Ugh, I reeled back after receiving the extraordinarily large packet of information that was their backstory. I don’t know what I was expecting for size when I asked for their history, but I certainly didn't expect practically all of it.

Is this supposed to happen a lot because, man, are these shamans fond of slamming a bunch of information straight into your brain. I'm not particularly enjoying it. Especially since it seems that they can manipulate the information at least somewhat.

They definitely skimmed over the war of the gods, most likely in order to not offend me the apparent spirit of language she who blah blah blah.

Either way, it is apparent that I have to be skeptical of this source of information, same as any other. But their offer is tempting since teaching them a few runes could give me concrete benefits in exchange for time, something I have in abundance.

Although for that to be true, I need to actually be given something, so I ask, “What is it you offer me, Spirit Callers?”

Still in that respectful stance, as before, they say in a beautiful and layered speech, “We offer you the gift of language freely given.”

I am confused for a moment before I remember Patient Bridge sacrificing some oddly specific facet of anger to a spirit for their service. And then my skin crawls as I remember the horrifying emptiness of language leaving me; even after gaining it all back and more, I couldn’t read for months. Hells, I don’t even know if they have a writing system; if language is stolen from someone who can’t write, do they not know how to speak anymore?

I shiver in horror as I vigorously shake my head and exclaim with a voice that drips venom, "No, I shall not accept such a foul gift for my time!”

“No, No, No need to get angry, great spirit; we can give you something else." Ehsa nervously says, obviously picking up my extreme reaction.

Ashe, making a placating gesture, frantically says, “We can give also uh give you perfection spells! Although you, magnificent as you are, have found perfection in the forge, we can give you perfection in body and soul.”

My heart begins to slow as I hear their fearful voices, and my anger shrinks as I face this ugly facet of survival I pushed to the fore. The fawning of the desperate chokes my righteous anger until it turns into disgust. Fuck am I really the type of person to make others cower and shrink when I don't get my way? At this point, I breathe in, breathe out, and with the calm I grasp, I ponder what I could even ask for.

Obviously, I want more spells, especially since the spells described in the legends they stuffed into my head greatly enhanced the body of the user, although they seem to have mostly been used to combat malnutrition. Since they seem to also have some great smiths, I’ll ask for their services as well. But before that, let me ask about their spells in order to squirrel away some secrets about how all of this magic works.

Getting into a more relaxed posture I say, “Alright, I wish to learn the spells you speak of; tell me more.”

Ashe, at this point clearly more comfortable lets out a breath and says, "Well, firstly, it won’t be useful on you great spirit.”

I frown a bit disappointed before she continues, “Due to the fact that we were only taught spells to enhance humans, we know not any spells that could enhance your glorious form great spirit. Most likely any spells that could perfect a spirit would only be known by Perfection itself, and it was banished away from our lands.”

Oh, that isn’t a problem for me; I don’t have a funky body made out of mist, or out of rusty discarded shaving blades, or other such silly things. I’m as human as they come, if a little bit enhanced, although this does make me wonder what they see me as; presumably, it's a bit different than the eye-wateringly bright gash in reality, Patient Bridge saw me as. Or if their human body is the same as mine.

Seeing that Ashe paused for me to think, I do a little shooing motion at her and say, “Go on, Spirit Caller.”

Taking a big gulp, she says a tad nervously, “But undoubtedly it would be useful as a trading tool, and if you have any devoted, you can help them.”

Ehsa glancing at Ashe’s more hesitant speech gives me a sunny smile as she takes over and says, “What they do is enhance your body so that it can approach perfection for a purpose. Each individual enhancement would be weak, but when put together, they allow for a qualitative change in your body for a specific task like mapmaking or forging. You don't gain the skill you seek through the process; you simply have the best chance to approach perfection.”

Ashe, extending the description, says, “Additionally, as a perfection type spell, it burns inspiration, that profound spark to create, so take care, or the creations you perfected yourself for will be dull and miss the essence of truth behind them.”

Wait, they burn that emotion? I have known of the price of magic for a while, but it does not involve losing emotion; it involves growing. Each spell invoked with anger makes my next fury deeper, and every lance of cold I make carves my well of sadness a bit deeper. How does that even work? Are they like invoking the opposite of inspiration? Ugh, I can’t ask them; the current perception of me as a powerful great spirit is useful.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Picking apart their words in my head, I say, “These spells you will teach me, but I desire something else for my service; I need a good smith. When the students come to be taught, bring a smith to work for me.”

Both of them look at me attentively and nod. I wonder if I should ask for more, but well, it’s not like I know my value currently. Additionally, I have no idea what the fuck else I could even ask for.

I make a dismissive wave, and with that, they bow and fade out of existence. I sigh glad that they are gone, if only because I don’t have to speak anymore. Especially since I kept up an imperious and grand voice that certainly isn’t my own.

Tired, I slowly swim back down to my throne and place myself into its silken straps. Huuuu, exhausted from the strange facade I put up, I wonder why I am even tired in the first place. I used to love talking to people, but now I just wish to be left alone.

Regardless of my new strange desire to shut up. I need to think of a lesson plan for whenever they might pop back up. I can't exactly wing the lesson, I've boxed myself into an impression that could help me but would also most likely cause me some trouble if I throw it out the window.

I don’t know what they want to learn, but obviously I can’t teach them anything crazy like industrialization, that would wreak untold havoc, or anything that they can’t already produce. Without the First’s bracer that recharges enchantments, they most likely don't have a way to keep useful items around for a while without constant upkeep.

If I don't teach them any battery spells or lessons on how to recharge enchantments, they will have to go to me if they want to make anything truly impressive, which means more earned. You know, like the lightbulb agreement of the 20th century, where everyone agreed to not make any lightbulbs that lasted forever since more lightbulbs burning out meant more lightbulbs bought.

At this thought, I jerk back. Why am I even thinking of this? The lightbulb agreement of the 20th century was taught in school to talk about how insider trading leads to worse products. Not as a step-by-step guide on how to exploit others.

Humanity stands on the shoulders of giants; it doesn’t exactly get better when people viciously protect their knowledge instead of sharing it.

Ugh, I feel sick just thinking about this, but what am I supposed to do?

I need to keep an edge if I am to get the resources and power necessary to get home. My empty stomach heaves and flips around as I ask myself. Am I really willing to abandon the morals of my species in order to keep a little ember of power?

But as I think of this, I remember my family. The warm hugs of my father. The bone-deep understanding that I am safe and warm surrounded by them. And I remember my aunt Prajaktha.

—

She was my favorite auntie, a family friend of that had been welcomed into our home for so long that she was blood. She always looked so beautiful with her meticulously arranged makeup and her colorful saris. Oh, how precious they all were. She practically wore a rainbow of long, heavy saris passed down from mother to daughter in an unbroken chain for centuries. When I saw them and the sheer weight of their beauty and history, I knew I wanted to make my own.

Prajaktha encouraged this, while she did enjoy the luxuries of gene replacement, she disapproved of the utter lack of threadwork she saw, with everyone printing out designs rather than sewing them by hand. She taught me how to pick out the right silks, carefully honed my patience, my steady hand, and my eye of beauty, just as her grandmother had done for her long ago.

The complex I lived in when I was young was less of an apartment and more of a communal sprawl that had everything you needed, so she saw me often. Always bringing me something beautiful and coloring my day with her stories. One day, when I was far younger and far more foolish, she found me sulking in the central room.

Obviously, she noticed, and when my mouth stayed shut, she whirled me away to the airport for a quick trip to a wild planet purposefully kept clean of as much influence as possible.

She dragged me through that portal after a short line, and with a blaze of color, we found ourselves in a tropical paradise, surrounded by glowing blue plants, a large dull red sun hanging atop the trees that glistened with sap and rain.

She didn’t allow me to stay gloomy for long, not among such beauty. Nature always felt a bit more special since it was so close, with it being a single portal away, and so far, with my entire world being the sprawling complex that I could live and die without ever walking more than 15 minutes away from. It lent the beauty of nature a sort of strange mysticism, even if I didn’t believe in such things.

Although nature isn’t exactly kind either, especially to the unenhanced, it’s a struggle to hike when the gravity is higher than the earth standard unit, and the very air is heavier than it should be. But nature doesn’t need to be kind when people are. When we approached the end of the hike and I couldn't finish the climb, Auntie Prajaktha grabbed my arm and lifted me to the top of the rock at the summit with ease.

And as she brought me up, I could begin to see it—the strange composition of the air catching the rays of the sun—a dull red that swims with vibrant gold and dusky oranges, interspersed with strange flashes of green as the light refracts. My feet planted on the ground, I could see the marvel in full, the red giant dipping below the treeline ever so slowly, its immense size meaning that this sunset would last hours.

I sniffed a bit, those little tears that come from crinkled eyes leaking out, as I saw the beauty afforded to me by the work of my forefathers and mothers. Auntie Prajaktha was giving the view a wild, painted smile before she turned to me and guided me to a rock that would be a convenient enough seat.

Auntie Prajaktha said with a sweeping gesture, "Beautiful, isn’t it? I wanted to bring you to somewhere nice and far away before we had this conversation. Now, child, spit it out; leaving your sadness in your heart only allows for it to fester and rot.”

A gloom fell over me, but it was quickly overtaken by a furious burst of anger as I said while flailing my arms, “Fuck you, Terrance! You’re such a dick; even worse, you’re a dick who only thinks with his dick, you fuckwit you!”

Upon hearing me, Auntie erupted into hysterical laughter. I turned then, my ire poured onto her before she quickly waved me down and covered her smiling lips. She said while still trying to calm me down, “Alright, alright I get the idea Tara, now please go back a little bit and explain so I can know whats going on, don’t you worry your auntie has got your back.”

Sighing and sticking my arms into my pits, I said with a voice leaking frustration, “It’s simple; Terrance didn’t know how to take no for an answer.”

My Auntie’s face immediately turned severe at my words, and she made the gestures I knew were to call someone silently before I stuck my arms out and said, “No, that’s not what happened or what you think happened, ugh, just wait a second Auntie. He didn’t force himself onto me; he just sort of expected it to happen, and when I didn’t want to, he broke up with me.”

“Which is a major dick move, but not a crime. Although I don’t know why I even said no, I guess I just felt scared? Or well empty, I just, I just couldn't do it.” I said, my voice lowering in volume and growing more hesitant.

“Everyone in all my books, movies, and shows talks about how big and important love is and how freeing and fun sex could be. But when I looked at him, I didn’t feel anything at all. He was nice enough—that good mix of kind and opinionated I like in my friends—but all those butterflies people talked about never appeared. I just sort of said yes when he asked if he could be my girlfriend, and then I built a sort of weird shrine of happy memories that I could use to pretend I was attracted to or in love with him or anyone else.”

“Although frankly, despite the emptiness of the relationship, it still hurt when he left, especially since our friendship is doubtless sunken and dead, and that was the only part I cared about.” I said, my voice twisted into wilting sadness.

“I just can’t help but wonder if theres something wrong with me when everyone else is doing their little dances and dates together and I just don’t have it—that love thats been mythologized and held up as humanities greatest act. Everyone else talks about these tingly feelings when you look at someone, but I just see a person boring and dull.” I said my voice bitter, and weak.

Taken aback, my Auntie quickly brings me into her arms after my little rant and says while stroking my hair, “There is nothing wrong with you at all child; you are you, and what everyone else says and talks about doesn’t matter when you are something new all on your own.”

And despite the curdled feelings and fears I had left to rot being spilled, inside my Auntie Prajaktha's arms, I smiled and felt just a bit better about myself.

—

As the warm, loving memories of my family wash over me, my eyes harden, and I say to the world, “It doesn’t matter if it’s selfish; I’ll do what I have to come back to my family and my home."

And with that, I settle onto my throne and wait for the students I shall rob of their full potential.