“Your lesson was only supposed to be two hours. You made me wait four.” Adna whined.

“Give it a rest. You’ve been telling me about your swordsmanship for the last twenty minutes. Youwouldn’t have been happy with two hours either.” Timbrelle accused, exhausted. “Or was that not about the lesson and all about your instructor, Davian? Does he do the thing where he fixes your stance with his arms wrapped around you?”

“Yes. Yes he does.” She assured Timbrelle. “And I’ll have you know that I have a lot of issues with my stance.”

“He’s an aristocrat, you know. They all are.” They hadn’t confirmed it formally, but every conversation solidified the hunch more and more. If that wasn’t enough, they were all encrusted in precious stones at the temple. Commoners didn’t eat jewels, they sold them.

She elbowed Timbrelle conspiratorially. “That may be but his abs don’t feel like an aristocrat’s.”

“You didn’t.” Timbrelle gasped.

“It was a mistake, actually. I overcorrected a swing and body slammed him to the ground. It wasn’t romantic. Unless…” Adna was deep in thought. “Unless he likes it rough.”

“So, a happy accident?”

“Yeah. Thank Nerrus, am I right?” She stretched her arms and laced them behind her head as they walked.

“You can’t objectify him like that. Davian is a human be—“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Equal rights. I made sure to to flex plenty for him too.” She interrupted.

“You’re unsalvageable, you know? Morally bankrupt. A scourge.”

“Unsalvageable? I think I’ve got some pretty good parts, though.” She squeezed her own butt with both hands for emphasis. “I agree that I need a good scouring though.”

“Stop wiggling your eyebrows like that, it makes me feel dirty. Don’t do it faster!”

They arrived at their rooms after Timbrelle ran ahead and Adna gave chase, suggesting scandalous situations that she intended to get into.

“Take a shower! Your outside is as dirty as your inside!” She yelled through her locked door.

Adna laughed all the way into her room across the hall. The sound cut off as she closed her door.

What would she do with that woman? Nerrus expected them to stay together until Timbrelle had chowed down on all the aurora gems he allotted to Adna. She’d have a place in the congregation of Nerrus--at least until she found His Medium, that is.

She sighed. She wouldn’t be surprised if Nerrus yoinked all the jewels back after she completed her task. Especially His eye. That had to be a loaner.

Timbrelle squinted around the room. The dozens of auras overlapping like chromatic smog was becoming too much. There wasn’t a room in the temple that was clear of the aura haze. On top of the opacity of the air, she was being smothered by a blanket of woven bakery scents. One day she’d wake up to a dark room and a full stomach. There was no way she could stay here. Not now that she knew herself to be the kind of person who would eat anything to get to an aurora stone.

Timbrelle wrote a note to Adna and left the temple. Her pattern- or her ‘seal’ as Loren had called it, now contained tiny dots of focused color in the haze of orange. That was probably the orange gem she stole from Trestovan.

The Kliae was bustling as it always seemed to be. The sea of people was not uniformly blue today. It was a color saved for the sabbath and one people did not—would not wear on a random Thursday.

One did not linger in the Kliae. The benches in the square rarely hosted a person for longer than it took to tie their shoe. Perhaps it was this relative invisibility that allowed her to sit unbothered.

She could handle this. This was just Europe with magic. The color scheme already reminded her of some seaside Grecian city, all white and blue.

Yes, that was it. There were plenty of similarities. She’d just been magically trafficked to the 1700s, fed the crown jewels, was being ruthlessly hunted by Jack the Ri-

Never mind. She quickly abandoned the train of thought.

Across the square a mother was tugging along her son who was, in turn, trailing a little wooden duck on wheels. She was watching the pair when a man that looked to be in his late twenties sat beside her.

He spoke immediately. “Bithra sent me.”

Timbrelle stared ahead, confused. Was he on the phone? No, they didn’t have phones here. Loren had made that abundantly clear during their second lesson. It had started right after the first lesson and somehow Timbrelle became the teacher, topic: any damn thing Loren could think to ask about. He’d lead her through a gauntlet of questions which included drawing and explaining as much of the inner workings of a cellphone as she could remember. This naturally developed into talk of cameras and the internet. She’d called it a day when she began explaining social media. Loren could not understand the idea of an influencer and Timbrelle could not bring herself to explain it a third time.

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Timbrelle moved to get up from the bench. The man beside her was obviously occupied. There were other benches she could move to.

“Wait, what?” He turned to her, entirely befuddled. “Timbrelle, right? Bithra sent me.”

She studied the freckled man. With bright blue eyes and deep red hair, he looked out of place in his black leather armor and stylish haircut. What stood out more was the curved sword at his hip and half-dozen throwing knives attached to a belt across his chest. Weapons weren’t allowed in the city. More specifically, the common people couldn’t carry them.

“Is Bithra the judge?” She finally put the pieces together. “…And you’re the Unmade she contacted?”

He screwed up his nose at the term. “I’m Californian. But yeah, that’s what they call us here. Your personal information identifies you as ‘Timbrelle The Fragile’ hailing from Utah.” He stared into space just over her shoulder at something she couldn’t see.

“And you are…” she lead.

“Brandon The Resilient, Night Hawk of Her Majesty Tellushra the Fourth.” He said proudly. “Just let me know if you can’t pronounce anything in my bio. I’m almost done with yours. It’s pretty short.”

Timbrelle felt like she was posing for a caricature artist as he took her in. A few seconds later he met her eyes again and she relaxed her posture.

“That’s got to be the worst title I’ve ever heard. No! That’s a lie. I knew a ‘Danny The Odiferous’ whose smell gave him a shield ability. Yours is a crazy social buff though, so don’t be too embarrassed. Mine is ‘-The Resilient’ just because I fell out of a really tall tree and didn’t die. So the story definitely matters. Stupid titles often come with cool stories and vice versa.” He looked at her expectantly. A golden retriever waiting for her to play. Did he want to her her story?

She wracked her brain to remember the text window. “I was being hunted and I got two imminent death notifications in under a minute.”

Brandon stopped. “I’m sorry. I… uh… they’re usually funny stories.”

“I don’t know if I have any of those…” She perked up. “I barfed on Nerrus.”

“The god, Nerrus? You barfed on a God?” His eyes went wide.

“Is it that big of a deal?” She feigned ignorance.

“I can’t tell you from experience. Ya know, since I didn’t sneeze on Jesus or anything.” He cackled with mirth. “So is that why you’re staying there? They’re making you wash dishes until you’ve paid off the disrespect? Too bad your title hadn’t happened then. That could have been one hell of a title. What buff do you get when your name is followed by ‘-The God Barfer’?”

“Do all the Unmade work for Tesh…”

“Tellushra. Emphasis on the ‘oo’. They’re particular about royal names here. And no. Just me. Countries like having—ugh, Unmade around. Especially the capable ones with useful affinities.” He sat back proudly, allowing her to… behold him?

Timbrelle waited with a polite smile.

“This is kind of awkward to say. Um… it’s polite to compliment someone’s affinity.“ He fidgeted at his armor.

“How would I know your affinity? I don’t even know what they are.” Timbrelle asked blankly.

Brandon looked just as lost as she felt.

“From the interface tab that should be right here.” he gestured at the empty air to the left of his head. The armor tooted quietly as he moved.

“There’s nothing there.” Timbrelle said.

“It’s right here, unless it’s already expanded.” Brandon assured. “Everyone has them but only Earthers can see and access the interface.”

“It’s not there. I can’t access the interface.” She repeated.

“No, really. If you just look at the triangle it should expand.”

“Brandon. I am not your elderly aunt who’s learning to use the internet. There’s nothing there. I can’t access the interface. From the sound of it, there should be more that I’m just not seeing. In the occasional notification it referenced a map but there is no map. I think I might even have an inventory somewhere, I just can’t get to it.” She explained.

The man knitted his eyebrows. This was clearly something he hadn’t encountered. “I think you should come to The Preservatory. It’s a sort of ‘soul hospital’. I don’t know anything about magic theory but they can check your soul’s frequency. I had to do it once when a bonded item started rejecting me. It can happen to anyone.” He patted her knee softly then pulled his hand away quickly like he’d been burned. “Your title buff is incredible. It keeps getting me even though I know it’s there. Once you can access the interface, maybe see what you can do about that passive AOE ability.”

“I trust I’ll understand all of that after visiting The Preservatory.” She said.

“Maybe. There is a learning curve but I guess you wouldn’t get to use the tutorial without the interface. How long have you been on Kitos? Your bio says ‘undetermined’ and that is just buck-wild, my friend. Buck. Wild.”

“I don’t know exactly. I was in the Dorark for ten weeks. But I don’t know how long it was before I got trapped in there. A week? Six months?” She shrugged.

“No matter! You can come with me today. Now that I’ve established first contact, you’ll be registered as an Unmade. It’s a short list, but one very few people have. Your status will largely remain secret.”

He stood, extending a hand to Timbrelle. “If we move fast enough, I might be able to use the same gate. It’s hell to get a reservation. But this is great! There are a lot of Earthers in town for Tellushra’s coronation. We haven’t had a newbie in years. They’ll be so excited.”

“Wait a minute. I can’t leave yet. Nerrus asked me for help and I need to learn Crystalurgy.” She said.

Brandon smiled. “Newbies always say the craziest shit.”

“At least I’m not dressed like Batman’s medieval nephew.” Timbrelle snorted.

“If Nerrus Himself has asked you for help (even after you barfed on Him) then there’s nothing I can do. Divine missions are a big deal here. But I’ll see what I can do about bringing a Soul Surgeon to Yost for a meeting.” He stepped to the side, allowing a stranger to pass. The gangly teen walked right by without seeming to notice the large ginger man in full armor. Never once realizing he’d been about to run face first into Brandon.

“Ugh. No one can see you, can they?” She rolled her eyes.

“That bonded item I mentioned.” He winked.

“So I just look like I’ve been talking to myself. On a bench that no one uses. In a highly trafficked area. …I’m the crazy pigeon lady.”

Brandon cackled again. “I need to go! I’ll be in touch!”

“Wait! What am I supposed to do? How do I get in touch with you?” She yelled, earning a pitying look from an old man.

“It was nice to meet you too! I’ll be back as soon as possible!” He called from all the way across the Kliae.

She waved until he disappeared down a side street.

As fun and helpful as Brandon had been, it bothered Timbrelle. From the moment she fell into this world, she had been a step behind. As the Night Hawk of Tellushra jogged away, dodging and weaving through the crowd, so too went her only connection to Earth. The only person who seemed to have the faintest idea what she was doing here, bouncing away.