frown is way creepier than her smile. "And yeah I know Sinbad. He basically raised me, after all!"

"If this is the result of him raising someone, I hope he doesn't have any other children."

"Rude!" Tintinnia blew a raspberry at Morte. "But yeah, he's a pretty awful dad. All he cares about is Goddess this and Goddess that. He tried to make me a nun, you know? Me, a nun!"

"Well, he is a Paladin…"

"Okay," Palmira, having calmed down a bit, crawled across her bed to grab the other girl by the shoulder. "Okay. So you were just worried about me? That's the only reason you came?"

"Yep!"

"Okay," Palmira took a deep breath. "Thank you, I guess? There were, uh, better ways to go about it, but it's nice to know you care. I think?"

Tintinnia went still. Her head snapped to stare at Palmira, and the young pyromancer had a brief moment of fear that she'd said something wrong.

Then she lurched forward and hugged her.

Palmira flailed wildly, looking over her shoulder to give Morte a frantic 'Help me oh Goddess help me' look.

Then Tintinnia started shaking, and Palmira realized the other girl was crying, which was worse.

"Uh…" Palmira winced, awkwardly patting the other girl on the back. "There there…?"

"Nobody's ever thanked me before," Tintinnia sniffed, tilting her head up from where it was leaning on her chest. And oh wow her face was way closer than she expected it to be. "It's always 'Tintinnia why did you do that' or 'Tintinnia that's an abomination against man, get rid of it.' I've never…"

Oh, wow, the more she learned about this girl the more certain she was she should stay far, far away from her.

But unfortunately this girl now knew where she lived and could track her down regardless, so… well… being her friend seemed to be working out so far?

"That's it!" Tintinnia jumped up from the bed, inadvertently knocking Palmira over in the process. "Meet up with me later tonight, by that fountain we first met at! I'll have something extra special for you there!"

"…Huh?"

"See you then!" she grinned, her earlier bout of tears apparently forgotten. Then with a quiet 'hup' she climbed up onto the window ledge and leaped right out.

Palmira stared after her, the shutters slowly creak back and forth after her passing.

"…What just happened?"

"Hell if I know. Also, she stole your mace."

"She what!? Hey, wait, Tintinnia! Give that back, that was a gift!"

Come tomorrow, that window would be fixed and sealed shut. Not that it would stop Tintinnia, but it certainly helped her sleep better at night.

--

She didn't end up getting that mace back.

Instead all her shouting did was wake up her neighbor, who started shouting at her, and then she shouted back, and they had a whole argument and—

It wasn't important. Her dream had been forgotten in the excitement of everything that happened that morning, and she ended up downstairs in the dining hall, grabbing her free breakfast from Bettina.

Sitting down at her usual table (and wasn't that amazing, that she'd made herself such a space in the guild) she absently picked up a slice of salami.

…

"…Are you gonna eat that?"

Palmira opened her mouth, then closed it. "I…" she rasped, her throat suddenly dry. "I'm trying."

She wanted to. She was hungry. But the meat was so pink, and the smell…

She swallowed heavily, her stomach suddenly revolting at the thought of eating anything.

"…I see. Well, why don't you start with the bread first? Then once you're settled you can move onto the rest."

Right.

Gently placing the salami back on the plate, she grabbed the bread, tearing off a small chunk and slowly stuffing it in her mouth.

The bread went down easily, thankfully, and she tore into the rest of it ravenously.

"So how did you sleep?" Morte asked once she'd settled down. "Okay, I hope?"

She paused. "…I was in a nightmare."

"Ah, that sucks—wait. In a nightmare?"

"Yeah," she nodded slowly, remembering. It was odd—she rarely ever remembered her dreams. "It wasn't my nightmare. It was… I think it was the Dragon's nightmare. Vesuvius, I mean. I saw… I saw a lot of things."

Morte swore. "I'd thought… no, it doesn't matter. I apologize for not being there—I've been trying to protect you from these kinds of situations, but once Tintinnia broke in… I suppose I've been growing complacent."

Her eyes darted to her staff. "What do you mean by that…?"

"Oi!" someone slammed a plate of food down in front of her. "What are you doing looking so gloomy, newbie?"

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

Palmira jumped in her seat, snapping her head up to glare at Chiara. The silver-haired girl simply gave her a smug smirk before slipping in across from her, Lorenzo following suit.

"I was talking with Morte about something," she growled at the other girl. "Something important."

"Ah, it's not that important," Morte piped up, sounding far too flippant for how serious he was a second ago. "Spend some time with your friends, we can finish our conversation tonight."

Palmira grimaced, turning her attention back to her two previous allies.

They'd both come with much more food than her, as always. It didn't bother her as much as it used to, she found. Chiara had in front of her a truly decadent platter of fruits, nuts, and cheeses. It made her own meal look pathetic by comparison. Thankfully, Lorenzo had a much more down to earth breakfast of… pickled boar's head?

Palmira's eyes darted to Chiara in askance, but the other girl just shook her head quietly. Best not to ask questions one didn't want to know the answer to.

"We heard you were there yesterday, at the whole thing with the Ambrosi," Lorenzo gave her a worried look. Picking up a knife he began cutting into the snout, and she had to bite back a shudder at the off-color juices that squelched out of it. Swallowing to keep her breakfast down, she forced herself to look only into his eyes, before deciding eye contact was too embarrassing and turning to Chiara. The girl was just staring at her with a raised eyebrow, and she decided that the embarrassment was better than whatever emotion that stirred up in her.

She then realized that Lorenzo was still looking at her, waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, I was," she jerked her head up and down in an approximation of a nod. "It was… bad. But I uh, got out of there and came back to tell the guildmaster what was going on."

"I heard about that," Chiara hummed, tossing a grape into her mouth. "He was being especially insufferable tonight, he's definitely got some new hairbrained scheme cooking. Entitled little shit."

"…Huh?"

"Chiara is the guildmaster's younger sister," Lorenzo told her. The newly revealed younger sister scowled as he said that, taking an angry bite of a mango. "She stays with him when he's in the city."

"Oh!" Palmira's eyes widened. She turned to look at the other girl in a new light, before frowning. "…Really? I don't see the resemblance."

Chiara's scowl deepened. "We have different mothers," she spoke the words like they physically pained her. "That's all."

"Nah, that's not it," Palmira waved that explanation off, to Chiara's confused shock. "You're both mages, of course you look different. What I mean is, he's got this air of refinement about him, y'know? Like some kinda noble. You, on the other hand, are more like a feral animal that learned how to read. I don't know if you realized, but back with the hydra you had this huge grin on your face the whole time, like you were having the time of your life. It was pretty creepy. Ah, though I suppose you both have the same sort of smug attitude, so… yeah, I guess I can see it."

Chiara had a complicated expression on her face, like she wasn't sure whether to be offended or pleased.

After a moment she settled on revenge, and grabbed one of her slices of salami, stuffing it in her mouth.

Palmira glared at the other girl. Didn't she know that was all she got to eat!?

Chiara raised an eyebrow, chewing faster.

Without breaking eye contact, Palmira reached over a snatched a bushel of grapes from the other girl's plate.

Chiara rolled her eyes, before turning back to Lorenzo.

"Enough about me," she scoffed around the meat, further proving Palmira's point. "Didn't we come here because you were worried about her? Why are we all about my personal life?"

"Don't act like you weren't worried about her too, Chiara," Lorenzo had an amused smile on his face. Palmira made the mistake of looking at him as he popped one of the boar's eyes in his mouth like a grape. Ew. "But I suppose you have a point. Are you doing okay, Palmira? I know Chiara here had a bad time after her first kill. She was inconsolable for weeks."

"Don't act like you weren't either!"

"I was raised by forest nymphs," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I killed my first man when I was four. But I've seen the effects such things have on others. So, Palmira, if you want to talk about it, know that we're willing to lend a hand."

Palmira's eyes were wide as she stared at him. "…Um, I didn't kill anyone? And… and is killing people common in this line of work!?"

"Wait, you didn't?" Lorenzo sounded genuinely shocked. "How did you go through the whole battle and not kill anyone?"

"By running away," she huffed, glaring at them. "Now answer the question, damnit!"

"Don't worry about it, newbie," Chiara waved off Lorenzo. "Killing people on the job is rare, if it ever happens. Mostly it's only if people attack you, in which case it's self-defense, or if there's a criminal that is so dangerous the city hires the guild to take them out. But, again, that's rare, and you can choose not to take those kinds of jobs."

"…Oh," Palmira let out a relieved breath, calming down. "…I don't think I'll be taking those jobs. After yesterday… I'm certain I don't want to kill anyone."

"You might have to," the other girl raised a hand when her eyes snapped back to her. "Yeah, I know, I'm not a huge fan of it either. But this is a dangerous profession, and not everyone you fight's gonna be a monster. I mean, for all the atrocities he's committed, the Demon Lord Laurence is still just a man. But if you got the chance, wouldn't you kill him?"

Palmira grimaced, glancing down at the table. "I doubt I'll ever have to fight someone like that."

"Hey, you never know," Chiara shrugged. "That's why you have to figure this stuff out now, rather than later. You got a small taste of it yesterday. If that was too much for you, then I'm sorry to say this might be the wrong profession for you."

Palmira wilted further. This was the only job she'd been able to get. If this was too much for her…

"Hey, hey," Lorenzo smiled awkwardly, waving a hand. "It's like Chiara said, it's rare that it happens, and you're probably not going to deal with it for a long time anyway. Why don't we move on, eh? I find it best not to dwell on these kinds of things. Hey, how about we talk about my last job, yeah? They had me going to the Arborea Famiglia's villa out in the countryside. They had an infestation of Murder Hornets, which are like bees but if they were ten times the size and twenty times the aggression. They'd already killed half the Famiglia's livestock and two of their mages by the time I arrived."

Chiara squinted at him. "You're exaggerating. Murder Hornets aren't that big nor are they deadly enough to kill humans."

"Ah, but these mages weren't humans! They were gnomes, which as we all know, are deadly allergic to bees."

"Oh, now I know you're messing with me! Gnomes aren't smart enough to learn to read, much less cast magic! At least try to make your stories more believable!"

"A drake can't count past ten, but they breath fire nonetheless!"

"That is that and this is this! Stop pulling my leg and tell me what really happened!"

Palmira felt a smile grow on her face, as the weight of their previous conversation was slowly replaced by Lorenzo's story.

"I don't know," she smiled mischievously. "I met a gnome back when I lived in Bocca. He'd spend all day scamming travelers into buying rocks. And if a gnome's smart enough to scam a tourist, I'd say their smart enough to learn magic."

"Not you too! I refuse to believe it! There's no way on the Goddess' green earth that gnomes can learn magic. It is impossible."

"Refuse to believe it all you want, but I know what I saw—three dead gnomes the Famiglia swore up and down were their personal mages."

"Wait so you didn't even see them cast magic yet you're so sure they're mages? And didn't you say there were only two earlier!?"

"Two mages. The last was their valet, who'd hid in the kitchen while his clients got stung."

"Oh fuck off."

Palmira giggled. And as she joined Lorenzo in needling Chiara, she felt the worries of yesterday—not go away, but fade somewhat.

It felt, if only for a moment, that her problems weren't as big as she'd made them out to be. And she took comfort in that, if nothing else.

--

Palmira knocked on the door to Ósma's office, Morte's staff clutched in her hand. This was the first time she'd come here without being called up first, and it made her a bit nervous. What if he turned her away?

"Come in!" the rough grating of the old orc's voice called through the door. "What do you need now—hm? Palmria? Apologies, I was expecting the guildmaster. What can I help you with?"

She stepped carefully into his office, clenching Morte's staff tight for support. He'd told her that she wouldn't be getting her lessons until after the sun set, so she'd come to Ósma's office instead, intent on solving a very different problem.

"I, um, I have a question for you," she spoke haltingly, nervous despite herself. It was so easy to talk with Ósma when he was giving her orders, but why was just asking for something so hard!? "If you have the time to answer, at least."

"Oh? Does it have to do with yesterday's… kerfuffle?"

What an odd way of describing something she was going to have nightmares about for years. "Kind of. You see, with everything that's happened not just yesterday, but over the past week, I came to realize that I'm now a part of a Famiglia."

Ósma raised an eyebrow, looking a bit amused. "It took you that long, huh?"

She flushed as she realized what she said. "Not like that! I mean, ah, the Famiglias are all deeply involved in the politics of the city. But I don't know much about it really, besides the basics of 'Ambrosi against Capparelli against Gennarelli.' And since I'm now a part of one of those Famiglia, it means I'm involved in all those politics. So, um… I was wondering if you could teach me, since you seem to know all about it…?"

Ósma hummed, his expression turning more serious. "I see. I applaud your initiative in educating yourself on these matters—even our more learned members don't normally catch to that fact until it comes around to bite them, though I suppose you had a bit of a kick in the teeth yourself."

"So you'll teach me?"

"Unfortunately, I have a lot on my plate right now, as you should be aware from yesterday," he sighed at her crestfallen expression. "Ah, but that doesn't mean I can't help you."

He got up and walked over to one of his bookcases, scanning the titles before pulling out a rather hefty one with a bright red cover. He dropped it in her hands, and it was so heavy she nearly dropped it.

"Here you go," he tapped the cover. "This is a lexicon of every Famiglia that currently exists in the city—in alphabetical order, so that the Famiglias don't get huffy over favoritism. Read through this book, and once you're done, come back and I'll give you some more advanced stuff."

Palmira stared down at the massive book with dread. "…Are you sure there isn't any other way to teach me? Maybe you know someone less busy that could help…?"

"Well, I suppose Chiara might be able to…"

Hell no.

"That said, while I know it's daunting, it's not that complex of a book," he gave her a firm look. "Just because a book is big doesn't mean you get to skip it. A book like this has a lot to teach you, and even if I were to start teaching you politics full-time I'd make you memorize the thing anyway. This isn't a punishment or just me throwing you a bone to get you to go away—this is a vitally important book that everyone in the guild should have memorized. …At the very least, it should be more than just me and the guildmaster."

"Well… I mean… It's just…"

Ósma's brow furrowed at her stammering, before his eyes suddenly widened in understanding. "…Oh. I apologize, that was inconsiderate of me. I didn't realize you don't know how to read."

Palmira felt the tips of her ears ignite in embarrassment. "I can read," she bit out defensively. She hadn't put so much work into learning the skill just to have someone think she couldn't! "It's just… it's been a while, and sometimes the letters are hard to make out, and…"

"Ah don't worry," Morte consoled her. "I can help you with any of the hard bits. Maybe. Actually, what language is this written in?"

Ósma sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Even if I trusted you to know how to read—which I now find myself wondering—I would not trust you to teach this girl anything, for fear of you corrupting her."

Both Morte and Palmira stayed silent at that remark.

"But…" he sighed, walking back to his desk. Pulling over one of his stools, he dragged it over to his side of the desk. Patting the seat, he gave her a look. "Here. If you promise to read quietly, I can let you study next to me while I work. Just try not to cause me too many interruptions, will you?"

Palmira, with eyes wide in both surprise and relief, quickly made her way over to him, dropping onto the stool quickly. She cracked open the book on her lap, and felt her nose twitch at the sudden smell of old parchment and ink.

"Um," she blinked at the mass of pages in front of her. She glanced up—and wow did his office look different from this side—and gave him a pleading look. "Where should I start?"

Osma frowned, reaching over and flipping through the pages for her. "Here," he grunted. "Start on chapter two—chapter one is just the author covering his ass in case a Famiglia takes offense at the book, and everything before that is just sources and kissing up to his backers."

"Right," she nodded. Grabbing the book once more, she licked her lips as she stared down at the daunting lines of text. As quiet as she could, she began reading to herself.

"The…" she paused again as she realized she couldn't read the first damn sentence. Mortified, she awkwardly grabbed Ósma's attention again. "Um, I'm sorry, but I don't recognize this letter."

"Hm? Oh, them. I almost forgot about those smug little shits. Ah, that's the !_Culo Famiglia. The letter at the beginning is an exclamation point, usually put at the end of a sentence to indicate emphasis. It replaces periods, the little dots at the end of sentences. It doesn't make a sound, nor does the little line at the bottom—the !_Culo Famiglia registered their name like that so that they'd always come first whenever someone listed Famiglia's alphabetically. Don't mind it much, they're the only ones who did something like that."

"Right…" she muttered, turning back to look at the symbol in a new light. To think there were ways of working the system she hadn't yet learned. Taking extra care to pay attention to this Famiglia's exploits, she began again, reading quietly. "The !_Culo Famiglia was founded by Signor Ren !_Culo in the year 1975 P.T., following his sudden influ… um…"

"That's an x, it makes a cs sound. It's pretty rare, I doubt you'll see it much."

"Right. Influx. Following his sudden influx of wealth in the city of Iscrimo. Despite his ancestors having lived in the city for years, he swiftly relocated to Firrozzi less than a year later, where upon he began running a gambler's den…"

She continued reading for several hours after that, while Ósma worked away next to her. While she'd made several mistakes and had to ask a lot of questions at the beginning, as she continued she slowly began to improve, she soon began to get the hang of it, and by the time she reached 'Ambrosi' in the book she barely needed to ask anymore questions—at least about the words. She sometimes had problems understanding complex political topics like 'legislation' or 'inflation,' but with Ósma there she was able to get her answers quickly.

And so that was how she spent most of her day, slogging through a dense lexicon of Famiglia's while Ósma filed out paperwork next to her.

Until at last Ósma finished his work and, very gently, kicked her out of his office.

Leaving the heavy book in there, she set her sights on the last thing she needed to do today.

Meeting up with Tintinnia.

Somehow, that made her more nervous than even asking Ósma to tutor her.