Pvau woke up the following morning to the sound of the morning bell, the striking of the town gong repetitive, loud and insistent. The sun was just edging above the horizon, beginning its daily dance across the sky.

He blinked, sitting up. His clothes were wet with dew, and the damp fabric was doing nothing to shield him from the cold wind gusting across the hillside. The wind had changed direction in the night, blowing in off the inland sea to the south, bringing the smells of distant rain and open water.

Pvau had fallen asleep side by side with Birra the previous night, their Indexes lying next to each other on the grass as they looked up at the stars, passively accumulating. Now Birra was gone, and his Index had dematerialized at the point he'd fallen asleep. At least, he hoped it had.

He raised his arm, holding out his hand and calling his Index out of hiding. Mist flowed out of the clear air, coalescing into a thin pale-red book. His Index.

Pvau grabbed it and flipped it open.

[https://i.ibb.co/sg5BwJ8/20210404-191755-0000-1.png]

He spent a few seconds preoccupied with his charter, before his eyes jumped to the class.

Clueless wanderer?

It was worse than Birra's. If he didn't get a second page until the tenth level of his spirit, there was a good chance he'd never get it. His first priority would need to be attaining something better.

Or maybe that was his second priority, after scribing his blank page. He flipped his charter over.

The blank page sat there, empty and waiting, pale paper of peerless quality.

He turned the page again, looking through the rest of the book. There seemed to be more pages in there, but they were thin and translucent. Not yet usable.

If he found a reasonable class and lived a normal life, he might develop two or three more pages before he died. It took passion, strife, or the kind of dedicated meditation only monks and the idle rich could afford to spend to open them any faster.

If Birra really became a professional runner in the gladiatorial games, she'd outstrip him quickly. The worship of crowds was easy food for the soul, and the center of their attention was a potent venue for accumulation.

Pvau let his Index dissipate and started strolling down the hill, taking care not to slip on the damp grass.

Below him the town was coming to life. Farmers streamed out of the gates, dispersing into the deep fields of maize with their tools and yokes held over their shoulders.

He passed a few as he joined the road, greeting the faces he recognized, being ready with a smile for the ones he didn't. There were more faces that he didn't know than he did. Beystead was a town of only eleven hundred people, but that was enough to make most of them strangers.

He almost froze as he approached the gate.

One of the guards was a woman around forty, with gray streaks running through her light brown hair. She wore the hard leather chestplate of the town guard, with a short sword and a pistol hanging from her belt, and a bow stave slung across her back. She had an expression like she was about to give someone a hard time, and eyes that were darting around, like they were looking for a wayward son.

Mom, Pvau thought.

He didn't know she would be on gate duty this morning. Maybe she hadn't been. It would be like her to change her shift just so she could catch him coming home after an unscheduled night outside.

She has to forgive me. It's my Inspiration, Pvau thought.

"Pvau!" his mother called, the word sounding almost like vow, as in I vow you'll never leave the house again.

"Hi Mom," Pvau said, walking up to the guard point.

The other guard on duty, an older man called Paul, caught his eye and gave him a conciliatory smile.

"You're alive then," his mother said.

Pvau rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm alive. What was going to happen to me. I never lost sight of the town walls."

She didn't seem impressed by his defense. Pvau had never seen his mother afraid, but right now she seemed concerned.

"We've been at peace your whole life so you don't understand, but it's not safe outside the walls, Pvau."

"It was only one night out on the hill," Pvau protested, hating how much he sounded like he was whining. Wasn't he meant to be an adult now?

"Did you at least have someone else with you?"

"Look Mom," Pvau said, quickly changing the topic, "I had my Inspiration."

He held out his hand and let his Index coalesce on his palm. He showed a glimpse of the book, like he was proving it existed, then let it dissipate.

His mom let out a long breath, smiling despite herself.

"Congratulations. I wish you'd been at home for it, but I know what it's like to be where you are."

Pvau nodded sagely, slowly sidling through the gate, suddenly seeing the opportunity to get away without any more argument.

"Pvau, hold on. Ibeso found me. They want you at the observatory this morning."

"But it's my birthday. Today's my Inspiration. I have to go to the library."

"I know, I'm sorry. I'm just passing on the message. They want you there or they'll find somebody else."

Pvau ran a hand over his face. He hadn't had enough sleep, and he needed to change his clothes. He really didn't want to go to work right now. And during the day? Was it really necessary? Dasleight was barely visible beyond the pale blue of the sky.

He left the guard post without another word, heading off on the road that led deeper into the town.

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"Get yourself a fighting page," his mom called after him. "You can join me in the Guard. Spend time with your mother. No need to keep bowing and scraping for the Observatory."

Pvau shook his head as he left.

The observatory tower was at the North end of town, a tall cylinder of spirit-reinforced stone topped with a bronze dome that slid open at night, like an enormous eye. It was visible from almost anywhere in town, but to get to it he had to pass through the center of the village square.

The first day of the week was always market day, and the town square was bustling with activity. Traders set up their carts as stalls, selling their goods to locals, and presenting samples to visiting long distance traders for inspection.

Pvau dodged workers carrying shoulder-yokes, each bulging with crops, fruit, animal feed, water. Someone pushing a wheelbarrow almost ran him over, and he smiled at her even as she grumbled at him.

He passed a food stall selling stuffed breadrolls, the air thick with the smells of pepper and frying eggs. As he continued on that smell was soon displaced by the floral scent of a traveling perfumer's cart, and that by the animal smells from a stack of chicken cages further down the road.

"Hey, Pvau, happy birthday," a boy called, sidling up to Pvau as he walked.

He was taller and older than Pvau, a slim figure in brocaded traveler's clothes. He had black hair and pale skin. Pvau vaguely remembered he was related to Birra. Maybe a cousin.

"Hey Fleet," Pvau said, his tone flat and tired.

"So. Inspiration," Fleet said. "How's it feel?"

"It's fine. I have to work though."

"Ah that's less than ideal." Fleet cast an arm over Pvau's shoulders. "Listen, it sounds like you're not going to be able to get to the library. You don't have anything to scribe onto your first page yet, do you."

"No," Pvau said.

He didn't really need anyone reminding him of the fact. He wasn't even sure what he was going to do with the page yet, and not being able to use the time he'd set aside to research was salt in the wound of being called into work.

"It's your lucky day then," Fleet said, lowering his voice. "I've come in to possession of a rare formation. Very powerful."

"There are no powerful formations," Pvau said.

Specific, maybe. Well-tested or well-worded, sure. He might have believed a formation could be reliable and refined, but powerful just wasn't a word that applied to formations. So long as you didn't make any big mistakes, one page was within spitting range of the strength of any other, and always bound by the power of the spirit.

"That's because they're secret," Fleet said. "Shrouded in mystery. This was sold to me by a down on his luck errant. It exploits the secret forces of the world to accomplish what no other page can."

"I don't have any money, Fleet," Pvau said.

"I can let you have it for two crows and a stag's head."

That was exactly what the observatory paid Pvau for a week's work. Fleet's wares were suspect, but his information was always weirdly accurate.

"I don't have any money, sorry," Pvau said. "I'll have to take my chances with the public library."

Fleet removed his arm and started sidling away.

"Yeah, okay. If you're broke, you're broke. See you around."

Fleet vanished into the crowd without waiting for a response.

A secret, all powerful formation wasn't a new concept to Pvau. It was a staple of scam artists throughout the nation. It was the setup to a lot of tavern jokes. A secret formation, or a formation written in an ancient language, that the hapless butt of the joke scribed into his Index without thought, only to find it was something ridiculous or harmful. Some of the jokes might even be true.

He tried to put Fleet's pitch out of his mind as he walked, and held out his hand, letting his Index form between his fingers.

He checked the cover again, reading the archaic symbol embossed into the pale red cloth.

Why 'rabbit'? he wondered. Was it meant to be a commentary on him? Birra certainly matched up with hawk in his view.

He opened the cover and had a more in-depth look at his charter.

[https://i.ibb.co/sg5BwJ8/20210404-191755-0000-1.png]

He had two improvements to make to his spirit, spread between two attributes or focused on one.

The school's final year lessons had prepared him for what everything on the charter meant. Might, durability, quickness, and recovery governed the physical. Thought, reserve, precision, and cycling the spiritual.

If he were a laborer he'd choose might and recovery for increased strength, and to reduce the amount of rest he needed. If he were a priest or elementalist he'd choose reserve and cycling, for a larger store of spiritual energy and the ability to replenish it more quickly.

What was the correct choice for a low level assistant at an observatory?

He should probably wait and ask Ibeso for advice, but this was his Index, and it was the day of his Inspiration.

Maybe if I just use one improvement...

Quickness would help him at work, since he often had to move around and position things quickly, and the idea of being able to move and react more quickly to things was appealing. It seemed generally useful. It was a very respectable and defensible choice. He was going to do it.

He focused on his Index.

Quickness.

The text on the page seemed to blur, drifting mist temporarily blocking his vision, and when it cleared the allocation had changed slightly.

[https://i.ibb.co/wMZgMXq/20210404-204119-0001-1.png]

He spent a second trying to sense if it had worked. Shouldn't he be walking faster?

Whether a single point of improvement was below his notice, or if it only applied when he was trying to move quickly, he didn't know.

He snapped the book closed and let it dissolve, picking up his pace.

A few minutes later, he sighed as the base of the observatory tower came into view between buildings.

His clothes had mostly dried out, but he still ached and felt unclean from the wind and dew.

He really just wanted to go home and bathe, but there were no shortage of people who would love a position in the observatory, and Ibeso would have no trouble replacing him on short notice.

Time to work, he thought, then as his thoughts strayed to how unusual it was for him to get a daytime shift, time to find out what was so important.