[Fighter Level 4!]

[Skill — Lesser Resilience obtained!]

Resilience. Most commonly believed to combine traits of Vitality, Toughness, and Fortitude, its main use has been documented to improve recovery from dazes and impairments; such as after receiving a blunt blow to the head, being knocked prone, or having one’s senses impaired.

If Vitality is recovery in general, Resilience is recovery from, Micah remembered the tiny bridge he’d made.

It sure didn’t feel like it.

“Ask what’s going to happen in school, because of the Tower, and remember to take a bunch of notes, please.”

Ryan was tying his shoes on the edge of his bed opposite him. He had already been out and about this morning, having woken up earlier despite everything. Micah wasn’t sure where he had gotten the shoes from, though. School?

His single growing boot stood next to their gathered packs. His hair was slightly damp and looked almost … curly?

“And, uhm, yeah. Because I don’t want to miss anything, you know?” he asked, somewhat distracted.

“I always take notes,” Ryan told him.

“Aha, uhm …” He squinted. “Have you been growing your hair out?”

He glanced up. “What? Oh, yeah. That …” Ryan moved two fingers to play with a bit of hair, but it was still too short to be called a lock. He let it drop with a scowl. “That was nothing. I’ve just been too busy to have them cut.”

“You should let it grow,” Micah told him, smiling. “I wanna’ see how it looks when it’s longer.”

He shrugged. “Sure. Doesn’t matter, either way.”

“And, uhm, I’m not sure if you’ll have time to visit or anything, but if you do, could you bring me my journal, maybe? So I can write my thoughts down on the ingredients we collected?”

He looked around the hallway-like room with sleeping patients or ones reading books and magazines. Some nurses were going around, but it wasn’t very busy this early in the morning.

“I think I’ll go insane from boredom in here.”

For what felt like the first time that morning, Ryan glanced up at him and smiled. He bent back down to tie his other shoe and the expression slipped into a grimace as he rubbed his chest.

“‘You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just have to be careful when I move,” he said. “I’ll heal a week or two, with some salves and my Vitality. Congrats, again, on getting a similar Stat.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

He finished up his shoes and stood. The conversation fizzled out. Their words were hollow.

Ryan, it seemed, wasn’t too happy about his level ups either. [Sure Grip] might have been one of the most common Skills in existence, alongside [Strong Grip], but he doubted it was because of that.

It just felt like salt in their wounds. As if Micah had gotten last place in something important to him and been given a consolation prize. He didn’t want a consolation prize. He wanted to have done better.

He knew he should have been thankful that he got a Stat, but even if he had deserved it, there was nothing there. Nothing new for him to do or use. Just two words that meant nothing to him.

“Can you ask Lisa if she’ll visit, if she has the time? I want to thank her,” Micah added.

Ryan slowly slipped his backpack on and nodded. “I think that might be a good idea, to distract her.”

“Distract her?”

“Apparently, she’s been going to the protests,” he said, “and those might escalate depending on what the city’s council says about the Guild’s behavior. The mayors want to hold speeches today.”

“Oh.”

That didn’t sound good.

“Never thought I’d see the day Westhill supports the Guild,” Ryan commented. He slowly bent down to pick up Micah’s bag and his boot, with the yellow rain jacket thrown over.

Micah was curious. “Do you support them?”

His brows furrowed. “The Guild? I’m not sure. The other cities claim they’re doing more or less fine, but they’ve apparently had … many more casualties than us, so I don’t know how anyone could say that. I don’t like that the Guild can just completely deny access to climbers, though.”

Micah nodded.

Access to the Towers was important, if only symbolically. Many people had tried to monopolize them in the past. Some had succeeded—the Third King after killing his cousin, the Church of the Towers slowly during the restoration, and the Explorer’s Company in Anevos after buying access to most of its Tower’s Doors. But was any of that really comparable to what the Climber’s Guild was doing now?

“Yeah, but are three days, or a week, or even a month of forced caution really enough reason to let people endanger themselves?” Micah asked, already running through the argument in his mind.

It was about communication, wasn’t it? If the Guild could just let people know about the dangers and trusted them to … He broke off that thought. What? Trust the people to not make mistakes?

Wasn’t that hypocritical of him, considering his first trip into the Tower? Then again, wasn’t it also unfair to judge others based on his own stupidity?

Micah didn’t know.

Ryan half-shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know, and I don’t really care. I’m not one for discussions.”

He blinked. “Oh.”

The other guy glanced at the clock before stepping closer. “And you’re sure you don’t need anything else? Food? Clothes? Or, you know, help walking around, to the bathroom or for some fresh air?”

Micah shook his head. “No. I’ll … annoy the nurses into helping me with that, but thanks.”

He’d have to annoy them, sadly. He’d have to buy them a gift basket or something after he got out of here. That was a common thanks, right? He wondered if they had a whole closet they dumped them in.

“Alright, then,” Ryan said. “Hang tight. And say something if your leg hurts, alright? Or your fingers. Tell the nurses.”

Micah smiled, but didn’t agree to anything. “Bye.”

“Later, then.”

He gave him an over the shoulder wave and headed off, but only got past his bed when he stopped.

Down the hall, his own mother was headed toward them in her work suit, with Mr. Walker of all people by her side, the Registry’s representative at their school. Why were they here?

Micah could only think of a single reason and it was the worst news.

“Mr. Payne,” Mr. Walker greeted him. “It’s good that you’re here. I see you were just leaving?”

Ryan frowned and answered a second too late, carefully setting Micah’s bag back down. To free up his hand? “Ah, good morning, Mr. Walker. Why are— I mean, what brings you here, sir?”

He held out his hand. The man inspected it first before shaking it, apparently mindful of Ryan’s condition.

“I’m acting as a liaison to the Guild. As one of your teachers, they thought it best if I approached you to draft a report of your excursion into the Tower. For the sake of gathering information about its changes for the city. Would you be willing to help? We could censor its contents by relevance.”

“Oh? Oh!” Ryan said, as if finally waking up a little. “Yeah, that sounds great. I would be happy to help, sir.”

“Me, too,” Micah piped up from the background.

“Good. That’s what we like to hear. You have PE for your first two lessons, do you not? I assume you won’t be able to participate with your injuries.”

“Uh no, sir.”

“Then you can sit them out. I’ll speak to your instructor. Make sure you receive a doctor’s note before you leave.” Ryan nodded in response and their teacher gestured to his side. “This is Mrs. Elisa Stranya, a councilwoman of the Westhill district here in Hadica. I’m told you are familiar with one another?”

“We are,” his mom spoke up. “Good morning, Ryan. I hope you’ve recovered a little since yesterday?”

“Ah, yes.” He looked awkward as he shook her hand, probably unused to her professional smile. Just barely there, it combined the best and worst aspects of her, Micah had always thought.

“Hi, mom,” he called from his bed to distract her, relieved that they weren’t here to kick him out of school … or try to coerce him into dropping out with news about his leg. He shoved the thought aside and smiled at her. “What are you doing here? I thought you had work?”

“I am working,” she said as she slowly steered the group toward his bed. “This isn’t what I usually do, but since you will need a guardian present, they thought it was best to send me than have me take time off.”

“For the report?”

His parents had been present the last time the Guild had asked him to make a report, but he hadn’t known it was a necessity. Because of his age?

She shook her head. “For another, related matter.” Her professional smile slipped for a moment as she said it and he saw a flicker of anger there.

“What do you mean?”

“In part, it is about the item you retrieved yesterday,” she said, glancing back at the rain jacket lying over his pack.

It looked almost like wax paper, but purer. See-through, with a yellow tint, large sleeves, and an even larger hoodie. Micah guessed it was the type of raincoat that could be thrown over anything.

“And in part, it is about the man whom it previously belonged to, Mr. Enon,” she added. “The man you brought out of the Tower.”

Enon? That was his name? It was still hard to believe that he was human at all. Micah didn’t actually want to have to deal with him anymore. He would rather just forget this ever happened and move on, but it was better to get this over with sooner rather than later … he supposed.

His mom was glancing around, looking for something else.

He caught on and lurched to offer a chair from the other side of his bed, but remembered too late that he couldn’t move. He dragged his splint barely an inch and it felt like his bone cramped up all the sudden.

Micah doubled up, hissing through his teeth.

“Fff— Argh, Micah. Don’t move. I’ll get it,” Ryan said and rushed to get the adults seats.

Micah nodded mutely and his mom rubbed his back, pulling her chair closer when it arrived. She looked concerned, so he shook his head and offered her a tight smile. “I’m fine.”

“Do you want us to get the nurses?”

“No. No, really. It’s already passing.”

He hated the sensation, how bloated his leg felt. He wasn’t usually aware of his bones, but now— like a finger applying pressure to a hard surface, he could feel them inside him, taking of space, almost like they were moving around.

It was unpleasant.

Mr. Walker set his briefcase aside and got out a paper pad and a small wooden box as he sat down. Ryan took a seat on the bed opposite him, next to Micah’s calf. It pulled the blanket tighter around him.

“First would be the issue of determining the item’s value.” Mr. Walker opened the box to reveal an array of glasses set into indents in the cloth inside. “Considering the strength of the monster it was found near, following your preliminary accounts of the events and the fact that it could wound Mr. Enon, as well comments made by the man himself—”

“Comments?” Ryan spoke up. “He’s awake?”

The man glanced up and nodded. “And well. Luckily, he has [Greater Constitution] so the doctors barely had to do anything for him to recover.”

Greater?!

“He told the guards you could keep the ‘Yellow Fleece’ when he left,” the man went on as if that were nothing out of the ordinary, “along with—”

“Left?” Ryan asked, interrupting him a second time. He must have noticed his displeasure because he added, “I’m sorry, sir. I know you’re here for information, but … could you give us some first? We’re starved for it.”

The man hesitated, reluctant for some reason.

His mother seemed the same, but she picked up the question when he didn’t answer. “Micah. Ryan,” she addressed them. “Mr. Enon is a Guest of the City.”

Micah needed a moment to process that. Ryan, it seemed, did too.

His mother took their silence for a sign to go on, because she said, “They let him go late last night and he left—”

“What the fuck?” he finally caught up. “How the hell can someone like that be a Guest?”

“The Sewer Hermit is a powerful individual,” Mr. Walker said professionally, “who has—”

“He attacked us!”

“He was confused. He was inside the Tower when the changes happened. He lost his home.”

“Home? He has a home in there? What about the ungiven rule?”

Mr. Walker seemed unfazed. “Had. And he was powerful enough that he didn’t care. He could defend it.”

That sent a shiver down his spine. Micah shoved the fear aside to keep up his anger. “So they just let him go? What if he attacked someone else in there? The Tower is dangerous enough!”

Mr. Walker seemed indifferent. “They would not keep a Guest of the City based on the accusation of two underaged climbers. They were able to calm him down, so yes, he was let go late last night.”

“But he still tried to kill us.”

“No,” his mother snapped. She closed her eyes in an expression of pain and said, “No, he didn’t. As much as it pains me to say this, Mr. Enon was level forty-seven in a single Class the last time someone was able to appraise him, Micah. Eighteen years ago.” She looked him in the eye and he found a kindred anger there. She wasn’t happy about this either. Any of this.

“If he wanted you dead, you would be dead.”

Micah hesitated for a moment, then looked at Ryan for support but the guy looked just as lost as he felt. No matter how much Micah thought about it … he hated this city at that moment.

Everything his mom said was true and he understood the legal preference a Guest would receive, but … how could they let this happen?

“The good news is that Mr. Enon has agreed to pay for your care,” Mr. Walker spoke up.

Micah frowned. “Pay? He owns money?”

“He has savings in this city.”

His mom smiled. “That means you get your own room and can pick the best care you want. He didn’t specify which.”

Micah’s heart rate spiked and calmed just as quickly when he heard that. He hadn’t even thought about his hospital fees yet. How would he have paid for them if the man hadn’t agreed to pay for him?

But that was beside the point. He didn’t want them to let them distract them. “Was he remorseful?” he demanded.

His mom looked to Mr. Walker, who shook his head.

“He was asked about you by one of the nurses yesterday. Apparently, he said you could keep the fleece and that he would pay for your cares in a single, off-hand mentioning. To the witnesses, he seemed eager to return to the Tower.”

Not even an afterthought. He’d had to be reminded of them. Micah remembered his mad ravings in the Tower. What were they to him? Just someone to blame in that manic state? In the chaos that followed?

He frowned and looked up. “He kept on saying something to us. He wrote it, too. Ebaheral, I think?”

Mr. Walker nodded. “It’s an old Dwarfish word. Literally, it means ‘little deceiver,’ but it is often used to refer to rats.”

So that was it? Micah’s face fell and his shoulder slumped down. They were nothing more than vermin to him.

His mom took his hand and asked, “Do you want to press charges? Because you can, even if he’s left.”

“The school would support you, as well,” Mr. Walker said, “as much as a school can in such proceedings, at least.”

Ryan spoke up. His voice sounded parched and he licked his lips and swallowed. “How do you mean?”

His mom scoffed, “They wouldn’t kick you out. That is all.”

He frowned. “What?”

She leaned back in her chair and explained, but Mr. Walker made no move to contradict her. “No school would want their students to accuse a Guest of the City of any crimes. It would bring shame on the administration that allowed it. There has been precedent of schools going against students who try, going as far as expelling them for their actions.”

Guests were rare, Micah knew. It was a title much rarer than any noble or key to the city. They were most often powerful allies, as it was based on an ancient tradition of patron Gods some people in the first generation had had. The Shepherd was a Guest, even though contact to them was limited. The Dwarf was, too, even though nobody knew if it had ever really existed.

And yet, he couldn’t comprehend how a school would kick somebody out for something as ridiculous as an accusation, no matter who was involved.

“But you could,” his mother said.

Micah checked with Ryan, who shrugged helplessly. He looked back. “And he’s really gone?”

“Yes.”

“I doubt he will attack anyone else,” Mr. Walker offered. “He appeared quite driven to find his home.”

Driven. Micah knew just how ‘driven’ he could be. He reached back to a few minutes earlier and tried to cling to his earlier sentiment, even though he didn’t feel a single trace of it anymore.

“Okay, then.” And before they could ask him if he was sure, he went on, “You wanted to talk about something else? Other than the report, I mean.”

Mr. Walker nodded. “The item. Some people have suggested that it might be an item worthy of being called a relic.”

That surprised Micah. He glanced over at the rain jacket with wide eyes. All they had found out about it was that it glowed when wet. How was that supposed to be a relic?

He could have been wrong, of course. He would welcome it.

“In the case that it was,” Walker went on, “we would ask that you consider donating it to a national cause, if not sell it to someone who would be willing to make such a donation. There would surely be many that would extend those offers, should wind come out of a new relic in Hadica.”

“Of course,” Ryan said and Micah looked over, still surprised. “I mean, uh … of course, we’d donate it if it was a relic, right?”

Would he? He didn’t know right now but nodded anyway. Seeing Ryan’s earnest face though, he quickly changed his mind. Of course, he would donate any relics he found as a climber. It was the right thing to do. He was just being childishly selfish again.

But even as he thought that, some part of him believed that he had the right to be.

“Now, the item …” Mr. Walker said.

Ryan jumped off the bed to get it for him. The man put his glasses on and leaned back as he inspected it. Everywhere he looked, two circular glows lit up on the jacket of yellow light and trailed after.

“Interesting.”

Micah frowned. Did the glasses allow him to appraise items? How did that work? He was activating the jacket’s glow through another means, eerily reminiscent of his own ability to make surfaces shine if he focused on light essence.

Was there a connection there?

“It’s certainly a useful magic item,” Mr. Walker said, “but I’m not sure if I would call it a relic. That would be for an inquiry to decide, should you put it up for inspection. If you’re interested—”

“Can I look?”

Mr. Walker blinked and looked up. “Hum?”

“Through the glasses?” Micah asked. “Can I look at it?”

“It takes some practice to filter through the information.”

“Oh, but … can I try anyway? I’m curious, sir.”

He glanced at Micah’s mother, who raised her shoulders in a tiny shrug, looked back, frowned, and took off his glasses with a shrug of his own. “Very well, but you need to be extremely gentle with them. Please, do not touch the glass. Just take them by the frame and … there.”

Micah set the oversized glasses on his nose and they almost slipped off. More than half his vision extended over the rim. He had to look down and hold them with one hand as the man handed him the rain jacket as well.

But first, he glanced at Ryan and resisted the urge to ask, How do I look?

His friend looked confused.

Not the reaction he had been hoping for, but Micah would take it. He smiled and peered down through them, but could only see a slight haze over his normal vision.

“You need to set the lenses closer to your eyes and focus your vision on and then through them,” Mr. Walker told him. “No mana is required. Simply focus. They will do the rest.”

Micah followed his instructions, holding the frame with two fingers. As if focusing on a window glass up close, he did that before adjusting his eyesight to see far. The rain jacket immediately lit up in his hands, overflowing with a yellow color that seemed to be bubbling up from a hidden well.

It didn’t spill over, though It was more like a river of yellow flowing up against a glass. But its light shone through, fracturing at odd angles and creating a corona of multi-colored lines, fading from gold to silver, to white, to mere distortions in the air. Those reminded Micah of a pattern on a larger scale, but it was essence.

Essence of something he hadn’t ever seen before.

Arced stripes like pieces of soap-bubbles formed out of the distortions an inch above the jacket. Where they bumped into each other, their limits inflated and rose up higher until they collapsed into one another, making ripples pass through the entirety of the new structure. It sent the bubbles—more like eggshells, really—spinning, and the force of their new orbit tore two new pieces apart again.

A part of Micah felt like those eggshells should have been blue, not translucent. Such a frail frame, a skin, a membrane protecting the jacket. It reminded him of walls and layers, but it wasn’t.

It was more like a hug.

Clearly, it was some kind of defensive effect. But beyond that? He couldn’t tell.

He searching for more, looking down the well for a hint of its source. It simultaneously felt like diving deeper into a lake and peeling away a tangerine two days before. But instead of ripping them off, he folded the peels back and in. Turning it inside out. Unfurling what was hidden.

Yellow surged all around him, then. One shade off from sunlight, nearest to gold. He found himself in a field, thinking of it. Daisies and dandelions were all around him with striped bees going from flower to flower.

He plucked one and looked around. It stood out from the green. He glanced up to squint at the glaring sun, distant, ruling from above. It decided night and day. Light, heat, life.

He twirled the flower. Maybe if he surrounded himself in yellow, could he be like it? Maybe he could make a dye out of these flowers …

He banished the thought and slipped down through the mud, making yellow ripples spread throughout the field and drops splash above. Then he was back and sinking deeper into the surging water. Shadows hid behind the raging currents all around him as he went deeper. He frowned and focused on them in turn, to turn them inside-out just as he was the rain jacket in its whole.

Folding, ever folding. Of something.

One wrong move and suddenly, he was lost in darkness. The last pin-prick of yellow light faded in the distance and the current surged to the crescendo of a last breath before he dropped.

Instead of gold, to silver, to white, to nothing, it was black, to blue, to brown and grey. Foam and bubbles rose around him. Chunks of something else. Something brushed past his leg. A twig. A metal road sign hit his shoulder and broke.

Micah didn’t feel a thing.

The sign burst into wisps of yellow-to-black smoke the moment it made contact with him and he saw strands of a weave before it reformed a yard further. All around him was mud and debris as he sank underwater.

He glanced up to find the surface and began to swim, but found he wasn’t moving his body. Not his body here. The one up there lurched and he stopped before he swam around in his bed like an idiot.

He still rose, though. All Micah had to do was think and he rose up. He broke the surface and rose higher, an omniscient observer in this world. Absentmindedly, his body turned the raincoat over on his hospital bed up there. Down here, his vision lurched as the world spun.

He found it like a siren call—a tiny pinprick of yellow light in the distance, in midst of the raging waters flowing down this ruined cityscape. A child wearing the glowing raincoat was trying to swim to shore.

Micah held the raincoat a little closer up there and his vision rushed in to hover near the child. It had inky black hair and pale skin. This representation of it looked lifeless, though it struggled to swim, almost like a puppet.

A young Maria, was his first thought, but it didn’t fit. Maria was a monster. This child was supposed to be human.

The soap-bubble-eggshell around it was complete, unlike the coat in his hands. A slight distortion in the air around it. With layers, he could now see. A chunk of debris hit it was thrown away as surely as a fly by wind before a hand.

The child didn’t even notice. It just kept on swimming. And then, Micah noticed it was dry as well. Little to no water flowed inside the jacket to soak its clothes despite the world raining and streets being flooded all around them.

Waterproof? The shell. And it had pushed away that debris. The yellow light was something, too.

Altogether, it painted a picture. Something to be noticed. Something to be protected. Someone worth protecting? But why? Given its age … not Maria, but a descendant? Not gold, but yellow.

Not a king or queen, but an heir. A future.

Micah looked up—made his eyes look up—and slipped out of the vision as easily as looking up from a book. Yellow light rushed by his vision and shrunk away below, gaining in speed, until that world was gone with a plop and he was in his hospital bed again.

“Wow.”

That was a rush. It was like observing a pattern— No, it was less than that. It was all fake, but still … It was so much more.

“Wow,” he repeated.

“The first time can be quite fascinating,” Mr. Walker told him, “though the level of depth each pair of glasses offers is different. You can get lost in some of the deeper ones, I know. It’s a good thing these are just for cursory inspection.”

That had been cursory inspection?

“So, what did you learn?” he asked.

“What did you see?” Ryan added.

“Uhm, this … it was a lot like meditating,” Micah said. “Just not on my Path or Skill. On someone else’s? Are enchantment’s like Skills of their own?”

“A question for the [Enchanters],” his mother said. “Now, I’m curious, too. What does it do?”

“Oh, right. I, uhm— I think it creates a barrier of sorts,” Micah said, “but maybe only when you wear it? And that protects the wearer from water and blunt forces?”

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“Very perceptive,” Mr. Walker said. “How did you decipher the water resistance of it?”

“I, uhm … because I saw a raging river?”

He nodded in understanding. “Ah, you must have seen something else. This would require further testing, but as a first impression, I would say that the jacket creates a minor ward that keeps out water and filters air. It would be perfect for any aquatic floors, if it works on all fluids.”

“For not drowning,” Micah mumbled.

“If it works with salt water, you could donate it to Lighthouse, but I’m not sure it could be called a relic. You would have to put it up for testing to determine the extents of its ward and any other qualities it may possess.”

“Would there be a fee for that?” Micah asked, remembering his earlier mistake of not thinking about money. He didn’t have much of it. What were prices even like in the city right now?

The man nodded. “Yes, but in the case that a committee decides to call it a relic, that would be waived. If not, you still have a thorough appraisal of the item to show.”

Micah looked at Ryan, who frowned a little before shrugging. They might do it.

“Could I take a look?”

He only then realized he still had the glasses weighing down the tip of his nose and glanced at Mr. Walker. It was his call.

The man sighed before nodding. “Sure.” It seemed to Micah like he wasn’t used to interacting with people like this, but he was nice enough, even if it seemed somewhat forced to him.

He took off the glasses and gently handed them over to his friend, whom they fit only a little better. Next, he handed over the rain jacket.

His friend peered through, still with a frown. “How do I …” He broke off with an open mouth.

Micah tried not to chuckle. Had he looked like that when wearing them?

Ryan’s body held the jacket a little closer, then frantically pushed it away again, apparently unused to the sensation the movement caused. He turned it over a bit and nodded, then looked up and around as if unsure how to make it stop, froze, and blinked when he noticed that was the solution.

“That was quick,” Micah said.

“Really? It didn’t feel like it.”

“Time seems to pass slower to the user,” Mr. Walker said, “similar to mediation, as you’ve noticed. Do you have anything to add, Mr. Payne?”

“Huh? Oh, no. Nothing that wasn’t already said,” Ryan said and handed the man the glasses back, who looked eager to put them back into their box.

“Are all appraisal spells like that?” Micah asked, curious.

“Spells? No. Most often, those simply give information similar to meditation, but more like receiving a Skill. Appraisal glasses most often offer visual information, however. Yes.”

“Is there any place I could practice?” Micah asked. “Or does the school offer courses on those? I think I could learn something from them. For my Path, I mean, sir.”

His mom perked up at that and glanced at Mr. Walker expectantly.

“Your Path?” he asked. “And this would be the Path Ms. Denner wants you to further, yes?”

He nodded.

“Hm. I’m not sure. Usually, workplaces will offer training. I’m not familiar with any public lessons, but I’m sure there are some. You would have to ask around or search the Guild halls for flyers. As for at school …” He frowned down at his little wooden box. “Ask me again once this crisis has passed and I’ll see what I can do.”

Micah got the sense that was the best he was going to get out of the man and quickly bobbed his head in thanks.

“Now, onto the report,” he said. “Mrs. Stranya, will you be joining us for this as well or do you have to get back to your office?”

His mom glanced at him before shaking her head. “If you don’t mind, I would be heading back. If you want me to stay, I will. Or if you change your mind about Mr. Enon, you can tell me.”

There was a bit of conviction to the last sentence, showing she really was rearing for a fight.

Micah hesitated before shaking his head. “No, it’s fine.” He actually preferred it, a little. The first part. He wouldn’t want his mom to be here while he offered a report on his Tower excursion.

Did she know that? Was that why she was leaving?

He didn’t understand her, right now. Why was she being so … almost supportive? Why wasn’t she telling him, I told you so, that he was supposed to drop school, pointing out what climbing had done this to his leg?

But she just got up and placed her chair back against the wall before turning to him. “I will visit you later, alright?”

There, he hoped. That would be when she told him off, right? A part of him was worried that she wouldn’t.

“Alright, mom. Thank you.”

She said her farewells and headed off again.

Ryan and he turned to Mr. Walker, who readied his writing pad and pen.

“Now, tell me everything another climber might need to now,” he said. “Start at the beginning. Which floor had you intended to find?”

“The Open Sewers.”

----------------------------------------

A knock on the inside of the doorframe made some of the teens in the workshop look up.

Ryan ducked his head in and was a little surprised to see them working at all, given the circumstances. Wouldn’t ingredients run out soon? Unless they knew something he didn’t. That was likely.

Fluids bubbled, mist rose up in tubes, and drops rolled down into bottles on the kitchen-like blocks in rows. Some had been grinding away at leaves inside tiny porcelain bowls, others simply chatting.

The conversations slowed as he stepped inside.

“Hey, uh, does one of you know if Micah’s journal is around here somewhere?” he asked. They seemed confused, so he jerked a thumb over his shoulder and added, “I’m supposed to bring it to him, but it wasn’t in his room, so I was wondering if it might be around here …?”

“Might be in his locker,” a girl with dark hair told him. She sat on one of the counters halfway into the room, an arm’s length away from an open flame. Another person also sat on a counter, but they all seemed overly casual. Sure, some were wearing safety gloves or goggles, but not all.

What would a teacher say about that?

“Which is …?” Ryan headed along the closets and cabinets of the back wall. He dimly remembered Micah keeping some of his oil bottles in one of those, but it was a cabinet with wide and low drawers, not something he would call a locker. Also not something that would fit books.

“The one you’re standing right in front of,” she told him, gesturing with one arm, “there, to the left.”

“This one?”

“Yep.”

“Thanks.”

He went to unlock it when another guy spoke up, “Hey, wait. Where did you get his key from?”

Ryan hesitated, well aware he might get Micah in trouble. He could just ignore him, but it might come back to bite him later. Damnit, people were annoying. He sighed and glanced up.

“Am I not supposed to have it?”

“No, we’re not supposed to give those out,” he said. “If Micah wants something from his locker, he should get it himself, not send you like a gofer.” He raised an arm. “No offense.”

“Might be hard, considering he can’t walk,” Ryan said, trying to keep as much bite out of the words as he could. He wasn’t in the mood for this. The guy hesitated and he pressed on, “Can I get his journal now or not?”

“He can’t walk?” the girl on the counter asked. Some of the others looked interested as well. “Why?”

“You can ask him yourself.”

She raised her hands defensively. “Not trying to get a rise out of you, I’m just concerned.”

Ryan sincerely doubted that, but answered anyway. Maybe it would get this over with. “He broke his leg. He’s in a hospital bed.”

“Did you guys get caught up in the Tower?” another asked.

“What was it like?” a third added, and Ryan suddenly felt like he was three years younger and all of his classmates were crowding around him just because he’d gotten his [Fighter] Class a little earlier than them.

Couldn’t they mind their own damn business?

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” he said. “I’m just here for his journal. So can I, or is this going to be a problem?”

The girl shrugged, but the others looked over to the dark-haired kid who was voicing the complaint. He glanced at them nervously and looked pained as he said, “Yeah, but not with you, Ryan. I just want to do this right, you know?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Let me get a teacher to oversee. ‘Make sure everything’s fine, you know? Just to be safe.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and leaned back against the locker. “Fine.” He played with the ring of three keys and glanced around the room as he headed out, for whatever teacher’s office was closest, he supposed.

Some of the others looked at Ryan awkwardly. They seemed almost standoffish, for some reason. Others had already turned back to their work or conversations. A lot of it was about the Tower changes and the impact it was having as a whole, but some were talking about people leaving.

Leaving? Who?

“So he’s in the hospital?” the girl asked him.

Ryan raised his eyebrows and suppressed a sigh. He was about to say something when a door in the back of the room opened up, on the opposite end of where he stood.

Connor stepped out, juggling kings with his head down and Ryan’s wristband dangling on his wrist. The light from the windows almost seemed to play off of it, giving it a slight sheen.

Ryan straightened up where he stood and tugged his sleeve down a little to hide a bandage on his wrist. He’d taken a page out of Micah’s book and worn a shirt to hide his injuries a little, but had felt stupid doing it because it might send the wrong kind of message—any kind of message at all.

Now, he was a little glad.

The other guy locked the door and turned around, eyes passing over the room. When he spotted Ryan, he froze for a second, then glanced around again as if looking for someone.

What was he doing here? [Enchanters] couldn’t brew potions … right?

“Hell-o-o?” the girl asked, waving.

“Huh? Uh, yeah,” Ryan said and frowned. Why was she so nosy? “He’s in the hospital.”

“And how bad is—”

“Hey, Ryan,” Conner interrupted her, walking alongside the window rows. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same. Where did you come from?”

“Huh? Oh, I have a … a room, of sorts? A workshop of my own. All of the [Enchanters] got one so we could work in private, you know? Uhm, apparently secrets are a big thing for us.”

“Secrets?”

“Of our craft.”

Ryan needed a minute to catch on, then scowled and tried to put his thoughts as diplomatically as he could as he said, “That seems counterproductive.”

A lot of people believed in and supported [Enchanters] as the future of technology. Himself included, he supposed. He had given him a mana crystal after all. So they shouldn’t be wasting their time fighting over … what even were they fighting over? Why would they keep their stuff secret?

“Counterproductive?” Connor frowned. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He seemed contemplative for a moment, but then gestured back at the door. “Do you … want to see it, then? I actually got some stuff I could show, now. It was barebones up until a little while ago, but the school gave me some stuff to work with last week.”

Ryan thought about it for a moment, but shook his head. “No, I can’t leave. I’m waiting for a teacher. I’m here to get some stuff for Micah because he’s in the hospital, but one of the [Alchemists]—”

“Andrew,” the girl offered.

Ryan glanced at her before going on, “Yeah. He went to go get a teacher to ‘oversee’ or something.”

He waved dismissively.

Connor nodded in approval, making him immediately regret the gesture. But he grimaced as he asked, “Hospital? So you were in the Tower, then? I’d heard rumors, but so many were unaccounted for, I wasn’t sure—”

“What’s this about, then?” a man asked, stepping into the workshop with Andrew in tow. He seemed a little rugged around the edges, as if he didn’t put much work into being tidy, and had an imposing presence, despite not being the tallest. He looked around and walked up to Ryan, “You wanted to get something for Mr. Stranya?”

Ryan stood away from the locker and nodded. “Yes, sir. He’s unable to get it himself, so I borrowed his key.”

“Well, get on with it then.”

He nodded again and quickly crouched down to unlock it. He found a pile of books and some jars with crystals inside, and sifted through until he found Micah’s journals and alchemy textbook. He took all three in case he got bored of just writing down his thoughts and locked it again.

Behind him, the teacher spoke to the room, “In the future, I don’t care what you do with other teachers, but don’t call me for something like this. Just get two of you to oversee. As long as there is no funny business, I don’t care. And if there is—” He put emphasis on the word and looked at them all.

When Ryan glanced up, he saw nobody was sitting on the counters anymore and those closest to the flames had their safety goggles and gloves on, no trace of the earlier casual behavior present.

“Well, you know what the consequences are like in my classroom. Just imagine that and make it worse. Good day.”

Before he left, he lowered his voice and addressed Ryan, “You’re visiting Micah after this?”

He nodded.

“Tell him to get well soon. I won’t have him missing any of my classes. Too many and he’ll lose credits, remind him of that.”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“Good.” He left.

Behind him, Andrew slunk back to his counter.

Ryan frowned at the others, as they still hadn’t taken their safety gear back off or relaxed. One of them even snuck to the door to check if the man really was gone and gave the all-clear a moment later.

“Did you have to get Mr. Jung?” someone hissed.

Andrew shrugged helplessly. “He was the only one that was there.”

Ryan glanced at him and said, “Sorry.” He’d only wanted to get some stuff for Micah, not ruin the mood here.

Andrew immediately looked confused.

“So, uh, how bad is it?” Conner asked, nodding down at the books. “With Micah?”

Ryan glanced at the girl again, mindful of her listening in as she idled against the opposite counter, instead of sitting now. He scratched his elbow and asked, “Can I see your workshop after all?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah!” Conner slipped back around the nearest table and headed for the back door.

Ryan followed awkwardly as the guy unlocked it and led him through what looked like a large supply storage for the brewers. The air was stuffy and it smelled like storage, but it was surprisingly clean.

He led him beyond that into a hallway with only one small window near the ceiling to offer light. There were doors on the side and far end. He unlocked the first and revealed a room with a desk, workbench, closet, and two shelves.

“That’s, uh, it,” Conner said and rushed to the desk. He righted some of the papers, some of which looked like construction plans with lines and boxes, and moved away a cup that had to be a day old, guessing by the rim of something dark near its lip. It joined two others on the shelf that were older.

He wasn’t messy, per se, but he wasn’t a neat freak either, Ryan guessed. At least, it seemed that way from a first glance.

“Coffee?” he asked, curious.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I don’t— I wasn’t expecting visitors. Man, that sounds weird to say about a backroom school workshop.”

Ryan shrugged. He wouldn’t know. He took a step in and awkwardly glanced back at the door, unsure if he should close it. The only source of light came from the window outside. He kept it a crack open.

The room dimmed and Connor lit a lamp with a surprisingly white light. There was a large contraption of wood, bark, and what looked like a single mana ring in the front and center on his workbench.

“This is what I’m currently working on,” Conner said, noticing him. “It’s an example of how we can use mana rings and spellwoods to create kinetic energy. We can use that to, uh, work mechanisms, contraptions, and stuff. Machines, basically.”

Ryan raised his eyebrows in appreciation but didn’t know what to say.

“And I’ve got some books, some tools, supplies,” Connor mumbled awkwardly, then spun around and opened a drawer, looking for something. He stretched to get it from the far back. A small box, which Ryan recognized as he flipped it open. “The mana crystal you gave me.”

It rested in there like a blue marble, eerily similar in form to the ones they had found in the Tower. Why hadn’t Ryan noticed?

“I still haven’t figured out what I want to make with it. I want it to be something useful, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“You can, ah, have it back if you need it?” Connor asked, looking like he wanted to say something else.

Ryan shook his head. “Why would I need it? No pressure from me, just knock yourself out.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” He put the box back and eased the drawer shut, clearly thinking about something else. “Oh, I’ve also been working on some designs using the tip Lisa gave me. Thanks for that.”

Ryan frowned. “Tip?”

“Yeah, you asked her to give me one, right?”

“Oh? Yeah, but— She said she wouldn’t help you. She told me that, at least. Was it useful?”

He hesitated and then weighed his head a little, leaning against the desk. The posture made his sleeves ride up a little and Ryan spotted the pink roots running down his skin.

Old or new?

“A little. It wasn’t something that I didn’t know,” Conner said. “It just wasn’t something I had thought of using in that manner before. I’m not even sure if it’ll work, so I can’t tell, but, uh, still—thank you. And her, of course. I can use all the help I can get.”

Ryan smiled awkwardly and took a half-step around to look at the shelf. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

He read the names off of book spines but didn’t really read them, and wondered what the other guy would need common tools like a hammer for.

“Was she caught up in the Tower, too?” Connor asked. “I mean, I think I had seen her around before, but I wasn’t sure. I was home over most of the weekend.”

Ryan shook his head. “No. She was actually one of the [Summoners] who tried to help, after.”

“Oh, wow. I had, uh, heard about that, but I thought it was kind of long shot, sending summoned monsters into the Tower to find people. They used a lot of mana rings for that, right?”

“Hundreds. Three of hers found us, actually. Three of twelve. But they exploded. She lost all hers, now. I think she really needed them, too.” Ryan only realized that as he said it, but why else would she hoard them like that? Lisa seemed the type to always have a reason for the things she did.

Eight mana rings. How long would it take for her to earn them back? How far had this set her back?

He hadn’t seen the normal Sam in ages already. Ryan almost missed the little guy.

“That sucks,” Conner commented. “But it wasn’t all bad, right? I bet she leveled from helping you.”

Had she? Ryan didn’t know. Lisa wasn’t one to talk about her levels much—he didn’t even know which level she was. He would have to ask her later.

“And you? Did you level?” Connor asked. “Or get anything else?”

“Yeah, I got three levels in total. Three Skills, too,” he said. “And Micah got—”

One level and Skill, he’d wanted to say. What came out was, “Micah broke his leg and two fingers. He might need surgery.”

Connor went still. “Oh.”

An awkward silence followed and Ryan dropped his feigned inspection of the room. He didn’t know if Connor was trying to cheer him up or if he even looked like he needed cheering up, but the Skills definitely hadn’t been worth how shit he felt right now, let alone how shit Micah had to feel.

The silence stretched on until Connor asked, “But you’re fine?”

“Yeah. I mean, I have some bruised ribs, but I got a salve to put on them and I have [Lesser Vitality], so—”

“No, I mean … are you fine?” Connor repeated, with a different meaning this time.

Ryan hesitated.

I almost killed a man yesterday.

“Yeah,” he lied. What the fuck was he doing? Moping around some guys workshop, whom he barely knew? He shifted to lean back against the closet opposite him and put on a smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Oh. Good.”

“I actually got an item that might be deemed a relic,” he offered.

“What, really?” Connor leaned forward, still resting against the table. Closer. Ryan stayed where he was.

“Yeah. It’s this yellow rain jacket that has, uh, a minor defensive ward that also effectively gives the wearer [Water Breathing]? It keeps out water and filters air. Oh, and it glows when it’s wet, but I think there’s another way to activate that. We’re not sure, but Mr. Walker told us we should put it up for appraisal.”

“Wow. What are you going to do with it? Donate?”

“Right now?” he asked. “I’m thinking of giving it to you.”

Connor froze up and Ryan enjoyed his surprise.

“What?” he asked and Ryan just smiled at him. “You’re joking, right?”

“I mean, I assume you made good use of that wristband,” he started, nudging his chin at his wristband Connor was wearing.

“Yeah, but that’s— You said this might be worth calling a relic.”

“Might. Walker lost his enthusiasm after he appraised it himself. I’m guessing we already know everything it does,” Ryan said. “A ward against force and water and it glows. We’ll probably just get a neat and tidy explanation written down about the hows and whys if we have it appraised properly, you know? But you can bind items, right? You could do a lot with it, I bet.”

Connor leaned back and looked almost … angry? Ryan’s enthusiasm slipped for a moment. Why did he seem angry? Ryan was offering to give him a present. An awesome present. Wasn’t he supposed to be happy?

“You’re joking, right?” Connor asked. There was a smile in his voice, even though there wasn’t one in his expression.

“I, uh …” Ryan glanced around at the small room they were in, the open door, the guy opposite him, and only then realized where he was, what he was offering. He rushed to take him up on his excuse, “Yeah, I’m joking. Obviously.”

Connor nodded. “Right. Good. You had me fooled there for a second.”

Ryan just smiled awkwardly and looked for a change of topics. “So what are you working on? Something with kinetic force, you said?”

“Oh, yeah,” he stepped over to the contraption on his workbench and glanced back. “I mean, uh— I made it sound cooler than it is. This model is basically just a … a child-safety lock.”

Ryan blinked. “A what?”

“A child-safety lock. Yeah. Using a mana ring and spellwood. Here, look.”

Ryan stepped closer while Connor rushed to explain, gesturing with his hands over the project as he spoke. “So you hold your thumb against the mana ring from the outside like this.”

He demonstrated. A small hole had been cut into a pane of wood and the mana ring was sticking out of it like a black bump, held fast with another bar on the inside so it couldn’t be taken out.

“But nothing happens, because the ring is already full, right?”

Connor had his thumb pressed against it, but Ryan didn’t get the feeling he was actually pushing any mana inside. He thought he would have sensed it, but he could have been wrong.

He glanced up, half a head shorter than him and went on, “Unless you create an exit for the mana to flow into.” He gestured at a rod of darker wood held close enough to the ring to touch, but not affixed to it. There was another on the other side, making a ring of sorts that was connected to a box at the end.

“And if you also create an entrance and connect them, you create a loop. So you make a loop of spellwood. While mana travels through this loop, it creates an aura. Like the one you use for cantrips? And the ring is positioned so that the flow of that aura is opposed to yours, which causes friction.”

He gestured up and down in front of himself and Ryan smiled a little, standing close enough to touch.

“Of course, the flimsy aura of some mana flowing through spellwood can't compete with a person's mana regeneration, so you win out. Now, if you push mana through some spellwoods they get tainted—”

“Wait, you’re using wand wood?” Ryan asked and frowned at the contraption. “For a child-safety lock?”

Connor shook his head. “You can't think like that. You have to imagine, what if it weren't so expensive? What could we do then?”

Ryan cocked an eyebrow at him. In this crisis?

He rolled his eyes. “Things will calm down, I’m sure. They have to.” He turned back to his project. “So this spellwood taints toward kinetic energy. When it pushes against your aura and loses, it escapes by pushing its own wood itself away in order to be in alignment with you. Like this.”

This time, he did push mana into the ring and the entire contraption shifted ninety degrees to turn on its side. At the end of it, a lock clicked into place and Ryan’s eyebrows shot up.

“Wow. Okay …?” he asked, telling him to go him.

Connor’s smile widened. “And yeah—if you attach the lock to that motion, you can have the door unlock.” He raised a finger and gestured at a second wooden rod that had been hidden before, and was now touching the ring. “Now, if you attach a second spellwood ring to the contraption, one which gets shifted into contact with the motion, you can create a second loop that can push the first back into place by pushing mana in, to unlock it again. And because, usually, only people at about the age of 13 or so know how to use mana, you've created a child-safety lock. Tadaa.”

He leaned back from the project and shrugged. “Or a foreigner-safety lock, I suppose.”

Ryan leaned down to peer at the connections and supports with open amazement. He doubted he could have come up with something like this. “Cool. I think. Sounds more like a machine than enchanting, though, right?”

He glanced up.

“Yeah, but enchanters have leveled up from this,” Connor told him, “just like—” He broke off and looked awkward all the sudden. “Uh, nevermind.”

“No. What?” Ryan demanded.

“Just—not everything that gives you levels in a Class also gives you that Class, you know?”

“Oh, yeah. Like how watering plants its own is less likely to you [Gardener], but it’ll help you level as one?”

“A much better example. Yeah.”

Ryan made a face. What had he been thinking of?

He went back in the conversation for a clue and caught on something else. “Wait, did you say you leveled? Congrats—”

“What? Oh, no, no, no! I haven't. Others have. It gives experience. It won't get you the class, but it'll help me toward my next level up. And some people have been using the same principle to think of more advanced ways of using mana-interactive materials, though ... yeah, you're right. They're expensive and hard to come by. This can't do much more than move a lock. It couldn't work as a motor, sadly. Maybe if it were larger, but we're mostly working with mana rings that can hold and process a limited amount. Artificial mana batteries aren't as ... reliable.”

Ryan straightened up. “Complicated. It's awesome.” He saw a look of doubt on Connor’s face and quickly assured him, “No, no. I mean it. I could, ah, listen to you explain this all day.”

Connor looked surprised.

He turned back to the project. “Hey, so can you weaponize this anyhow?”

“Weaponize? Uhm ... maybe? I think some people have been trying to use wand woods to create artificial spell enchantments, you know? One guy made one that creates an aura of warmth with a loose fire affinity. Another created a sort of thing that sucks in wind from one direction and pushes it in the other, but they're not ... weapons. No.”

“And mages can't use them as tools or anything?” An aura of fire affinity sounds like a good item to have.

Connor shook his head. “Too much work for too little gain. I mean, I've been experimenting with my lightning affinity—”

“You have a lightning affinity? Awesome. I have a fire one.”

“You do? Are you a [Mage]?”

“No, [Fighter]-[Scout]. I got it from my Path.” Ryan pushed a thumb against the mana ring and closed his eyes for a second, digging beneath the skin to find mana that was pure. He found it closest to his bones and shoved a little inside. Nothing happened, so he pushed a little more.

Click. The whole contraption shifted and the lock clicked into place. A person had made that? Awesome.

“Oh, me too,” Connor was saying. “Well, from my bond with the lightning twig, but yeah.”

“What happens if you use your lightning affinity for this? Oh, or your lightning twig as a spellwood?”

“I've actually been experimenting with that. Or rather, with using the twig as a mana battery of sorts. It's a source of a lot of energy, so if I use mana to create temporary connections, I could use it to power things. I got the idea from Lisa’s tip, actually. If I manage to make something, I should probably thank her for that.”

Ryan smiled. “Lisa’s awesome.”

“She— she is?”

“Yeah. She’s saved our lives at least twice, now.” He leaned forward to get a look at the lock itself. Hm. Crude.

“Do you, like, like-like her?” Connor asked.

“What?” Ryan looked over, worried. “No. I mean— No. Yeah, she's awesome, but she’s like a teammate and, uh, you don't go there, I think? You know? Plus, she’s older than me. She’s kind of like an older sister. No idea if she sees me as a younger brother, but she also teaches us stuff, and we help her out where she needs something, plus her guardian is like super famous, so—”

Ryan realized he was rambling and stopped himself. “She's a friend,” he finished lamely.

“That, uhm, didn't sound like she's just a friend?”

He shook his head. “No, it's not what you think. It's something else that's got me jibbed. Nevermind. What about you? You like-like anybody? You always hang out with that one girl…?”

“Sarah? No. She's, uh, I'm looking for a less asshole word for ‘tenuous.’ A tenuous friend, you know? I haven't known her that long and I feel like she's more of a friend of a friend. I'm not sure that friend will continue to be my friend either. We don't have a lot in common aside from being roommates, you know?”

Ryan shrugged and looked around the room again. “Friendship isn't just about having stuff in common.”

“Yeah, it is?” Connor said. It sounded like a question.

“Of course, it isn’t,” he scoffed.

“I’m this close to repeated ‘yeah, it is,” Connor told him. “So unless you want to do this on repeat …?”

Ryan smiled. It was tempting. But no.

“Look. One of my best friends doesn't even go here. He's way more into alleyball than me and that's the only hobby or other interest we really share. We didn’t even sit next to each other in classroom, but we still hang out all the time. Friendship is just … being there and not wanting to be someplace else. Belonging, I guess.”

He frowned. “Yeah, but how do you know if you belong?”

Ryan thought about it while he set Micah’s books on a shelf and sat on the edge of the workbench next to the project himself, really hoping the table wouldn’t fall apart under him.

It seemed sturdy enough. It was fine, thankfully.

“Have you ever just ... sat in the same place as someone and not talked or done anything together, but still not left or thought about leaving?” Ryan asked. “Just enjoyed each other's presence? Belonging. I mean, you just know it. And it's not, like, bonding. It's not even fitting in. It's fitting with.”

“I don't know. What if you feel uncomfortable?”

“When?”

“When doing stuff with them?”

“Then it’s not your thing. As long as they know that, if they’re still having fun, it’s fine. Plus, you can hang out other times, for stuff you both enjoy or things you enjoy a little more than them.”

“And what about always?”

“Always? You mean always ‘uncomfortable’?” Ryan asked and he nodded. “Why would you be?”

“Because … I don’t know. You’re just worried what they’ll think of you.”

Ryan hesitated. He had no idea why he was giving friendship advice to someone he barely knew in a backroom workshop at school in the first place, but he didn’t mind too much. It seemed important to Connor, even if it was awkward to all hell and hit a little too close to home.

“Then you just value them,” he said, feeling stupid even as he used the word. Too late now. “As long as they value you back, it's okay to be worried.”

“How do I know if they value me back?”

He smiled. That was one thing Lang had hashed out with him years ago. “What do you want? Fireworks spelling it out? Or a fifty-page essay? They hang out with you, right? They listen when you speak? They tell you to shut up when you make an ass of yourself? Then they value you.” He shrugged. “Easy.”

He reached forward to find the mana ring and pushed some mana inside. The lock shifted again. Open. He did it again. Closed. It didn’t work when he did it continuously—there was a pause during the shift, but it still worked despite him sitting next to it instead of standing in front.

Was that intentional?

Connor was frowning. “Would you really have given me the item, had I accepted earlier?”

The question came out of left field and he looked up. Would he have? The lock clicked next to him and he nodded. “Yeah, though I probably would have regretted it later. At the very least after I got into a fight with my teammate.”

“Micah?”

He nodded again. He doubted Micah would have understood. He barely understood himself.

Open, closed. Open, closed. Connor frowned at the project and looked like he wanted to say something.

Ryan locked it, sighed, and jumped up before he could. He reached out to fetch the books off the shelf and stepped past him. “Well, I've got to get going. It was good talking to you. Awesome project.”

Connor looked surprised for a moment, but quickly nodded and stepped back. He glanced around as he mumbled, “Yeah, yeah. Uhm, you, too.”

“See you later.” He gave a single-hand salute over his shoulder as he stepped out of the room.

“Later.”

He closed the door on his way out.

----------------------------------------

“So, Mr. Stranya. I’m told you’ve come to a decision,” Dr. Sayem spoke as he stepped into the small room with a clipboard.

Micah sat in his jogging clothes Ryan had brought him on the high patient’s … bench? Was it a bench? He didn’t know what to call it, but there was a thin coverage over that wrinkled whenever he moved. It was kind of uncomfortable, if he was being honest, especially with his leg propped up awkwardly.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ve read the papers we handed you? Both the ones before and the agreement?”

“Yes, sir. And I spoke with some others about it.”

The man went to a drawer near the sink and got out some supplies—a cloth from a wide drawer, bandages, some salve, a needle and a spool that reminded Micah of thread. He glanced back as he spoke, “A second opinion?”

“Not a professional one, no, but uh …” His voice shook a little as he saw the small needle, but he knew they would be using a much larger one to poke into his bone later. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to swallow his doubts with it.

“Family and friends?”

“Exactly. And some of the nurses, though they always told me they aren’t allowed to give official medical advice. So, uh, I guess I didn’t ask some of the nurses …?”

He nodded absentmindedly and Micah was glad he hadn’t gotten anyone into trouble. “And your parents support this decision?”

Micah nodded again. “Yes, sir. My mom signed, too. Though I was only able to speak to her. My father’s busy with the mayoral speeches this afternoon.”

“Ah, yes. Those. Well, we’ll see what they have to say about the Tower soon enough, won’t we?” He turned around and smiled reassuringly.

“I guess.”

“Now, will you have any family or friends here for the procedure? I should invite them in now if you do.” He glanced at the door.

“Uh, no. No, my parents and one of my friends are busy and … I didn’t tell Ryan it was today.”

He frowned but didn’t seem all too surprised, probably familiar with the decision. “Hm. Well, having a friend here to support you is always the better option,” he said. “If you aren’t sure—”

“I’m sure,” Micah interrupted and wrinkled the cover in his grip. “I want to do it this way.”

“Alright then. Unless you have any questions or worries before the procedure, I’ll need you to lie face-down on the stretcher and lift up your shirt.”

Micah did as the doctor said, slowly raising his leg up to turn around on the stretcher. Dr. Sayem noticed and told him to stop. He would send a nurse in to do the preliminary preparation and then come back when the anesthetic had taken hold.

Micah had known that. Why had he forgotten?

The same nurse as earlier came in a moment later and helped him up on the stretcher, but no matter how slowly she moved his leg, it still felt uncomfortable. He bundled up his shirt to his chest and she rubbed something on his skin that warmed up after a moment and stunk.

“I’m going to put the needle in now, alright?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

All he felt was a tiny tap and an uncomfortable sensation, almost like something crawling on his skin, but far too faint to draw a reaction from him. He wasn’t even sure she had done it yet and resisted the urge to look back.

A moment later, she was putting a cloth over him to cover his backside and said, “All done.”

“What, already?”

“It’s that easy.”

He felt the numbness starting to crawl up his skin then and he nodded to himself. He had read all the papers three times, risks included. He knew what was happening. This was his best option.

After they waited a while to make sure he couldn’t feel anything, Dr. Sayem came back and pulled out what looked like a corkscrew and a much larger needle from a small cart the nurse wheeled in.

It looked large enough to pierce him through and poke out the other side, but the man handled it like any other tool. The nurse rounded around the other side of the bed and another joined them as the doctor stepped up.

Micah took one last deep breath and pressed his eyes into the back of his hands. His body trembled when he breathed out.

At least, he would get his own room after this.

----------------------------------------

Ryan found Dennis raking leaves near the archery range, one of the few people who were on campus right now. Lisa and a bunch of others had already left to the nearest plazas to hear the news. He’d stayed.

Orange and yellow leaves conquered most of the trees by now and there was a slight chill in the air. Not enough to bite, and there was no wind, but he could feel it if he pushed down his heat.

It felt like Fall had come without warning.

He called to get the man’s attention as he walked up and the young groundskeeper looked around, then spotted him and folded both hands to lean on his rake.

“Ryan, right? What’s up?” he asked, seeming patient. “Or do you need something for Micah or Ms. Denner again?”

“Uh, no. Hi,” Ryan greeted him and held the single shard of gnarled wood that remained of his shield up for him to see. “I’m looking for more of a personal favor, actually. Are you familiar with this?”

“Hm? Let me see.” He took the shard and turned it over, nodding once. “Treant shield, right? Branch, bark, or root?”

“Branch,” Ryan told him. “I was wondering if you had a pot or place where I could regrow it, here?”

Dennis frowned. “Don’t tell me you got caught up in that Tower mess.”

He shrugged. “Sort of.”

Dennis grumbled something and tsked with a shake of his head. “Well, better your shield than you, right? You seem fine?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Fine enough to be walking around, but not enough for sports lessons. Not for a week or two, anyway.”

“Oh, wow,” Dennis said and glanced toward the city. “Better than most, though. Right? Was it just you or …?”

“Micah was with me. He’s a little worse off,” Ryan told him. “‘Broke his leg and two fingers. He’ll be in a hospital bed for the foreseeable future.”

“Shit. Yeah, let me see what I can do for you.” He shifted and started walking away. “I think we still have some bottle of his stuff lying around, too. That’ll be bound to help the shield grow.”

Ryan followed after. “Thank you, sir.”

“Call me Dennis, and it’s no problem.”

He led him past the administration building to his shed on the other side of campus and found a pot about as large as the shield had been wide. A few shovels of soil and Ryan dug a small hole to put the shard in.

He shoved the dirt back over it and poured some of the oil-like liquid Micah had brewed on, wiping off his muddy hands on a cloth Dennis offered him. The man placed the shard on the window sill and said, “There. Soil. Watering. Sunlight. Perfect. Not sure how long it’ll take to grow, but you can see it from the window this way. Or read up on it, I guess. Just ask me if you want to take it back out.”

“Thanks, Dennis. I will.”

“You’re welcome. Now, I got to get back to work. Have a good one, okay? Greet Micah for me.”

“Got it.”

He locked the door on their way out again, and Ryan made sure the man was gone before he stepped around the corner and found a small ledge near a tree to sit on and watch the window.

Somewhere in the distance, the city was listening to their mayors’ speak about a national crisis, and Micah was probably writing down notes alone in his hospital bed.

Ryan rested his chin on his knees with a sigh and watched his shield grow.