Small dogs had big dreams. Isaac was certain of it. Fluffkins was excitedly zooming here and there as if this was the first time he’d seen a plant, a dead mussel, or sand.

“Will you stop tugging!?” He was a five kilo dog that pulled like he weighed forty and didn’t care that he was digging furrows in the ground and sanding down Isaac’s shoes.

Finally, after what felt like a torturous mile, the terrier stopped. He sniffed a particularly leafy plant, then marked it, before turning to bark at the beach.

Oh thank gods he didn’t decide to start chasing waves. I don’t think he’d do well after a ten meter drop.

Still panting, Isaac looked around, and slowly but surely recognized the place Fluffkins had dragged him to. They were at the edge of the steep end of Seagull Island, just a few steps below the old castle ruins, a favorite hiding spot of every orphan. He’d likely meet one or two milling about since it was still an hour or two until dinnertime, but Isaac wasn’t feeling much for company right now.

The dog was growling. He probably didn’t like the smell of dead algae coming up from the seaside.

“Come on,” Isaac said to the little yapper. “Let’s go down.”

Fluffkins followed after a few gentle tugs.

How unusually cooperative. I should give him another treat.

He breathed in, breathed out. The essence cycling through his body felt cool and warm. He knew what to do with it and he could feel it changing him already, but to truly break through to Tier 1, he’d need someplace more relaxed. And he knew just the place.

Down past the old castle ruins, where the cliffside part of the island tapered into stoney beaches and yellowed weeds, there was a spot of land that jutted out further into the water than anywhere on seagull island. It looked as if a giant had found some pebbles and ordered them in a crescent of rocks, one side spraying with sea-foam, the other lapped by gentle waters in a small protected lagoon. An ancient, wind-swept tree hung protectively over it, fibrous bark carpeting the otherwise coarse rock.

It was the kind of place Isaac looked for when he was feeling down. A place where no one could hear him yell and get all the piled-up tension out of his system.

When they had told Hammond after first discovering it, he had promptly begun fishing from right that place. The others had thought it boring, but Isaac discovered that he had a knack for tying knots, and all things fishy. The hardest fish he had ever caught without help was a twenty centimeter Tier 2 toxic bastard fish, which had felt like wrestling with a bullet.

“Talk about bad luck,” Hammond had said. “He’s got pretty stripes. You don’t have to guess why we can’t eat these.”

“What’s a bastard?”

“... It’s a bad word. And whoever discovered this little bugger here had good reason for calling it names. A poor set of circumstances for the fish as well; it’s delicious, supposedly the best thing around, but it can’t help that it’s poisonous to the bone.”

Guess the water was full of bad luck that day, since I caught three of them in a row, Isaac thought as he sorted through a sizable trunk that was hidden a few steps inland in case of storms, filled with tackles, old newspapers, and disassembled fishing rods. Taking a bit of everything, he went to grab a fold-out chair and plopped himself down on his favorite spot at the tip of the stone front.

Fluffkins was silent, pattering around the rocky coast and failing to find any path that was good enough for his short little feet. He turned and just stared at Isaac.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna toss you in. Against my better judgment.”

He unpacked a particularly old loaf that Claire had managed to partially carbonize, broke some off, and tossed it into the lagoon.

“Hey, it’s me. So, what now?”

A small silver fish nipped at the floating bread, then two, then more. There was no answer. Nobody was here, he had made doubly sure. It wasn’t like he was embarrassed because he wanted to believe in Maerdon, or Annaiad, or any number of other deities Claire had taught them about in merkin history class. She wasn’t all too religious, just an ‘opportunistic believer’ who didn’t think that half of the merpeople pantheon was actually real, and was certain that not one she did believe in was anywhere near omnipotent.

It was certainly more interesting than the popular mainland religion, which was quite open about their god not being a real thing, that he was just an idea, a force, or an ideal. And Isaac rather preferred things he could touch.

Over the course of his life, the word ‘coincidence’ had fallen one time too many times. As he had been saved from water not once, but twice, Isaac found that if there was some connection to it all, he was going to find it. Which was pretty hard if you didn’t want to swim in the water at all, so he’d defaulted to offering bread to anyone or anything willing to listen.

Another piece of bread hit the water. The silver fish dispersed as a red-tailed something-or-other the size of Isaac’s chest moseyed over. Over the last two weeks it had become a regular, andIsaac decided to call it Lug. Lug, of course, didn’t answer either as he waited for the next char-flavored snack.

“Sophia could likely make it anywhere, even become famous as a delver, though she’d never want that. Zach is going to make it big. He’s gonna study at Deichford University, probably become someone important, like a doctor, a lawyer, maybe go into politics and become governor. And me?”

Lug gulped again. Slurped up in one smooth motion.

“I’m talking to fish about problems no one can solve. Or can they? If you’re listening, give me a sign.” He shouldn’t have been expecting much. But in the silence, a last bit of hope died somewhere inside him. He could feel the anger burn his eyes until they were wet. “What do I have to offer for a chance? To not become a leech, become worse than useless? Tell me and I’ll give it to you!”

Get it together. You’re not five anymore.

Lug swished his tail, making another lazy half circle.

I bet he loves my naivete. ‘Here comes mister food-dispenser, he’s alright for a human, if you can ignore his whining.’

“Hoi!” someone yelled and Isaac nearly jumped out of his chair. “Y watu s’pekk?”

There was a person in the water, swimming right along all the bastardfish, veiled fans, and little gobblers. Even the most cantankerous of them didn’t register his presence as they lazily swam around him, as if he was just some wooden stake instead of soft meat they might want to nibble at. He had large green eyes, webbed hands around a barbed spear, and an off-purple skin tone.

It was a merfolk. Fluffkins, surprisingly, did not bark at him like he did with Claire, instead electing to stare in silence.

He was talking in merspeak. P’cleek was in fact made up of two spoken languages, one for speaking underwater, one for speaking on land. And Isaac, for all his proximity to Claire and her lessons, hadn’t paid quite enough attention to understand what exactly he was saying, especially since he was using a vocal range that didn’t quite hit a human’s audible spectrum.

“What?” Isaac asked. “Sorry, Standard? Do you speak it?”

The merman made a variety of odd click and bark noises, all while repeating one word over and over. “Watu, wa-too, watouh!”

“Uhh, one second.” He took his brick, frantically flicking past a video, a settings menu, and a picture of Claire standing thumbs-up next to a very large, and very dead lizard and wearing the biggest smile he had ever seen on her. After an agonizingly awkward few minutes, he finally found the translation function.

Please tell me you have a two-way translation for standard into underwater languages that are being butchered through talking on land.

A little speaker-symbol lit up and Isaac tried “Hello? Can you understand me?”

The brick bleeped, then spat out a choppy mix of clicks, whines, bloops, pops, and barks. The merman answered in turn, and the brick spat out the same in clipped standard.

“Yes, hello flattooth (derogatory), if you could stop <> from our <>, I’d be much obliged.”

The translation was using two voices, one for what he was saying, and a higher-pitched one for explanations, turns of phrase, or concepts that required explaining more than just translation.

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He blinked, trying to wrap his head around everything.

“That’s a rather rude way of greeting someone,” finally he said.

“My apologies milord, for <>.” He (or maybe she) didn’t sound sorry at all. “Allow me to elucidate: You’re feeding my <> with bread. He’s on a <>.”

“Oh.” His pet is on a diet, Isaac thought as he gave the merperson a once over. He was being sarcastic and annoyed for a good reason then, but he’s not really angry. I think that smile is supposed to be friendly. Could’ve fooled me.

The merfolk’s nictitating membranes were drawn lazily over half his eyes, an indication for a sort of… half-aware disinterest, or boredom. Isaac only knew that because it was how Claire looked whenever Hammond forced her to do their taxes.

“And if you feed fish too much bread, it’ll expand their <> until they pop.”

“Oh…”

Oh gods, he thought, looking between his quarter loaf and the chunky fish eagerly circling for more. I killed so many fish. I’m sorry, fish. The bread wasn’t even meant for you.

Isaac’s mind caught up with him as he bit into a charcoal-flavored chunk. This was a merfolk, the first he’d even seen since, well, since Claire. They lived underwater, everyone else lived on land, and if it weren’t for diving tourism or noise complaints, the two societies would have never interacted.

It was a great opportunity to learn a bit about people like Claire, and forget the worries of the day, if only for a bit.

“Did you say familiar?,” Isaac asked. “Actually, what’s your name? And does he know any tricks?”

The merperson blinked, slowly. “I am Ortho’Wuur. I come from Twofold-Spires-under-the-Sea. And yes, Piglo listens to my command-questions. I bought his egg from an impoverished delver who’d rather have money than a <>.”

So, his name was Piglo, and Ortho’Wuur had gotten him from a rift. It must have cost him a truckload of gups, since the low-tier rifts of Wett only spat out loot that wasn’t just a few mana crystals every couple dozen delves or so. It was gambling, except the stake was always your life.

Isaac was about to ask exactly how much the egg of a dungeon critter was worth when he was promptly cut off.

“I’m Isaac. I live in Claire’s orphanage.”

“Ah. Now I am <>. Taking turns, yes? Why are you <> on the land-hill? Have you had <> with your pod?”

He shook his head. “I’m just having a… bad day.”

“Is it Revelation Day? Ah, my condolences.” He bowed until his head was under water and Isaac had to swallow a snort at the theatrics. “Though, you ought to stay close to your kin. <>. <>. <>.”

Isaac squinted. Was he being reprimanded now? Isaac knew merpeople tended to their young in big groups, so maybe when Ortho’Wuur saw crying kid, he went straight into dad mode?

That brought up another question.

“Are you a guy or a girl? Sorry, I can’t quite tell.” Claire had never quite explained the anatomical difference between her people. They were rather androgynous, and hard to tell apart even while seeing their entire body.

“Easy. I am a man. This is because you can’t see my swim bladders.”

“What?” The Merman made a cupping gesture around his chest, prompting Isaac to flush red.

Ortho’Wuur grinned like a shark. “Gods, you’re <>. Old Merfolk joke. Say, do you know where I can find an esteemed merwoman of great power and greater renown called Claar’Rhileigh? Are you maybe one of <>?”

Isaac nodded, carefully. “She goes by Claire, nowadays.”

“Claire.” He said the name with a harsh clack on the first syllable as he played with the word like some piece of overly chewy gum. “Well, far from me to judge her for taking a land-name. Can you tell me where to find her, little <>?”

Truth be told, Isaac had almost asked if he was looking for her. He hadn’t meant to be presumptuous or rude, but there were no large merfolk settlements nearby, and it was infinitely more unlikely that he had come for anyone else. Merfolk and land dweller society were so isolated due to the simple fact that most of the latter could breathe water for exactly ten seconds before asphyxiating, while the former needed a lot of physical therapy, training, or be higher up the tiers for their muscles to even allow them to walk upright on land.

Ortho’Wuur was standing just far enough in the shallows that only the tips of his toes were touching the reef below. He did not look too poorly built. He was long and lithely muscled, and his chin a touch too sharp.

“I could go fetch her, or you’ll have to come on land for that.” Isaac looked at his spear. The barbs were rather wicked. “You from her pod?”

“For now, I am just a… a messenger.” He climbed out of the water, and though he tried to make it look casual, it was rather obvious that he was straining to walk bow-legged. “My warnings are not just hot water, o’ <> Isaac. It is always a tragedy when a pod grows tighter through absence.”

He took a few steps, frowning at the sand sticking to his feet, when he paused.

“Your familiar has quite the good nose, I can tell. He yaps quite fiercely. A pity he cannot discern the ocean’s <> from its <>.”

“He’s not my familiar.” And he wasn’t barking right this moment,

“It is a mountain, a shiny bauble a… a great fire to burn yourself at.” Ortho’Wuur nodded towards where the coast grew tall with cliffs. “If you have the need, or feel your <> shrinking, may well test your luck.”

Isaac was squinting at his receding back when he was nearly barreled over by a red fish that was actually a lot bigger than just his chest. It slapped him with its tail, jumping a neat arc before landing beside the merman, where it swam through the air not much differently than it had through the water.

“Piglo!” Its tail wagged like a dog when he scratched it on its underside. Only then did Isaac notice that he was missing the rest of his bread, and he had to bite back a choice few scathing insults.

Well, if you want your stomach to explode, be my guest.

When the merman had finally gone, Isaac realized he had run out of things to yell at the ocean. He wasn’t in the mood to do much of anything besides sit and lounge in his chair and churn essence anyways. He watched Fluffkins paddle through the water, excitedly chasing after terrified fishes. Then his gaze rose to where the beach turned into a cliff.

It’s probably nothing. But maybe — maybe I should look. Just in case.

+++

A fire to burn myself at. Sounds pretty ominous. I hope it’s not a chemical fire.

Strange mermen coming ashore and talking in machine-translated, broken standard were not a reliable source of information. Isaac thought so at least. And yet, Ortho’Wuur was right: The little off-purple bullet known as Fluffkins knew very well what it didn’t want. Which was why he was leashed to a tree, where he could bark until he went hoarse while Isaac proceeded to make a complete fool of himself.

“This is such a stupid idea,” he mumbled as he climbed along the cliff face.

The wind was picking up. Every splash of the waves was drizzling him with foamy spume. The sea smelled rank.

He grabbed onto a piece of boulder that wasn’t completely covered in clams and barnacles, then used the leverage to pull himself onto the next foothold. His flip-flops were now definitely torn to bits, and he’d likely need to get new ones when he came back.

But Ortho’Wuurs last words were still fresh in his mind.

“A pity, really,” he grumped. “Would’ve been great if dogs came with a built in treasure-sense. But hey, maybe there is something dangerous here, like a washed-ashore chemical barrel, or a bomb. I’m sure Hammond would love to know all about it.”

Was it worth risking a fall into a reef full of critters that only might try to bite him if he bumped into them, looked at them funny, or was wearing the wrong colored pants? Probably not.

There was nothing here anyways, just rocks and clams and dead crabs..

Unexpectedly, he had found a silver lining. His mind was set; tomorrow, he would go through all of the fliers left in the white tent, and on the weekend, he’d visit the job-fair in Pirth. Then, he would take some time to pore over his career choices — it likely wouldn’t take long — and submit his application to do some part-time work at a local diner or something while he pushed himself through the necessary higher education. Assuming of course they still accepted him, because Isaac was fairly poor in academics. And then there was the whole ‘why teach a metalsmith who can’t [Bash], [Cool], or [Refine metal]’ issue.

That way, he could tell Sophia and Zach that he did have a plan, that they could stop worrying about him.Maybe he would still get a scholarship, and trailblaze new and awesome builds to revolutionize pok-ball. But he shouldn’t bet on that when the university hadn’t gotten back to him in months.

I should look into trades that don’t focus on tools and shortcuts. The skill catalog wasn’t that thick, there can’t be a skill combo for everything.

As per the adventurer that had made the news last week by completing Wett’s largest rift in record time with nothing but a variant of [Smokescreen]: “Any skill can be made to do anything.” However, that ignored all the effort involved in turning [Smokescreen], a niche utility skill favored by skirmishers, into a lethal weapon.

And he was an adventurer. Adventurers didn’t count. They flew across the empire in spaceships just to help someone’s cat who was stuck in a palm tree. He probably had three dozen magical items that made his [Smokescreen] give rift monster ultra-cancer or something.

Isaac moved forward. His next grab slipped off the rock, and he nearly splashed into the water as well. It was useless. Ortho’Wuur had had another joke at his expense. Maybe Isaac was at the wrong spot. Maybe hoping that today was not a bad luck day was just as much wishful thinking as the build-lists and great adventures Sophia, Zach, and him had scribbled onto paper when they were younger.

The hand he was using to steady himself was burning from all the minor cuts and exertion, and he found a nook in the stone wall he could rest against. But when he touched the sea-drenched stone, he was surprised to find it hot.

This nook shouldn’t have been hot. The sun was well past giving this spot any light since morning, and the water would have sapped whatever heat remained within minutes.

Curious, he pulled and prodded at the chest-sized rock until it was no longer wedged in between two larger boulders. It landed in the water with a heavy ca-thunk, and as Isaac stared into the murky black behind, his heart skipped at the sight of a distortion churning through air and water.

It was a rift.