Dyani didn’t remember what class she’d been in. She didn’t remember anything about that day before her mother had come to pick her up. Back then they’d had the money to hire a carriage, and they’d taken the fastest one they could find. When they’d reached the guild hall, every face was grim.

While fighting monsters was the most dangerous job she knew of, actual deaths were far less common than career ending injuries. She remembered that no one at the guild would meet her eyes. Her father’s actual team had been worse. She didn’t remember their names, except for Kemo Frostblade after her visit to cleanse and heal her, but their faces in that moment were branded into her memory.

Their healer, Kemo, was shaking with cold fury. Their frontline fighter, a man in dark plate armor, cried like a babe. And their youngest member, some kind of ranged attacker, was in shock, face blank and eyes hollow. She’d felt much the same. Nothing had felt entirely real as she floated along just like her mother.

“They gave me the ashes and I thanked them,” Nymin laughed, but there was no humor in it, “I thanked them for Rotto’s death. I should’ve screamed, but I still couldn’t believe it was really happening.”

Dyani suddenly understood.

“That’s why you never opened it.”

Her mother curled into an even tighter ball, and the ice in Dyani’s heart cracked. She moved to sit beside her mother, wishing she could hug her, take her hand, anything, but all she could do was sit beside her.

Dyani resolved to set aside her profits from her excursions. This was no way to live, inches apart but unable to touch. Once she sold the skill core from the Plover Moss, they would have enough to live on for months, and certainly enough for her mother to use it to give Dyani a hug.

“I didn’t want it to be real,” Nymin whispered, “I told myself they could be anyone’s ashes. They could be ashes from a campfire for all I knew. The guild could be lying, or maybe tricked with illusions or mind magic. There were a hundred explanations for how he might still be alive.”

Dyani couldn’t think of anything to say that would make things better, so she just waited.

“But he never came back. That was the one thing I knew he would do. He would come back. Even if someone took him, imprisoned him, bribed him, did anything short of killing him. Even if he didn’t love me anymore, didn’t want to see me, he’d come back for you.”

Dyani wanted to protest, but there wasn’t any air in her lungs.

Her mother finally reached out and embraced her, tighter than she had in years. Dyani didn’t know how much mana she was using, and she didn’t care, she just hugged her mom back, tears dripping down both their faces.

“He loved you so much. His team complained about how much he talked about you, dreamed about the amazing woman you’d grow up to be. He told me just as many stories about your future as he told you about his adventures.”

“He loved you too,” Dyani said, finally managing to speak.

“I know acorn, I know,” her mother said, her form growing less solid as the faint blue light she always emitted flickered and went dim.

“Mom?!”

“I’m fine, acorn, just running low.”

Dyani stood to retrieve some notes, but her mother stopped her.

“It’s alright Dyani, I’m not in any danger. Besides, I think it’s finally time for your father’s birthday gift. I know it’s late, but somehow opening it now that you’re an adult feels right.”

Dyani hesitantly took the knife from her belt and stared at her reflection in the blade.

“Are you sure you’re ready? We don’t have to do this now.”

“I’m ready,” her mother replied, “I can’t keep lying to myself, to us. That hope has cost me as much as the grief.”

Dyani clenched her right hand around the knife until it stopped shaking and pressed the tip to a finger. Blood welled from the tiny cut and she turned her hand so a drop fell onto the Death Chest.

For a moment nothing happened, then the wood greedily drank in the blood, leaving no trace behind. The red runes flashed and faded to dull brown and red smoke puffed from the edges of the box, revealing a seam.

Dyani wiped her knife on her shirt and returned it to the sheath on her belt and put her injured finger in her mouth. With the other hand, she lifted the lid.

There weren’t any hinges. The entire panel was lifted away and put aside as the pair of them gazed at the contents.

Inside was a chunk of uneven, multicolored crystal, a piece of chest armor made of reddish wood, and a sealed envelope.

Her mother waved for Dyani to take the items. She took out the envelope first, hands trembling as she used her knife to open it and pulled out a small picture and a letter. Her mother floated beside her so they could read together.

To Nymin and Dyani Farlight,

I love you more than anything my Wisp and little Acorn.

No need to mourn over me. Hopefully you’ll never read this, but it would be really embarrassing if I died and the guild had to tell you I didn’t bother preparing anything.

Everything should be prepared for you to live in comfort for the rest of your life in my family’s estates. Restrain yourselves from killing my mom, Nymin, no matter how frustrating she gets.

I’ve left something specifically for you, Acorn.

This cuirass evolved into an artifact during a tough battle with a Morphos Djinn, who (unfortunately for a fire user like me) transmuted it into living wood. Artifacts can be tricky to use, but they grow with you, so it’s best to bind them young.

No pressure to use it if you turn out with a fire talent like me, or something else problematic.

Can’t write more, since the team’s ready to leave to fight some big vine monster, so I’ll add more later. Eventually I’ll manage to convince them that there’s more to life than running from fight to fight.

-Rotto.

PS: Dyani, Read your favorite book one more time for me. Even that part that you hate can teach you a bit about how the world really is.

While Nymin was shaking with silent sobs, Dyani’s face was scrunched with confusion. She didn’t have anything written from her dad. He didn’t keep a journal that she knew about or send them letters when he was alive. But the cadence of the letter felt awkward, like it had been translated back and forth from a dozen different languages.

And the part about her favorite book was unusual. Her current favorite was the one she recommended to Hoss, The Last Stand at Iron Gate. But she hadn’t read that until after her father’s death. This box had been waiting unopened for so long, that she couldn’t remember what would’ve been her favorite when the letter inside was written. She hoped it wasn’t too much before his death, but maybe he’d forgotten about updating it for years.

After all, he hadn’t expected to die.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Her mother stroked fingers through the page, right where it mentioned living comfortably with her dad’s family. Dyani wanted to crumble the letter at the thought of them.

Rotomin’s family, the affluent Archweavers, had never approved of her mother, and by extension, Dyani. The rift in her father’s relationship with his family predated their marriage, evidenced by him taking the new surname of Farlight, but it had been the final straw.

Whatever arrangements Rotomin had made with them had disintegrated the moment he died, which enraged her more on her father’s behalf than her own. Dyani had never had a lot of family, just her mother and father, but the thought of lying right to your son’s face about taking care of his widow and child if he died was a poison more insidious than any spore.

“Why don’t you look at what your father left you, Acorn.” Nymin had clearly noticed Dyani’s anger and was trying to distract her.

It worked. Dyani pinned the letter to her mother’s board of information, moving several less important items to give it pride of place. She glanced at a wooden disc on a ribbon, carved with red runes that looked suspiciously familiar to those on the chest she’d just opened.

“Thank you, Dyani. You’re a good girl.”

Dyani looked back to the letter, once again puzzled by the awkwardness of the writing.

“Did dad have a journal? Or did he ever send us letters?”

“I’m sorry, Acorn. He didn’t need to send us letters. He was rarely gone for more than a couple days. As for a journal…” She looked around the room before floating over and indicating a small black book, about the size of her palm. “It’s not exactly a journal. Your father wrote about the monsters he fought in here. I’ve never liked hearing about all those horrible creatures, but maybe you will.”

Dyani picked it up eagerly. The pages looked ordinary, but felt strangely cool and smooth, as if they were made of very thin metal instead of paper. As she flipped through, she saw cramped writing surrounding drawings of different creatures, though they were absolutely terrible. The Wind Drake looked more like a meatball with wings.

“Just be careful with it, no dropping it in toxic puddles or getting it filled with mutated moss,” Nymin considered for a moment, “In fact, let’s just keep it in the house.”

Dyani nodded as she kept flipping through pages, but she eventually set it aside to examine later.

The items her father had left her were more important.

She wanted to examine the artifact armor first, but she felt compelled to check the crystal. If it was what she thought, she didn’t know if she wanted to cry, laugh or vomit.

She only noticed the two identification cards after picking up the crystal. They were handwritten instead of magically typed, but they held the same kind of information as the magical placards from Hoss’s shop.

* Interface (Uncommon)

* Level: 1

* Condition: Acceptable (Incomplete)

* Description: A complex device created by a logomancer from solidified mana and anima. When absorbed into the spirit, this device strengthens the connection between the spirit and mind and can mimic the functions of compatible Mind-type skills, though at a lower level. Due to extensive damage from the death of a previous user, this interface has cannibalized several skill functions to return a usable state. The seeds of these skill functions remain, and this device may be set to absorb incoming experience from its user to attempt reconstruction. Reconstructed skills have a high probability of deviation from standard skill functions. This interface has a limited Growth attribute, dependent on user level and Mind attribute. All growth has been suspended until incomplete skill seeds are reconstructed or discarded.

* Attributes:

* Soulbound (Mind Attribute)

* Self Repair (Limited)

* Growth (Limited)

* Skill Mimicry:

* Evaluate (Self)

* Identification Database

* Messaging

* Skill Seed (0%)

* Skill Seed (0%)

Dyani was right, and vomiting really did feel like the right response.

“It’s dad’s interface.”

Her mother gasped, covering her mouth, but when Dyani looked over, she was smiling, happy tears falling down her face before turning to smoke.

“Mom? Are you alright?”

Nymin nodded, but was too overcome with emotion to speak for a few moments.

“Dyani, I didn’t want to worry you, but now that everything’s okay…” She shook her head to gather her thoughts.

“Mom, you’re freaking me out.”

“This is a good thing, Acorn. The city lord has done a lot to support children and their parents, but after you got your talent, you became a legal adult. We no longer receive the monthly living allowance. I’ve been trying to make it work, pulling extra hours at work-”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dyani said, “I could’ve gotten a job. I could’ve helped. I can still help.”

Her mother hesitated before answering.

“You were so upset about your talent, then you wanted an apprenticeship to gain experience. I offered you the job at the recycling plant, but I know it’s a difficult time for you. I didn’t want to push.”

A wave of guilt washed over Dyani, then she realized the implications of their financial situation and her mother’s decision to open the Death Chest.

“You aren’t planning to sell these, are you?”

Nymin refused to meet her eyes. Dyani panicked. Not only would these items be invaluable to her when she became a Slayer, they were the last things she had from her father. The interface had been bound to his very soul. Selling it would be like selling bits off his corpse.

“Mom, I have a job, I have money. I would’ve given it to you if I’d known we needed it.”

Nymin looked at her skeptically.

“Dyani, I understand you’re upset, but you shouldn’t lie.”

“It isn’t a lie.”

It was, in fact, a lie. But she did have funds from selling monster bits and whatever else she found during her daily exploration of the sewers.

“Just wait here.”

Dyani ran to her room and retrieved the old tin candy box where she kept her small stash of notes. When she returned, her mother was reading the interface’s identification card from where it had fallen to the floor.

“Here.” Dyani opened the box and shoved it towards her mother. “I know it’s not a lot, but I can get more.”

“Dyani, where did you get this?” her mother asked, deadly serious.

“I told you, I got a job,” Dyani said, searching for a believable lie, “That’s where I’ve been going everyday. I just didn’t want to tell you. I was embarrassed, since it’s not anything where I get experience.”

“And where exactly is this job? You haven’t gotten in with any of the Root Gangs have you? Whatever they tell you, what they trade in isn’t legal. And selling it will get you into real trouble.”

“I’m not selling drugs, mom. I’m not an idiot.” Dyani had briefly considered selling one of the less offensive drugs that alchemists made from the more toxic species in the Mountain Oak’s ecosystem, but she knew nothing about which local gangs were reputable and which would string her up for approaching them.

“Then what? That’s more notes than you’d make at the job I found you at the plant.”

Dyani's brain finally snagged on a believable lie.

“I work at a shop, Hoss’s Pawn.”

“Really?” Her mother was obviously still suspicious, “And what do you do at this shop?”

“A little bit of everything. Clean up the place, move stuff around, talk to customers. Hoss does the item identifications and buys items though, since he has the skill for it.”

“Well, I want to meet this Hoss of yours. You’re a good girl, but there are dangerous people in the world.”

“They’re closed!”

“That’s alright, Acorn. We can go in the morning, before work. What time do they open?”

Dyani didn’t know the exact time, but the shop was always open when she went in the morning to sell the previous night’s haul.

“They’re open early. You can meet me there.”

“No, I think I’ll walk with you. You’ll need to show me where it is.”

“Of course, that’s perfect.”

It was not perfect. Her only chance to pull this off was if she convinced Hoss back up her story. She would have to wake up extremely early, run to the shop, convince him, and run back home without her mother noticing.

“Does this mean we can keep what dad left us?”

Nymin’s brow pinched in worry, but eventually nodded.

“If I think your job is safe and if we make enough to get by.”

Dyani smiled and picked up the interface, clutching it to her chest.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” her mother warned, “I have no idea how interfaces work, and with how damaged it is, we’ll need to get it examined by a logomancer to make sure it’s safe to use. It may cost more to fix and install than it’s worth.”

“What’s a logomancer?” Dyani had heard of many types of enchanters, like runecrafters, artificers, or, weavers, but not these.

“I don’t know much about them, except that they’re the only enchanters that can make interfaces. I think they specialize in mental enchantments.”

That sounded expensive. She didn’t know of anyone who regularly used interfaces besides Slayers, who usually had plenty of money from monster loot. She hoped her father’s interface wouldn’t require repair, because there was no way she could afford it, even with her ‘job’.

Maybe Hoss could tell her more, if he didn’t ban her from his shop for lying about being his employee.