With the pitter-patter of rain outside, the soft crackle of fire, and the low bubbling of the cauldron, Tuesdays could be frighteningly disarming.
“Sounds like a faerie indeed,” Merry said, sitting in the living room and looking into the study, “Have you seen one before?”
Cyg replied, “In a picture book, yes. With my own two eyes? I think I've seen one in an alchemist's shop once. Though, with all the stuff that goes on in a place like that, it's hard to tell anything apart.”
Equally muddled were fact and fiction—parents used terrifying tall tales so that their kids wouldn’t test the wilderness at night. Why, these dreadful faeries would lure the innocent with the promise of fun, the adults claimed, and by the time you're found, you'll be nothing but an empty, soulless husk! And oh how well it worked, spooking them for the rest of their lives.
She chuckled. “In any case, I'll go send Bassy there tomorrow to check.”
The apprentice, who has been carving away at a flat tile of wood about two hand-widths long, raised a brow at the thief, as if questioning his boldness.
In return he shrugged, as if retorting with how it was already impossible to catch it this week. There wasn’t much to lose. To Merry, he asked, “Where's Bassy, anyway? Hiding from the rain?”
“Naturally,” she replied. Tapping her chin, she thought out loud, “I should really rebuild that giant doghouse.”
“...Rebuild?”
“For the fifth time, even,” Merry detailed with a sigh, “It's a miracle it’s been a year since she last ‘bumped’ into the house. The sheds I make for her aren't so lucky.”
In his head, he visualized the basilisk careening through the front of the witch's home. “Can't you... uh, ward Bassy off or something?”
She snorted. “I can and I am. That's why it's been a year.” Turning back around, the witch went back to check on whatever she was cooking.
“...Huh.” And as for Cyg, he absentmindedly spun the puzzle box around in his hand. Then, barely looking, he slid all the pieces of the fifth side in order, finishing it. He had been “saving” it for a while but ended up solving it in his head ages ago. “So,” the thief began as Alicia stood up, “What are you doing?”
“Building that air-propulsion circle we discussed yesterday,” she answered while going to a shelf, pulling out a few large books and sliding them onto the desk one by one.
Cyg studied it for a few seconds, then noted, “Ah, I recognize the air symbol,” then added, “That part looks like the 'create' from an ignition strip.”
“Pulling air from its surroundings would be far more mana-efficient, but I think for something like this, speed and consistency is a necessity.”
Overhearing this, Merry went over and skimmed her apprentice's handiwork herself. “Cyg, aren't you a quick learner? It feels as if your first lesson was only moments ago.”
With an awkward grin, he replied, “What can I say? Alicia's a good teacher.”
And to Alicia, Merry mused, “Trying to mimic my flight, are you? It's a wonderful idea, to try making up for your physical inabilities. But if you spent more time studying your healing Aspect, you might be able to rebuild yourself a form that can actually go for a jog.”
“If only,” the elf said, “I barely know how many bones are in a hand. Maybe if I had another century.” Placing the square on the floor, she then stacked on top of it quite a few books. About a third of her weight, she measured. Then, standing a few steps away so no wildly flying tomes would smack her on the head, Alicia activated the circle.
It shot up, lifting all the books into the air... but not in one piece. Instead, it exploded, shattering into a rain of splinters and fragments and dust, sending the books tumbling down. The three flinched as they were harmlessly pelted by small fragments, the patter of falling wood chips serving as the finishing touch on the scene.
There was silence, and Merry ran a hand through her hair to sweep out whatever had gotten in.
“Please clean this up.”
* * *
Alicia wasn't quite sure how to act around Bassy, but it was around Thursday during treat time that she learned there was nothing to worry about.
“Aww, who's a cute girl?” Alicia said while scratching the base of Bassy's jaw. The faerie was found in the area Cyg reported, according to Merry, and while it wasn't all due to superior hunting instincts this time around, the accomplishment still warranted a treat.
Of course, it was impossible for the apprentice to conceal that they were plotting the creature's murder. It's just turned out that Bassy didn't care. With a swish and a thump of her tail, the basilisk breathed out harshly, as if snorting. This innocent apprentice? Cobbling a plan with a stranger to concoct a devious, trap-filled assassination? Why, that sounds like nothing but a bad joke. Certainly less probable than poison, which the basilisk most assuredly did not taste in its meal.
The basilisk then playfully licked Alicia's cheek as punishment for telling such a terrible jest before galloping off into the forest. And the elf, groaning, lifted all the slobber off with her magic.
Cyg, opening the window to the back of the house, asked, “All good?”
Silent, she gave a thumbs up while returning.
* * *
On Friday, Alicia was sitting right outside on a tree stump. Having shown Merry the little display on Tuesday, she had ample excuse to ask for some metal. Strangely enough, there were never any large quantities lying around in the study, nor was there a shed nearby where such things are placed. Instead, when the witch needed them, she would retreat into the house—a different location on each occasion—and come out with the components. For this time, it was to her room.
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Alicia had pondered it over the years, eventually concluding it was due to the witch's Aspect of some sort. Of course, failing to ever see it in action, she couldn't have known for sure. So instead of endlessly asking the same old question, she got to work making some kind of boosting shoe. An entire sole would be difficult to walk on, so—
“Alicia!” Cyg cried out, gasping for breath as he stopped his sprint.
“W-What is it?” she asked, worried.
“I almost forgot about the guard! The one that's coming today.” The only reason he remembered was because he caught Alicia up on the week's events at the start of the loop.
“Oh.” She paused her work and set it down. “We should go help him, huh?”
He stared at her. “You don't seem very enthused, which is strange, because I'm the one with a problem with the city guards. Unless, you also have a bone to pick with them?”
“No, no,” Alicia said with a wave, “It's just, what are we to do after? I mean, even if we're successful in defeating Bassy, we're all still doomed this loop. And when we reset, everything will be back to the way it was before.”
“...But what if I'm right about how the way the circle works? What if we're just jumping and replacing ourselves in another world?” he posed, “Our actions would still have meaning... as minor as they’d be.”
“And how would that work? There are just parallel timelines floating around in the Outer Sea? Even if it was made by an Archmage, there's no way a single person can even design something so absurd!”
Cyg hissed, “Okay, seriously, what's wrong with you?” For some reason, she was acting unlike herself—he'd never seen her put blindfolds on this way. And just when those very words came to mind, he realized that was precisely the point.
Was she... scared?
Scowling, the apprentice replied, “Hey, I just have a bad history of visitors and patients, okay? And I'm not saying I won't help him, because of course I will!” After a beat, she added, “I don't even recall ever skipping over and patching you up with a smile, so I don't understand where this image of a gleeful healer came from.”
He blinked at her. The first part was a lie, one that was clear as day. “How terrible of you.”
“Pot, meet kettle.”
* * *
There was a problem, and it was that they had little to no idea as to where the guard was coming from. They somehow, by sheer luck, managed to find him before he reached the house, but only just barely. The man himself appeared with short tidy brown hair, covered in sweat, and wearing leather armor over a white tunic and dark breeches. He had a sword on his left hip but clearly was in no condition to use it, as his right arm was a twisted mess of bark and stone, the strange affliction growing upward. Flesh, bone, and cloth alike, it all melded into one grisly display.
With a bright smile, and also wheezing for air, Alicia said, “H-Hi... there...” Panting broke up her sentence as she tried to compose herself. “I'm Alicia, apprentice to the great witch Merry. You're seeking her aide, correct?”
Cyg stared at Alicia with a look completely devoid of amusement. In return, she smiled even brighter, and if one were to read into that very deeply, it might be possible to uncover the words: “If we bring him to Merry, he's doomed, so we have to heal him here and send him off, right?”
And the thief returned a look that could've had the meaning, “Can you even do that?”
“Greetings,” the guard spoke, staining to return a smile of his own, “And that'd be great, because my arm's a goner. The apothecary sent me over because he couldn't do anything, so I don't have anyone else to turn to. I can give you all the coin I have on me right now if you want—”
“That's alright,” Alicia replied, “Merry doesn't have too much use for money anyway. If you may, can you show your arm for a closer inspection?”
“O-Of course,” he answered, turning so she’d have a more direct look.
The apprentice braced herself before touching it, extending her mana into his. Immediately, she recoiled as if struck—no, she was struck, and she stamped out the intrusion before it could injure her. Trying again, she tried reaching from untainted skin, going on the offensive this time, as if trying to crush water between her hands. The rampaging mana squirmed out of her grasp, and as a result the arm no longer looked like a limb at all. The disconnected bits and pieces jut out and fell apart, spasming, before leaping further upward to claim his shoulder entirely.
“Well, that doesn’t look good,” the guard tried to joke.
Grimacing, Alicia apologized. “I'll take you to Merry, quickly.”
Turning on her heel, she headed for the house, Cyg walking beside her as the guard anxiously followed.
Rubbing his nose, Cyg asked, “What's wrong with his arm exactly? All I know is that glimmer snakes make your mana go out of control.”
While Alicia would love to explain she has little to no experience directly wrangling wild mana, she was also too sheepish to admit she worsened the situation in front of the guard. Instead, she swept it under the rug with, “I tried to tame it but failed. In any case, we still need Merry to rebuild his arm.”
“Does that have to do with mana permeation? The glimmer snake venom, that is.”
She fought with herself over what to answer with, eventually giving in. “I suppose a quick lesson on permeation won't hurt. You already know that souls are just a living thing's personal connection to the Outer Sea. One could argue that the act of permeating your mana into another's is merely trying to claim stake on previously owned land. Oh, tangentially, the constant 'stake' of a domain is by default weak and easily overridden. Unless the owner puts focus into it, we’re able to use our Aspects just as trivially as we would if we were outside of it.” And logically, separating mana from the body will slowly discard any claim on it before it diffuses into nothingness. Part of the reason is that it’s impossible to open a hole in the veil forever naturally—reality would just be more and more compelled to fix it.
“So how does the bite factor in?
“A glimmer snake's soul Aspect makes someone's body think one's own mana is a foreign intruder, and it keeps cascading like a falling tree knocking over another.” Unless one has excellent control over mana or has a soul Aspect, the trees will just keep falling. “That’s also why you can’t use things you’ve ‘personalized’ if you’re bitten—and that was my lovely segue into mana keying or tuning. Have I told you about why the... items I made for you are the way they are?”
The thief hummed as he recalled an old conversation, “I remember you saying they weren't keyed, but most things would never get that treatment.”
Tuning an object to a specific user's mana was complicated, difficult, and expensive, and Cyg had seen it only once before, and it was an intricate mythril staff that belonged to an old mage. There was no science to it, only vague feelings. But, by “keying” or “tuning” a circle, it would only be activated by mana from the “key”.
Then again, forcibly powering a stranger’s runes was a dangerous tactic. Not only would someone have to know what it is they're trying to use, but they can also expect the other mage to try to block the attempt with their own mana, devolving into a messy battle. And, if the person on the other end was competent, they’d never set up their circles in a way that would allow for such basic sabotage. It’s only a situational trick that would hardly come up in a mage’s lifetime.
“Right. Ignoring how much work it'd take, these items are made out of wood, and if it were keyed, you'd have to either wait for the tree’s mana to diffuse entirely or you could force it out yourself, either by using brute force or through an Aspect particularly gifted for such matters.” More trouble than it's worth, basically.
“And isn't it also kind of dangerous? I think I've heard that you could somehow have your mana forcibly drained.”
“Well... like your favorite puzzle box, if you knew it inside and out, you would able to crack it open and play with it as easily as you want, right? There also might be some absurd possibility that you devised a circle that forcibly rips out your mana, you keyed yourself to it, and you left it out in the open, but that is so ridiculous it isn't worth considering.”
After all, if obtaining an unwilling participant's fingerprint was difficult, doing so with someone else's soul would be an entirely different story.
As Cyg considered all this, they arrived in view of Merry's house where the witch herself was standing, arms crossed and lips downturned into a frown.
“What have you been doing to my lovely guest?” she said, tentatively holding back from scolding the daylights out of them.