The next morning Azrael woke up exhausted. After the fiasco yesterday he’d spent the next hour or so trying to explain what had happened to the village chief. That had been one hour more social contact than he appreciated. At least he got the girl out of his hair.

After accepting the oath Alena had collapsed, unconscious. The villagers had readily agreed when he told them to look after her. From the way they were looking at him you’d think that he’d murdered someone. Although from the number of blankets that they covered and carried the unconscious Alena with, you probably wouldn’t have noticed the difference if it wasn’t for the lack of blood.

He shrugged, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. From the way they had looked at him it was safe to assume that they wouldn’t let the girl near him anytime soon. So, in the end it had all worked out all right. He’d gotten rid of the problem. Even if it hadn’t worked out like he expected it to.

He shuddered as he got dressed. No more staring, no more silent stalking. Even the prospect of more oats couldn’t dampen his mood. Grabbing the kettle he opened the door… and tripped over a familiar blanket. He groaned. It was back.

Wiping the stone dust from his desk he pushed it all to the ground, sending a billow of white-grey dust into the air. He ignored it and faced the mute girl sitting in his chair. She was back.

He couldn’t believe it. Why? Why did the adults in the village let her come back? He couldn’t understand what could have possibly crossed their minds when they let her come back here. Was she so much of a burden in the village that they just wanted to get rid of her, by sending her in to slavery? They’d all heard what he’d said! It was a slave contract!!! He was a guy and she was a girl, a female slave. Living under the same roof!

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He wondered what had happened to common sense. It didn’t seem to be so common anymore. Then again, why did they always try to foist their problems onto him? What did he do to deserve it?

He glared suspiciously at the sky. Was this some kind of twisted divine joke?

He couldn’t do much about the gods, but he briefly he considered setting the villager’s houses on fire to get the point through that he didn’t want to be bothered, but he dismissed it just as quickly. They hadn’t done anything to warrant something that extreme… yet.

Throughout his internal debate Alena just sat there, her eyes faced unwaveringly on him. He saw her fingers occasionally twitch, as if she wanted to run away, but despite that her eyes stayed fixed unerringly on him. It was unnerving. He got up, just to be able to move away from her gaze, when his eyes fell on his broom. He took it and pressed the broom into her hand. Gods! Anything to get her to stop looking at him. He pointed to the thick layer of dust on the floor.

“Sweep that.”

Without looking he walked out of the room, leaving her in his house. He needed space and a certain someone didn’t seem to be planning to leave his house anytime soon. Giving her a task ensured that she at least wouldn’t follow him. It was also revenge. The dust was so fine that with every sweep some of it would fly into the air, before settling back on the clean floor. Maybe it was a bit vindicative, but at that moment it seemed justified. Very justified. He didn’t care if it was childish. She could leave it and run back to the village for all he cared.

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He wondered if he could just command her to stay in the village. She was his slave afterall. She would have to obey.

He almost turned around right there and then to issue the command when he stopped. If the villagers were desperate enough to rid themselves of her by offering her as a tribute and a slave and he rejected her, the wouldn’t it mean that she had failed. With no kin and no craft to contribute to the village with would they kick her out, leaving her to fend for herself? The image of Alena huddled in a tree hollow, cowering and shivering, as beasts hunted her down burrowed its way into his mind.

He decided to hold off that decision for the moment. Maybe the walk would help clarify things for him. He continued on.

Eventually Azrael found himself in front of the little alcove a hundred meters from his cave. With a little [Stone Shaping] he made it big enough to actually fit inside. Hidden inside he settled into a comfortable position and let his breathing go. Deeply exhaling he let himself sink into his soul space.

Floating in his soul void he looked down on his soul. It was alien and at the same time so familiar. It was him, or at least the game’s representation of him.

It had expanded since he’d last been here, growing in size and complexity. Once a little ball with a few lumps had become a complex web of skill crystals and status points. Overall, his soul seemed…stronger? Denser? It was hard to describe. The soul itself had no weight, but it seemed to be more there, as if its existence had become more defined.

Even the soul mists swirling through the crystals seemed to have a new presence, no longer faint enough to be blown away by the lightest breeze, but a deep swirling fog.

His classes also seemed to affect the soul in strange ways, as the mist that filtered through them gained a new flavour, or was it a tint? It was hard to explain. The normal senses didn’t really apply in the soul, making things different to conceptualise. Again, it was one of those things that only seemed to make sense if you saw it for yourself. But the mist had definitely gained a quality of something unique, something him.

Even as he watched the neutral mist flowed through the classes, moving through the crystal fractals that they were made up of, before once again being carried out and joining the rest of the swirling mists that made up his soul. In a way it was like dyeing white mist through stain glass windows, except that the mist carried those particular colours even after they passed through the light.

This class-tinted mist then mingled and carried through his soul and through the skill crystals, infusing his whole being. It was like they were slowly changing and defining who he was. It didn’t actually seem to affect anything as far as he could see, but was definitely something to keep an eye on.

The other thing that caught his attention more than anything else was a single streamer of soul mist that was being pulled off and stretched into the void. Watching it trail off into the unknown he followed it back into his soul and realised that it actually pierced beneath the mist to where he knew a hidden core lay below. Overcome by curiosity he reached out and touched it.

Immediately emotions not his own flooded through him. Fear, hope, nervousness, uncertainty. He took his hand off the soul string and felt the link break off. It wasn’t gone, just mute, like a radio just waiting for you to tune back in. Testing this connection, he realised that he could actually feel Alena’s general location.

Concentrating on that connection he placed her to be… maybe… ten meters away!

His eyes flashed open as he was knocked out of his soul space and almost jumped out of his skin. Alena was indeed crouched barely ten meters away from him, her eyes staring at his seated form. He pushed down many of the emotions that were welling up.

Rising, Azrael stepped out of the alcove and walked back to the cottage. Through the link he could feel her following him. When they got back it seemed that the two of them were going to be having a very serious conversation.

Somewhere in the background he swore he could hear Sera laughing.