The gym was surprisingly full when they got there. They had to wait before they could get a field to themselves and only because they had been split beforehand. Theirs wasn’t the only team who wanted to practice.

Brent showed up with a small cooking pot tucked under his arm and Micah hoped he didn’t have something like [Cooking Pot Proficiency: I] or [Improvised Weapon Proficiency: VII] which would let him fight with it, while another, smaller part of him grinned and wished he did.

He had to ask.

“We’re doing team assessment stuff here, yeah? Well, this is part of my stuff. It’s magic.”

“Magic?”

“Yeah. Enchanted. Whatever. My cousin found it in the old Tower, ‘thought I could use it since I’m a [Cook]. He gave it to me on my Class party back then. It’s enchanted with the three water generation spells.”

He showed Micah. It had grooves in the metal which made the outside look like the bricks of a well. Three of those had a slight blue hue to them. He tapped them as he said, “[Create Water], [Condense Water], and”—he had to turn it around—”[Summon Water].”

“He found a cooking pot in a treasure chest?” Micah reached out and the guy yanked it away.

“If you fill it with water, you’re going to be the one who has to bring it to a sink to pour out.”

He made a face. He’d just want to touch it.

“Plus, it’s expensive.”

“Expensive?”

“The enchantment costs more than a normal spell. Summoning and create are ridiculous anyway.”

“Oh, that kind of expensive. But if we’re going to the Salamander’s Den—”

Brent grinned. “That’s what I was thinking. Can’t get a lot of water out of thin air in there, huh?”

“If we drink summoned water during the exam, we’re going to have to drink six liters a day just to make up for it when we get back out.”

“No, no, no. [Create Water]. I don’t know many spells anyway and my cooking doesn’t cost much. I can spend all my mana on it. I bet Grumpy over there can, too.” He jerked a thumb away.

Micah frowned. “Ryan— Oh, you meant Kyle.”

He chuckled.

Ryan wasn’t even there. He clapped twice from the field to catch their attention and shot a glare at a guy headed their way. This is our field now, it said. He snatched his spear back up and called, “Who wants to start?”

Jason raised a hand. “I’ll go?”

Ryan frowned. “Have you warmed up yet?”

“I jogged here?”

He shrugged. Your funeral. When Ryan did things like that—spar, train, exercise, teach—he always reminded Micah a little of his old instructor, Gardener. Just better, obviously. If climbing didn’t pan out, he knew at least one career his friend could pick up instead.

Jason took up his spot on the field and adopted a loose fighting stance. Training sword and shield, in the same manner as the cafeteria before. Already, Micah could count a few mistakes in his stance.

By his look up and down, Ryan could see those mistakes, too. But when the clock struck the minute and Micah called for the match to start, Jason held himself surprisingly well.

Ryan pushed an offense. He got the first two hits in. Jason managed to graze the third. He was on the defense but deflected well. Not as well as Ryan, but there was talent there. Most people were more used to fighting swords than spears. They were more popular after all.

Just, Jason deflected with his sword. Not his shield. His stance pointed the wooden weight in almost the opposite direction and left him wide open. If anything, it was dragging him down.

Maybe a buckler? Micah thought. But those were easy to lose. You had to actively hold on to them. Just a smaller shield in general? It wouldn’t allow him to hide behind as well. Spells, arrows, breath attacks—climbing shields were more about giving cover than deflecting weaponry.

Still, it was obvious he still had to adjust his fighting style to his proficiency. Had he gotten it recently?

Micah frowned. No, that didn’t make sense. When?

Jason hadn’t been in the Tower during the changes. He had been grumpy back then—Micah only now realized why. It was exactly the type of thing he would have loved to do, which would have helped him level. Repetition level ups were rare. So then he must have had it for months, right?

As the fight went on, Jason seemed to warm up. His sword movements went from lazy and unprofessional to awkwardly panicked strikes in a moment and then back again. After a while, those strikes weren’t panicked anymore. He danced outside of Ryan’s range and rushed in like a child playing Statues. He deflected more and more, sometimes with his shield held awkwardly far out.

All of his movements seemed to defy the laws of momentum and poise. He moved his sword in all vectors of a circle, tip to guard like he was just now figuring out how to hold it. And somehow, it worked.

Caution, Micah realized. He was putting just enough force into his movements and playing it safe, unsure of what he was doing and jumping on opportunities, which allowed him unnatural coordination.

It was fun to watch. It was almost funny to watch.

Especially since Ryan seemed annoyed by the farce of it all. He frowned every time Jason just barely deflected a strike and then got an awkward slap of a sword tip past his defenses. In an actual fight, that might not even have made it past his climbing shirt. It was the type of strike that would only harm a naked person—or an unmade. But here, it got him a point.

A few seconds late, Micah almost missed calling the match and jumped up to do it with a grin.

Ryan had won. Obviously. But Jason had made it a good match near the end and caught up. They shook hands and talked on the way back. He couldn’t make out the words, but they looked friendly.

“I’m warm,” Jason announced with a smile, a thin sheen of sweat across his face. “I want to go again.”

“Alright,” Kyle said and pushed himself up. “I’ll face you. I think I get it.” He was one of the few people who fought with training hatchets. Definitely a [Gardener] or something similar.

Micah wanted to talk with Jason more, congratulate him and ask about his fighting style, but he headed right back to the field.

Ryan offered to watch the clock. Micah nudged him and nodded toward the field, worried that Kyle might try to pull something. Not that he meant ill, but Kyle didn’t seem like the type of person who “got” fair play.

As the match began, he definitely didn’t do casual. Micah didn’t catch any hints of ill intent, though. He relaxed.

“So, are you like a [Cook] or a [Magic Cook]?”

“[Cook],” Brent said, both their eyes on the match.

“And you have [Magic Cooking Path]?”

“[Tower Cooking Path].”

“Ah.”

Kyle used a hatchet to hook Jason’s shield away and tried to get a swipe in at his stomach. Jason arched away from it and tried to back off. His opponent used his other hand to stop the momentum of the swing, followed up, and shoved his elbow back, hitting him in the jaw.

Ooh. Micah winced.

Thankfully, he didn’t press the advantage when Jason stumbled. The other guy glanced back at them and called, “Bit mah tung.”

Kyle mumbled something that might have been, Sorry.

“Try not to aim for the head,” Ryan called.

Especially since Jason was so much taller than him. That had to have been intentional.

Kyle nodded. The round went on. He was good, but the only reason he was better was that he took this a bit too seriously and fought with the same anger that was behind his usual brooding self.

A little more focused, perhaps.

“Why?” Brent asked.

“Huh?” Micah needed to backtrack. “Oh, because I thought you were a magic cook. You know, who uses spells and stuff like that? But then you said you didn’t know any spells. You have that pot.”

“Yeah, no. Just yet another weirdo monster eater here. I do know one cantrip, though.”

Micah watched the fight for a moment longer before he realized Brent wasn’t sharing. He turned to look at him. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Brent snapped a puff of sparks into his face.

He tried to stay very still and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again and could see, the other guy was grinning at him as if he had just played a funny prank on him.

“Please. Don’t do that.”

“What? This—”

Micah grabbed his wrist before he could do it again. He still tried to push past him as if they were horsing around, so he put a thumb on the back of his hand and twisted it the other way.

“Ow, ow, ow, I give,” he laughed.

“Don’t,” Micah warned. He realized Ryan was glancing at them and quickly let go. “It’s just— Uhm—” He needed an excuse. Any excuse. He couldn’t let them know of that weakness. “I don’t have a lot of money,” he blurted out. “I don’t want burn marks all over my clothes. If they catch?”

It wasn’t really a lie. He wouldn’t want that.

Brent rubbed his wrist but nodded as if he could understand that. “Don’t worry, man. I made them really flimsy.”

“Still.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Sorry.”

“No problem,” he mumbled.

So he had [Sparks]. That was good to know. Micah would have rather figured it out by reading on paper, though.

“You should write down your Skills for us,” he said, trying not to sound like he was sulking.

Brent groaned. “In a moment. It’s such a hassle.”

“Do you have a lot of Skills, then?”

He gave him a barely amused look. “No. Wise guy. But still.”

Micah discreetly pushed his notebook with a pen toward him on the bench, all the notes he’d made of their team on the last few pages. Maybe a bit too discreetly. He didn’t notice.

When Ryan called the match, Jason shambled over and collapsed onto the benches. True to instructor-Ryan, the guy said, “Don’t do that. It’s not good for your circulation. You should drink some water and walk it off. Maybe do light stretches.”

Jason groaned, but actually followed his advice and began pacing in front of their benches.

“I’m guessing that means he needs a break?” Kyle said. “I’m up for it. We can do this two and tag out.”

Brent moved in his seat, noticed the notepad, and shot up instead of having to write his things down. “Sure. Let’s go.” Before he headed off though, he began to strap one sheath after another to the suspender-like belts over his climbing shirt.

“That’s, uh, a lot of knives,” Jason said.

He smirked. “You can never have enough knives.”

They all nodded wisely.

“Make sure you have a spare for the exam, in case you need to shank a butterfly,” Micah called. It made him remember something. After Kyle and Brent headed out, he joined Jason below. “You mentioned metal ammunition you use for your slingshot. Did you happen to bring any?”

“Sure.”

He brought a small drawstring pouch filled with what looked like ball bearings from his gym bag, which clinked as he weighed it in his hand. He could fit even more in there than Micah could rocks. From another side-pouch, he brought out a slingshot. It wasn’t made of simple wood and a strap. It was metal, and the straps’ material seemed oddly flexible as it dangled there.

Micah pulled it back as far as he could and it snapped forward when he loosed. He got his own slingshot to compare. It looked almost like a children’s toy next to it. His was an actual weapon.

“Wow.”

“You have to be careful with it, though,” Jason said. “It can really hurt someone, or break a window, or the straps can snap back and hit you in the face. It’s great on the lower floors, though. I actually managed to kill some of the first floor monsters with a single shot a few times.”

He smiled.

“Where did you get this?”

“A shop back in my home district— Oh, but they have a branch nearby. You can buy the ammunition there, too. I heard about some places that sell alchemical ammunition, but the one I visited was really expensive. The effects weren’t worth the price, I thought. That’s why I’m interested in what you can make.”

Home district? Where, Riverbend?

Micah tried aiming. “I’d really like to try it out sometime.” He frowned and relaxed the strings. “Are there targets in this gym?”

“There are, now,” Ryan called down. “I had to carry a few over for the archery club. I’m not sure if you can use them without permission, though. Especially not with the gym as full as it is.”

“Oh. Well, maybe we can go to the archery hall after this instead. And can you show me?”

“How to use it?” Jason asked.

“Well, yeah. That. But also where the shop is? I think I might want to buy one.”

Ryan shot him a look.

“It seems like it would be a good investment,” Micah added in a careful tone. “Beating monsters in one shot.”

He seemed to begrudgingly agree.

“Uhm … sure,” Jason said. “Yeah, okay. We can do that. You should definitely try it out first, though.”

Micah nodded and handed it back. Later.

He went through his stretches to prepare for his match against Brent first. He hadn’t really been paying attention, but somehow, the larger guy managed to win against Kyle. And Kyle was pissed about of that as he stormed back.

“You fight like a coward.”

“I fight smart. You fight like you’re suicidal.”

Kyle scowled. “You only won because this is a point sparring match. You couldn’t have pulled that shit in a real fight.”

Brent frowned at his back as he climbed the benches, but quickly shifted his attention to Micah standing there, and smiled. “You’re up, next?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me catch my breath. And get a drink.”

His heart was beating way too much when Micah waited, sword and shield ready. He had been exercising almost every day since his first combat training lesson—or at least, whenever he could spare the time during exams. To catch up, to get back to where he once was, to be better.

He could do this.

Brent gave him a friendly grin, a long training dagger in each hand, only a few meters off from him. Micah wasn’t even sure they were daggers. They might have been the thirty centimeter short swords the younger students tended to use. Ryan had lent him one of those, once.

The match began.

Micah stayed where he was.

You fight like a coward. He hadn’t seen much of it, but he could guess what the words meant. Kyle was aggressive and reckless, fighting with two hatchets and valuing harming his opponent’s before they could harm him. He tore down defenses and kept up the pressure.

What would his worst enemy be? Someone who saw that pressure and denied him the chance to express it. Brent didn’t have a shield, so he didn’t do defenses. He fled. Now, what would his worst enemy be?

An even worse coward. A fortress.

He huddled behind his shield and held his sword in an overhead style, similar to how Ryan sometimes held his spear. It was no rapier, not ideal for thrusting, but it was a training sword so it wouldn’t do any harm anyway.

Brent cocked his head curiously and took a few testing steps forward and around, keeping his distance. “I’d heard you fought different than that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Kind of … reckless, too, I guess.”

He shrugged.

Brent’s foot shifted a second before he pushed off and charged.

Micah scrambled back, keeping his guard up and thrusting a warning strike at his shoulder. He barely dodged out the way—dextrous, not nimble, then. His size wasn’t doing him any favors.

“Micah,” he said. “C’mon. Don’t turtle up.”

“I’m—”

He threw a knife. It tugged on Micah’s pants past his left leg and skid into the sand, too fast for him to see.

In a flash, he had another in his hand. He tried to use the window to get another hit in, flipped a knife overhead, and struck out with the other. Micah’s attention was divided as he tried to follow its arc and block, but Brent wouldn’t let up as he pulled a fourth out of his holster.

“Don’t look up,” he warned, with real worry in his voice, at the same time as Micah managed to get a hit into his chest and dig the sword into the nook of his arm to throw his strike off.

He tried to jerk his head away at the last moment but felt something smack against the side of his helmet.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Another point for him. Ryan called them.

Brent was already retreating and Micah only got a glancing blow to his waist on the way back. He didn’t really like that Brent didn’t have a shield. It made him hesitate to attack, worried he might hurt him.

“Kyle’s right,” he said. “You really can’t fight like that in the Tower. You’d never have time to pick up all those knives. And you aren’t fast enough to have no shield.”

Two knives were already lying in the sand.

“Not if you choose your arena,” Brent said. “And this is very much an arena right now.”

Were gladiators his inspiration, then? Micah could begrudgingly agree with the thought. Except for one thing: He needed those knives to create openings and he would run out eventually.

Especially since Micah wouldn’t allow him to pick them back up.

He took a threatening stance forward—Brent immediately skipped three steps back—then turned around and kicked one of the two knives skidding out of bounds. He turned back with a grin.

“Dammit,” his opponent mumbled.

Micah won. Barely. And only because Brent played along and didn’t pick his knives back up during the breaks.

Like Myra, he won by a few points in a match that barely had any points at all. He might have gotten more had he switched out of his turtle stance halfway through, but Micah wanted to try it out and learn from the experience. Especially since he wasn’t wasting time during combat training and Mr. Sundberg wasn’t watching—he could fail without affecting his participation grade.

Officially, that couldn’t happen, but Micah knew that all his teachers were biased. He had to play into that if he wanted good grades.

He thought the match went alright. Maybe not his favorite fighting style, even if it had a certain charm to it. He was inexperienced besides.

It was his turn to go against Jason, then, which was mostly them goofing off while he tried to copy the other guy’s fighting style. How in the hell did he make that game of chicken work in a fight?

Two matches over, it was his break and Jason’s turn to fight against Brent, which went a little more in the latter’s favor. He fought in circles around his opponent, throwing knives and slashing into gaps in their defenses.

Ryan seemed to enjoy himself as the judge, in his own stern way, so he let him do it throughout.

He sat down to look through his notes.

Kyle snuck up on him. “So did you two get your Classes early?” He sat on the bench behind him and leaned forward, up close to his left shoulder.

Micah almost bumped into him when he swiveled around. “Huh?”

“Ryan and you.”

He glanced down at the guy.

“Oh. Yeah. He, uhm, got his when he was thirteen … and a half, I think? [Fighter]. He got his Path a little over a month before that, though. And I got both of mine when I was eleven and a half. Why?”

Kyle blinked. “Eleven?”

“And a half.”

“Eleven?”

“And a half.” Micah smiled. That was still important to him. Ryan’s birthday was in just five weeks.

“How old are you now?” Kyle asked.

He told him.

Kyle was giving him that same look from earlier, idly working his jaw, eyes focused like he was trying to solve a puzzle or figure out how to murder somebody without leaving any evidence. It was mildly uncomfortable, this close. It made him look like he was about to act.

But before all that, it said, Are you bullshitting me?

Micah also recognized something else in there, and in the way he had said he was level seven, how he had shrugged like it was no big deal when Micah had mentioned it was above average: pride.

He didn’t think we would be higher level than him, he realized. And suddenly, Kyle made much more sense to him.

“So what? You just … got the [Alchemist] Class one day when you were eleven? Are your parents [Alchemists]? Did they let you help them a lot growing up or force you to study, ‘or else’ …?”

His parents as [Alchemist]? Micah almost chuckled. “Uhm, no. My brother’s best friend is an [Alchemist], though. William. He let me help out from time to time when they were in town. For family events and stuff like that.”

“How often?”

“Huh?”

“How often did he let you help him?”

“Uhm. I don’t know … a handful of times?” Micah didn’t know why he was questioning him this intensely, but he was enjoying it less and less. “Three or four times. More than once whenever he was there. My brother would shove me off on him to get rid of me. He thought I was annoying. Lean let me do fun experiments, more for entertainment than any academic purposes. Like in chemistry class?”

“Aha.”

“He also let me make fireworks once … which I now realize is incredibly irresponsible to let a child do.” Micah smiled at the vague memory. “‘Lean’s cool.”

“How old were you?”

“Iunno. Nine, maybe? I was a little over ten during the last family event. He was also there for my sister’s wedding, but they were too busy to hang out with me because they had to help her.”

“Yeah, yeah. Boo hoo. Brother didn’t like you. So you got your Class a year later, after you played gofer for some guy you barely knew four times? Is that what you’re selling me?”

Micah frowned.

He thinks I’m lying.

For a moment, he considered looking him in the eye and telling him to go fuck himself. He swallowed his anger and tried to be friendly instead.

“I got lucky, okay?” he said and shrugged. “I got my first Path and Class four years early and wasted it a little, then ruined things because I was a shitty person. I’m just trying to make up for lost time. Do my best, you know?”

Kyle looked wholly dissatisfied by that answer, but not necessarily angry. He just leaned back, considering.

Micah turned back to watch the match, but it was soon over anyway. “We’re up,” he told him.

“It’s fine. All of this is to gauge each other, right? Build trust? No point in fighting you to do that.”

He vaguely felt like Kyle was being condescending, but if he didn’t want to fight, it was fine. From another point of view, maybe it meant Kyle trusted him already?

“That just leaves you and Ryan,” Jason said.

“Oh, we definitely don’t have to,” Micah said.

“Besides, we might want to give the field to others,” Ryan added, nodding at the people who were waiting.

“If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

They gave the field up and retreated higher up the benches to the corner of the gym, to give each other some feedback on their fighting styles. It was obvious they could all spar against each other, none of them were sure how that would translate into climbing behavior, though.

Ryan somehow had the most clout among them, probably due to his high levels. He had also won all his matches. They deferred to what he said the most, even if Micah had to break up any squabbles.

Kyle had a little less clout because they weren’t sure he was level seven, and they didn’t know which Classes he had besides. Nor much of anything, really. He didn’t know any spells, didn’t have any magic items … He had his words and eyes like he was ready to shiv anyone who doubted them, nothing else.

Brent could clearly handle his knives, but if a Rathound came charging at him? He promised his food would help.

That left Jason. Micah judged his warmed-up fighting style simultaneously the best and worst among their new teammates. Even if he had a weapon proficiency, he couldn’t rely on it that much. He needed to practice more traditional sword fighting to supplement it, because it would fail him eventually.

Jason was also the only one who took his feedback to heart.

They didn’t have much to say about Micah. He didn’t know if it was because he’d only fought two matches and both not too seriously, or because they didn’t judge him a [Fighter] but an [Alchemist].

Instead, when it was his turn, they got to talking about what he would make. He went down the list.

“I’ve got … the mandatory middle-grade healing potions for everyone using a school recipe. I was thinking I could just increase the amount and split them into two smaller bottles for safe-keeping.”

“You don’t need to do that for me,” Kyle said.

“Huh? Why?”

“Because I won’t need any healing potions.”

“You fight without a shield and you’re reckless,” Ryan said, “don’t get too full of yourself.”

The guy shrugged. “Make the mandatory amount for me. I won’t be paying for anything more than that.”

That was an infuriating attitude to have, not compromising like that. It told them all they needed to know about he would act in other situations. But, he was practically already on their team. And they had Ms. Denner’s recommendation.

Micah didn’t want to fight. This sparring had actually been fun. He trusted at least Jason a lot more than he had before. Brent … a little. So he just sighed and moved on, adding a note to Kyle, Standard amt.

That reminded him. He looked for another pencil, tore out a page, then slapped those down in front of Brent.

“Skills. Please?”

He rolled his eyes and got to writing.

“Okay, beyond that, I can make low-grade healing salve that helps clean, seal, and soothe wounds as well as muscles.”

“All that?” Ryan asked.

“All that.”

Thanks to Mason and the Alchemist’s Guild. Their recipes were ingenious and Micah couldn’t wait to make them even better.

“I won’t make one for each of us. Two jars should more than enough. They’re pretty cheap. I can make a small bottle of fire potion, just in case. Ryan and Brent both know fire spells and Jason said he can cobble something together?”

Micah made it into a question. He nodded.

“I might make it fire gel instead of potion because that’s safer to carry. Since we don’t need it anyway?”

They nodded.

“Then travel tablets and climbing cookies, which will help with keeping our stomachs steady. My ammunition for Jason and me … We have to discuss that some more, because I’m not entirely sold on my ammunition myself. Yours seems so much better than anything I have made.”

Jason looked abashed.

“Uhm, so that brings us to Brent.”

He looked up. “Huh? Yeah, I’m done.”

“No, your—”

Recipes, he’d wanted to say, but then he saw he had finished his list and shut up before he ruined it. He held his hand out. Brent handed it over. Micah tried not to seem too giddy as Jason and Ryan crowded close to him to look in.

[Cook Path]

[Skills: Recipe Book]

[Tower Cooking Path]

[Skills: Taste Magic, Magical Cooking, Lingering Warmth]

[Cook level 6]

[Skills: Knife Proficiency: I, Careful Taste, Sparks, Lesser Constitution, Knife Proficiency: III]

[Other: Basic Bargaining]

Huh. He really did have two knife proficiencies. Three and one, not four like Micah had suspected. Three was “fighting” with slashing motions if he remembered right, and one “cooking” with small chopping motions like you would do on a cutting board. Four was “juggling”.

He guessed Ryan hadn’t been lying, that there was overlap. Or that made it easier to mimic the others through practice, anyway. Had Brent done that? Learn through practice?

“[Careful Taste]?” Jason asked.

“It, uh, lets me sample stuff without having to worry about it the side-effects, like being poisonous and stuff. It also kind of … uhhh … focuses? It focuses my senses to collect information, to evaluate how it tastes, know if it’s poison, if I can find any magic in it, or just to savor it—stuff like that.”

He awkwardly tapped his hands on the bench while he spoke as if he didn’t want to talk about this.

It seemed useful, though. Especially to a Tower [Cook] collecting ingredients from monsters. Hell, Micah wanted that for himself. If he could evaluate ingredients by just tasting them …

“Wait, is it like an appraisal Skill?”

“Only a little. More like a basic Guidance Skill.”

“Oh.”

A little disappointing, but still great. Guessing by his list—if he had written it in proper order—he had gotten it below level six, too. Useful. Or maybe Micah was just biased. Brent didn’t seem so keen.

Otherwise, there wasn’t a lot to mention. Micah could guess what most of the other Skills did: [Recipe Book] was a memory Skill, [Taste Magic] so he wasn’t making things blind, and [Magic Cooking] was probably similar to his [Winter Cleaning]: mostly a Guidance Skill with a subtle magical effect. He wondered if it was a requirement, though. Could Micah mimic him?

What he really wanted to discuss were his recipes. He got out the fire resistance one from earlier and badgered Brent about it. “How?” He turned it back around to double-check, but sure enough—

“I would need half as many ingredients to make this. What are the trade-offs? This is just unfair.”

“Trade-offs?” Brent scratched himself. “I haven’t really checked with alchemy that much, but there are a ton.” He counted: “My effects need longer to kick in, they spoil quicker even if the food doesn’t, and I have less flexibility. You guys use your mana like needle and thread, right? You can sew a bunch of different effects together. Well, I use mine more like a side-dish: rice, bread, tofu … water? It gives what is already there a little more substance, in exchange for all that other stuff.”

Micah frowned. Needle and thread? He had always thought of it as glue … “Yeah, but how?”

Next to him, Kyle took a deep breath and leaned into a backward stretch. He looked bored.

Ryan started stacking their gym duffels into a pillow.

Wait, was he being annoying—

“Couldn’t you guys have discussed this earlier?” Kyle asked as he came back down. “No offense, but I don’t want this to turn into an alchemy lesson. Just tell us what we need to know or I have better things to do.”

Ryan lay down, hands folded over his stomach, and gave the guy the side-eye. “You need to discuss this, Micah?”

His voice sounded supportive. He wasn’t annoying him, at least, then.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t it help if we collaborate?” He turned it into a question for Brent.

He shrugged. “If you think so?”

Kyle shot up. “Great. Then I’m going to go train. Get me if you need me. Otherwise, see you at the room.”

He left.

Micah glanced at Jason.

“I want to listen. I’m curious.”

Ryan raised a hand up and closed his eyes to take a nap. “I’m good.”

Micah smiled and spun back on Brent. “So, how do your recipes work?”

He took a deep breath. “Well …”

“You know how things from the Tower have magic qualities? And I need strong stuff. I’ve tried with things outside the Tower and they don’t work. But I figure out what they can do and focus on one thing. Rats are nimble, Salamanders warm, Wolves strong; stuff like that. I try to strengthen what is already there as much as I can. I need to find complementing flavors to kind of …” He bumped his fists together. “Cook it all together. My mana bridges the gap. Or it saturates the entire thing so there’s more. It copies the properties of whatever flavors I add and empowers the qualities I’m trying to get, to make sure you get the effects; the Skills.”

Micah tried not to grin so hard. His face hurt simply from not moving. “Qualities and flavors?”

“Yeah. Like magic? It’s kind of the magical properties things from the Towers have, but not mana, y’know?”

He did know. And he got the feeling Brent didn’t. How could he explain, though? How would Lisa?

Micah turned around, searching. He didn’t know if he had the necessary things with him. Would he have to run all the way back to his room?

“Micah?” Brent asked.

“Uhm, one second,” he said as he went digging in his bag. “I’m trying to figure out … Aha!” He found what he was looking for. He pulled them and hid them in his pocket, hoping Brent hadn’t seen, then lurched to grab his cooking pot. “Can I borrow this for a minute? I’ll be right back. I just have to go to the sink.”

“Uh …”

“Thanks!”

Micah rushed to the lockers and put the pot under the faucet. He leaned back to make sure nobody had followed him, then broke the cracked and porous crystals from his pocket inside the water, infusing them as he did. One had been a cheap light crystal, the other a type of water. He used them for his essence practice sometimes, slowly wearing them down.

Now, he carried the barely-filled pot back to where Brent and Jason were chatting and said, “Drink from this.”

Brent eyed it suspiciously. The water shifted when Micah had moved it, but it didn’t seem to want to come to a rest. It had an unnatural lustre to it, not quite enough to be described as a glow.

“It’s not poisonous. I promise.”

“I’d have two Skills to protect me if it were, but I still don’t trust you.”

“I’m going to make our alchemicals, right? And you’re going to make magic food for us? We need to trust each other.”

“Fine,” he grumbled and tilted it back to take a small sip.

“And?” Micah asked, smiling. “Is there flavor in there?”

He made a face. “Not really, no.”

“What?”

Had he not added enough to notice? Micah only had two crystals with him. The only other way he could imagine adding essences was somewhat embarrassing, unless he asked Ryan for help.

He wanted to say something else, but Brent went on, “I think I can taste what you mean, but it’s kind of flimsy.” He took another sip but was still frowning. “Nope. Still flimsy. What did you put in here?”

“Maybe it’s because it’s light and water essence?” Micah wondered. Would that not register?

“Wait, essence?” Brent asked. He leaned back and fetched the notebook away from in front of Jason.

“But anyway,” Micah said, pushing his disappointment aside, “I think that’s what you’re doing. The qualities you mention are actually alchemical qualities and the ‘flavors’ are essences. You said you had to match them to get your recipes to work? Well, you’re practicing alchemy, you just don’t know it. Have you ever tried studying alchemy? It might help you.”

Brent was shaking his head as he searched for something. He must have found it, because he nodded to himself, slapping his finger down, and turned the page around for Micah to see.

His Skill list. [Essence Path].

“Well, yeah, but that’s what you’re doing, right? You’re using patterns and essences.”

“I’m really not,” he said.

“But—”

He groaned. “This is why I never want to talk to people about this. Listen, this is more of an art than a science, Micah.”

He made a face. “No, it isn’t. I mean, what’s the difference?”

“So annoying. Can’t we talk about something else instead? Like, hey, how about adding comfort potions to that list of yours.”

That was unfair. Micah was just trying to help. “I’m not making you comfort potions, Brent,” he said. “I’ve told you before.”

“No, not for me. For the team. For the exam.”

That made even less sense. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Brent looked amused. It reminded Micah of Pav and people like him. “You do, do you?”

“Yeah. Like, what? You want us to run around in there looking as tired as you always do?”

Brent sat up. “You really can’t think of any good reason why climbers would want to take comfort potions with them into an expedition?”

“No?” Micah asked. That was just stupid. He knew from experience how bad of an idea that was.

“Ha!” he laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “That’s just silver. You know, everyone I talk to always says you’re a curious little bugger. You always look like you have questions behind your eyes. But you just seem stuck-up to me. I don’t know if it’s prejudice or because your mommy told you so—”

“Hey!” Ryan snapped.

“No, let him finish,” Micah said, glaring.

“Micah,” Jason cut in, sounding like he was trying to be a voice of reason, “climbers take comfort potions with them all the time.”

Brent grinned and pointed at him. Look, look!

“If you’ve just spent hours running around and fighting— Well, they drink little doses of them to make them drowsy for a minute or two. It helps you fall asleep quicker so you can get rest more reliably, if you have to rest in assigned shifts.”

“And you know that tingling feeling you sometimes feel,” Brent said, rubbing his fingers together, “like you know you’re going to level up soon? Well, it helps with that, too. Go to sleep really quick, wake up with a new Skill or two that can help.”

“Okay …” Micah tried to swallow his pride for a moment. “I can see how that’s useful, but this—”

“Is no different,” Brent interrupted. “It’s worse. You’re being freaking condescending. It’s my Path, don’t try to explain to me how it works. Because I don’t know what you put in the water, but it isn’t the flavor I’m talking about. This isn’t alchemy. Don’t assume you know how to do my job for me.

And by the way, that’s why I’m tired all the time. I go to a demanding school, I’ve got a part-time job helping out in a kitchen to pay for it, and I’ve still got to exercise three times a week to keep up with you freaks who have combat callings when I don’t. Some people need coffee to pick them up. I drink comfort potions to get me down. What’s the big deal?”

Micah shrank back, unsure of what to say as he chewed him out. He had a job? But every time he caught him in Ryan’s room, the guy looked like … he was taking a nap … because he was.

He wanted to kick himself.

Brent sighed. “Look, Micah. I’ve never heard of [Essence Path] before or essences at all. I bet most people haven’t. I know from rumors you’re supposed to be one of those unique Path type people. Hasn’t anyone ever tried to explain to you how your Path works and you just … disagreed?”

“Well, no … not like that,” he mumbled, “but yeah, I get what you mean.” Most people didn’t know what essences were, Mr. Walker had put them down as a different terminology on his Proof Of paper, and Micah was just trying to figure out a way to fit them into the bigger picture.

He kind of suspected they were the bigger picture.

“And how did it feel?”

“It sucked,” he mumbled.

“So why are you trying to do the same thing to me?”

He shrugged. He was just trying to help. It really sounded to him like Brent was using patterns and essences.

“Micah,” Ryan joined in, making it even worse, “I’ve been thinking something similar for a while now, but … it seems to me that you just have a unique perspective on a something natural, or at least a special perspective. People like Lisa and Principal Denner exist. That doesn’t mean what you’re observing in itself is special. Maybe it’s time you stopped treating it that way?”

Maybe?

“Oh, c’mon, man,” Brent said. “I’m sorry this is harsh, but don’t be angry. It’s just a pet peeve of mine when people try to tell me how to do my job. It’s really annoying, you know? I’ll try to explain what I do, alright? Maybe you'll learn something from it, even if I don’t want to.”

He took a deep breath and looked up. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry. And I’ll look into those comfort potions you mentioned, but I don’t have a lot of experience there, so I might have to follow a recipe.”

“You … will?”

“Yeah. I shouldn’t have done that. I just … I’m having troubles trying to figure out how to act— how to behave lately. I dunno’.” He scratched his shoulder like he had seen Ryan do sometimes.

Even now, he was copying him. He wished he didn’t have to, but the alternative scared him.

“So you’re not angry?”

“I am. I mean, I’m upset,” Micah said, “I feel like you’re all ganging up on me, but that doesn’t mean I have to let it out on you, right? I can just let it out on a punching bag later, or run some laps; exercise.”

He had seen Ryan do that more than enough times and it clearly worked for him. Ryan was awesome.

Brent gave him a look that might have been appreciation, or even respect. “You’re mature for your age, has anyone ever told you that?”

Micah frowned as he thought back, then looked back up with a smile. “No? I mean, I don’t think so, at least.”

He chuckled. “I can show you how I do my thing, if you want to. Maybe we can try it together.”

“Later?” Micah asked. “We’re here already, so instead … could you show me how to do those knife flips?”

He chuckled and got one of the sheathed knives. “Sure.”

Ryan let out a deep breath in what sounded like relief and lied back down. Jason was smiling as if he was glad this hadn’t escalated.

“You know those small chopping motions you make with [Knife Proficiency: I]? Now, imagine you’re chopping something larger. But don’t really think about it? Let your hand do the movement. Loosen up. It all comes from the wrist. Just do larger and larger motions and then—”

He flipped it high and caught it again.

Micah tried to mimic him and got the throwing part down. Throwing straight up and catching it again, though?

Ryan fled.

Brent caught it for him, chuckling. “I have [Knife Proficiency: III] to help me with some of that, so you’re probably going to have to practice to get used to it without it. Try again?”

He did. That was fine. He would practice. Anything to be better than he had been a year, a month, a moment ago. Not because he was bad, but because it would make him happier, more confident if he did.

And in the back of his head, he went through the list of things he had to prepare. Ingredients, recipes, the slingshot and its ammunition, a birthday present—it would all cost money. Money he didn’t have here. He barely had enough to get his uniform washed at the cleaners or buy school supplies. That made him anxious, but he still managed a smile as he glanced at Ryan.

Three birds with one stone. He’d have to tap his savings.