From the outside, Bessie Bridgett and Rowena Loress appeared to be near opposites: adventurer and Scholar, bold and timid, active and desk-bound.

And actually, they had even more differences underneath. Bessie had chosen to become an adventurer, decided the type of person and adventurer she would be, and worked every day towards her goals; Rena, on the other hand, seemed to just be herself without ever giving the topic any real thought. Bessie had a list of Skills she was tirelessly training now and planned to train later; Rena knew practically every Skill ever and yet didn't bother with gaining more. Bessie had defeated her first monster when she was six, soloed her first monster when she was seven, killed her first monster stronger than a pest when she was eight; Rena could possibly lose a fight against a wet paper bag.

Despite their differences, and maybe because of them, the spellsword wanted the other girl for her team. Most people would scratch their heads at this, since the Scholar didn't seem to have any instinct or will for combat. In fact, she was about as combat averse as it was possible to be without turning into a full-on pacifist or phobic.

Most people were idiots who didn't know Rowena Loress.

In another world, somebody like her would have nothing to do with kids who'd grown up on a farm, or with unremarkable blacksmiths for parents, or essentially on the street. If she'd devoted herself to combat, Bessie had no doubt sooner or later she'd blow past the rest of them.

Not even Rena knew exactly how the rules around Skills really worked, but everybody knew those who dedicated themselves to something gained related Skills faster. The Scholar's regular progress despite how little she thought of combat made her monstrous talent only the more obvious. She wasn't any type of genius in battle and never would be, but she knew magic. The best shield in the world could be broken with enough firepower; the best warrior in the world could find themselves swinging at nothing but illusions and air; the best rogue in the world could be hit with the right area-of-effect or targeting spell; the best archer in the world could find their arrows reflected back at them.

It was unfair, but that was magic. Of course, the best mage in the world could still die, but forget immortality: supposedly even returning to life was possible with enough power, knowledge, and resources. If death was the great equalizer, then magic could manage to cheat even out of that.

Bessie was a true friend, so in that other world, she would support Rena until the other girl outgrew their team, then shout, "Don't forget us!" after her retreating back.

Fortunately for Team Multi-Movers, that would never happen. Nobody imaginable could be more suited to the Scholar's Guild than Rowena Loress. So long as her eyes were fixed on learning for its own sake, she would never outpace them in the field.

The real worry was that she would refuse to ever leave her books, or rather, to bring them with her out of the library. But now she was finally changing, emerging from her shell. Bessie was in total agreement with Andy Rubrik that this was a welcome development to be supported and encouraged at all costs.

No matter what, she was well-aware how lucky she'd been to meet Rena, like finding an unpolished but pure jewel lying on the side of the road. She liked to think that luck worked both ways. Who knew, she might have even saved the other's life.

Their first meeting, Bessie had known Rowena Loress had to be one of three things: a madwoman, a conwoman, or a genius. But at very first she had seen nothing but a victim. She and Tom were fresh out of their tiny no-name village, riding high on the adrenaline of finally leaving to begin their own adventure and the happy excitement of their surprise farewell party, when they'd seen the group of obvious bandits close in on the lone girl.

The poor petite thing didn't have a horse or visible weapons, trudging along all by herself, but she also didn't look poor: actually, she might've been the cleanest and best-groomed person they'd ever seen. With her silky waist-length black hair, her pale unblemished skin, and her large and luminous gray eyes, she looked like an elegant porcelain doll.

In short order, she was surrounded, and only then did she seem to realize her danger.

As she stood there, while other passersby ducked their heads and hurried on or a few like themselves lingered to watch, she looked so pitifully defenseless and ready to be robbed that Bessie half-expected she'd turn out to be a legendary creature or working with the law. But she seemed genuinely alarmed and confused, blinking around owlishly like she couldn't believe what was happening.

When the outlaws predictably laid out their demands, she just stared at first, then she seriously shook her head and denied she was carrying anything. Right, as though her fine clothing had been sewn out of tree bark. She flinched as the sharp commands grew louder and more threatening, but she didn't relent.

The more Bessie watched, the more her anticipation dribbled away and her concern grew. She wasn't about to risk her neck over some rich city girl's pocket coins, but at this rate the poor fool was going to get herself killed. Was she, would-be adventurer, really going to sit there on her high horse and do nothing?

Tom, of course, realized right away what she was thinking. "Don't," he said. "S'not our problem. Besides, could be private business. Or a trap."

"And if it's not?" Bessie challenged.

"Still not our problem. Do you think the two of us can take all six of them? Seven, maybe?" He said the last as though he were trying to convince himself maybe the mouse -- that looked like a mouse, cowered like a mouse, and squeaked like a mouse -- was really possibly a snake in disguise. "Don't look at me like that. We're out to be adventurers, not heroes. Dead people don't make good adventurers."

She just grinned at him, sliding off her horse. "Don't hate me?"

"Wait, no--"

"HEY!" The advancing bandits, who'd been obviously intending to deliver a beating or worse, paused. The girl looked over, and the painful hope in her eyes sunk Bessie's that any more help was coming. But she'd made her decision and would live -- or not -- with it. She straightened her back, kept her sword belt plainly visible, and continued loudly, "Leave her alone."

The leader, a woman with maybe more muscles than Tom, looked her up and down then spat on the ground. "Go home, little girlie."

"You're a girl too," Bessie offered lamely. She wanted to be the sort of adventurer who could exchange witty banter no matter the odds or danger. Sure, she was still working on it, but everybody had to start somewhere, right?

"What are you, thirteen?" Clearly, her opponent had more experience with this. "Have you even killed anything with that blade?"

"Sure I have," she said assuredly, since it was the truth.

"Let me guess, a rabbit? A feral dog?" The other bandits laughed like good little minions.

"Beasts, monsters, undead." She shrugged. "Farming is dangerous work. You never know what might try to eat you when you're trying to eat." Darn, that sounded catchier in her head.

"That's nice. Real heroic. A tip, little girlie, fighting people isn't the same. Go on home, and you can even keep the sword. There's nothing for you here but an early grave."

The woman looked tired and a little sad as she said it, as though she knew she would be refused and what would happen after. That expression sent chills down Bessie's spine, honestly. It suggested experience and confidence born from that experience.

But she smiled; she had some confidence of her own. "I'm not going home. Not for a few years. I'll walk away if you promise not to touch the girl. What does she have, anyway? Or are you just pissed she's not as rich as she looks?"

"I'm not," the girl piped up in a thin, wobbling voice. "Otherwise I would have hired a ride. Maybe I can get coin in the city?"

Wow, she actually sounded convincing that time. The bandit woman frowned, before shaking her head. "My Skill don't lie. Whatever you have, give it up or we'll take it from you. Dead or alive. And you, little girlie, last chance. I don't have time to play nice with children."

Uh oh, two of them were pointing arrows in her direction, though the third kept his aimed at the girl. Bessie casually unsheathed her sword, hoping the motion looked as smooth as when she'd practiced before the mirror. Had to make a good debut, that was what people called it, right? And this was certainly a roaring start to an adventure. "Care to play at all? Or do you always hide behind men, I mean archers?" She was getting better at this already!

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"Shoot her," bandit lady said. So it wasn't all a win. On the plus side, two arrows headed in straight lines at this distance were pretty easy to dodge. The girl screamed, a bit late, but it added to the drama of the scene... and also almost got the girl shot, fortunately stopped -- saved? -- by the leader: "You might hit what she has!"

"[Mark Target]," one of the reloading archers said.

Right, that was it. Bessie dashed forward, closing the distance rather than stay a sitting duck.

"[Homing Shot]," the other said and fired.

The world seemed to slow as the arrow approached. The girl screamed again. Bessie twisted out of its path, desperately swinging her sword... she would have to get the timing exactly right, if only she'd picked up [Arrow Grab]... then the girl's words caught up with her: "Not a Skill!" Without missing a beat, she threw herself down, dodging the second arrow aiming to take advantage of faking her out, and rolled back to her feet.

She was only a few paces from the archers now, and cursing, the leader stepped forward. "Watch the mark. Knew she has an artifact." A massive broadsword came up. "As for you, I'll make it quick."

Bessie didn't have the breath, time, or presence of mind to reply; how did witty adventurers normally do this? She simply finished her charge, diverted the first arm-numbing blow enough to slide closer still, and then cast point-blank in the shrew's face: "[Fireball]."

Magic was such a cheat. That was why Bessie had seized her chance with her one spell and worked tirelessly on it. She wasn't a natural with either magic or the sword, but she'd managed to gain Skills in both, hadn't she? And clearly the bandits weren't expecting the combination, at least judging from the screaming and flailing and... oh, better snatch this opportunity.

Tom clearly had the same idea, as the next moment two horses came thundering past, barely slowing enough to pick up two passengers. The girl went unprotesting on Tom's mount, hauled in front like a sack of grain. They made tracks for some time before she probably voiced her discomfort, because Tom abruptly slowed his horse and said, "Right, then. Off you go." He didn't wait, lowering her onto unsteady feet.

Bessie frowned, eyeing the trembling forlorn figure. "Tom, you can't seriously plan to just leave her like this?"

"W-will they come after us?" the girl asked, looking like a stiff wind might blow her over.

"Why not? And no, Bessie blooded their leader. They'll need to patch her up and wait until she's out of the woods, no time for chasing us down. You're welcome, have a good life."

"Because I want a satisfying story, that's why. We can't just stumble onto the scene and stumble off like irresponsible blind drunks. Hey you, what's your name?"

"Rowena Loress. Um, and yours?"

"Bessie Bridgett. Grumpy here's Tom Stonewall."

"Great, we're all introduced, now can we..."

"I don't understand why they were so insistent I must be carrying something valuable," Rowena muttered seemingly to herself. "I literally have only the clothes on my back. No, even that technically..."

"Knew it." Tom groaned. "Something's up with her, meaning she's probably in trouble, meaning she probably wants to drag us into more trouble."

"Come on, Tom," Bessie said. "We rescued her, now I want to know who we rescued. Least you can do," she added to the girl, "Since you say you have nothing else." At the hesitant nod, she grinned. "Food first?"

"Now you want me to feed her?" Tom despaired. What a drama queen.

They gathered around a campfire, in which Rowena once again seemed absolutely clueless on the most basic stuff for survival -- gathering firewood, checking for pests, starting a fire -- and fairly goggled at Tom when he cast [Cooking]. "What, never seen someone cook before?" he snapped, though most of his attention was on his hands.

To both their shock, she flinched back like a whipped dog. Just from a raised voice. She recovered rather quickly, though, saying, "Um, if I can ask a question... another question?" She looked directly at Bessie with disconcertingly intent eyes, waiting until the nod. "Why didn't you cast [Spark]?"

"Hm?"

"Just now, starting the fire. Are you trying to conserve your mana or...?"

Bessie blinked. "Uh, I don't have [Spark]. Is that even a Skill?"

"Sounds pretty useless," Tom agreed.

If they were surprised by this line of questioning, that was nothing to Rowena's reaction to their answers. Her jaw dropped, and she seemed to have trouble forming words before she said, "But I saw you cast [Fireball]!"

"So?" Bessie said blankly.

"Do you mean to say you learned [Fireball] without even studying any of its predecessor spells enough to learn the starter cantrip?" Rowena said all in one breath.

"I have no idea what you're saying. Tom?"

"I think she's a few sticks short of a woodpile. That, or she's trying to sell you something."

"I don't have [Spark] as a Skill, but it's a cantrip," the girl said like she was explaining anything, and seeing their blank looks added, "So anyone can cast it without a Skill or circle?"

Tom snorted. "That's impossible."

"No, look," Rowena said. "Spark." A single finger of flame leapt up over her hand and then crackled out.

Tom cursed and lunged for his sword, nearly dropping his pan with their half-cooked meal into the flames.

Bessie grabbed his hand to stop this and him. Then she smiled, making the other girl pale. Speaking slowly and carefully, she asked, "Why didn't you do that earlier?"

"I... I didn't want to get in your way. You felt... I mean, I thought you seemed to know what you were doing," Rowena said with a lowered face and voice, suddenly transforming back into a mouse.

And also making Bessie feel like a total heel. She didn't want to be made a fool of, but she also didn't want to be the sort of person who rescued the damsel in distress only to give the damsel more distress. She sighed, rubbing her face, and said, "Fine. Then why didn't you use a spell on those bandits earlier?"

"Because I don't have any chalk?" Right, madwoman it was. "No, even if I did, they wouldn't just give me the space and time to draw and cast..."

The words took another moment to make sense. "You can draw casting circles?"

"Of course," Rowena said, as though it was perfectly normal. "Didn't you use them to gain [Fireball]?"

"No."

They stared at each other. "But without a circle... or studying Spark and Firebolt... it would take ages to lay the foundation, let alone build up enough for [Fireball]..."

As though Bessie had thought out and planned the decision to make learning more difficult for herself. "Not like I had anyone to show me or teach me, all right? That's why I'm signing up as an adventurer. They're supposed to have classes for all this stuff."

"Oh," Rowena said. She looked visibly uncomfortable, but continued awkwardly, "If you really gained [Fireball] all on your own, completely unaided and untrained... that is quite the accomplishment. The Adventurer's Guild will be lucky to have you."

"Thanks," Bessie said. "But back on topic, you're saying anyone could cast that... that cantrip, just like that?"

"Yes?"

"And you could teach me? Right now?"

"Yes." She waited, and Rowena added finally, even more awkwardly, "With chalk. The first time for even a cantrip is exponentially easier with a circle. I could teach you right away in that case. Otherwise... how is your mana sensitivity?"

"My what?"

"Your perception of mana?"

"I can sense it somewhat?"

"Let me guess, you're some kind of amazing at it?" Tom said sarcastically.

"Not amazing, but I am highly mana-sensitive," Rowena said. She frowned when he scoffed. "That's how I was able to tell the archer hadn't used a Skill."

They exchanged glances. That sounded sort of plausible, but she could also be feeding them a bucket of lies, all the while laughing at the dumb farm kids. "Show me Spark again."

About half an hour later, Rowena said, "This really will be much easier with chalk. Also, the casting is rather mana-inefficient since I lack the Skill."

"Fine," Bessie said tiredly, picking back up her cooling meal.

"Um... if your goal is the Adventurer's Guildhall, does this mean you are headed to Wilton, by any chance?"

"Yes?" Bessie said, ignoring Tom stiffening up next to her. That was the nearest large city, so it wasn't exactly a personal question.

"It's just, I am as well! Rather, my intended destination is their Scholar's Guildhall, specifically."

She suddenly looked at the other girl in a new light. "You're a Scholar? I thought you'd be... like, a lot older. No offense."

"Oh, no. I have merely been in a long-time correspondence with several Scholars over the years," said the girl who couldn't be over eighteen, "One of whom resides in Wilton, to my understanding. He told me to come to him if I were ever in need of aid."

"And you are?" Here it came. Hopefully the story would be interesting, whether or not it was completely true.

"Well... no, just..." Rowena sighed. "I was until recently a slave. After my master's death, I was freed, completely legally, but I would prefer to place some distance between myself and the noble family while they are occupied with inheritance issues."

That... had not been what Bessie was expecting. Staring at the other girl and her sparkling clean clothes, she had a sudden horrible thought. "Today is your first day as a free person?" And she was waylaid and nearly worse?

"I have a copy of the documentation as proof," Rowena said, mistaking the reason for her horror. "But yes, I realize I am rather unaccustomed to freedom and to... life outside. Perhaps you might be willing to travel together? I could introduce you to Senior Rubrik, who I believe is well-connected in the city. He might be willing to offer you some compensation in return."

"You want to travel with us?" Tom said. "When you've said yourself you have nothing but your clothes, maybe a noble family coming after you, and let me guess, no proof this 'Senior Rubrik' exists who'll supposedly reward us?"

Her face fell, but to her credit she rallied enough to say, "What sort of proof would satisfy? I could reproduce one of his letters, but unless you are familiar with his handwriting personally I doubt that would signify."

"I want to see," Bessie jumped in.

The girl tilted her head like a curious cat, then raised her hand and said, "[Scribe]."

The two country bumpkins stared. Bessie at least had never seen such clean, unwrinkled paper -- really, dirt and dust got everywhere on a farm, even with cleaning Skills -- and all the writing she'd seen had been chicken scratches compared to this. She couldn't make heads or tails of the contents, filled with references to various books and theories, but... "What Skill was that? Isn't it the one that lets you draw straight lines?"

"Ah, you're thinking of the initial Skill [Basic Scribe], though of course it is still cast as [Scribe]. Mine is the second-level upgrade."

To already have an upgrade... "How old are you?"

She hadn't really meant it as a question, but to her surprise was answered promptly and seriously: "Sixteen. And you?"

The gray eyes seemed to pierce through her. Bessie stared back, unnerved by this girl's strange switching back and forth between meek and bold, but answered finally, "Fifteen. Tom's a bit older."

"Leave me out of this," he grumbled. "Fine, so she has some fancy Skill. Only makes her look more suspicious, if you ask me."

The other girl shrank back, but Bessie just grinned. Oh yes, this was an adventure already. She'd rescued her first damsel, and now what next? Would the grateful victim truly reward them? Or was she hapless and deluded? Was Tom right; was she a trap, a liar, a hopeless case, or perhaps something more sinister? Or maybe she was a diamond in the rough as she seemed. Madwoman, conwoman, or genius?

Bessie Bridgett, soon-to-be adventurer, was excited to find out.