Arlene was aware of the movement in front of her. It was classified under gesture-posture. Variant of standard openness with accentuated vocal note of forest-inherent, structured polyphonic. Which as per her criteria merit a second look.

Not because it was dangerous. In fact, twenty-six out of twenty-seven instances recorded the happenstances to be mostly benign. Utilized as entertainment or emotional (good) display in an appropriate setting. Recent witnessed example was a case of an elf (unknown, female, age: half-tree) used it to calm down another, younger elf (unknown, male(?), age: sapling) after the latter dropped his food plate while running across the hallway (adventurer’s guild, Ar’endal).

This occasion however was determined to be not of those twenty-six. Instead, the scattered luminescence had surmounted the acceptable background brightness on Lineus’ mana scale, the very reason that it was pre-warned in her decision tree under ‘mid-immediacy’; there was a real chance for it use to not be merely mundane.

Threat.

Or not?

She queried.

The part of her, the lead bubble that was assigned to determine that type of answer said no. No with full affirmation — a worrying conclusion.

Recorded similars tabulated that only 15 of 859 false pre-warn had no dissenting forks. 651 of those came with at least three, 105 with two, and the remaining 88, the clear-cut as she had termed, had one. One however unlikely. Thus as per her protocol for such occasion, she split her focus for a breath, downgrading the growl’s observation to passive (automated, unfiltered), opening a half-thought slot.

She blinked.

And found that the conclusion ...was correct.

The imperator/caster of the said emotional turned out to be sheave-filled under friend (adventurers). The tags were even less worrying. Trust, aligned interest, and trivial history of conflicts. Bright, bright, and bright.

She sheave-filled, sheave-tagged the happenstance. Putting it as another case in favor of the lead bubble (threat determination, current). Once its accuracy reached the elusive ninety-five out of one hundred occasions, she’d have the protocol readjusted, reducing the double-checking to only the direst pre-warn.

The pre-warn resolved, she popped out that branch of query, letting the thought slot closed. Rested. The rest of her bubbles quaked with jubilation. Happiness. After all, since a slot had been rested, they wouldn’t need to devote a significant part of their processing to watch whether their own processing eclipsed the assigned limit. Now up to 5 out of 100 errors could simply be tolerated.

It was short-lived however, not even five breathes later, her efficiencies’ assign submitted a request for a reallocation. Request that to put it simply, to use the now opened slot for her translation project.

It argued as followed: based on Fami’s finding (335/04/23), the found scripts were clear to not be pure logographic. The old Gherlkin’s phonemes (line 7, line 9, line 11, tablet 8; line 3, line 6, tablet 12; line 1 tablet 3…) were after cursory matching was managed to be classified under diaclessian — a distinct pre-day end’s written that commonly used by a collection of plain’s tribe that was located upstream of the now Saran-Mide’s river.

However, it wasn’t clear whether the diaclessian was categorized as Eastfall, Highmount, Flattenmoore, or the remaining six distinct geographical variants in which the tribes were known to be residing. That was why only the shared secondary had been identified and nothing else. Not to mention since the source text of both ends (the found tablets and the diaclessian scripts) were badly damaged, it’d require more thought, more bubbles to account side-by-side matching.

It suggested to use the opened thought slot to start a heuristic. By accounting strokes difference using the data of known local writing implement, various as they were, she could reduce the obvious false by at least one-third in just three to four days. Then if she followed that with the cursive/block differentiation, and finished it with dialect filtering, more syllabaries (should they be present), would be able to be identified by the end of processing (ten to twelve days from now). Netting her around 70 to 112 contribution points instead of 30 to 58 points that she would obtain if she continued with only mapping.

She, however, refused that request. Although she had acquiesced using 1 of 5 available thought slots for the translation project in order to compensate for her unneeded presence on this low-risk incursion, duty demanded that she had the last thought slot opened, just in case.

"Thirteen gold per potion?"

The queries flared. How that conversation managed to intrude —Ah. The pre-conclusion, she looked up, had been fulfilled. Yes. One by one, part of scattered bubbles and matters affirmed and confirmed that the incursion, as she had predicted, ended in success; her party had managed to reach an amicable conclusion with the seller.

Which meant it was time to drop the trance.

She looked up to the endless white, to the bubbles that were forever and ever. Stretching in space of nothing, branching by tangling of strings.

She waved her hand, imaginary as that was, and halted everything.

The glistening rainbow, iridescent, fell into white. Into gray. The buzzing-speeding light that passed and zipped through each bubble’s string, slacken. Still moving were just select branches of primaries and functionals. Those she couldn’t live with and those she couldn’t live without.

The rest however, as detrancing did and demanded, were reduced to a blur of discrete background. Blue less. Mana stilted. Gray and white only. She watched as her motivation willed the translation bubbles popped. Their matters evaporated, their content —their progress, archived.

The rest was glided —brought to the strings, their matters and all moved, made stream.

And the stream streamed, one by one, bunch by bunch, it flowed. Glided until it reached the entirety of her center.

She puzzled what need to be repuzzled. Stretched and fitted the rest —tangling strings, matters, everything mote. Melded, expanded, enlarged. Every shining, every shade. Every gleam, every dream, fused into one. Into her.

She blinked.

She was whole.

Almost.

Ugh. The pain... It as if she had been pelted by ...hailstones? Right on the eyes and by the dozens. One of these days she swore she would get that pain-go-away. Yeah, right. That was fourth year’s privilege. It wasn’t like she could bribe Mr. Cale for that. The man was brave, sure. But not even he was brave enough to touch those third floor’s books.

Where was she anyway? It was just that— hmm. Why hadn’t she returned? It was like there something —something remained. Although where would she return to anyway? She was pretty sure she was home. This was home. But there was this nagging, this voice of something — telling her that she was also not home?

That wasn’t good.

Fine. Her thought arguably still kinda buzzed, fogged. Like there were three heavy furred blankets draped over her head. And her vision was swirly-swirly funny. But even with her slurred imbibed state, she was pretty sure her hand should be sleeved up, covered on her weekend academy’s robe. Not this — this white, bright light stuff. What was this anyway? This wasn’t what she wore before. This looked like something commissioned by Gilded. Bullshit stuff that did nothing except aww-ing the Hightown never-ending balls attendee. This particular one must cost like, hmm, three hundred apiece. Five hundred if it was sold on the spot. Pretentious frou-frou.

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Her light... Why she took up translation and restoration?! She could be rich! Rich! Delve into the unknown they said, obtained ancient power they said, you might get rare class, they said. Well, your majesties, noblesies, with her earning so far, all her retirement qualified her was a quaint, farmstead on Easthollow!

She didn’t come all of this way just — just to farm again.

Stop, stop, stop. This wasn’t the time to get angry out of ...already set thing. Figuring where she was more important. Ogre’s Bath! If her vision at least all right... Sighing, she pinched her nose bridge hard. Ugh. Not even the pain managed to get rid this stupid vision.

Fine. Let try something different.

“Light—”

AH!

Her head throb which was just dull before, now intensifying. Flaring. As if it turned from a poking little branch to a full-blown knife, stabbed right into her eyes. Fuck! What happened?! The only time she was ever got a headache this awful was when — her light... she was drunk wasn’t she?

She meant it wasn’t surprising, she massaged her poor temples and flicked her now almost singed fingers. Knowing her, the walk had finally got into her. And to think that Lyd thought she could pass it with that damn useless rat. Would it kill that girl to listen to good advice sometimes? She didn’t mean that the girl must throw that thing into the garbage bin (even though she absolutely should). She meant that she should be practical. How would she pass the bridge with that rat?

Speaking of Lyd, where was that girl anyway? If she was drunk, as it was increasingly likely, she didn’t get drunk alone. No. That would be stupid. At the very least, she would have the battlemage friend of her accompanied her drinking. Which was the sane thing to do. Why? Well, it was because the girl didn’t drink. Meant, she always sober. Meant she could bring him home when she inevitably ...become a slobber. Of course, it wasn’t charity. She treated her to a meal, lots of it. Good deals right? But now she — the girl wasn’t even here. Where was she? She was supposed to be over there. Outside. Along with Rene both of them should be covering Clem, Emily, and her in case the whole party needed to make a quick escape.

Emily? Rene? Clem? That—that was weird. Wasn’t it just both of them? ...she—she was with the party?

...and escape? Escape from who? The growl was tame. And the girl basically a perfect little sister. Why would they need to escape?

...what?

There—there was that again. Memories. Something — something not right. Come on, Lene, what did you do before you’re coming here?

What did you do?

She was ...going to a store? New store? To buy something. A… potion. Yes. A potion.

She was assigned to…

Ugh!

This wasn’t working.

Drawing a full breath, she sat. Her eyes closed, her feet folded underneath her thighs.

She let everything go.

The mana was swimming, everpresent. The space was alight but dimming. Everything as it should be, yet she wasn’t where she ought to be. The bubbles streamed up and down, the matter—

—Ah.

She had been trancing

She should have guessed. But why she hadn’t returned? Hmm... a thought bubble must still haven’t melded back. Where, where, where…

There!

South of herself, a distant light —a mirror was floating. It was her reflection in a bubble. A big that was yet to pop. Her light! Was that a spell? She saw her mirrored self was holding a design.

No wonder!

Well, her conscious self must determine that the spell was easy enough to dismiss though. You knew, since she dared to do a spell in a trance.

Looking up and down, circling the bubbles, pushing her vision to the limit, she nodded and sigh with relief. True to her previous assessment, she was right. The thing was a scroll’s spell, not her’s. This should be easy. Why? Well, that because the spell wasn’t in her, per se. It was in the scroll, she just mirrored the structure in fleeting memory. Otherwise, the spell wouldn’t be just made of mana, it should also be propped by matters. And light knew, it was hard to dismiss matters without causing damage. But mana? She had a pretty good handle on that.

What was the spell again, by the way?

Hmm. Layered circles, connected by reverse triangle, two Sylvar behests, seven wind-class rune… Right. [Quickstep]. She remembered it, now. She had been pre-casting the spell in case the growl wasn’t tamed properly.

Ok, let dismissed it.

She leaped and jumped to the bubble, getting close, getting near. A step of her heel on the float, almost keel. The circle was two she saw, jumping and popping. It layered, quartic, and trianglic.

The path was clear. The light was straight.

She touched the third-star positions and sighed with relief. At least this half-her still knew her conscious self’s usual gate placement. Now with just a bit of Parsett’s manic, a depth tweaking, she would be able to slow the mana flow to...

Nice!

The circle was dimming. The mana halt to grinding.

First layer!

She cut the passthrough.

The second!

The circle seal formed.

The third!

She let the seal ran, by the stream of strings that followed, she looked as it crawled and crawled out of the space to her hand till it reached the scroll, sealing it to unuse.

What was left was her mirrored self. And at once, the moment the seal was placed (as indicated by the loud click, echoing in the space) it was crumbling, emptying — turned into matters and barebone of memories. She watched it streamed down, down, down. To her center. To her self.

She blinked.

"Yup yup yup. Big sister got money?"

A rough skin brushed against her hand, hot. Movement in front of her. Wind around her back. Looking at her front, she saw the world —the real world had returned. Behind a long table was the seller, looking curious; her party’s rogue, smiling as always; and Emily, looking to her own hand, concentrating on something.

“Yes, we do young miss,” Emily said after a breath, looking up from her own hand. “We’d take—”

“Wa...it...” Arlene spoke, her voice cracking. Ugh. Her throat tickled — it was dry. The trance must reduce her normal gulping. Swallowing a mouthful of saliva, she walked toward Emily, holding out her hand.

“Let me see.”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. Sorry, Lene.” the woman looked surprised, she blinked a few times before handing her the bottle which Arlene accepted.

Hmm, it wasn’t much. Just a regular stone bottle. Smooth though, she brushed her finger a few times on its patterned surface. Should he pop the cork off? Nah. That’d be buying. She had a better method.

"[Appraisal]!"

She flickered her mana, coursing through from her hand to the held bottle. In a breath, a screen of blue, warped itself to her front, presenting the system-approved information.

[Minor] Stamina Elixir

A bottle of stamina Elixir. Immediately refill half maximum stamina within 100 breaths after consumption.

What? H—how? How?? She—she just humoring Clem when the latter told her there was a potion — a made potion that could restore stamina. Which was hilarious. Half-hilarious. The other, other half was …anger. Because he did waste her time. Her translation’s part was far from finished and even if it had finished, she still needed to study. He should know that. She told Emily like two moons before that Lyd and her had tests in two weeks. Yet since she already at the inn, and since the day was already lost, she figured she would just ...took a break. She had been stressed out with preparing for the walk and walking around, even if it pointless, was a good refresher if any. Her anger even had somewhat melted when she realized he was dead serious.

Yet, she was the one in the wrong?

She stared, stared, and stared to the bottle, to the potion. She almost — almost popped the cork off, trying to identify it by look, by whiff. Thank great will she managed to stop herself. All of her coins wouldn’t be enough to replace this — this treasure!

How—how could this be? She even already prepared to give him a consolation head tap later, a firm one that she would relish for a long, long time. She meant, come on. Those ladders guys obviously got him. Got him good. It—it was obvious! Potions were dungeon-made. That was like ...fact! Sure there was a pre-day’s end record of offshoot [Shaman] class that could make similar concoctions. But those kinds of things were lost to time.

What were the chances that some store in the middle of the busiest inner could have something that only the deepest dark reach of dungeon do?

"Oh. Her. Light!"

"What is it Ar?" Emily turned toward her, her face curious.

"Yeah show us, Lene," said Clem.

"I-I want to see it too."

Blasphemy! All of them! You guys should be in awe, not curious! At once she pulled a sheaf from her bag. By a flick, her sleeves unlatched. Revving her mana, her quill flew — she released the magic true, "[Rapid Transcribing: Appraisal]!"

She watched as the quill wrote and scratched, her magic dripped, functioned as the ink, both were working together, stenciling the appraisal result down.

“Here.”

The [Spearmistress] took the sheaf, read it, and freeze. Her inquiring gleam turned blank. Her spear almost dropped. It lasted for a whole five breathes, before Rene, peeked the sheaf from the back of her shoulder and said "...wow."

The beastman eyes widen.

"It’s.., It’s perfect H—how much for each potion?” the spearmistress turned her head sharp, staring, boring her gaze through the still smiling too young of a seller. Yeah, that the proper reaction, Emily! Arlene sighed.

"This much." the young girl, the mysterious young girl, raised three fingers.

"Three gold? That's cheap en—"

"No, thriteen! ugh. thriteen! ... ugh Clar means to say thirteen! Yes, THIRTEEN!"

Only thirteen? She should — no she must purchase at least one. This, this was huge. Where was her coin pouch— ah! She didn’t even bring it with her!

"Three bottles a person… so, twenty-one, no, twenty-two bottles. Twenty-two bottles, please."

Forgot it. She’d just borrow one from Emily today and returned here for more bottles tomorrow.

"Okay! That would be ...hmm.” the girl paused, her finger was on her chin, thinking hard. Right, it wasn’t easy for someone so young to do sudden math like that, maybe she couldn’t, and this — this amazing master of her would come and help her? She certainly hoped so.

“Two hundred and eighty-six gold!" Ah. So she just needed a little time... Fine. She would find whoever this master was on another day. It wasn’t like he never came to his own store right? “Do you want it wrapped?"

“No, thank you,” Emily said. “We’ll carry it ourselves.”

“Okay! Thanks, big sister, come again!”