Declan clicks his fingers and the entire room reverts back to its default blank cube.
He nods to me once, then leaves. I stay for a moment, thinking about what's happened. Some, but not all of my secrets have been revealed and considered by the man who threatens my existence the most. But I have been accepted. And trusted. I hold the potential for an incredibly rare power to manifest within me and I plan to take full advantage of that.
"Uh, Ventra?"
I open my eyes, unaware they were shut, and look to the doorway. Michael is standing there, arms crossed and looking more than a little pissed. I don't want to talk to him right now. He's going to have so many questions for me that I've already answered.
But I can't run from this. If I want any sort of meaningful relationship with him, I can't brush him off. I smile weakly at him and wall over, picking up my coat which is discarded in the dirt. I'm vaguely aware that my wings are on full display, and I struggle temporarily to tuck them back up.
"Michael, I..."
I don't know how to finish the sentence. Michael, I'm sorry I lied about what I discussed with Mary. Michael, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the wings. Michael, I'm actually an immortal being from another world that passes from body to body when I die.
None of those sentences will make anything better, so I just keep walking towards him, putting on my coat, and hoping he doesn't walk away.
"Thank Alo you're ok."
He steps forwards and embraces me, every bit as gentle yet firm as Michael is.
"Instructor Declan is a real bastard. I saw you fall, and your wings... I didn't even know you had wings."
He's smiling into my neck, and ever the quick thinker, I'm stunned. I expected accusations of betrayal, which I would be able to deal with, but this is... different.
I return the affection as best I can despite him trapping my arms at my sides by wrapping my wings around him like arms, judging it at least to be a good exercise in control.
"I haven't had them for long."
"I can tell. You fell like a baby bird."
He immediately backtracks, realising he could have insulted me with his comment.
"I- I mean a cute bird. A really pretty one."
I giggle into his shoulder, unable to keep my giddy joy suppressed. He relaxes when he figures out how well I've taken it, which causes me to relax too. Michael is an innocence I need.
"Shut up you dumbass, and come on. You know how to read, right?"
I pull away and walk past him out of the box. I'm halfway up the stairs before I hear him follow me.
"Uh, yeah. Why?"
I turn back around, letting my wings fill the staircase behind me.
"Teach me."
----------------------------------------
The library is not what I imagined.
What I love about library's is how comfortable I can get there. The library owned by Declan though is... slightly less accommodating.
Where there should be wooden shelves and isles or walls full of books, there is a series of long, narrow rooms leading off in all directions from a central hub. Dozens of large chests line these long rooms, an I can tell the books are in there. There's nowhere to sit, and there's nowhere to relax.
Michael seems happy enough in the dreary place and is chatting animatedly as he walks back and forth, collecting books from chests. His small stack slowly builds up as I just stand in the small hub, trying to decipher the signs that I'm sure should be directing me to the genres contained writhing this... mockery of a library.
"I used to come here a lot while I was learning how to use skills and stuff. There's a load of instructional books, but it can take forever if you just want one page in a book of a hundred. And that's even if the book is actually relevant. It's hard to know sometimes."
Sounds like this place could benefit from the Dewey decimal system.
With a stack of old looking books in one hand, he grabs mine with the other and leads me back out of the 'library'.
"The only place to sit and study is our common room. It'll be quiet while they're still fighting."
I'm eager to relax. I feel like I haven't had the chance to just sit and chill for a long, long time. Today feels like it's gone on for far too long, to the point that only my many instances of military training are keeping me alert.
The journey to what Michael called a common room is short but lively. Michael appears to be excited at the concept of teaching and I can't blame him. Teaching was one thing that usually resulted in me living a fulfilling life without having to kill excessively. Usually.
The common room itself is large, with a low ceiling. Sofas that look far comfier than our bunks are scattered around tables or against walls. A few taller tables are supporting a game of red and black shapes that reminds me of snooker, but with cylinders and pyramids instead of spheres. The cues are even weirder and have two tips separated in a V-shape near the end. I've only played the bar game once or twice and had no affinity for it, so my interest halts at the observational stage.
Aside from that, the room is empty. There are no others in the room and I know it's because they're probably still fighting. I should feel guilty that they might be dying while I stay back at base, knowing I could make a difference, but I have too much on my mind to do that.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Michael quickly settles down, spreading the books over a table, setting himself down and indicating I join him.
Well, I've learnt most languages there are. What's one more?
I smirk at my terrible logic and click my neck, trying to get rid of some of the tension that's been building. One mild success later, and I'm ready. Michael is brandishing a handful of yellowish paper and a thin stick of charcoal at me, a stupid grin on his face.
"Come on. I'll be a good teacher, I promise."
He winks at me, which I will admit, he pulls off better than I thought he might.
"Fine, but I expect you to refer to me as Lieutenant Cass."
His grin falters and he stops waving the stationary at me.
"You got promoted? To First Lieutenant!?"
His volume and pitch rise sharply in surprise. I wince, but I can tell from his tone he's more surprised than anything else.
"I did. I impressed Instructor Declan somehow. Apparently, it was a test to see if I was eligible for the place. I still have to ask him like a billion ques-"
I'm cut off by Michael ambushing me with a tight hug around my waist. He lifts me up before I can protest and I involuntarily yelp in surprise. He's laughing and I soon am too. Something about his happiness is infectious and despite how he's crushing my wings, I'm happy that he seems to care so much about what's happening to me.
He lets me down suddenly, his expression strangely serious.
"Ventra, I... the past two days have felt like a dream. Something about you is so impossible, and I'm... I'm just happy I'm along for the ride. I really like being around you, and, I don't know, I guess I want it to stay like that."
His innocence damn near brings a tear to my eye. It's not unusual for someone to act like this around me. My constantly mysterious origins do something to people that makes them so infatuated they lose some sense of reality. This world is scary with how different everything is, but to have someone like Michael like this is a comfort.
I wrap my own arms around his shoulders, gently pushing his head towards mine with my fingertips.
"Well, Why don't we see if the bunks are as empty as the common room is?"
Michael's eyes widen slightly, but the slight smile that forms is all the confirmation I need.
But I push him away and sit quickly in front of the books.
"Later though. I need to learn how to read."
He looks disappointed but slightly amused. I don't blame him. It would be a lie to say I don't want to share my bed with him in the near future, but I know how to prioritise.
"Fine, but only because you're my superior, Lieutenant Cass."
Grinning at each other, we both settle down for what I hope to be an easy lesson.
----------------------------------------
What follows instead, is almost two full hours of frustration of the language they use here. By some divine luck, the spoken language is the exact same as English, one of the languages I'm most fluent in. Unfortunately, by some satanic bad luck, the written language is unlike anything I've ever seen before, and I've seen hundreds of languages. Literally, hundreds.
Hesh, the language of humans is apparently the most widely spoken on this planet, namely due to humans being the most common species. This is also apparently only due to humans having fertility much higher than most other species.
But that was just general knowledge bestowed by Michael at the beginning of the lesson. The lesson itself began as a minor nuisance and quickly evolves into a headache.
The issue with Hesh as a language is that it's based upon syllables much like mandarin, but the symbols and figures depend on where they are in correlation to whatever is in front of and after it. It's a circular way of thinking where I have to think of each word as a whole instead of reading it from the beginning or the end.
In the two hours, I manage to pick up a little. Enough that I can write my own name according to how I spell it. I'm sure that when Mary wrote it down the previous day, it was different, but I can't tell why.
Thoroughly focused-out, Michael lets me rest by taking me back to the cafeteria where we had breakfast. Since then, one of the plain walls has opened up into a bar of sorts. Wooden stools and a few small tables are arranged in a large recess in what I had falsely assumed to be solid metal. There's no-one manning it, but I can see an array of glasses and bottles on the shelves.
"What is this?"
Michael essentially jumps for joy at my acknowledgement and pushes me closer to the bar.
"I knew you would be able to see it! You're going to love this."
Past the boundary of the wall, the pressure on my back lessens and turning around, Michael is staring past me with his hands pushed up against the air like it was a wall.
"Michael?"
There's no reply from him. No indication that he even acknowledges me at all.
Hesitantly, I reach out my finger slowly. As soon as it passes the point that Michaels' hands stop at, his attention snaps to it.
His mouth moves, but I can't hear him at all. I walk back through the invisible barrier and he grins at me.
"What is this?"
Michael pushes on an invisible barrier and leans against it.
"This is the worst kept secret among management. This is the Lancers Bar. Rumour has it the Lancer himself designed and built this bar so he could relax near the rest of us without being bothered by us. But he doesn't come here anymore, and so it's only accessible by a select few and the higher-ups."
"So because I'm a Lieutenant, I can enter it?"
"And you can see it. All I see here is a normal wall."
He reinforces the point by knocking on the air, hard enough that a hollow metallic ring echoes through the empty room.
"Why did you bring me here?"
It's not that I wouldn't like a drink, but I feel like Michael has some anterior motive.
"Because I think you've deserved a drink. I remember learning to read and write, and it wasn't fun. Also... I haven't been in there for a while."
His bright expression dulls, and he takes on the same expression I do when I'm reminiscing.
"I used to be friends with the previous First Lieutenant. He tutored a few of us from a young age. The ones who were sold here when they were babies. When he deemed me old enough to drink, he and his students would come here every day."
He lets his hand trail slowly down the space where he sees a wall. I feel sorry for him, and I can't call it a moment of weakness. Michael is a genuinely nice person and it pains me to see him upset.
"So how do I get you in?"
He looks at me with a small smile.
"This is a militaristic order. Just give me permission."
"Ok... Michael, I give you permission to enter the bar."
The space he's landing against suddenly changes for him, and his hand passes through instantly.
He stumbles past the wall boundary and I follow, savouring the way he scans the room with a gentle smile.
"They changed the tables..."
He laughs lightly and practically runs behind the bar. He then leans against it and starts to rub the polished wood with a clean rag he got from somewhere.
"You're new here, stranger. What can I get a lovely lady like you?"
I smile seductively and daintily tread my way closer to him, every part a lady.
"I have absolutely no idea. What would you expect?"
"We have only two drinks, and they both suck. You got either laver or greter."
I pretend to consider, but since I have no idea what either of them are, I take the safe option.
"I'll have whatever you're having."
"One of each!"
He picks up two shot glasses, and two tall wooden mugs. The shot glasses are filled with a familiar yellowish spirit and the mugs with a carbonated brownish beer.
Michael pushes one of each towards me, and downs his shot instantly with a slight grimace. I copy him, only slightly behind and am correct in that it's the same thing Mary gave to me.
With the shots out the way, Michael returns from behind the bar and settles at a nearby table. I join him and he lifts his mug in a familiar cheer. I knock my own mug against his and sit at the same time.
"To meeting people in weird places."
Amused at the target to his cheer, I offer my own.
"And to killing as many of those damn undead as humanly possible... and to you."
He blushes a little, but drinks to it, and I take a deep swig of my own drink. Surprisingly, I could categorise it with any other beer from earth. It's not great, but I don't dislike it.
Michael visibly relaxes, and I do my best to relax too. There are no more overly pressing matters on my mind, and I can look forward to evolving matters further.
"So, Michael, tell me something."
"What?"
"Anything."