(Dylan)

Dylan saw an opportunity that no one else seemed to notice. “Are you one of the omnipotent gods?” he asked, wincing as another gooey splat echoed in the background. The image of the galizine bursting apart against the wall was still fresh in his mind.

“Why do you ask, child of…” Perun trailed off. Instead, he said, “I see you’ve partaken in P’reslen’s looting ritual.” He eyed the entrails stuck to Dylan’s shoulder. “What knowledge do you seek?”

Dylan leaned forward, his words rushing out. “We’re on this quest to find a hidden—”

He was silenced when a stony hand clamped down on his shoulder, sending a sharp ache radiating through his arm. Runemist had stepped into his line of sight, back to the Avatar, glaring at him not to say another word.

P’reslen’s grunting shattered the silence, followed by another squelching smack.

“A quest for hidden treasure,” Perun said, clapping his hands together. The sharp crack of thunder echoed above them. “How mortally exciting. And what is it you’re after?”

Another bone-shattering crunch of an exploding carcass sounded as P’reslen started throwing them faster. Runemist turned to the Avatar, her features shifting from a hard glare to a subdued, almost humble look.

“These four are on a trial, my lord.” She held out her clawed hand, her fingers curling slightly as she gestured to the initiates. “I… ask that you to allow them to gain experience by completing it themselves… without your divine intervention.”

To Dylan, Runemist was acting weird. It wasn’t their quest; it was hers, and she’d made that abundantly clear multiple times. They were risking life and limb to find the damn thing, and they didn’t even know where to search. He didn’t understand why they couldn’t just ask the god.

Dylan started to protest, his words cut short. “But he might know where—”

Wedge’s grip tightened like a vice, grinding bones beneath his hand. Dylan’s eyes watered as he bit his lip, whimpering. A sudden pop sent a jolt of panic racing through him—until he realized it was just another carcass exploding against the boulder.

“Of course…” The Avatar nodded. “Far be it from me to ruin their advancement.” He pointed to Runemist. “But weren’t there two more in your team?” The Avatar’s head tilted, listening to another silent voice.

Dylan released his breath as Wedge’s grip eased. Another loud crunch echoed, a wet, visceral sound from P’reslen’s relentless work.

“I see,” Perun said, turning to regard Runemist again. “Ostello tells me Quinten is tracking a kaiju. May his hunt go well.” He paused for another moment and then frowned. “Ah, a shame Dorian isn’t here. I was going to offer him another chance to beat me at arm-wrestling…”

“So, you can just…” Dylan waved his hand back and forth. “Speak with Ostello in your head?” Another wet thud punctuated the question as P’reslen continued to paint the stone with savagery.

“His head,” Perun corrected. “But yes, he’s fully present during my possession.”

Splat.

Dylan winced at every corpse explosion. “Can you read his mind?”

Smack.

“I don’t need to. He speaks his mind often.” The Avatar smiled faintly.

Thump.

He did his best to focus on the conversation and not P’reslen’s gruesome task. “That… doesn’t sound like Ostello. He’s usually the quiet one. What’s he saying now?”

Squish.

The Avatar chuckled. “That you need a shower. And I agree. Here, this should help.” He spread his arms, and the air seemed to thrum with unseen power as the clouds released their water.

Crunch.

Dylan felt the first fat drop of water strike his head, heavy and wet. He looked up at the stormy clouds, and another splashed against his cheek, cold and refreshing. The pelting grew into a steady downpour, drumming against his skin and soaking through his clothes. He nodded to himself as the galizine washed away, lifting a finger to the sky, and smiled.

“Actual god of storms….” Dylan exhaled as the rain drowned out the sounds of exploding corpses, another small blessing from the god.

“Any chance you’ll make it stop once he’s clean?” Runemist’s fur, once matted from ambient humidity, was now soaked and clinging to her figure, making her look emaciated and frail compared to her usual hearty appearance.

“Waste of a perfectly fine storm.” The Avatar shrugged. “But I suppose.”

After Dylan was as clean as he could get without soap or a deathwash machine, the god kept his word, and the rain ceased. Nearby, Runemist propped Athrax against a tree, ensuring he wouldn’t drown in a puddle.

P’reslen showed up, his scales streaked with fresh purple gore that dripped from his claws and spattered his chest. “All set. Couldn’t loot a few Athrax cremated.”

“Another requires my aid,” Perun said with a wide grin, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and purpose as he gestured toward the skies, summoning cleansing water once more.

Runemist clenched her fists, her claws digging into her palms as she took a slow, deliberate breath. Sheets of water resumed falling, plastering her fur to her body as her shoulders sagged in quiet frustration.

P’reslen lifted his face toward the sky, the cool rain running in rivulets down his scales as he closed his eyes, savoring the natural shower. “Thanks, Perun!”

“Anything good?” Runemist had to shout to be heard between the crashing thunder and constant rain.

“Some common hides and alchemy ingredients,” P’reslen shouted back. “If everyone carries some, we should be able to bring most of it back with us. Some hides might even have enchantments already.”

That word caught Dylan’s attention. His gaming experiences taught him it was a way to either combine or add magic to something. He couldn’t help himself and said in a silly voice, “Enchantment!” They all looked at him as if he had another concussion. He waved away their concern. “Sorry, what are enchantments?”

Hay’len stepped in close and said, “Magical items can have several enchantments depending on their rank. Common gets one, uncommon gets two, rare gets three, and so on.”

“And so on…?” Dylan repeated, looking at Hay’len, who had leaned in close, smiling as they shared what they knew. “How many ranks are there?”

Hay’len had a wealth of knowledge about almost everything and excelled at explanations. They enjoyed diving into detail, and in those moments, they truly came into their own.

The bashful draconi counted out loud on their clawed digits. “There’s mundane, unranked, common, uncommon, rare, epic, legendary, mythical, and celestial. And those are just the ones we know of. Mundane isn’t magical, and unranked isn’t a rank, technically.” They quickly recounted. “That makes seven official ranks in total.”

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“Very good, Hay’len,” Wedge said with a small nod, the faintest hint of a smile crossing his face.

W’itney pouted under a tree, their arms crossed as they pretended not to be jealous of the attention their younger twin received. Meanwhile, Eury stood quietly nearby, her sharp eyes scanning the group, soaking in every detail and silently learning from their experiences.

Wedge approached Runemist. “Perhaps I should take the initiates and search the landing zone again. Recovering more echo locators would allow us to cover more ground.”

She looked at him flatly. “You know as well as I do that’s a waste of time. What’s your plan to find them? Pick up every hand sized rock and talk to it?” Quinten and P’reslen only managed to salvage three of the stones.

“We have one lost brother. Speaking to him will make the other talk,” Wedge said.

Runemist frowned, her tail flicked with irritation at the oversight. “That makes sense. But I won’t have you waste an entire day on a wild ifrit hunt. Eury is the most reliable and the lightest.” Wedge gave a small nod in agreement.

She turned to the confident draconi and said, “P’reslen, take Eury and return to the Everafter to retrieve the single echo locator. Go to the landing zone and speak into it. See if Eury can locate the brother. Bring any other supplies you find back with you, and return to the ship before dark.”

P’reslen glanced toward the sun, its fiery orange glow sinking ever closer to the horizon. “That doesn’t give us much time.”

“Make the best with what you have,” she said.

“Yes, Ma’am.” P’reslen gave a curt nod. He approached Eury and paused before asking, “How do you want to do this, princess?” Dylan and the twins visibly winced at the P-word, exchanging uneasy glances, and braced for her reaction.

Eury bit her tongue, her jaw tightening as she forced a thin smile. “How’d you carry me if I weren’t a princess?”

P’reslen shrugged and scooped her off her feet and into his arms. She reflexively clung to his neck as he leaped into the air, the ground falling away beneath them. Gentle gusts of air swirled around, ruffling her soaked rose gold hair as they ascended. Dylan watched until they disappeared into the canopy, the rustling leaves marking their passage.

“Alright, everyone, take what you can easily carry, but don’t overdo it and hurt yourself,” Runemist said, glancing at Dylan. “There’s still a few hours of daylight and more than enough ground to search.” She turned to the Avatar, motioning toward the unconscious Athrax. “Would you mind carrying our friend?”

“Of course, no harm will come to him while under my protection,” Perun said.

Hay’len frowned, holding a length of hide daintily between two clawed fingers as it dripped with foul-smelling liquid. They glanced at W’itney, who wasted no time stacking layers of the slick material over their shoulder. Nearby, Dylan crouched low, picking through the gore-streaked ground for alchemical reagents, his nose wrinkling at the sharp, acrid stench.

It wasn’t as difficult as he thought it’d be. The resources stood out amongst the gore, conveniently formed into squares, circles, or other geometric, stackable shapes. He fashioned his cloak into a makeshift sac, the slimy pieces sticking to the fabric as he shoved in as many alchemy parts as it could hold. He hefted the squishy, twitching bundle over his shoulder, feeling the occasional pulse against his back—a grotesque parody of Santa’s sack.

The group continued in the opposite direction of the beetle for the remaining hours before having to return to base. Dylan learned that common-ranked adventurers had more endurance and could stay awake longer than mundane people or even unranked adventurers, such as himself. Quinten would be good to track the beetle for a couple of days before needing to be swapped out for another team member.

The arc beetle had done little more than patrol the open fields all day. Quinten noted it had turned around earlier, fearing it was drawn to the storms above, but it had only worked up an appetite.

Wading a few steps into the jungle and knocking down the trees was just a way to prepare a snack. Arc beetles apparently ate trees. Hay’len suggested it was the sap they wanted but simply digested the entire tree to get it. After consuming half a dozen trees, it resumed its patrol.

The team still hadn’t come up with a viable plan to distract the arc beetle long enough to fly out of the jungle. Dylan distanced himself from Wedge before whispering to Hay’len, asking why they didn’t have Perun ‘smite’ the arc beetle.

Hay’len explained that arc beetles were extremely resistant to arc attacks, like lightning, and that Perun couldn’t channel enough of his power into Ostello’s common-ranked body to physically overpower a kaiju without killing him. But that would change as Ostello ranked up and became a literal force of nature.

Thankfully, Perun had grown bored with the mundane by the time they’d arrived back at the ship. He carefully set down the single-shoed, mud-smeared okamijin, still fast asleep, before saying his farewells and relinquishing control back to his host.

Ostello’s eyes dimmed, the glow fading back to their usual gold-flecked jade. He blinked sluggishly before stumbling to a knee, his chest heaving as a wave of exhaustion washed over him. Runemist rushed to his side, her fur bristling with concern, but he pushed her away with a shaky arm.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice strained. His entire body trembled as he forced himself unsteadily to his feet. His gaze flicked down to the once-immaculate fabric of his coat, now smeared with grime from Athrax. A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his dismay, but he straightened his shoulders, brushing at the stain with a weak, trembling hand. “Every time…” he muttered under his breath.

They returned to the Everafter just before dark. The ship remained grounded, though his friend, Echo, was making steady progress. It was still too early for an estimate on repairs, and Engineer Echo had been waiting for their return.

He approached Runemist, taking a deliberate, wide step into her path. “Pardon the interruption.”

Runemist’s eyes shifted from Ostello to the lamprian. “What is it?” Her gaze swept over him, sharp and calculating, as if weighing his intent. First Mate Echo was the one she usually dealt with.

“Have you devised a way to distract the kaiju?” he asked, taking his hat in hand.

“We’re still working on it,” she said, her tail swaying in agitation.

“I’ve spent most of the day in frustration.” His skull slowly tilted from her to the floor. “If only we’d seen that infernal arc beetle first. The Everafter would have blown it to bits with her artillery.” Engineer Echo’s fist creaked as it tightened around the brim of the hat.

Dylan gave him a puzzled look. “Why aren’t you helping Mechanic Echo?”

His skull tilted slightly at the question. “I’m an engineer… Other than an extra pair of hands. What use would I be in fixing the ship?”

Dylan pursed his lips, glancing to the side. “Maybe engineering means something different here…” He looked up and asked, “What do you do aboard the ship?”

“I’m in charge of the artillery and munitions,” Engineer Echo said as if that should’ve been obvious.

“Oh! That sort of engineering—the goblin kind,” he surmised.

Engineer Echo leaned in. “A refugee knows of goblin engineering?” His voice carried a mix of disbelief and intrigue as he turned to Runemist. “How? Their techniques were lost during the Recordless Era. We’re still rediscovering them to this day…”

Dylan swatted at an insect that buzzed his ear. “Goblins?”

Hay’len nodded their head. “The finest engineers in the universe.”

Dylan glanced between Hay’len and Engineer Echo. “Goblins…?” he repeated with raised eyebrows, making sure he hadn’t misunderstood them.

“Yes…” the engineer responded slowly. “But we can discuss ancient technology at a later time. I’m here because the captain has ordered me to lighten our load by removing the munitions before we attempt to take off.” He sighed regretfully. “It’s a shame. We’ve a substantial stockpile and nothing to shoot at.”

Runemist’s ears perked up as she narrowed her eyes on him. “What do you mean?”

“I can modify the ordinance to detonate by proximity or timer, if you’d like. Otherwise, I’ll have to diffuse them so we can leave them behind safely—wouldn’t want another expedition blowing themselves up. But honestly, that would be a terrible waste of perfectly good explosives.”

“You want to make us bombs?” Dylan’s mind flashed back to the moment he’d shot himself with his own gun, the burning pain still fresh in his memory. Blowing himself up would be much, much worse.

Engineer Echo nodded, placing his tricorn hat atop his skull again. “I’m very good at blowing things up. Another reason for me to stay out of the engine room.”

“For the record, back on Earth, engineers build things.”

“I can assure you, blowing things up is far more fun.”

Runemist sighed and said, “Dylan…”

“Yeah?”

“Stop talking.”

His shoulders slumped. “Okay…”

Runemist dismissed the rest of them for the evening with a curt wave. She walked away with Engineer Echo, their hushed conversation about explosive options fading into the gathering night.

P’reslen showed up with Eury well past dark, handing Runemist a set of matching echo locators before she could start berating him for not following orders. She stopped mid-sentence, her foot tapping with a mixture of annoyance and gratitude as she silently glared at him. “Go get something to eat and be ready to head out in the morning,” she said curtly.

It’d been a long day, especially long for Dylan, who hadn’t eaten anything. Much to his relief, Echo had spared both the shower and the deathwash machine from disassembly. He waited his turn, savoring the hot water washing away the grime and tension of the day. Afterward, he slipped into his only other pair of pants. He stayed up just long enough to wash the rest of his clothes, knowing he’d have to wear them again tomorrow.

By the time he got back to his cabin, he was ravenous, the emptiness gnawing at him. He did his best to ignore it, focusing instead on the promise of rest.

He’d gone a whole day without eating before. More than once, in fact. When hyperfocusing, he’d often disassociate—ignoring his bodily requirements of food, water, sleep, and the bathroom for hours at a time.

He knew there was plenty of clean water to drink, and his lingering potbelly assured him he wasn’t running out of stored energy anytime soon.

If he could just get to sleep, then the hunger would go away… Or so he thought.