The day breaks gently with a warm sunrise, bringing to 11’s mind the image of honey spreading across a slice of hot toast. She rests her broomstick against the wall of the bakery, and sits down on the bottom step to watch the golden light stretch across the rooftops, chasing away the shadows of night.
This is nice, she thinks, just as a pair of long-tailed birds, their plumes a deliciously orange hue, flutter onto the sill of a nearby building. They begin to sing in high, lyrical tunes; a wordless serenade of summertime.
Humming along to the bird’s tunes, 11 issues a command to the S-M-S, checking the weather forecast.
The reply is quick, and unexpected.
> Unable to determine accurate weather forecast readings.
>
> Satalite coverage poor.
“So, the weather satellites weren’t on the top of the maintenance list, I'm guessing?” 11 gets up and stretches, deciding she won't let such a silly setback get her down. “Can you imagine, Mother, if I could predict the weather a full month ahead of time, like the humans used to be able to do? I could get into agriculture, grow crops, and become a lord.”
> You can’t become a lord.
“Why not?”
> You’re female. You’d be a lady.
“I thought you’d say it's because I’m a God Gier.”
> And also because you're a God Gier.
The sky is cloudless; the light from the rising sun splashing gold streaks across the baby blue.
“I can probably get away with hanging out the bed sheets today,” 11 says, looking up at the vast openness above, and it occurs to her then, that it’s been more than a week since she entered Kesrock, and she has barely anything to show for it. No new knowledge about the missing God Giers, or what happened in Haven that reset humanity’s progress back into the Stone Age.
Has time really passed by so quickly…? 11 feels a flash of panic, followed closely by embarrassment, as she recalling the events of the past week.
After 11 followed Yue’li back to the bakery, a feast was already laid out waiting for them, and 11 was immediately hypnotized by the mouth-watering aroma of stewed potatoes, glazed onions and carrots, roasted meat of some animal she has no knowledge of, and a host of many other strange, but delectable-looking dishes.
Upon hearing their arrival, the kindly woman with the prosthetic leg came hobbling out from the kitchen, all bright smiles and warm hugs. She formally introduced herself as Abetah Basilona, Yue’li’s mother, then practically pulled 11 into the vacant seat at the table, and proceeded to stuff her for the next hour until she was bursting at the seams.
After the meal, 11 tried hard to decline any further hospitality from the Basilona’s, and she would have succeeded, if it wasn’t for the plump, steaming apple pie Abetah pulled from the oven at that moment.
I’m not going to be long, 11 thought in a weak attempt to justify her staying for just one bite.
I can take a little break, she thought, even as she seated herself back at the table.
What harm can one slice of pie realistically do? She asked, before graciously accepting the huge chunk of the hot, gooey dessert onto her plate.
I’ll leave. Right after this one slice.
It's been nine days since then, and 11 is still here.
The chime of the door wafts down the scent of muffins, and 11's mouth instantly starts watering. She hears Yue’li’s bright voice ring out from above. “Breakfast is ready, Elevena! Come back inside!”
Elevena. When Abetah had asked what 11’s name was, 11 knew she had to give one then or it would cause too much suspicion, and in the spur of the moment, she stumbled on Elevena. And it was perfect. It’s not the number eleven, but close enough that 11 doesn’t feel like she’s lying every time she hears it being used.
“Coming!” she calls back, picking up the broomstick and hopping happily up the stairs.
When 11 breezes through the door, Abetah and Yue’li are already seated at the table, a breakfast of kings ready before them.
“Elevena, dear,” Abetah says as 11 props the broom against the far wall and goes behind the counter to wash her hands, “there really is no need for you to do so much work. Just having you here is a delight we cannot be more joyous about.”
“Yea.” Yue’li pouts jokingly, a steamed baby carrot halfway between her plate and her mouth. “You’re making me look lazy. Well, even lazier than I already am.”
“It’s the least I can do,” 11 says, coming back and taking her usual seat next to Yue’li. “You are both too generous. Thank you so much for letting me stay here, and for so long.”
Abetah reaches across the table and plonks a thick slice of pie onto 11’s plate. “You’re welcome to stay for as long as it takes for your research to be completed, and longer, if you wish. That is a Basilona promise.”
“Ah, about that research…” 11 barely manages to keep from grimacing as she’s reminded about the reason she’s even in Kesrock in the first place. She did go to the Heroe’s League on her second day after settling down here, and indeed, as the dwarf Safir Silverbeard had said in the market, a high-ranking adventurer’s license is required to get access to the guild’s archives - An 'A-rank or above', the receptionist had said – But the most disheartening news of all though, is that the next exam 11 can take to get a license won’t be for another month.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“I’m hitting quite the roadblock.”
“That’s no big issue,” Abetah says immediately. “As I said, you are welcome to stay for as long as you please. As far as Yue’ling and I are concerned, you’re family.”
God, I don’t deserve these people. 11 feels a stinging in her eyes, and turns her attention to the crumbly pie on her plate. She slices off a chunk with the edge of her spoon and chomps down, moaning quietly as a wave of citrusy sweetness flows across her tongue, colorful and vibrant, before it’s followed by a smooth vanilla aftertaste. 11 tops up with another mouthful before she’s even finished swallowing.
> Caution, 11.
>
> Your energy levels are peaking at 150%.
>
> You do not need to fill up anymore.
“Looks like your Goblin-Crust is a success, Beth,” Yue’li grins, watching 11. “See, all it needed were two pinches of Wyvern Root. Now it just needs a name that doesn’t invoke the sense of disgust in people and we’re ready to put it on the menu.”
Abetah sighs. “I thought I had something interesting with ‘Goblin-Crust’. It’s like how Mr. Silverbeard called that restaurant of his ‘Leftovers’. It really makes you remember it.”
“Yes, he told me about his Leftovers,” Yue’li says, flicking a few peas off her potato mash, over to the side of her plate, “and how it got shut down after a year.”
“Ten months, actually,” Abetah chuckles. She reaches across to flick Yue’li’s peas back where they belong, before looking to 11 and asking, “What do you think, Elevena? What would you call this pie, now that you’ve tasted it?”
It takes 11 a moment to realize Abetah is talking to her, lost as she is in said pie.
“I’m not very good with names,” 11 says, swallowing her mouthful. “But what about… Citrus Sunrise? That’s sort of the feeling I get from it. Sweet and salty, in the best possible way.”
“Now I think that’s a perfect name,” Abetah remarks, rising. “Wait here. I have another one for you to try.”
When she is out of sight, Yue’li quickly picks up her plate, tilts it over 11’s, and lets the peas fall across. And when 11 looks at her, she holds a finger to her lips, her big cat-like eyes begging.
“Yue’ling dear,” Abetah’s voice drifts from the kitchen, “you still haven’t told me how exactly you chanced upon such a bright, young lady.”
Yue’li coughs. “We uhm, met at the, uh.” She pretends to be engrossed with something on her plate, before realizing it is empty. “We met…met…”
“At the market,” 11 finishes for her. “She bumped into me as I was looking at a teacup.”
“Thanks,” Yue’li whispers, grateful. 11 gives her a thumbs up.
“Yue’ling got poisoned at the market?”
“U-uh, she, uh,” 11 stutters, scrambling for a reply. “She… The cup…”
“I ate something that was bad,” Yue’li blurts out. “On the ground. I was hungry. Old habits and all that. You know. Wow, these peas are delicious. Nomnom.” She then starts to stuff her mouth full of invisible food to avoid answering any more of Abetah’s questions.
For the nine days 11 has been here, she’s seen Yue’li dodge all of Abetah’s inquiries like this. From what 11 can gather, Abetah has no idea Yue’li has past gang affiliations, or knows what really happened in the alleyway that day. But this seems to be the way Yue’li wants to keep things, so, 11 does her part, and steers the conversation away.
“This pie really is incredible, Abetah,” 11 tells the woman when she comes back with a tray stacked with muffins. “The flavors, and texture, I think I can actually feel tears in my eyes.”
Abetah gives 11 a great big smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She looks a lot younger when the worry isn’t contorting her features. “Thank you, dear,” she says, placing a muffin onto 11’s plate, then another. They smell deliciously of blueberries. “It warms my heart to hear such compliments. I’m sure you have similar food in your home village? Where did you say you were from again? My memory fails me these days, I’m afraid to say.”
Abetah doesn’t remember, because 11 never told her. 11’s brain goes into overdrive. She’s heard the names of a few places, but there aren’t many that seem realistic. She doesn’t want to say Oakroot, given its proximity to Kesrock, or Elfendale, because she doesn’t even know where it is - Lawheim’s map has no names, after all – so that leaves only one more.
“Overlake.”
It is Aralyn’s birthplace. 11 remembers the elf girl talking briefly about it, but other than its vicinity to the ocean, she knows little else about the village.
“That’s very far from here,” Abetah remarks. “It’s in the northeast, isn’t it? Near the border and the Spires? It must be frighteningly cold in the winters.”
11 nods, frantically pulling up a scan of Lawheim’s map onto her interface. Where is the border again? And what are the Spires supposed to be?
At the top of the paper, she finds a thick black line zigzagging across the land, just below the map’s edge. She follows its snaking path through the rows of mountains until she reaches the eastern edge, where a few tight circles are drawn like some sort of crop circle. Could these be them?
“When I was a young girl,” Abetah says, leisurely placing another muffin on 11’s plate, squeezing it against the two already there. “I had it in my mind to travel up north, to see the Spires which Touch the Sky. The adventurers who used to come through my village always had such amazing tales about them. They said that whoever climbs to the peak of the Spires will sit on the throne of the world, and see the truth of all there is.”
She sighs, age and exhaustion showing in her voice. “What was I thinking? A young woman, traveling all alone across the snow-covered wastelands of the Dragonspine Mountains? And towards the east, no less.” Her eyes are sad, even though she is smiling. “I’d never make it back. If the cold didn’t have at me, it would’ve been the savages. I still remember my parents saying to me, ‘You must behave, Abetah, and come home before the sun sets, or the savages who live up in the mountains will come down in the middle of the night, and pluck you off the street and take you back to their caves in a rucksack.’”
“Come on, Beth,” Yue’li moans, spraying crumbs, “there aren’t any savages in Gandolia, up north or anywhere. Even if there are tribes or villages in the mountains, the war would’ve driven them away, or into the ground.” She swallows, reaches over for another muffin, but Abetah slaps her hand away.
“Ah-ah, these are for sale, Yue’ling. You’ve had your share already.”
“But Elevena-”
“Works three times as hard as you.”
Yue’li harrumphs. “Fine. Anyway, if you want to tell me the soldiers of the Maria Battlefront are the savages you old folks talk about, well, I won’t argue with you, but I’m not going to agree either, not when we have so many knights posted at every street corner these days.”
“Here,” 11 says quietly, giving a muffin to Yue’li. “I can’t finish them all by myself.”
“The cold does queer things to the mind,” Abetah says, her words ominous but her tone light enough to offset any feelings of dread. “Even the noblest of knights will lose their way when they find themselves chewing on leather, and drowning in something they can neither see, nor touch. Less needs to be said about exiles and criminals facing the same trials.”
Yue’li stabs her fork into the muffin, releasing blueberry-scented steam. “If you say so. I don’t plan on ever going up there anyway. The winters here are already enough for me to be jealous of the yaojins who have fur.” She takes a bite, grinning at 11.
It has been some time since 11 last saw a satellite image of the world, and it strikes her again how even from space, the Earth doesn’t look like the planet she knows. She pokes at the remnants of her breakfast, studying the comma-shaped landmass that has replaced the main continents of the 23rd-century world she was born in.
It is like looking at a different planet, one with an ocean that wraps around the comma, like the other side of a yin-yang symbol. Scattered among all this blue are smaller landmasses, polka dotting the rest of the globe like handfuls of scattered crumbs, and bookending each end of the supercontinent like two slices of snow-white bread, are the poles.
The images are blurry and not at all as distinct as 11 likes, and again she is told that ‘poor satellite coverage’ is to blame. Still, from the limited information, she can work out that Gandolia is near the bottom of the main landmass, and bracketed by the ocean on three sides, with the rest of the world cut off by a range of mountains.
The Dragonspine Mountains, perhaps?
11 puts away the map, trying hard not to let the hopelessness show on her face. The world suddenly feels too big for her. Somewhere in all those mountains, deserts, plains and oceans, is Pandora’s Gate, still poisoning the world with its demonic creatures. 11 has no clue where to even begin looking, and it makes her want to scream in frustration. Without the prior knowledge of her predecessors, she has nothing to go on, no previous works to build upon. Solving the mystery of the God Giers seems almost insignificant compared to finding where the Gate might be. She may spend decades, several hundreds of years even, traversing the land alone in search of something she may never find.
Alone…
Somehow, it is that thought which scares 11 the most, and perhaps for the first time since her awakening, she imagines what it may be like if she never left that chamber below the ground, if she just snuggled back into her wires and tubes and just slept, surrounded by her own kind.
Because then, even in the darkest and coldest of places, she will at least have another soul to brave the world with her.
And that, as 11 will learn, can make all the difference.