The captain’s cabin was a small confine of mushroom-covered wood. A multitude of different colored caps sprouted from the shelves, walls, and ceilings. The pleasant, earthy smell of growth and decomposition filled Anton’s nostrils as he sat in the small chair beside the desk. It reminded him of the terrible apartments and slum houses he used to manage as part of his father’s work. The sense of nostalgia was surprising but wasn’t enough to distract him from his task.

The rickety chair beneath him would probably collapse under the weight of someone else, but the Air and Sky in his body reduced the load on the rotting legs. Some maps and charts lay on the desk, but time glued them to the wood. Yellowed paper showing the grain and creases of the desk beneath. Ink long faded into esotericism.

Instead, Anton thumbed through the crisp pages of the red leather bound [Introductory Tome of Bloody Thunder].

“...from the wind comes the echo of breath and the desire for words beyond bellows beyond the pumping of heart through hands. It is not the lightning or the thunder that speaks of the clouds brambling wrath, for is it not the chanting and horns of the rising storm that falls upon the land? To speak of one is to speak of all and where the lightning strikes must be the one and only destination for such glory…”

He frowned. The words were as dense as ever, but as he picked over them one by one, he felt his understanding slowly tick toward completion.

[Storming Absolution]

[Spell Comprehension: 88%]

Comprehension was a welcome distraction from the itching pain in his chest where the Earth System’s eye squirmed. He couldn’t see out of it, and he couldn’t use it as a technique, but he felt its power expanding roots through his flesh. They burrowed out to his extremities, to his heart, his lungs, and up toward his brain. He wasn’t sure what shape it would take when it developed, but he knew it would be larger than [Window Spores] or [Dandelion Through the Pavement]. Those techniques might be consumed by this new growth, the same way Bella’s runeblade swallowed her Skein.

He thumbed back through the last chapter and started reading again. The text wasn’t long, but every time he read it appeared different. Was it the text itself changing, or was it his mind?

“...the rising storm falls upon the land as all lightning falls from the land to the clouds of birth. Where does the one and only destination start if not in the target's heart and there, under clouds of mountainous fury, does the blackness lie…”

[Spell Comprehension: 99%]

He read the passage again.

“...under clouds of mountainous love does the heart of the target lie in darkness… ”

[Spell Comprehension: 99.9%]

He read again, and again, but there was no shift in himself or the number. No matter how many times he flicked through the book, he couldn’t figure it out. The answer taunted him from the edge of his perception. Swallowing his irritation, he set down the book and faced the cabin’s other distractions: Bella and Skidmark.

The two women had alternated sitting beside Zoe as she slept on the lone bunk or leaning against the wall where hung a variety of verdigris-coated weapons. The rusted artifacts were beyond useless. Even Bella’s blade scoffed at eating them.

The two women discussed the differences and similarities between Scotland and Australia as though they were two passengers assigned by fate to share a voyage on a plane. Anton couldn’t figure out why it irritated him so much, but it did. At least he didn’t have to deal with the demon, self-confined to the lower decks as it was.

He closed the tome with a snap.

The women glanced over at him, and Bella raised an eyebrow.

“What’s up, bookworm?”

“I need help,” he announced.

“Maybe his boo-boo hurts,” Skidmark tittered. “Want to take off your shirt so I can kiss it better?”

“I just had surgery!”

“I’m sure it’s sore,” Skidmark responded with sympathy.

Somehow the earnestness of her tone made it worse. The stitches ached, but it was distant, an emotional pain that — if he focused — brought tears but no real physical sensation. What was strange, was the absence of the Title.

When he examined his status, the line was simply missing. It left a chill in him to think of how Zoe could just remove something that was a part of him, a power, as though he were a machine with parts to replace or discard…

He shivered involuntarily and spoke before Bella could say anything.

“I am trying to understand this spell book,” he said and held up a finger. “Don’t call me a nerd.”

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“I would never.”

“But I’m stuck at 99% comprehension. How do I progress?”

“Don’t look at me, mate, I haven’t read any spellbooks.”

Skidmark contemplated him.

“Can you explain the spell?’

“From what I understand [Storming Absolution] conjures the winds and rains and lightning to drive away cursed energy. The book doesn’t explain curses — it acts as though that’s something I should already know — but the emphasis is on purification.”

Skidmark nodded.

“Well, ‘absolution’ is when a priest forgives your sins. So maybe it’s less about driving away curses than it is about forgiveness? I don’t know you too well, but…” she glanced at Bella. “You seem like someone who has a hard trouble connecting with the human element of, well, humans.”

Bella laughed at Anton’s frown.

“You think I lack empathy?” he said.

“Umm…”

“Don’t give her a hard time,” Bella said. “You’re about as cold and empty as the Sky you love so much.”

Anton stood.

“I’m going to ask someone who knows what they’re talking about.”

He stepped out from the cabin and onto the deck. The sweltering heat struck him like a physical blow. Steam swirled around him like smoke from a doused fire. He couldn’t see Oriz but could hear the wheel creaking.

[Window Spores]

The attempt to summon his eyes was a terrible mistake. Blinding pain lanced through him as though molten lead filled every nerve. He staggered forward, slipping on the damp floor and tumbling over the side of the boat. Steam swallowed him before a grip like an iron vice caught his bicep. He hung over the edge, suspended, his head in the swirling clouds as the water below him boiled.

Like how he first imagined the inside of clouds as a child, before growing old enough to know they were frigid and lifeless.

“Are you alright?” Oriz asked as she lifted him gently back onto the deck.

“Tried to activate my technique, but I suppose it’s not smart to do something like that so quickly after surgery, huh?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

She was nothing but a silhouette behind him. Even his Insight prevented him from observing her expression, but he heard the frustration in her voice.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“This surgery that Zoe performed is something I’ve never encountered. Honestly, I’m shocked it worked at all. First with her implanting the Earth System’s eye, and then removing your Title. These are things I thought only a System could do… but that’s another problem. You’re all so new to the Crimson Armada, and I was born with it. You treat me like an expert when I’m not. I’m just someone who thought it would be fun and profitable to raid dungeons for a career, and that got me stuck in another dimension for two hundred years! I might be stronger, but my growth stagnated under the Black Star system. Zoe did a better job there than I did,” she sighed.

“What I’m trying to say is, unfortunately, I don’t have all the answers. Not about something as — frankly — insane as the surgeries Zoe performed.”

Anton blinked as the alien woman vented before him. She seemed to feel better, but also wobbly, as though she wasn’t sure where she would be after blasting off like that. Was this what Skidmark was talking about?

Should he comfort her?

How?

She had grabbed his arm to stop him from falling overboard, so, maybe… he reached out and touched her bicep.

“Alright,” he said.

“Alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok…”

His arm slipped away from hers.

“I wanted to ask you a question though.”

She sighed.

“About what?”

“I’m trying to learn a spell.”

“Oh,” she brightened. “Well, actually I can help you with that. What’s the problem? What’s the spell?”

He explained what he understood of [Storming Absolution] as she walked back to the steering wheel.

“... but I’m stuck at 99.9%. I don’t know what eludes me. It’s like jiggling a key in a lock in the dark. Any second now it will click and open up onto the light, but until then…”

“I understand the feeling,” Oriz drummed her fingers on the wheel. “I think you need a new perspective on perspective.”

“Huh?”

“Come here.”

He followed her voice and approached. Her hands reached out through the steam, grabbed his wrists, and guided them to the wheel, but he drew back.

“I can’t see a thing,” he said. “I’ll run us aground.”

“You think I can see?”

He blinked away sweat as he frowned with confusion. The heat must be drying out his brain.

“What? But how are you…?”

“Steering? Grab the wheel, and I’ll show you.”

His curiosity made him take hold. The ancient wood thrummed beneath his skin. A warm darkness opened within him, almost as hot and swallowing as the heat without. The blank-minded depths of surgical anesthesia, of humming, plucked strings of Skein. He almost recoiled as though it were hot metal, but the wood didn’t burn, and he kept his grip tight.

“Something is calling us forward,” Oriz confided, her voice a whisper lower than the creaking of the ship and the lapping of water upon the passing muddy shores. “The boiling water moves in currents, and we float upon them. If we wanted to, we could fight this guidance, and we could steer in any direction we wanted. Where would we end up? Who knows? Would we run aground? More than likely. But as for where we are heading, I can’t say. I hope it’s the angel… Now, you feel the humming in the wheel?”

“I feel it.”

“The boat is telling you how to steer. Close your eyes. Ignore the heat. Listen.”

He closed his eyes and stood in the heat and the darkness rose within him like a stormy night. Were there stars above? He didn’t check. A land below? He ignored any sense of falling.

The boat groaned, and, slowly, gently, inch by inch he turned the wheel clockwise. The ship responded with a subtle sway before the mushroom sprouted lumber moaned and he adjusted the wheel counter-clockwise until it was a little off from straight.

How did he translate the sounds into directions?

When he thought about it, the groan of the wood became nothing but noise, it was only when he accepted the dark of his mind that he could hear the boat’s speech for what it was.

“Is this a skill?” he asked. “Is this some kind of system-given ability or some system device?”

“I don’t know,” Oriz said with soft wonder. “The Crimson Armada didn’t create the universe, they merely branded themselves upon it. Sometimes, their instructions are the only way, and sometimes they can only describe what something is, without an explanation for how or why. People who live their whole lives on a system swallowed never really understand what mysteries exist. I know you’ll disagree, but I consider you and the others lucky, in a way. You get to discover everything anew! But… the horror of a newly inducted world, and one that received the Gambler’s attention… and now, with the Heart Torn system…”

“Zoe will make it right.”

“You place a lot of pressure on her.”

“No, merely faith.”

The boat creaked in the steam’s blanketing silence.

“I am sorry for what happened to your world.”

“As am I.”

“Do you feel closer to understanding your spell?”

“The book is trying to guide me forward, is that what you meant?”

“In a way.”

“So I just need to listen and… can I ask you another question?”

“After the way I’ve treated you — which I’m sorry about — yes, you can ask me another question.”

“Your Skein is disabled, right? Do you know why?”