Well, back to the list.

Rep had been right, they'd found people, and thus they'd found shelter. "That's 2a and 2b, marked off."

Their list had only one thing left on it, but it was a big one, Questions. Rep scanned the hold of the ship. It was partitioned into multiple rooms with wooden walls, but getting the lay of the space wasn't difficult. The ship was reasonably sized, with two floors. But that only meant it took ten or so minutes to explore it.

She had returned to the upper room- the gun deck, looking over the four or so cannons in the room, and spotted the now resting Doran.

Stick had split from Rep, and she felt the urge to make sure he hadn't gotten into trouble- but she had to get some answers first. Besides, Stick seemed interested in speaking with Typist; the ship's Forged crewmate, and Rep didn't want to spoil one of the first things she saw Stick being strongly interested in.

Instead, Rep marched over to Doran, sitting by the stairs. Allowing her to just faintly make out the conversation between Stick and Typist while she spoke with Doran.

"Doran?" Rep asked, then felt slightly awkward. He looked tired from their trek to get back to the ship and then the commanding and hands-on sailing he'd needed to perform to get his vessel to take off.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Rep began, finding an empty space nearby to sit down. "You've given us shelter, but I've still got some questions. I was wondering if you could help us with that?"

The self-styled 'Storm-Thief' sipped at a steaming mug the plant woman, Virid, had provided him. "I can try, Rep. What do you need to know?"

"I've been hearing a voice when I rest. I just heard it again while I was exploring. It said I gained levels in [Teacher]?"

Doran's seven eyes focused on her, reflecting curiosity. "Teacher?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, mulling over what Rep had said. "The way you are saying this insinuates you don't have anything like this on your homeworld?"

Rep shook their head 'no,' feeling oddly scrutinized under Doran's gaze. "'Leveling up' usually pertains to video games or stories. It doesn't actually happen in real life. Well, at least not on Earth. So, hearing a voice telling me that I've gained levels in something is entirely new."

Doran seemed to take this in, his expressions shifting through the alien lens of his features. "That is... interesting," he finally admitted. He took another long sip from his mug as if he was buying time to consider his response. "In this world," he began, drawing the words out slowly, "many sentient beings possess something we refer to as Classes. It's a part of us, like an extra sense or an intrinsic skill. When one performs actions or tasks related to their Class, they can gain levels. Which results in gaining new Skills cards or even enhancing old ones."

He continued. "It's strange this is new to you- plenty of outworlders didn't hear the Atherium's voice, but most heard some sort that empowered them- at least from what I've heard. The voices are different and do different things- I know of an old story of 'The Slayer,' a creature who gained some sort of numerical power when he killed people thanks to his world's voice. He grew quite powerful before a group of demigods killed him as their fifth labor."

"Demigods, as in half gods? Are they common?"

Doran nodded. "The Demigods are like you- not natives to the Atherium. Though I suppose technically, neither is my race. But the Weeping King himself brings there here, and we always have a pantheon or three of demigods kicking around. You see, the Atherium is a... neutral ground of sorts. And many demigods travel here to complete their twelve labors and unlock true divinity, A power unique to their kind. The Weeping King allows it and likely charges a premium for their use of his territory. But I can't guess what they pay for the service."

"He's powerful enough to boss demigods around?"

Doran hummed and made a 'so-so' gesture. "Depends on the demigod, but generally, yes. He's killed true gods before, but the power of gods and demigods isn't consistent from what little I know of their kind. I've only met a handful and only near the start of their labors when they were weak. But even then, they like could have razed a small town."

Rep frowned. "The sounds chaotic."

"it is, but most of the chaos happens away from Hollow, so little care is given to the consequences of what the Demigods do by the Spellborn and their king." He smirked. "But you said you leveled just recently. Did you fall asleep? Normally you have to be asleep to hear the voice."

Rep shook her head. "I don't think I can sleep?"

"I presume you had no levels beforehand?"

"I had a level in [Gourmand], but I got that here too. On the island, I mean."

For a moment, his response returned to the nonsensical way he spoke when they'd first met. "Yuo get za goreman dlass? hoo ded yuo- eh, za zpall rune aut dinit?" Once he saw Rep's confused expression, he cleared his throat and cast a spell. "Holt un, Trunslatu!. Pardon me; the translation spell ran out. We'll have to teach you the local tongue soon. But you said you got the [Gourmand] class? How?"

Rep felt a little sheepish, though she couldn't say why. "From eating?"

"Was there high-quality food with you when you arrived here? Something from your homeland?"

She shook her head. "I killed a Scoreblade; it was really good!"

"Ah," He looked a bit excited, "Your a very good cook then? From what little I know of the class, it would have had to have been a notable increase in quality for you to unlock gourmand."

She shook her head in confusion. "I think I'm okay cook, now that I've got a level in gourmand, but not very good. I didn't cook it; I just... ate it."

He hummed, a flash of a pitying look in his eyes, but his excitement quickly returned. "Well, I presume your food back home wasn't very good then If you acquired the class so easily. Or perhaps your species eats their meat raw? Either way, we should be able to level that class quickly. You said you eat things to make more Replicants, correct? That's good, a synergy with your natural abilities. That's very good. And teacher? I think those two classes are going to be perfect for you. How long does it take you to make a Replicant again?"

"If I had the food on hand to do it? Probably a few hours? why?"

He didn't answer, instead asking another question. "And they come out fully developed like Stick? Without any previous levels, able to take any class with only a little direction? Very interesting. I think I can offer you quite a bit of help then, Rep, To let you level in both of your classes."

Rep furrowed their synthetic brow in confusion. "Do I want to level? Why?"

This caused genuine surprise to sprout from the man. "Why wouldn't you want to level? You gain knowledge, skill cards, and power! That's the whole point. And if you let me guide your new Replicants into their classes, I'll gain more levels in [Captain]."

Well, Rep wasn't sure she was as invested in the idea of leveling as much as Doran clearly was- But it would be nice to have help educating and teaching the Replicants, and while she was seeing a somewhat selfish reason for his action. He had helped her and answered her questions without such incentive. The laws would push her to make more Replicants anyways; with Doran, she could use those laws to pay back her debt to him and help any future Replicants like Stick with his help. "Okay- but I'd like help with teaching the Replicants how to do things- I don't know very much, after all."

Doran's response was immediate and filled with genuine enthusiasm. "Wonderful! I'm certain we can make a good team, Rep. Let's start right away."

Rep held up a hand. "I still had a few more questions, actually."

"That's fine. Keep asking them. But follow me." He stood and began delving deeper into the ship.

Rep continued her barrage of questions as she followed the man."Why are the levels colored? What are domains? Why do the Skills have... extra words in front of them, like Order or Hearth?"

"Ah, that. The voice of the Atherium is... influenced by all the demigods that come through the Atherium. I can't really tell you much about why the colors are the way they are, but I can tell you that you can trade any two cards that share a domain."

Rep found herself following Doran into the ship's galley, surrounded by an assortment of pots, pans, and ingredients. He continued as he grabbed a pot and placed it on the ship's stove. "You can only ever trade one card for one card. If you share a class, you can trade any cards you got from that class- presuming the class is the same color, that is." He produced a glass bottle filled with water, then began filling the pot with it. Despite the water he poured out, the bottle didn't seem to empty at all. And Rep quickly filed that way under more questions to ask later.

"Most classes that share a name are the same color, but occasionally you'll get a red [Warrior] and an orange [Warrior] who can't trade cards." He produced a bag of tubers, some type of potatoes. "Here, begin deskinning these; your class should be able to instruct you how."

Rep frowned in frustration thought but quickly attempted to do as instructed as she leaned into her Culinary Inution skill. "Do you have a knife? I can use boiling water to make this easier if I cut the skins in half and then boil them."

He hummed thoughtfully with a small smile. "Ah! That's a neat trick. I've never picked up a cooking skill myself; I'm almost envious."

He handed her a knife, and she quickly went about preparing the 'potatoes' and asked him more questions. "You can have the same class but different colors? How does that relate to the domain?"

"I'm not entirely sure. But the domain is always the same color, regardless of the class its attached too. My [Captain] Class belongs to Tempest. It's a green class. And I've met others whose class belongs to the domain of Tempest. The classes that belong to the domain of Tempest are always green regardless of what the class is."

"Can you trade with other classes with the same domain?"

"Not any better that I can trade with any other. They have to be both the same color and class to trade any card for another- otherwise, you can only trade cards that share a domain."

"So, sharing a domain just... doesn't matter if you don't also share a class?"

Doran put on an apron adorned with nautical motifs, smiled, and picked up a large ladle. "The potatoes are boiling like you suggested? Great. Cut these onions for me- they make me cry."

He took his own knife and began dicing carrots, putting himself a handful of feet from Rep. Then he finally answered her question. "Sharing a domain doesn't matter in a way that I know of- but I am not a [Card Scholar]. Or a [Historian]. I'm sure it must matter somehow. Perhaps it matters to the gods and demigods? But for us mere mortals? No, no, it doesn't. However, some people think it's auspicious to be around those who share domains."

Rep sliced the onions clumsily. Her card told her what she should do but, frustratingly, didn't give her any knife work proficiency to do it. "My classes, one is Orange, the other Blue. Knowledge and Gluttony."

"Gluttony? I'm unfamiliar with it. I'd have expected Hearth. Keep that under your hat- in fact, try to keep your domains under your hat in general. Use the colors to describe them unless you wish to get into card training, which I don't recommend."

"Why not?"

"Greed. Ah, not the domain of greed. Mind you. But nobility, town leaders, mayors, anyone in power is always looking out for good cards so they can pressure you into surrendering them."

"But you said a card always has to be traded for another card."

"I did, and that's true. But the cards aren't always equal. Some are lousy compared to their higher leveled counterparts. No one can steal cards from you, but they can force you into trading a good card for a poor one."

Rep frowned; well, that was demotivating. And made her appreciate Doran all the more for alerting her of the danger. She sat in thought a moment, removing the potatoes from the boiling water and replacing them with her brutalized onions as Doran placed his carrots in the pot alongside them and began dicing meat. "Put a pan on for the meat, would you? Turn that knob there halfway."

Rep did as instructed, then began pulling the softened skin from the potatoes. Breaking the thoughtful silence. "You can trade any two cards that share a domain. You can only ever trade one card for one card. If you share a class, you can trade any cards you got from that class. But only if the class is the same color. Identical classes that are different colors cannot trade cards. Did I get all that right?"

He nodded. "You have." He paused for a moment, lost in thought, then perked up as an idea clearly struck him. "I think I know just where we can start once we're done here. It's important that your Replicants have the right classes for their duties on this ship or in any other situation they might find themselves. And there are few Classes more universally useful than [Sailor]. It's a foundational class, of course, but it's also rich in general life skills: knot-tying, navigation, emergency response, endurance... the list goes on."

Rep diced the potatoes, poured them back into the pot, and began to season the liquid with a bouillon. "How many cards can I have? Is there a limit?"

"There is." Doran oiled the pan, then began adding to the meat, seasoning it with salt and pepper as he did. "Five in a hand, but there's no limit for a deck."

Rep paused. "I don't understand the difference."

"Your hand contains active cards. Such as Flawless Slash for [Warriors]. That's a card that gives a single perfect attack with a slashing weapon per day. It needs to be in your hand when you use it. But other cards have more... we'll say passive effects? I think that is a good description of it. Such as your cooking card, presumably."

Rep nodded thoughtfully. "How do I add cards to my hand?"

Doran shrugged, shifting the meat to let it cook through. "You just do. Think about adding it to your hand. They can only be added if they have an active effect, so you might not have any to add."

Rep paused and tried it. Neither Culinary Intuition nor Taste Proficiency seemed to click. But both Adaptive Curriculum and Inspire learning did. The cards flashed in her vision, and she took this moment to inspect them.

Adaptive Curriculum depicted a Replicant erasing something from a piece of paper. Rep couldn't tell what the contents of the paper were; the image was too vague. Inspire Learning showed a Replicant leaning over another Replicant's shoulder, pointing at a piece of paper that contained more intelligible squiggles. But both of the Replicants were grinning softly. She wasn't sure exactly what they did yet, but she could feel that she could activate them.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Only some of my teacher cards are actives, Inspire Learning, and Adaptive Curriculum... But I don't know what they do?"

Doran nodded. "The active cards can be both harder and easier to understand. I recommend attempting your Inspire Learning card the next time you see Stick attempting to learn something. You may have to make a curriculum before you're able to use the other one."

Rep hummed. That made sense; you couldn't exactly adapt something that didn't exist.

"Skills like that- Adaptive Curriculum, I mean." Doran continued. "Mostly just help you save time. It will be like you did an hour's worth of work in an instant. Very helpful, actually."

Rep retreated into thought, and as the broth bubbled, she watched as Doran added the meat to the pot. Finally, she spoke again. "You said we should teach my Replicants to be sailors- But isn't learning how to be a sailor pointless when we're not on a ship? I don't want to take away choices from them." Rep asked, slightly concerned.

Doran shook his head, a fond smile on his face. "The Atherium is unpredictable and ever-changing. It requires quick thinking, resourcefulness, and a wide range of skills. Even if you aren't on a ship, the skills and adaptability that being a [Sailor] teaches can be invaluable. Besides, [Sailor] is an excellent starter Class - it's one of the easier ones to level up and branches into a wide array of other Classes. Once they have a few levels in [Sailor], your Replicants can easily transition into other more specialized Classes if they so choose."

Rep mulled over his words, considering the potential benefits. She nodded slowly, finding herself in agreement. "That sounds like a good idea. How do we start?"

"A few things," Doran answered. "First, we need to familiarize them with the basic concepts and tasks associated with the Class. We'll have them start with simpler tasks such as tying knots, learning basic terminology, and navigation... They don't have to master them right away, but familiarity will trigger Atherium to recognize their efforts. With enough practice and experience, they'll be able to gain levels. We should be teaching you, as well. Your levels as a [Teacher] will be invaluable to them gaining levels, but only if you have the knowledge to actually teach them."

He looked at Rep, his gaze serious. "Remember, it's not about forcing them into a particular mold. This is about giving them the tools and knowledge they need to thrive in this world. Being sailors will help them avoid capture from the inquisitors as well."

Rep nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over her. It seemed like things were starting to take shape. "Alright, let's do it. Let's make them sailors."

Doran hummed with delighted energy. "Any food will do for your creation? How much food do you need exactly?"

Rep thought, "For the smaller model like me and stick? about 100,000 calories."

Doran shook his head. "I don't know that number, but hold for a moment." He turned on a heel and shouted out. "Virid!" He called.

The Plant crewmate pulled herself up from the lower decks, poking her head down and looking at the two owlishly. "...Captain," It spoke slowly, more slowly than it had when it had first introduced itself to Rep and Stick.

"We need some rations," Doran spoke quickly. "Make us some Spellroots, if you, please?" The plant person looked at the simmering pot of soup, looked at Doran, then shrugged, gave him a nod, and cupped their hands out into the air. "Spellroot, Spellroot, I bid thee rise, A testament to magic's ties. Grown with spells, imbued with might, Blessed by stars, forever bright...."

And on and on it went; Rep realized that this might take a while as she leaned over to Doran. "Your magic is quicker than hers?"

He whispered back. "it is- but I can't create anything permanent as she can. She's a [Druid] and a servant of Gaiael, a Nature Demigod on their sixth labor."

"Wow, that's... impressive?" Rep half commented, half asked. From Doran's explanations, she understood that magic in this world was not a uniform system, and different individuals or entities might possess unique abilities or ways of harnessing it.

Eventually, Virid finished the incantation and lowered her hands. A moment later, a handful of bright, plump, leafy vegetables materialized in her outstretched palms. They were unlike any plant Rep had ever seen on Earth, glowing faintly with a soothing green light.

"Here," Virid said, tossing the Spellroots to Doran. "These should be sufficient for your needs."

Doran nodded in thanks, catching the Spellroots easily. He turned back to Rep, holding out one of the vegetables. "Here, give this a try. It's magical and normally provides enough sustenance to feed a person for a day."

A day, huh? Rep hummed; each had to be 2,000 or so calories, then? She reached out and grabbed one, taking a bite of the alien-looking vegetable. It was good; it was really good.

Before she knew what was happening, her mouth was stuffed so full she was having problems chewing. It crunched when she bit into it, a wave of sweet juices flowing out of it. It was sugary! Delightfully sweet, Rep felt like her Microunits was dancing at the very idea of so much calorie-dense sugar.

She continued to chew, her microbots picking apart whatever she sent them, and quickly found herself devoid of any remnants of the magic vegetable.

"Well?" Doran asked.

She held a hand, forestalling any questions she had to calculate.

"About... 205?" She frowned; that was way, way less than expected.

Doran frowned too. "That's all? I don't entirely understand how this works, but didn't you say you needed hundreds of thousands?"

Rep nodded. There weren't any additional calories, but she felt energized and excited as she broke the fruit down. Perhaps the sugar? Or picking up on the captain's previous excitement? or maybe the magic. It had been really nice tasting, very crunchy. And she eyes the others greedily.

He sighed melodramatically. "I guess it couldn't be quite that easy! Here, eat the rest, and follow me. We should begin teaching you and Stick how to be sailors, and you can help teach the next generation of Replicants."

"Something is missing, though, Doran." Rep clarified as the two went up the stairs. "A human should need a bit of two thousand calories a day. You'd starve on 200 a day. That plant can't work."

He hummed thoughtfully. "Interesting; perhaps the magic is not working for you like it would for us? you're certain of the numbers?" She nodded. "Well, that bodes well then! You said 2,000 a day?" She nodded again.

Doran looked skyward as he began to perform mental math. "If a human needs around 2,000 calories per day," he started, "and your smaller models need about 100,000 calories to replicate... That means you would need the equivalent of... Fifty days' worth of human food consumption in one sitting to create a Replicant, correct?"

Rep nodded, "Roughly, yes. It doesn't have to be all at once, but its more cost-effective when it is."

Doran seemed to be mulling over this information. "Well, it does put things into perspective. We'll have to consider these factors when planning our provisions. Perhaps there's another way to supplement these calories with magic- even if the Spellroot didn't work. But for now, let's focus on the immediate tasks at hand."

"But I still need more food to make more Replicants," Rep said, concerned- and Rep realized the spike of concern didn't come from the real her, but from the damned Laws.

"We'll figure that out, Rep," Doran reassured her. "We have resources; we have ways. If Spellroots don't provide enough calories, we'll find other solutions. For now, let's get started on these sailor lessons. It'll help distract you from the food issue, at least for a little while."

She looked over at the simmering pot and gave him a questioning look.

"Virid will manage it for now, it'll be hours till its ready. Let's see how Stick and Typist are doing." He paused, then seemed to recall something. "By the way, Rep. There's something I haven't mentioned- I'm sure there's going too many things going forward I've forgotten to tell you, so you have my apologies in advance. I've never had to teach anyone how this works before."

Rep nodded, accepting his apology as he continued on. "Certain Classes can significantly impact your physical and mental abilities. For instance, the [Gourmand] class might let you get more from food and enhance your sense of taste. And as a [Teacher], you'll likely find that you're more effective at remembering things and speaking. Even without cards to enhance those skills, I mean. It will be as if you are... talented at such things, proportionally to your level."

Ah, now that was kind of exciting. Rep felt like they weren't the best at voicing their thoughts, and so far, they found they loved eating. Doran's words gave Rep a sense of hope she could get better at both by just continuing to do what she had been doing.

Doran saw Rep's interest spark and gave an approving nod. "That's the spirit, Rep. See, every Class has a few Skill cards that everyone in that Class gets. But then, everyone also gets a unique combination of Skill cards influenced by their personal characteristics, experiences, and aspirations!"

"Wrong," Typist said as they got above deck and in earshot of him. "It's just luck, don't listen to our dreamer of a [Captain]."

Doran frowned, and his eyes focused on Typist with a look of frustration. "I hope you've not been filling young Stick's mind with such pessimistic thoughts."

"Realistic." Typist immediately countered.

Doran rolled his eyes but disengaged from the clearly old argument. "The potential for growth and power in the Atherium is vast. It's a journey of discovery, honing your skills and talents, pushing your limits," Doran's voice was full of conviction, like someone who had walked this path and come out stronger. "Just remember, the world won't hold back. You need to learn, adapt, and grow and be vigilant. The Journey is the Destination."

Rep frowned- that didn't make sense. Before she could ask questions, however, Doran rolled on. "Now, Typist, what have we been talking with Stick about up here?"

"His class, [Bodyguard]. It's a good one for him." Stick excitedly nodded, the most animated Rep had seen of him. "I'll be teaching him some fighting tips once we hit the Stream."

Doran hummed. "I hadn't thought of him picking up a class, [Bodyguard]? Do you want to protect Rep that badly, young Stick?"

Stick gave a single nod and a firm but quiet "yes."

Rep immediately butted in. "No! I don't need protection- I'm supposed to protect you. That's my job."

Stick shrunk away, but Doran put a hand on Rep's shoulder and spoke softly. "I'm afraid you're quite wrong, Rep. Else; you would be the [Bodyguard] the Atherium has chosen."

Typist snorted in derision but said nothing aloud as Rep's head span.

Rep's face wrinkled in confusion. Her mind was spinning at the new information and the implications it held. When she'd made Stick, she'd mentally committed to protecting him.

But this... this was something entirely different. Stick, the quiet, shy one, was meant to protect her? She didn't understand. How could the Atherium decide such a thing? Wasn't it all about her choices and decisions?

Doran seemed to notice her internal struggle and gave her a gentle, understanding smile. "You're just starting out, Rep. The Atherium may initially seem strange and counter-intuitive. But trust me, it all makes sense eventually. Everyone has their place, their role to play."

Typist chimed in, crossing his arms and leaning against a tree. "Doran's not wrong there. It's not about what we want to do but what we're suited to do."

Doran eyed his comrade. "I thought everything was random?"

"The skills, sure. But the class? That has to be earned by wanting it."

"And Stick is suited to be a [Bodyguard]?" Rep asked, her tone unsure. "But he's... he's..."

"Small?" Typist offered, a smirk playing on his lips. "Sure, he's not a hulking giant. But don't mistake size for strength or skill."

"Exactly," Doran added, his tone firm. "The Atherium doesn't care about your physical size. It cares about your heart, your courage, your will! And trust me; Stick has more than enough of those."

Rep looked at Stick, who met her gaze with a small but confident nod. His eyes, usually so quiet and withdrawn, shone with determination. It was... humbling, in a way. She hadn't expected this.

"You'll find your place, Rep," Doran assured her, his hand still resting on her shoulder. "This is just the beginning. Who knows? Perhaps [Teacher] or [Gourmand] will prove the perfect class for you."

"I'll try," Rep murmured, her thoughts still a whirl. She had a lot to learn and understand, but for now, she'd trust in Doran, Typist, and even Stick.

"Good," Doran replied, clapping Rep on the back. "Now, let's see if we can teach the two of you to be [Sailors]."

Doran's smile was infectious, and even with her whirling thoughts, Rep found herself smiling back.

Over the following hours, Typist and Doran took turns explaining the basics of sailing to Rep and Stick. They discussed the terms for different parts of the ship, navigational tactics, and the various duties of a [Sailor].

Being a [Sailor] seemed like a lot of work, but the way Doran spoke about it - the thrill of navigating the Atherium Streams, the freedom of the open sea, the camaraderie of a crew - it felt right.

Only several hours later, the instruction came to a close for the day as the ship neared the Stream.

Rep had missed her chance to ask what they were referring to whenever they mentioned it, so her first impression was visual. If the Atherium looked almost like traveling through space, a ship, in the inky blackness of night. The stream appeared as a circle tube, like a pipe.

A luminescent streak of silver cut the skyline in half.

Their ship traveled onward into it, pushing into a cacoon of air. It smelled different here, electric and wet. and suddenly, the ever-present sound of the ship's propulsion systems cut out.

"The Stream will carry us from here on out; it should lead us straight to Crossfar," Typist said.

Doran nodded. "We'll get as much food as we can carry to make more of your Replicants and sell anything you brought with you you're not too attached too?" He said hopefully.

Rep nodded, understanding the importance of having resources to produce more Replicants. As Doran's words settled, she looked down at the makeshift bag she'd brought with her. It wasn't much- or at least she didn't think so.

"I didn't bring much," Rep admitted, her voice quiet. "But what I have... I'm willing to part with it. For the crew."

Doran gave a soft smile and nodded his approval. "You're a true [Sailor] at heart, Rep. We'll make sure to use what you've brought wisely."

Stick had been quiet for a while now, and Rep turned to look at him. His eyes were wide, staring out at the Stream in awe. His little hands gripped the rail tightly as he watched the glowing tunnel of energy.

"We'll teach you how to fight in the Stream, Stick," Typist offered his voice gruff but kind. "The Atherium can be... unpredictable. But you're a [Bodyguard], you'll adapt."

Stick merely nodded, his gaze never leaving the mesmerizing glow of the Stream.

---

The ethereal glow of the Atherium Stream served as a backdrop for the lesson to begin, casting elongated shadows of the pair on the ship's wooden deck. The ship rocked gently in the rhythm of the Stream's current, the 'waves' a constant hum in the background.

Typist held out a wooden training sword to Stick. The young Replicant looked up at him with determination in his eyes, silently taking the wooden weapon in his smaller hands.

"Alright, Stick," Typist began, his voice deep and gruff. "The first thing you need to understand is that a sword isn't just a piece of metal. It's an extension of your arm, an extra limb. You need to know its weight, its balance."

He moved with surprising grace for his burly form, executing a series of simple swings and blocks with his own wooden blade. Stick watched, his eyes following every move.

"Remember," Typist continued, his breath steady despite the exercise, "it's not about raw strength. It's about precision, speed, and timing. The biggest guy in the world won't mean a thing if he can't land a hit."

Stick nodded, mimicking Typist's movements with his own blade. His actions were slow and hesitant at first, but he grew more confident with every swing. He was a quick study, absorbing Typist's words like a sponge.

"And keep your guard up," Typist corrected, tapping Stick's wooden blade with his own to push it into the correct position. "An open guard is an invitation to your opponent. Always be ready to defend."

"This?" Stick asked, adjusting his stance as per Typist's instructions.

"Better," Typist nodded approvingly. "Now, let's see how you handle an actual exchange."

He stepped back, lifting his wooden blade in a salute before settling into an offensive stance. Stick followed suit, his blade shaking slightly but held firmly in his hands.

"Ready?" Typist asked a glint of excitement in his eyes. At Stick's nod, he stepped forward, launching a straightforward attack.

Stick parried the initial blow, staggering slightly under the impact but holding his ground. He ducked under the next swing, his eyes wide but focused. The training sword was a clumsy extension of his arm at first, but with each passing moment, he began to move more smoothly, more naturally.

Typist pressed on, offering no concessions. He was relentless, making Stick work for every successful parry. Despite his stern appearance, he took care not to overwhelm the young Replicant, offering him a challenging but achievable target- if only barely achievable.

Their wooden swords clashed in the silence of the Atherium Stream, the echo resonating around them. Despite the tension of the situation, Stick started to smile, something akin to joy lighting up his eyes.

In the observer's eyes, it was as if a dance was unfolding before them. A dance where Stick was learning to move, learning the rhythm. And every now and then, when he parried a strike perfectly or even dared to try a counter-attack, there was a spark of potential, a hint at the [Bodyguard] he was growing into.

The two manufactured men didn't need to pace themselves as others might have.

As the training continued, Stick's confidence grew. His movements became more fluid, his parries more effective. He was still far from being a seasoned swordsman, but his progress was evident.

Finally, Typist called a halt to the training. The man crouched and eyed Stick with a discerning, glowing eye in his helmeted head.

"Good job, Stick," he praised, "Your passable- but we need to get you a weapon more fit for you."

Stick looked down at his sword, then back to Typist. "Not good?"

"Not for you. You need something longer- but not much heavier. A musket and a spear, I think. You're too short and struggling with your reach and closing on me, aren't you?"

Stick nodded. It had felt like he'd been chasing Typist the entire time, the larger construct just out of his swinging range. Meanwhile, the Forged had been raining blows, slowing Stick's advance.

Stick looked down at his body and felt a spike of dissatisfaction; He wished Rep had built him bigger.

"Hey," Typist's voice pulled Stick out of his thoughts. He met Stick's gaze, his helmeted face impossible to read, but his tone was surprisingly soft. "Your size is not a disadvantage, Stick. It's just another aspect of you that you'll learn to use to your benefit."

Stick blinked, his anger fading slightly. "Really?"

"Absolutely," Typist confirmed. "Being smaller can make you a harder target. You can move quicker, and be more agile. And as for the reach... well, that's why we have different types of weapons. As I suggested, a musket or a spear can help extend your reach without burdening you with excess weight."

He paused, placing a heavy hand on Stick's shoulder. "Don't think so much- I see Rep thinks a lot. Don't take after her. Don't think; just do. A [Bodyguard] has to be a man of action, not deep thought. Leave the angst for the philosophers."

Stick's shoulders straightened under Typist's hand; his gaze hardened with renewed determination. He nodded, gripping his wooden sword tighter. "Will be best [Bodyguard]. For Rep."

Typist chuckled, standing upright and crossing his arms. "That's the spirit, Stick. We'll continue your training. You've got a good start, and you'll become even better with time."

---

Rep sat back in the ships Galley, slowly filling a bowl with the soup that she and Doran had made. Doran and Typist had kept her away from it for a while, but they'd grown tired- and so was she. She couldn't exactly get sore- but she felt like she should be from how hard they'd worked her.

The scent of the soup almost made her want to cry for joy, and as she brought the first spoonful to her lips, she couldn't help but smile.

Her sharpened sense of taste rejoiced- this... this was the best thing she'd ever eaten.

[Gourmand Level 2]