The room felt moldy, the air heavy somehow.

Melmarc walked back into the room, a lot still on his mind. The fact that he had just slaughtered a handful of [Damned] didn’t even impress him. At least his mind wasn’t paying much in the way of attention to it.

Standing in the room, silence was his only friend even as questions riddled his mind. Something grander than the questions was wrong with him. Almost as great as that was the fact that he wasn’t tired, not even in the slightest.

He couldn’t even silence his mind, and as loud as it was it wasn’t noisy. There was some kind of lost peace in the entirety of his confusion.

“Gotten everything out of your system?”

Melmarc looked down, realizing he had been looking up at the ceiling as he had been not too long ago.

In front of him Naymond was a mess. Lying there, back against the wall, there was too much blood. He didn’t look like a man who was supposed to survive.

It took another moment for Melmarc to notice the smell of something burnt. It filled the air. Another thing he noticed was the fact that the smell was coming from Naymond.

Melmarc recognized the smell well enough to know that it was coming from the critters. But not all the critters on Naymond had fallen off him.

There was a high chance that the [Damned] that some of the critters belonged to had come from a different part of the portal.

Will I have to find them and kill them?

He didn’t know how the critters worked on someone as terribly wounded as Naymond. There was also the risk of what could happen if they for some reason decided to get into his blood stream.

Melmarc didn’t want to know how bad it could get. Prevention was better than cure.

Which means I have to head out again.

But first…

“How do you know my dad?” he said, words quieter than he intended.

He would’ve thought Naymond didn’t hear him if not for the reaction on Naymond’s face. Naymond raised a hand sluggishly and scratched at his cheek with his index finger.

Doesn’t it hurt moving around? Melmarc wondered.

With all his tears and injuries and the amount of blood he was drenched in, Melmarc expected Naymond to be in pain.

Is it a Sage thing?

Did Sages have anything in their skill set that allowed them ignore pan in some way. Were they immune somehow to it?

Melmarc had questions and wanted answers.

“Well…” Naymond began, only to let his words trail off without continuation.

In a display of something he would never do before, Melmarc walked up to Naymond and squatted in front of him.

Naymond quirked a brow and Melmarc wondered at the action. It looked odd. It didn’t carry the cocky confidence the Sage was known for. There was something there, something hidden within the action.

It was buried beneath the confidence and the…

Melmarc’s brows furrowed on their own.

Naymond’s expression darkened. “Please don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Melmarc asked in genuine curiosity.

“That.” Somehow Naymond gestured at him with his head without moving his head. “You remind me of your dad when you do that, not that it bothers me or anything.”

Dissonant.

The thought was so alien in Melmarc’s head that it startled him. He almost turned around to check if someone had somehow spoken from behind him.

What the hell was that?

Dissonant meant something wasn’t in sync or harmony. So what did it mean that his mind had chosen the word. It was too random, too…

Melmarc frowned.

What was happening?

“You look very confused,” Naymond said.

“I am very confused,” Melmarc answered. Again, his voice sounded too weak.

Naymond’s raised brow dropped and he gave Melmarc a new look.

“How about we start slow,” he said. “Work our way up from what we know to what is making you confused.”

“I know that you know my dad well enough for my facial expression to remind you of him.”

“Correct,” Naymond said, as a teacher would to a student. “What else do we know?”

“That even in your current state you’re not feeling any pain.”

“That’s the portal effect,” Naymond confirmed, dismissively. “Got nothing to do with me. I’m sure that bruise doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Melmarc’s hand touched his chest. “It still itches sometimes.”

“Oh.” Naymond sounded surprised. “It’s not supposed to.”

“Why is that?” Melmarc was still squatted, one hand resting on his knee.

There was a moment of silence where all Naymond did was look at him. It was strange because Naymond didn’t seem to just be looking at him.

What was it he said Sages could see? Melmarc thought, unable to remember the exact word Naymond had used.

It came to him a moment after.

Forms.

Maybe he’s looking at my form.

Melmarc wondered what his form looked like.

“Are you alright?” Naymond asked after a while.

Melmarc didn’t think he was alright. He had a bruise in his chest that was refusing to heal, a wound that continued to itch every now and again. He had been surviving on his own in a portal for days and he’d been fighting opponents he had no reason to fight at his age.

Still, he had a feeling that wasn’t specifically what Naymond was asking.

Melmarc shook his head. “I don’t think I am.”

“I figured,” Naymond replied. “The way you’re staying to talk to me right now doesn’t feel like something you’d do.”

Naymond raised a questioning brow.

“It’s not a Sage thing,” Naymond clarified. “Just a people thing. The way you’re squatting feels like you’re squatting so that you can talk to a child. It’s not condescending but it looks condescending.”

Melmarc looked down at himself, not that he expected to see whatever it was Naymond was talking about.

“It just felt more comfortable,” he said.

Somehow when he’d entered the room, Naymond had felt far lower than he remembered. Squatting had just felt easier for him, comfortable.

“Uhuh,” Naymond said. “It’s comfortable because you got taller between the time you stepped out, slayed the damned, and came back.”

Melmarc was happy to get a confirmation that he was actually still growing. It was good to know it wasn’t all in his head.

“And, yes,” Naymond said. “I think that’s a Sage thing. It’s not by much but it is by something. I’m quite surprised it was enough to affect you, though.”

Still squatting, Melmarc scratched the back of his head. “I think I’ve been growing since I got my class.”

“You’re sixteen,” Naymond said. “You’re still supposed to be growing.”

Melmarc wasn’t entirely sure about that.

I wonder if I’m Ark’s height now.

Melmarc paused, realizing something. Naymond hadn’t answered his question. He’d spun the conversation, twirled it, led it, then turned it. Now they were talking about his height.

Melmarc shook his head slowly. “Can you please not do that?”

“Do what?”

Dissonant.

Melmarc frowned at the thought. What was dissonant? And why was his mind so insistent on telling him the word.

Wait…

Melmarc focused on Naymond.

“You know what you’re doing,” he said.

“I do?”

Melmarc waited. The thought did not come.

Unsure of what to make of it, Melmarc brought the conversation back to what was important.

“How do you know my dad?” he asked once more.

“Do you know that this feels kind of like an unsanctioned interrogation?” Naymond grinned. “I mean, here I am, a defenseless man, unable to stand up for myself. You have me in a corner and it feels like I need help and you won’t help me if I don’t give you the answer you’re looking for.”

It wasn’t that serious. Melmarc didn’t think so, at least.

He wouldn’t refuse to grant Naymond whatever help he needed just because he refused to tell him about how he knew his dad.

Would I?

Dissonant.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. Now his own mind was calling dissonant on his own mind?

In front of him Naymond smiled.

“Very much like your father,” he said. “There is a theory about Oaths and their offspring. So far it’s been proven on the losing side.”

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

Melmarc knew the word. He knew what Oaths were. As a child Ark had told him that their parents were Oaths. His father was the Oath of Madness and his mom was the Oath of War.

They’d always speculated that Dorthna was some kind of Oath. He was not.

Then there’d always thought ‘Oath’ was a title. Some kind of moderately important position in the government Delver department or something.

And considering the fact that they were always out closing portals, it had to be busy.

But he’s talking about it like its not a title.

What if they were not?

Melmarc had never asked too many questions about the whole Oath thing because it was… Well, because that was just how it was. It just had never seemed that important.

Now he was wondering if Ark also saw it that way. If it was really a title.

“What do you mean proven on the losing side?” he asked Naymond.

“Not many Oaths are married,” he said. “Right now, I think your parents are the only Oaths that are married to each other with kids. The only other Oaths I know are married have three kids and none of them are Gifted.”

Melmarc paused. The entire Oath thing was beginning to sound important.

“Are you sure you should be telling me all this?” he asked. “It’s beginning to sound a bit important. No, not a bit. It’s beginning to sound very important.”

“What?” Naymond chuckled. “Are you going to tell me that you didn’t know about it?”

Melmarc did, just not to this extent.

Oaths were not simply titles. They were more.

What if they were like August Intruders in some way?

What if that’s why I’m an August Intruder, he thought.

At the same time, he doubted it.

“You knew, right?” Naymond repeated. “You looked like you knew when I mentioned it.”

“I knew.”

“But?”

“I knew.”

“You sure?” Naymond gave him a look. “Because unless you’ve suddenly learnt how to hide your facial expressions and I’m reading you wrong, I should be right.”

Melmarc frowned. The action was intentional, nothing else. It was odd that he did it. Odd that he lied so easily.

“So eerily like your father.” Naymond shivered dramatically. “But the summary of this all is that people theorize that Oaths should somehow be able to pass it on to their offspring.”

“Why?”

“They just think it should be possible since Oaths have traits. Recessive genes and all that. They speculate that the nature of their inevitable being makes their… abilities more biological.”

“But my sister isn’t Gifted,” Melmarc pointed out. “Maybe I just look like my dad because I look like my dad. He is my dad, after all.”

Naymond shook his head.

“It’s more than that,” he said. “Not you and your father. The Oath thing. They get something called traits once they get there. At least that’s how they explain it. Some are for the better, some for the worst. Personally, I just think it’s freaky.”

Something was off. Melmarc could tell from just listening. Naymond was talking too much. It wasn’t unnatural for him to talk too much but there was something different about this one.

He’s rambling, Melmarc realized.

Again, that wasn’t entirely new.

Naymond always rambled, but when he did, it was systematic. He said a lot but it always seemed like everything he said was said to place some form of confusion. One truth told to hide three lies. Three truths told to hide one lie.

There’s always an angle. It’s always hard to tell but it’s always there.

“… Every Gifted gets skills and stats,” Naymond was saying. “Even the SS-ranks only get those. The only thing we know that’s special about them is when one gets a world skill. They are important and the world has studied them since the beginning of time. But traits,” he snorted, “those are entirely different. They aren’t simply magical. From what we can tell, they are embedded in the Gifted’s very being, like the DNA.”

He’s telling me everything, Melmarc realized.

It didn’t make sense to him.

What were the chances Naymond was simply playing one of his games, talking so that there will be more things to say that he can keep himself from saying?

“…So the possibility was not lost,” Naymond went on. “As rare and impossible as it sounds, there aren’t many Oaths that can get along with each other. The very nature of what they are does not allow it. But then Oaths get together and we found what we found. It’s all speculations and remain the same, but there are those who have now come to believe that the very source of skills lay in the biology and not some magical concept. Some of those people are good while some are bad.”

He’s still rambling.

It wasn’t making sense.

“…So imagine this. What happens when two Oaths come together to have an offspring? Skills have already been accepted as things that cannot be passed on, but what of traits? Just as the world beginning with the big bang was theorized, history has since theorized that the first ever Gifted were these Oaths, and the very nature of their traits exist amongst every one else as recessive genes. You did recessive and dominant genes in school, right?”

Melmarc was getting uncomfortable with how much Naymond was talking.

As if to prove a point, Naymond took a deep breath. He tried to keep it calm and controlled, tried to hide it, but squatted so close to Naymond, Melmarc caught it, saw the breath he sucked in.

He really was rambling.

But why?

Melmarc’s brows furrowed and Naymond frowned.

“The theory,” Naymond went on, his voice more controlled now, “is that all their traits ended up dormant in everyone and those with a low enough dormancy became Gifted. It’s the same way it is rare for two people who are short to have a tall child. Rare but not impossible. All you have to do is check back far enough or maybe not far and you will find a relative that was tall.”

Melmarc raised a hand and Naymond stopped talking.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, genuinely worried. “All I wanted to know was how you know my dad.”

“Oh.” Naymond paused. “I used to have a… I guess you could call it a contract with the government before I became a felon.”

Melmarc raised a questioning brow. “A contract?”

Naymond nodded. “A contract.”

Not for the first time, Melmarc wanted to ask what Naymond’s crime or crimes were. He stopped the urge knowing he would not be getting an answer.

Instead, he focused on what he now knew.

“So Oath’s may or may not be able to pass on these traits to their children,” he mused. “And how exactly do these traits work? Are there mental effects? Physical effects?”

“They vary,” Naymond answered. “Some times there are mental effects. Sometimes it’s physical. There’s an Oath whose trait allowed his body secrete a toxin that turned into mist. Everyone always thought it was a skill but it wasn’t.”

Dark Mist, Melmarc thought.

He was the only Delver he knew could do it. And Dark Mist had died during the attack on his home long ago.

“Do you know my father’s trait?” he asked.

Naymond opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and Melmarc watched him struggle to shut it back up.

It seems this is as far as he’s willing to tell me.

Melmarc was more than happy to take what he had gotten. He had no idea why Naymond had been so forthcoming with him but he wasn’t going to complain about it.

He had always been a fan of the truth, after all.

“Horribly uncanny,” Naymond muttered, his voice so low it was as if he was talking to himself.

Melmarc caught a tick in the Sage’s jaw. He wasn’t sure if it was from keeping his mouth shut or if he was angry at himself. Right now, it didn’t matter. What mattered was leaving the portal.

Melmarc almost laughed at himself.

Look at you, trying to kill a Demi-god.

Melmarc got up from his squatted position, rose to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Naymond asked.

“I already told you.” Melmarc paused, surprised by his response. Why did it sound rude to him? “I’m going to clear the portal.”

“Single minded focus.” Naymond said the word as if it was some kind of diagnosis. “You didn’t have it before, not this single minded at least.”

Melmarc thought about it.

Maybe Naymond was right. Maybe this was a result of the notification he’d seen after killing the last [Damned].

Or was it the other way around?

Melmarc was having doubts about the interfaces.

Were they what gave people the abilities they had or were they simply the out come of the abilities a person had.

Were they there to offer you the skills and the notifications or were they there to inform you of the skills and the notifications.

Single minded focus, Melmarc thought. It was an odd thing to think about since his mind was focused on different things.

He merely picked one to work on while his mind continued to think of Ark and Delano and his parents and the betrayer that was David Swan…

And much more.

“I still wouldn’t advise trying to clear the portal,” Naymond said.

Melmarc stood over him, head bent forward so that he could look at him.

“Why?” he asked. “Do you believe I should remain here?”

“Yes.”

“Because of your injuries?”

“Nope,” Naymond answered. “Because a Portal is no place for a child.”

Neither was an undercover sting, the thoughts bubbled up and Melmarc almost opened his mouth to say them.

But there was a part of him that felt the act of saying them was unnecessary. A part of him remained a constant reminder that while Naymond and Alfa had a share in the blame, so did he. Tossing out harsh words was going to do nothing.

Perhaps there was another reason, though.

“Is it because of Caldath?” he asked. “Do you think I can’t take whatever Caldath is?”

Naymond looked at him, confused.

“You mean the Orb of Caldath?” he said.

He didn’t get a quest for Caldath.

There was a finality to the thought. A certainty.

Fighting Caldath really was a personal quest. Again, Melmarc wondered if it was optional. The quest had told him nothing in the way of that.

“It doesn’t matter,” Naymond said. “What matters is that a Portal is no place for a child or a non-combat Gifted. We should wait a little longer, I’m sure there will soon be Delvers coming. Once they find us, they’ll help get us out.”

“What if they don’t.”

“Then they will clear the Portal and it will get us out.”

Melmarc had doubts for the second part of Naymond’s answer. He had a strong feeling that there would be no leaving for him until his personal quest was done.

There are always more questions, he thought, remembering Veebee.

But first, maybe it was time to confirm an answer to Naymond’s speculation of if Oaths passed on their abilities to their children as dormant genes.

With a thought his interface came up.

[Congratulations!]

[Base mastery is at 10%]

[Bless Your Kindness (Mastery 10.89%)(12.89%)].

[Would you like to upgrade your skill or acquire a new skill?]

…

[Please know that you can renege on this decision.]

…

[Melmarc Jay Lockwood, a selection of skills you have proven efficient in to some degrees over time have been listed out for you. Would you like to view them?]

[Yes/No]

These were old notifications. He had already answered them on his way back to the room. Still, there was something calming about looking through them.

His interface had offered him only one alternate skill just as it had done when [Knowledge is Power] had been up to ten percent mastery.

[Secrecy]

The Gifted secures an area of their choice in a bubble of mana that traps sounds from escaping and obscures outside sight.

…[Would you like to choose Secrecy? You will not be able to renege on this decision.]

[Yes/No].

…

[You have selected skill Secrecy. This has been permanently added to your skill list.]

Melmarc had chosen it, so he moved his notification on to the next piece of information. Only one part of it had been interesting to read. Also, it didn’t read like a support skill. It read like a main skill.

Secrecy (Mastery 02.00%)

Upon conclusion of [Rings of Saturn], focused mana is unbound and released

You cannot use other skills within area of skill’s effect.

Two blasts before every cooldown will be available.

+30% damage if effect is applied within a sentient life form.

Melmarc assumed the last part would be like the difference between throwing a grenade on the ground and putting it inside a person’s mouth.

Thirty percent was a lot. But even that wasn’t the highlight of it all. He’d thought so, but he’d been wrong.

[Criteria Met]

[Complete mana assimilation discovered]

[Unlocking August Intruder perk]

[You have received Optimum Existence]

[Sapient Life forms are the epitome of their very being, striving on the path of perfection.]

Optimum Existence (0.00%)

The August Intruder draws on all necessary traits to achieve a perfect form.

[Alert!]

[Ambient mana is tainted, progress is halted.]

[Alternate source of progression detected]

[EP detected]

[Would you like to consume EP to resume progress?]

[Y/N]

It was as if this path had been inevitable. The interface was telling him that this was the reason for [EP].

Everything was too systematic, too strategic.

It solidified Melmarc’s believe that the interfaces were more than the body’s interpretation of itself.

The interfaces were far more.

Regardless, he’d agreed, chosen the affirmative.

[EP Detected: 984]

[EP Consumed: 980]

[Progress initiated]

[Progressing… Progressing… Progressing…]

[Insufficient EP detected]

[Progression halted]

[Please relocate to area with pure mana or acquire more EP]

[EP remaining: 4]

[Optimum Existence (02.00%)]

As interesting as it all looked, none of it was making sense to Melmarc. But Naymond had given him an answer, though.

If [Optimum Existence] was giving him access to all usable traits and Oaths passed down their traits as dormant genes somehow, then it only stood to reason that an Oath’s trait would fall under useful traits in the path of achieving perfection.

Right?

He turned his attention back to Naymond and the look on Naymond’s face clicked. The look he’d noticed hiding behind everything else finally had a name. He finally recognized it.

Fear.

But why? Naymond had no reason to be afraid. At least, not of him. So why was the Sage scared.

“Do you know that this feels kind of like an unsanctioned interrogation?” Naymond’s words slithered into his mind, called up from memory “I mean, here I am, a defenseless man, unable to stand up for myself. You have me in a corner and it feels like I need help and you won’t help me if I don’t give you the answer you’re looking for.”

The thought made him sick. Did Naymond really believe that he would do such a thing? Was that why he’d been rambling? Because he didn’t want Melmarc to leave him?

The thought disgusted him to the point that he could almost taste the bile in his throat.

Melmarc wasn’t sure if Naymond’s lack of trust said a lot about how the man saw him now that he’d witnessed him kill monsters or if it said a lot about Naymond as a person.

He knelt in front of Naymond, a single knee to the ground.

“I will not leave you to die,” he said.

He needed Naymond to know that.

“We will find a way to deal with your injuries, then I will clear the Portal.”

His words did nothing to alleviate the fear he could see hidden beneath it all. It saddened him slightly to note that Naymond did not believe him.

But it did not sadden him enough.