October 22nd, 2023

6:36 PM EST

Alastar

Alastar slept for as long as he could manage. Perhaps that wasn’t the right thing to do, the classical advice of about eight hours a night was drilled into his head over the years. It had taken about an hour to find what he needed, a sleeping bag from the night at the museum events that he could use to sleep. It was relatively comfortable, but sleeping alone in such a large room made him feel lonely. It wasn’t until Vajra curled up next to him and dained to allow him to pet them that he really was able to pass out.

Sleep is a fickle thing, and Alastar knew that he couldn’t sleep forever, but despite waking up repeatedly he kept falling back asleep each time. Until he had slept far longer than 8 hours. Each time he woke up, his time was spent for either a few minutes or a whole hour, but eventually he decided he was done and allowed himself to return to the warm embrace of the sleeping bag.

***

The first time he woke up during that day, he had to pee. Picking up his phone he took it with him and noticed he had a text from Museum Administration.

Boss: Due to the unforeseen and irrefutable events that are happening around the world at this time, the museum is going into lockdown mode. All personnel are instructed to work remotely unless absolutely necessary, and we will minimize contact just as we did during the height of the pandemic. To all personnel currently at the museum, please keep the museum on lockdown until further notice, and do not open today. Thank you!

Well, that was probably the best situation for him, and it also made things simple. All he had to do was leave the gates locked which he had. As he read this his last few drops of pee dropped and he made sure he was finished before going to wash his hands. Back in the bed, Vajra had taken up a place inside his sleeping bag. Alastar ignored the little fox as he rejoined it, cuddling in the warmth.

***

The second interruption to Alastar’s sleep came in the form of a sudden and thorough awakening. It was something within his dream, a loud or scary moment that caused him to feel the adrenaline and wake up with such a sudden movement. Vajra stirred but seemed to ignore him. Or perhaps they knew what they were doing, because slowly Alastar felt soothed by the fox’s presence and he returned to sleep. The warmth and closeness was something that he really needed at that moment. The situation had made fear so easy to fall to, and the warmth of someone else was intoxicating.

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The young archive worker was able to get back from that fear, the adrenaline, but not so easily able to fall back asleep. With a quiet resignation he opened one of the things he’d almost forgotten about. His first reward, the weapon manual. It was dirty. An old leather bound journal that looked like the grail journal from Indiana Jones, all wrapped in a leather cord to keep it closed. The book was scratched, both lightly and more deeply by what seemed to be some form of knife cut. There were a couple small stains on the item, and Alastar wasn’t sure if they were as innocuous as coffee stains or as intense as bloodstains, being far too old to be able to smell their contents.

Unwrapping the journal, which took a minute due to how much of the cord was there and how tangled it had gotten over the years, Alastar opened it. The paper inside was rough and cream, looking like the recycled paper that he’d sometimes seen at higher end stationary locations. It was rough, but hand made in a way that made it strong enough to hold up to abuse. Inside the first page, were a set of words that Alastar felt were somehow profound.

The Way of the Knife-Sharp Puukko

A musing on the philosophy of knives and knife-fighting in the system.

Alastar read those words, feeling like the protagonist of some Chinese Web Novel finding the profound words of an ancient master. A part of him said these words would echo for the rest of his life, but he pushed that part aside, knowing that it wasn’t worth considering yet. He turned to the second page.

No person in a knife fight gets out unscathed. The winner is determined by being the guy who has taken the least damage, or inflicted the most, depending on who you ask. If you want to really fuck your opponent up, get them to fight you in a traditional knife fight. Sure, you will take just as many injuries, but they may even be crippled.

Those weren't the profound words of some Dao master, or at least they weren't the kind of profound words that a Dao master would say when the book was playing the trope straight. There were several books that took the concepts of the Dao and hidden masters and used them as a joke, but Alastar had hoped he’d been in a less irreverent story. “What does this even mean.” he muttered to himself, staring at the words. As he stared, it almost felt like the ink was moving.

Perhaps he really was tired, because as he lay in his bed he watched the words move around like the depictions of dyslexia in fiction the letters almost seemed to float, blending together. They had appeared to him as English words, but as his eyes unfocused they transformed into an odd script that looked more like a combination of Arabic and Chinese. The flowing letters almost looked like pictograms, transforming into a scene out of a beautiful picture. Alastar felt drawn in, and slowly he fell back asleep.

***

The third time Alastar woke up it was a bit more urgent. It was due to being prodded in the face with a stick. Getting up he found himself not in his comfy sleeping bag, nor in the large confines of the museum. Instead, as he looked around he found himself in the clearing of a forest. There were brown leaves on the ground from the fall, and an old man sitting on a log next to a fire.

The old man restricted his stick, and returned to poking the fire instead of him. “About time, boy.” The old man said, a grumpy look on his face. “I thought you would sleep through your entire lesson.