The walls, slick with moisture, were cool to the touch. Moss grew between the stones, dirt and whatever mixture holding it all together cracked and overgrown with flora.
A small box of three stone walls and one wooden one, with a similarly-made wooden door lying flush with the wall, almost fading in entirely with the wooden wall. Standing in the middle with arms stretched out, you’d barely be able to touch both sides at once. Riza knew; she tried.
The lack of windows left the room in near darkness, with the only light being that which seeped in through the slatted wooden walls, daylight barely illuminating the interior in a low, ambient glow.
The room was sparse—barely furnished; the equivalent of a prison with the only furniture being an uncomfortable wooden cot and a rickety, old wooden bench along the opposite side of the wall.
Knees held close to her torso, Riza was sitting on the cot, holding her cloak around herself and trying to keep warm.
The frigid air cut straight to her bones. The dim light threatening to weaken her eyesight. The isolation an all too familiar companion.
Her grip on her legs was firm, as if to scold herself, actualising her regret at her actions somehow.
So stupid! What did I think would happen? Run away, why don’t you? See if a military encampment would have an undefended perimeter.
Now look where you are; in an actual jail cell this time and awaiting an undoubtedly less lenient trial.
Self-loathing was infused with each thought, left with ample time and nothing to fill it with but her own mind.
Once it became clear she was being held here, she had no hesitation to sink her mind into [Meditate]—to ease remorse and self-doubt that was accumulating over her walk of shame.
The skill helped. It kept her mind clear, thoughts lucid and fluent, and emotions subdued. She didn’t feel restrained but, rather, freer than ever.
But thoughts are not unbiased—the deconstruction of herself simply moved on from emotional whippings to logical deductions.
So far, since finding her way out of the forest, she was making mistake after mistake.
How typical.
The only good thing that came out of this was the abundance of time she now had. Sure, she had time before, but that time was uncertain—in flux. Argand had been taken, and then Lefie; Riza knew not where they were taken nor when they’d be coming for her.
Treating what time she had back then carelessly could’ve gone badly; she’d likely have died if she spent her essence before trying to escape, for instance.
Although, maybe I wouldn’t have tried to escape at all, if that was the case.
More questioning.
The only thing that kept her mind sane in this solitude were the recurrent, blue boxes that popped up.
[Meditate] [Level up]
[Cleanse] [Level up]
A smile crept up on her face. After only an hour and a half, [Meditate] was finally level 10 and [Cleanse] had reached level 8.
[Meditate] seemed to have a similar formula or mechanism to how it levelled up to [Well of Spirit]; it seemed to scale with her spirit value. How much essence she regenerated, Riza assumed.
The only thing that had stopped her from grinding that skill up like all the others was how vulnerable it left her; all sensations were dulled and she was completely detached from the world.
Cleanse was different; she had been wary of spending essence levelling it because of its limited pay-off. It was already more than enough for what she needed it do.
But, after thinking about it, she decided to level it anyway. After all, [Meditate] was regenerating a whole bunch of essence she wasn’t spending so it wasn’t like it’d tap into her pool significantly, anyway.
Plus, she couldn’t deny the curiosity over what more level ups would do.
Sadly, not that much, it seemed, with the effect apparently being unchanged.
I suppose that can be seen as a negative, how it costs more to use the skill without getting anything more out of it. Although, that wasn’t much of an issue; it would only take 19 seconds of using [Meditate] to regenerate 10 points of essence; outside of combat, the skill would barely make a dent in her essence pool.
Reflecting on her past hour and a half, excitement began to burgeon within Riza.
[Meditate] has reached level 10.
You can choose to spend a skill point to upgrade the skill or turn the skill into a passive.
[Meditate]+
Regeneration is multiplied by 3 while 1 sense is subdued absolutely
[Meditate] (passive)
Regeneration is multiplied by 1.5
Another opportunity to grow stronger. The upgrade to the active skill was half what she was expecting—with the other option being even more regeneration—but she wasn’t sure how useful it’d be. It’d allow her to use the skill safely during combat, so maybe it was worth thinking about.
The passive wasn’t all that interesting in its own right—a straight boost to her regeneration—but the implications fascinated her, sending her mind sprawling into a bunch of different skill considerations.
The thing is, [Meditate] boosted all regeneration, so that included health as well. Currently, she was at 100 health per day. With the passive, that would be up to 150.
Why was health interesting? Because of the upgrade to [Essence Transformer]; that converted all health regeneration directly into essence.
Taking those two skills would mean she’d make an additional 150 essence per day.
Insignificant currently but if she took [Well of Constitution] and levelled that skill to level 10, that would multiply her health regen by 5, making it 750.
Her current nominal essence regen was sitting at 3000 per day, so an additional 750 would certainly make an impact.
Furthermore, if there was a similar skill to [Knowable Essence] but for power and constitution, that would mean she could increase her health and consequently, increase her essence regen at the same time.
More and more options were opening up for her as she gained a better and better grasp of the system.
So many synergies. So many cross-interactions.
But all of that was for the future, anyway. She only had one more level in her, and she knew what she was taking for that already.
Time was time, however, and she was getting bored. So far, five out of seven were level 10, with [Cleanse] and [Well of Essence] being the only two that aren’t.
What was intriguing, however, was the number of skills that gave her an option to upgrade or turn into a passive.
Four.
Leech, [Essence Transformer], [Maximise Mastery], and now [Meditate].
Why not [Well of Spirit]? Riza hadn’t the faintest clue; the only guess she had was the inclusion of a ‘passive’ upgrade. [Leech], [Essence Transformer], maximise, and [Meditate] all had to be activated manually so they could be made into a passive ability but [Well of Spirit] was already passive so maybe that precluded the option to upgrade?
A shame. I wouldn’t mind making [Well of Spirit] even stronger.
The day eventually wound to a close, Riza still trapped in the cell, a not-at-all needed downgrade from her previous lodgings.
Thankfully, she wasn’t entirely neglected; they had brought some dinner to her that seemed to be the same sort of stuff as before so at least her food wasn’t changed, though it wasn’t exceptional in the first place. Still beat just unseasoned, cooked meat that she would be eating by herself, though.
The next day couldn’t arrive sooner.
She woke up early, body shivering from coldness, silently cursing the lack of modern insulation in this day and age. Although, even with insulation, these buildings were in such a state of disrepair that she doubted it’d probably do much for some of them.
From there, her time in isolation continued.
It was hard finding things to think about, and the surroundings being so uninspiring certainly didn’t help.
At least, she felt moderately better than she had the day before.
Time had been taken to reflect upon her actions—to look at them through a new light. The emotions were less immediate, less real, in a way. When she thought about her choice to run away, the results-oriented judgement was lesser.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
It still wasn’t the right choice but it was more logical, thinking about it now. She had limited knowledge of this place and that alone should have compelled her to stay but she also lacked information on what would happen if she stayed; there was just no right answer there.
But enough dwelling on the past. She needed to be productive!
Riza even began to exercise in the small cell. It was simple, beginning with stretches to warm up her body and progressing to pushups, sit-ups, and other moves you could perform in a tight space.
The effort tore at her muscles, straining them. The visceral feeling of burning, of tiring out her body, was satisfying.
If yesterday told her anything, it was that she was not fast enough.
Although she didn’t use the skill [Meditate], Riza endeavoured to keep a calm mind, focusing on improving her body—in improving her situation—rather than anything else.
She even managed to get [Cleanse] to level 10.
[Cleanse] [Level up]
[Cleanse] has reached levelled 10.
You can choose to spend a skill point to upgrade the skill or turn the skill into a passive.
Cleanse+
Cleanse an entity from any toxin, disease, contamination, or curse
Casting Time: 10 sec
Cost: 20 es
[Cleanse (Passive)]
You have immunity towards any toxin, disease, or contamination
More to think about. Tasty choices but I don’t think I’ll be taking either unless I run out of options somehow.
Just waiting on you now, [Well of Essence].
Lunch eventually arrived and, with it, came divergence from her routine.
After she had finished eating, around an hour later, a visitor had arrived.
It was the same woman from before—the one who had escorted her to the trial previously. Was this indicative of anything? Was she guarding this jail?
No answers to either of those questions but, dutifully, Riza followed after the woman, but only after a length of cord was tied around Riza’s wrists, firmly securing them behind her back and unusable for most things.
Another house, another room. Much like the first one she was taken to, this place seemed to have been repaired somewhat and was mostly hospitable. Not the same place as she had stayed before but clearly similar—designed to be a house and not much else.
In a way, they resembled Renald’s home, which was a nice bit of familiarity there.
The woman walked inside with her, introducing her to the new character sitting at the desk.
Bits of parchment were set out in front of him, along with a stylus of some kind. Interestingly, no ink.
He wore long, dark robes, the exact hue hard to make out in this light. Gold trim lined the man’s hood, with intricate patterns in gold embellishing the expanses of cloth.
His face had slight wrinkles belying his age. A neat, brown beard gave a certain refinement to his features but his piercing, brown eyes were hard and full of wisdom.
After sitting down, the man introduced himself.
“Hello,” He began, his voice rich and deep. “I am Belfore. My something here has been something from something Andreya in something to something an something. The something has something to something a something for something the something and the something.”
His words were eloquent and clearly practised, making eye contact with both Riza and her escort the entire time.
If only Riza knew what he was saying.
Once he finished, the man visibly shrunk a little, like the words themselves took energy out of him.
Quickly recovering himself, however, he raised his index finger and quickly traced out a pattern, leaving a residual, very faint blue trail after it.
And then, it was gone. Whatever happened, happened, and the blueness had disappeared, Riza uncertain if it was even there in the first place.
“What is your name?” He politely asked.
“Riza,” She answered after a few seconds, not entirely sure whether she could trust this man.
“First, we have to something the something.”
The conversation proceeded much in the same way. The man used words she was wholly unfamiliar with and conversation was, expectedly, rather stilted because of it.
She often didn’t respond or just stared in non-comprehension at him, prompting him to reiterate himself with simpler and simpler vocabulary.
And, sometimes, even that didn’t work when the concepts couldn’t be reduced any further.
His goal, it seemed, at the start was to establish what Riza’s familiarity with the language was. What sounds she knew, words she learnt, and ability to interpret new words from the patterns she had already absorbed.
All were rather limited. Unsurprisingly, her knowledge resembled someone who had only begun to learn about a week ago, and from a non-professional teacher, no less.
A fact that seemed to take Belfore by surprise; he seemed constantly flummoxed by Riza’s linguistic incompetence.
His startled faces and shocked expression were not helping to ease her discomfort. Each time she was asked a question, she winced when answering, not wanting to see however he reacted this time.
After that came something she very much did not expect; he urged her to talk in her own language, English.
She had to confirm it a few times but that was indeed what he was asking her.
And so, she did, to much awkwardness. In a way, it was like talking to herself, and she wasn’t exactly sure what to say.
Stick to the basics. Describe the weather, the way they’re dressed, how she’s feeling. The simplest things you’d learn in a class preparing you to speak another language.
Riza talked quickly and effortlessly, Belfore never telling her to slow down. The words tumbled out like a derailed train, her voice speeding up as there was just something about speaking English that was getting to her.
She could feel her eyes moisten as she spoke, exercising a muscle she hadn’t done so for weeks by now.
With a final intake of breath, she was finished, Belfore listening intently.
Silence reigned for the next few minutes, Riza too tired to speak after fulfilling her weekly quota in a matter of minutes.
Instead of talking some more, the man simply raised his hand, much like before. His finger danced through the air, trailing a much different sigil this time, but with the same blue luminescence behind it, however so faint.
“Hello,” Belfore spoke once more, his voice plaintive and tentative, his hand dropped back down to the table.
Abruptly, Riza half-stood up out of her chair, grasping the table before collecting her nerves. She settled back down, pausing for a few seconds, before responding:
“Hello.”
They were both speaking English.
“I am Belfore,” He continued, repeating his initial speech. “I have been… asked to go here to help.” His voice was stilted, carefully trying to pick out the right words from the assortment in his head.
Is this the [Translation] skill I found? It doesn’t seem perfect, but that may just be because of inexperience.
She couldn’t help it as a slight smile crawled its way onto her face.
And thus, they began to talk in English.
Riza was all too happy to aid in his endeavour, talking about anything and everything that he wanted to while Belfore, unanticipated, talked about anything that wasn’t related to the trial. It seemed, in this moment, he had no other concerns than to learn the language.
And learning the language he did. His proficiency quickly began to skyrocket, pronunciation increasing from unassuming-foreigner level to a near native one, closely mimicking Riza’s own.
His vocabulary rapidly expanded, absorbing her own words and even constructing new ones from the perceived patterns, though they didn’t always turn out correctly. While ‘disrupt’ was a word, ‘rupt’ certainly wasn’t.
They talked for what must’ve been an hour—perhaps more—and Riza was whisked away in a lingual adventure, all worries soothed and thoughts focused on just talking. Her muscles relaxed, mind unwound, and she found herself just enjoying this conversation, no matter how simple, inane, or strange it may have been.
Like exercising a long forgotten muscle, there was a strange pleasure to it.
The conversation eventually shifted towards writing. Parchments were pushed towards Riza, along with the stylus, and she eagerly wrote down the alphabet and a whole bunch of words, after her hands were untied, that is. It took a little bit of convincing from Belfore to her escort but she eventually conceded.
The stylus was both strange and not strange. Just like a pen, an ink flowed from the tip and she could write with familiarity; that itself was something she was used to.
Simultaneously, however, it was that very nature that was so odd; where was the ink coming from? She didn’t have to dip the stylus in any inkwells—which should be expected for the technology level she had observed—and it seemed never ending.
Could it function the same way as a modern pen even without any plastics involved?
Even as her wrist began to hurt, she kept writing, answering whatever questions the man seemed to have.
Was it a strange nationalistic pride that caused her to be so receptive towards teaching someone the language or was it something else?
But, the fun and games couldn’t last forever. It was time to get serious.
Taking out some new, more expensive looking paper, the man cleared away the table, piling the used paper to one side as his face took on a stern look.
“Now, Riza. I need to ask you a few questions.” He began, making a show of holding the stylus to write with.
“Firstly, what is your full name, complete with titles.”
“Riza.”
“Just Riza?” A nod.
“Very well. ” He wrote it down.
“Next, what is your race?”
“Race?” She asked, confusion evident upon her face.
“Yes. Your race,” Belfore confirmed, as if the question was rather simple and not incredibly nuanced.
“White?” She tentatively answered.
“Why do you sound uncertain?” The stylus hovered above the paper, not yet committed.
“What’s your race?”
“Sk-Skaldian,” Belfore answered, quickly figuring out how to translate it to English.
“Human,” Riza changed her answer.
“Your race is ‘human’?” Another nod.
“Your level?”
Riza didn’t answer straight away, taking her time to consider whether this was information she should give.
“Level 7,” She had already told Lefie, so it wasn’t like the information would be completely inaccessible to them without her aid, anyway.
“And skills?” Belfore requested.
Riza frowned, and her silence prompted him to look up from the pages.
“Not going to answer?” She shook her head, affirming him.
“Very well. I can’t force you to answer.” He replied resignedly.
“Now, I need to establish the chronology with you.” He ran through the events since Riza’s first encounter with people from this village on the night of the storm.
He was disturbingly well-informed about these matters; an unknown man of no connection to her knew about her attempts to assist during that fateful night in detail; how she was picked up by a flying monster and eventually tried to use [Cleanse] on a warrior.
After they had gone over everything that had happened thus far, much to Riza’s discomfort with obvious and frequent winces and cringing over recounting her own actions, Belfore set the stylus down.
“I believe we are now finished.” He spoke, a smile on his face. “You have been a tremendous help—more than you can possibly know—and your cooperation will be very useful during the trial. You may leave.” He said the last sentence both to Riza and the escort who Riza had forgotten about. As silent as a statue, she just faded into the background, always out of view.
At the man’s urging, she found herself once more taken out of the room, hands tied up again, and led back to her cell, where she found her dinner waiting for her.
And, thus, another day had passed.