83. Questions and Answers

The commentator’s booth stood exactly as it had been left, its simple wooden structure appearing plain and mundane against the blurred backdrop of the Old Lands sky. It was solidly on the ground this time, no pillar in sight. The earth was a simple flat plain, though there were no grasses to cover the soil here. Isaac assumed the continuous rising and falling had reduced any former vegetation in the area to dust.

Tightening his grip on the tablet, he stepped forward, ducking under the low pseudo roof.

“Aw, look who’s back,” a familiar voice drawled.

Fable was sitting at their usual seat, chair tilted half off the ground and legs draped casually over the table. Their scarf pooled on the ground, and Isaac wondered not for the first time how the fabric could possibly still be so bright when the other Traveler seemed to have such little care for preserving it.

Isaac’s eyes instinctively drifted over to their hands, currently placed casually behind their head and partially obstructed, only a few hints of red gloves visible. He frowned.

“You moved Seaton to the healing area.” It wasn’t a question.

Fable snorted, chuckling like Isaac had said some exceptionally amusing joke. “No duh,” they said. “Not like there’s that many people with golden magic.” They flicked at their hat and grinned. “I’ll take that as a thank you.”

“Why?”

Fable raised an eyebrow. “You gotta be more specific than that, dude.”

Isaac sighed and, after a moment of hesitation, took a seat in the other chair. He forced his shoulders to relax. They’re trying to get under your nerves, he told himself. The constant poking and prodding, the attempts to ruffle anyone unfortunate enough to speak with them—all of those allowed Fable to set the pace of conversations, he realized. He tensed; he couldn’t afford to let himself get riled up right now, not when he needed answers.

“Look, Fable,” he grit out. “I know it must be physically painful for you to not be an asshole, but I have some questions and you’re probably the only one who can answer them.” He forced his shoulders to relax and attempted to pull up memories of that feeling of relief when it turned out Olzu was alright, or the more complicated but still undeniable hope when Seaton had disappeared from the platform.

“Thank you,” he said, and the words were sincere. “For both Seaton and Olzu.”

Fable raised an eyebrow, but didn’t immediately respond with their usual quips, so Isaac continued speaking before they got a chance to.

“I was thinking, earlier, and realized I don’t know much about how the system works.” His eyes drifted down to the blank tablet, then back up. He took a deep breath. “Just now, with Seaton, is that how it always is? That…rotting?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Fable hummed, twisting their scarf casually. They pointed at their left hand, though the fact that it was covered with their glove made it impossible to see what they were referring to. “It starts at the tattoo and just kind of grows out from there. Looks a little different on different species, but yeah, it’s always some sort of decay.” They wiggled their fingers. “Obviously if someone’s got no hands, the tattoo moves somewhere else. It doesn’t do anything as long as no one’s attacking with killing or harming intent though. Just a neat little decoration.”

Isaac furrowed his brow. “Does it just. Happen automatically?”

Fable fixed Isaac with a stare that managed to both be relaxed and yet piercing at the same time. Isaac’s eyes darted away before he could help it; even partially obscured by sunglasses, he couldn’t shake the feeling that those eyes were looking straight through him.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Ah, so that’s how it is,” Fable said, smiling with satisfaction. Their chair hit the ground again and they leaned forward, resting their head on a hand. “Lilith doesn’t sit there and manually kill system breakers, no.”

Isaac’s shoulders slumped forward in relief. He rubbed his forehead, acutely aware of the headache that had been growing since the abrupt end of the match. Maybe it didn’t actually make that much of a difference, but knowing the god wasn’t actively choosing to rot away system breakers eased a weight that he hadn’t realized had grown so heavy.

A new thought entered his mind. “Can she choose to stop the rot after it starts?”

“Eh, theoretically yeah.” Fable snorted. “The rot’s kind of hard to get rid of once it starts, though. It spreads on its own, so she’d have to pause the system before the violation and, well, that’s kind of hard to predict.” They shrugged.

Isaac furrowed his brow. “Earlier, Rosalinde said the rot was moving slower than usual. That it was weaker. If that wasn’t Lilith, then why would that happen?”

Fable was quiet for a few moments, a rare instance where no grin was visible on their face. They hummed in thought, eyes drifting to face the center, where the distant ongoing match was barely visible.

“Well,” they finally said, “I’ve got a guess, but she’d probably get mad if I told you.” They raised an eyebrow. “You’ve sure got a lot of questions.”

“I’m just a little…uneasy, that’s all.”

That was a simple way to put it. He couldn’t get the memory of the scream out of his head. Once the overlapped memories of flashing red lights, a speeding truck, and Lloyd were peeled away, it left the growing horror of watching the merfolk slowly rot away in the center of the platform. He swallowed and schooled his features, but judging by the sharp look in Fable’s eyes, they’d already noticed.

“Huh, that’s bugging you more than I thought it would. You didn’t know that merfolk, Samson or whatever, that well, right?”

Isaac frowned. “Seaton,” he corrected. “And just because I don’t know someone well doesn’t mean what happened wasn’t—“ he cut himself off, unsure exactly how to phrase it. Horrific? Unnecessary? They didn’t feel like quite enough, and yet at the same time, they only made it harder to reconcile the system’s actions with the Lilith who had spoken to him in the train station.

“If you say so.” Fable leaned back in their seat again, chair legs once again tilting. “Well, guess you’re not the only one. Over half the other participants dropped out.” They shook their head and heaved a dramatic sigh. “Oh well, guess less matches means we all go home earlier.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to just stop the tournament? It’s not like there was much of a point to it anyway.” Besides, after what had happened, the initial goal of easing people’s stress was already flung far out the window.

Fable seemed to predict what he was thinking. “Nah, Underside folks care about that stuff a lot less than you do. They brushed it off real quick. Most that whole incident did was remind some folks about the system’s power, and probably earn Lilith some more fear or whatever.”

The gap in his mind grew, and Isaac finally steeled himself and blurted out the question he’d meant to ask from the beginning.

“How much does Lilith approve of what the system does?”

Silence engulfed the booth, and Isaac was distinctly aware of how loud his voice sounded in the small space. He resisted the urge to shrink in on himself. It didn’t help that Fable’s expression was completely unreadable to him.

“Well,” they finally said, “she’s the one who made the system and all the rules. But,” the chair legs came down so that all four were once again resting on the ground. Fable continued. “Me and Lilith go way back, and I think she’s got ‘good’ intentions or however you define it, if that makes you feel better.” They shrugged, scarf swaying with the action. “I’m probably a bad metric, though.”

That didn’t do anything to assuage the growing conflict at all. Still, Fable looked sincere, or as sincere as they could be, so Isaac swallowed down his retort and muttered a thanks.

He jumped when he felt something slap his back, immediately spinning around to scowl at a grinning Fable.

“If that’s all, go watch the rest of the tournament or something. All the folks left’re the ones with a lot of self control, so no more system violations to worry about. You look seriously pathetic right now.”

Isaac found it difficult to believe that no more issues would occur. He’d rather leave and go back to Chrowall, away from this place that felt more foreign than it ever had, even if it meant seeing the calendar with that circled red date creeping closer and closer. He doubted he’d be able to relax while watching the stage.

Still, that was a reason to do exactly that, wasn’t it? Watch and make sure nothing happened again. No running. His grip on the tablet tightened.

“Fine,” he said, rising to his feet. The chair squeaked behind him as it slid across the ground. “I will.”