Velisza looked at me eagerly, as if a student relishing an opportunity to show off her knowledge.
“Are travellers from other worlds common?” I asked the young lady. Needing to know what to expect from natives when my otherworldly origins inevitably became common knowledge.
Velisza mentioned it casually, as though trivial, but I couldn’t shake the images of dark rooms and bloody surgical instruments from my mind. If someone popped into Earth from another world, that’s likely what would happen to them.
She took a moment to consider before answering.
“Travellers from other worlds aren’t common, but are far from unheard of. In fact, there are books and manuals on the topic in this very room. And I’ve read all of them.” She gestured at the wall-to-wall bookshelf behind me, seeming proud of herself.
Well, that confirmed that I was being used as an opportunity for the young apprentice to gain practical knowledge. Glad to be of service.
“If you are worried about being hunted or prosecuted for your secrets or technological schematics,” she continued, waving her hand dismissively, “you shouldn’t be—not too much, anyway. The trade and coin guilds are deeply entrenched. Whatever innovation you may bring to the table, they are bound to end up owning it before it made any significant waves.”
That was an enormous weight off my chest. Though I half-expected someone curious and depraved enough might still see me as a specimen for a dissecting table. I considered myself lucky that the “Tower” itself didn’t decide on that approach. But was it luck? Or did it have to do with the “Unspoken agreement” they had with my patron—the entity that sent me here. Also, what exactly was the “payment” embedded in my soul?
“So, you mentioned some sort of agreement reached between our two sides. All the obligations my patron and I have towards your tower is to post the expected payment, and I’ll be free to go?” I said, intentionally implying, but not explicitly stating, that I represented more than myself. I may as well leverage this mysterious connection to make myself look bigger and harder to bully. Like a pufferfish bloating its body up to deter predators.
It might have been my implied importance, or perhaps the tiny apprentice simply thought I looked thirsty. Because at that moment her eyes widened, and she scurried toward the drinks table in the corner, nearly tripping over her trailing robes. After pouring a generous glass of sky-blue liquid for each of us, she guided me to the two opposing armchairs in the sitting area.
I sunk into the comfortable leathers, resisting the urge to moan in relief. It seemed like I had been upgraded from “prisoner” to “guest”. I must admit, I prefer it.
She sipped at her drink before putting it down.
“Yes, as soon as the extraction is complete you will be free to go,” she said. But then glanced away. “Unless you wanted to stay behind and talk some more.” She added in a mosquito voice.
Only if I survive the diabetes she was trying to give me. I thought, smiling.
“Of course, we’ll talk.” I confirmed, to her visible delight.
The fact that she believed I would be in a state to talk after the “extraction” settled some of my apprehension. I had worried that the procedure might be debilitating.
I eyed the little vial with distrust. The murky tendrils reaching out reminded me too much of horror movie monsters that start off looking innocuous until they start feeding.
Stolen story; please report.
“You keep looking at the ‘hunter’ in wariness,” she said, breaking me from my musings. “I admit they look a bit sinister, but there is no reason to be afraid.”
“Here, let me show you what I am trying to collect.”
She waved her hand in the air and the circle of violet lights — presumably the ward scheme controls — reappeared. She tapped the one at the top, and a screen of swirling energy materialised before resolving into a moving image.
It was of a serene garden that looked taken right out of an artist’s imagining of a magical landscape. Rows of flowers with iridescent petals swayed in the gentle breeze, while miniature waterfalls burbled between them, their flow running in reverse, spiting the gravity. Despite its breathtaking beauty, it was obviously meant for the practical cultivation of ingredients rather than being overly showy.
Suddenly, a massive explosion shattered the tranquillity, ripping open a jagged gash in the fabric of reality. The once-precious flowers shredded to unrecognisable mulch, their petals torn and sent flying in all directions. I winced at the abrupt destruction of something so beautiful.
As the chaos subsided, the profane tear in space appeared to be pulsing and breathing.
The gravity-defying waterfalls, now torn and ruined, and the airborne detritus were drawn into the gaping crack. From within its depths, a viscous, inky liquid seeped out, snaking its way across the ground like a living shadow.
The splatter coalesced into a single roiling mass, shaping itself first into a humanoid form, then into the familiar shape of my own body.
This was my first opportunity to see my appearance since I arrived, so I leaned in for a closer look. My body was mostly as I remember it from before my illness—strong, covered in hard-earned muscle, built for function over form. Picture a professional tennis player rather than a bodybuilder.
My face, however, though recognisable, was slightly different. Gentler, prettier somehow. As though I had grown up completely isolated from worry or exhaustion. The ever-present tired lines around my dark eyes had disappeared, and my previously chiselled jaw now showed hints of youthful roundness.
It annoyed me more than anything.
On paper, I looked better than I ever did. I might be even rivalling Grey’s unfairly good looks. But I bore my wear and tear with pride. Every worry line, every shade of dark in the circles around my eyes was a story of something I overcame. Just wiping it all away felt like denying that all the restless nights and spilled sweat ever happened.
With a flick of her wrist, Velisza made the screen disappear. “The ‘inky stuff’ you saw didn’t vanish; it still clings to your soul, though it’s hard to see now that it’s out of the void,” she explained, her voice tentative and lecturing, like she was teaching basic concepts to the slow kid in the classroom.
She shook the vial with the hunter again. “Hunters feed on it but cannot digest it. It’s one of the few ways of containing it safely on this side.”
The “inky stuff,” I thought in amusement. Aww, the little shit is using small words and avoiding new concepts, so I don’t hurt myself trying to adopt new terminology.
I nodded to myself, appreciating her consideration. Wasn’t even being sarcastic, just amused at being talked down to by a girl whose legs dangled when she sat on a grown-up chair.
“And you’ve gathered that it’s meant as payment for the safe passage and my disturbance of Lady Nanya’s ‘spellrest’?” I asked. Then, not being able to help myself, I added, “What exactly is spellrest, by the way?” I was trying to limit the extent to which I displayed my ignorance, but that stable has been open for a while, and the horses have all bolted.
Velisza nodded, gesturing for me to take a drink I have yet to touch.
“It was heavily implied that it was meant as payment. We didn’t have direct communication with your patron. But very old and powerful mages tend to speak mostly through silent gestures and gaps between their words. I have had to start learning their language very young as the Master and a few of the most senior apprentices are that way.”
My experience was just the opposite. The Entity didn’t seem to have an “off” button. But I expect that the face it presented to me was far from sincere. I’m an asset, not a friend or a true ally. I have no illusions about that.
I took the offered drink and took a tentative sip. It was cooling, refreshing and sweet. Like chilled berries, but no berries I have ever tasted. The cooling sensation hit my stomach and spread to the rest of my body. I could feel in real time, not only my thirst getting quenched, but a million different minor aches vanishing one by one. It made me almost melt in my seat from relief. Whatever little one served me couldn’t possibly be cheap.
Velisza shuffled her feet and fiddled with the collar of her robe, reddening. “I have meant to gift you a book of etiquette as a welcoming present, and for being so nice and helpful, but I worried you would take it as an insult.” She blurted out.
Her demeanour tugged at my fatherly instincts. I resisted the urge to ruffle her hair—too familiar for our setting. Since she had been sincere throughout, I chose to clear the air between us. I strongly believed that her appreciation would be a greater benefit than any random bit of information I could trick out of her.
Even if I wasn’t strictly standing to benefit from it, the little barnacle was starting to grow on me.
“Listen, Velisza, I’ll be completely honest with you,” I said, grabbing her full attention.
“I didn’t miss the fact that despite your youth, you hold a significant status in the ‘Tower’. I’ve spent most of my adult life manoeuvring to get what I needed. So, if any of your seniors receive a transcript of our conversation, they might realise that most of my actions have been deliberate and purposeful. If I were to leave this place with my pockets full, I worry that some of them may grow indignant and track me down to express their displeasure.”
The tiny representative gave me a cheeky grin and dropped two well-used books bound in hard leather in front of me out of nowhere. It was a clear enough message that she didn't share my concerns about a third party getting indignant over anything that she chooses to share.
The titles read: ‘Zagnac, open palm before the open flame’ and ‘Surviving old monsters, by Old Monster’.
“You asked about ‘spellrest’ earlier.” Her grin widened.