Ryan believed in effort. If you put in the right work and stuck with it, whether or not you liked what you did, understood it, or were good at it, you would see results someday. He had no [Fighter Path] but he was a [Fighter] level nine, higher than most his age, because he put in the effort.
Not that it was a competition. And if it were … he had lost often enough in combat training to know where he stood without a path.
But his point was, effort would see results someday. That was the hitch. Someday. It could be exhausting, to the point where he would have to rely on routine to get anything done. Some days were harder than others. But really, he just didn’t want to fall to his death a few times a week.
He wasn’t afraid of it anymore—he even enjoyed it sometimes—but it was frustrating to get one step further and fail all the same.
And now … Well, now he had another option to turn to. A younger, maybe purer belief. It was less realistic but he was all alone, nobody would know if he did, and really, what was the harm in trying?
For a few days now, Ryan had been a [Mage]. None of his teammates would ever let him live it down.
[Fighter], [Scout], [Mage], those three were the bases, right? The foundation of all Tower Classes. They could become anything. So if they had to, how would they get across a chasm?
Magical expertise and ingenuity, agility and using the terrain to their advantage, or sheer athleticism and force of will.
He had none of those things. He was level one and inexperienced, there was no terrain, and the physical capabilities he put so much effort into honing didn’t matter here. Sheer force of will …
Well, he had gotten one step further almost every try. He’d get to the other side eventually.
But it didn’t matter how they’d actually get across. It was the spark underneath it, the quintessence of what they represented that mattered: potential. Those three were the bases of all climbing Classes and he had all three of them. Even if he would end up doing what was expected and consolidate them into [Ranger], for now, once, Ryan let himself believe in adventures and magic again.
So he closed his eyes, curled his toes against the warm scales beneath him, and enjoyed the way they felt against his skin. If he looked back to his right, he would see a tunnel of the old Tower’s Salamander Den with a few running inside. He could run in there for ages and never move from the spot. If he looked anywhere else, he would see a painted universe all around him.
But he kept his eyes closed and took a deep breath. Then he took a leap of faith. He ran.
The first step over the edge hit the void and the void held him aloft. The second did as well, and the third, and the fourth, and, before he knew it, it was working. Ryan ran much farther than he’d ever come before.
He opened his eyes to peak in disbelief and saw ripples of yellow, green, and blue push out from his feet with every step. He had no idea what they were, but they made him smile, and he spun around to run backward so quickly he nearly tripped, and saw the red plaza in the distance. His [Salamander Path]. The distance alone made him jump and pump his fist with a whoop.
He spun back around, ducked his head down, and pulled his right hand up into a half sprint, faster. His left shielded his eyes from what loomed above.
He ran until he saw silver ground below, got two steps far, and came to an abrupt halt. The argent walkway described in his manuals was beneath him. After months of trying, he had finally made it.
He propped himself up on his knees and caught his bearings more than his breath because he didn’t actually need to breathe in here. When he stood back up, he turned his back on the center and looked up.
What now? He had been so wrapped up in trying to get here, he had forgotten what to do once he made it.
His [Salamander Path] was still in the distance, warm and red. To his right, the tips of branches stretched up and far. A trick of perspective, like paper folded to give the impression of depth.
For a second, he just glanced at the two and felt giddy at seeing them so far away without falling below.
A better look showed him the Skill to the right wasn’t any one tree, but something he had made from a dozen different art styles, colors, and materials in mind, as malleable as a child’s interests.
One branch would start as birch and end as apple. Others began in Winter and ended in Spring, just to see their blossoms bloom.
Birds made nests with their kin. They sang and hopped closer when he looked. Some shook snow from their plumage and flew to other branches, but none left. And for a brief glimmer, Ryan could imagine a cage around its crown, complete with handle.
[Bird Singing].
If all of his Path Skills were ahead or to his right, then—
Ryan tilted his face aside and walked left, careful not to walk off the path. It curved below, like a circle. He glanced down and wondered why its imagery was so common anyway. Why silver?
Maybe their people still believed it was holy after all. Enough artwork liked to wallow in it.
After the curve came a stretch of nothing. Empty space except for stars, though he enjoyed those in their own right. Ryan walked until he spotted a different source of silver and hint of blue in the distance and stopped in his tracks.
There was another piece of artwork up ahead, looking just the same as anything else he might have made. Ridiculous designs that could only exist in dreams. It stood at the end of the long road leading away from the circle like a mural. Except—
That’s not mine.
Ryan remembered every picture he had drawn as easily as remembering his Skills. Every bird, flower, scale, and piece of bark. Every phantom wolf running through the night and every person sitting around the fire. For better or for worse. He remembered. And yet, he did not recognize this.
But it was here anyway. A wall almost like a painted window on the ground at the end of a silver lane.
Why? How? And if not he, then who had painted it? Had someone else been in here without him knowing?
The thought sent a shiver down his spine. More likely, it was something unconscious or subconscious … right?
Either way, he followed the path to its end and stood two steps back to consider it all. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t tall. Maybe two meters. He could reach the top if he stretched or jumped.
Blue was dominant within a silver and gold rim, but it was colorful, dark, and wondrous like a world bathed in a fireworks’ shower.
In it, Ryan stood. He was younger. Or maybe he just looked that way. Even if the clothes he wore were thin, he was, too. Not that he was scrawny, but— The hours he put in definitely weren’t there.
He still looked happy, though. Confident. Despite the ridiculous clothes he wore. And the clothes—
Ryan chuckled to himself and stepped closer to get a better look. “What …?”
They were colorful and impractical robes, even more so than normal ones already were. The type of clothing only a mage in a story or its artwork would wear. No armor. No sleeveless shirt or shorts, either. No weapons. A bundle of accessories dangled from his wrist. Old, worn, littered with knots. Only two of them shimmered with magic. Only two had a practical use. One was his old [Dancing Lights] wristband. He looked away before he could wonder about the second.
That wound was still too fresh.
His arms were stretched out to either side as if he were in the middle of doing a jumping jack back down, and where they had been, red flames pushed up into the dark sky as an arch above his head.
[Swathe of Flames]. Just, it was less a swathe and more like a curtain blowing in the wind.
The Ryan in the picture looked at it with wide eyes and parted lips. The flames reflected across his face and a hint of something more glimmered within. His lips were curled into an open expression of childlike awe and wonder.
That wasn’t him … right? He didn’t look like that. Or at least, he hadn’t. Not in years. He …
… sometimes, when he had been younger, he had imagined what it would be like to be a [Mage]. What he would do, how would he dress, which spells he would learn, and which adventures would he go on.
Who hadn’t thought about becoming a mage once in their life? Everyone, before they found out that it took just as much work as anything else. It was more science than ‘magic’, really.
Afterward, Ryan had happily moved on to other things. And later, settled on wanting to become a [Knight] for other reasons, but—
Could he be like that, after all? If only a little bit? Would that be alright or would it be a mistake, a childish fancy, a waste of time he could better spend training and studying to keep up with others?
He pressed his hand to the painting and traced the expression as if only he could mimic it. The other Ryan was even a little shorter than him. His posture was off besides, and his hair was a mess.
But he looked like a happy mess.
Where his hand pressed, a familiar feeling brimmed beneath the surface. Possibility like mana, but so, so much more. And blue light rose from it like paint underwater to sink into his skin.
He yanked it back and looked at his palm, saw it run inside, through his blood and veins, and—
No, not his veins. His nerves around his bones. His fingertips and eyes. He could feel it and when he looked, he saw it was a thousand tiny motes of brilliant power. Blue on the surface, but hiding any number of colors beneath.
They flowed into him, and past him, and into the silver ground like a river back toward the argent path.
As Ryan turned to follow, he saw two more paintings in the distance like the one before him now, with walkways leading to them and artwork similar enough to fool but not actually his. Each was larger than the last. And from each, a smaller trickle of light flowed into the ground.
Forest greens and tan city yellows.
He followed them until he was looking back the way he had come and realized his mistake.
In the middle of the ring he had walked around sat a silver, naked giant with its legs crossed, back straight, and hands over its knees. The light mixed and the giant’s skin began to shimmer in a multi-colored sheen.
Him. Ryan. The real Ryan. The actual, physical Ryan in the room. He wasn’t real. He was just— Just—
Like taking your eyeball out to look back at yourself.
Half his vision went dark and pain blossomed in his skull. He thought he saw a flash of his room before he clutched the empty socket and cried out in pain. He tried to look to the right, but all he could see was the blurry outline of his nose. And even that flashed silver for a second.
He wasn’t real.
He fell to his knees, but the ground wasn’t there to catch him. The silver walkway cracked beneath him and shattered.
He fell.
Shards rained down around him and the giant shifted where it sat, high above. Ryan fell and the moment he hit the ground, he lurched forward exactly the same way to strangle a cry into a subtle groan of pain.
That hurt.
“‘You done?” Brent asked him from the doorway.
He heaved to catch his breath and looked up.
“With your morning meditation session, I mean?”
“Huh? Oh, uh—” He swallowed with a dry mouth and worked his lips until he could speak, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m done.”
“Fell again, huh?”
“Yeah.”
He still had one hand over his eye, if only to reassure himself it was still there. Just a bad meditation session. That was all.
Dammit, he hated how malleable that space was.
“Well, class starts in six minutes, so have fun with that,” Brent said. With that, he walked out the door and left Ryan sitting there alone on his bed in his underwear.
He really should sit another way when he meditated. That giant had been naked. Not that he was supposed to look. The manual had warned him not to. There was an adjustment period, but—
Wait … six minutes?!
He looked at the clock and then it was five. He scrambled up and ran around his bed, looking for his things. Shoes, shoes? Where were his shoes? Wait, no, pants went first and then—
He was twelve minutes late.
Luckily for him, it was the last week before New Year’s break so nobody seemed to care. Well, almost nobody. But he was used to ignoring She-Who-Did by now. He just snuck down the aisle to settle in his front right row seat.
He got out his things, cracked his neck, and sunk down with a pen against the paper, ready for class.
When he looked to the front, Mr. Salbei was giving him a friendly look. He sat right back up and leaned forward. “Uh, sorry I’m late, sir,” he told him. “I got caught up in morning meditation.”
“Ah.” His face lit up in understanding. Of course, Ryan Payne would have a reason to be late, it said. “Did you make any discoveries?”
“I … might have?”
He’d barely had time to think, but what had that painting even been about? A representation of his [Mage] Class?
“I’m glad, then.”
He looked away and Ryan immediately sighed and sunk back down. He rolled his head straight back to see if his classmates behind him were there—they were, and they looked at him, and he bumped one of their notebooks, so he looked away, hunched his shoulders, and searched the classroom like a normal person, ignoring one spot on the front left.
Some people were still missing. A few due to injuries, no doubt. But the rest of them were probably just skipping class.
Mr. Salbei started a minute later after a final pair had settled in. But of course, they had all gotten used to goofing off by then so not everyone paid attention. The man didn’t seem to mind as he spoke.
“We were told to go easy on you after your Tower exam. Of course, it’s the last week before the New Year so we wouldn’t have done much anyway. Instead, I thought we could go over your answers in the midterm exam again and see if you have any more questions?”
The statement alone lost him more of the attention. His delivery made it worse, as if he didn’t actually care what they did.
Ryan wasn’t even sure if he had his exam with him. He had taken it home to show his parents, once. Idly, he leafed through his notebook but his score had been perfect anyway so what was the point?
“Of course,” the man said, “if you have any other suggestions or topics you would like to talk about, maybe questions you would like answered, we could do that instead?”
That gave him a sudden thought. He wasn’t sure if he should ask, though, or if he could even bring himself to. He tapped his pen against the page and tried to convince himself not to.
He didn’t really care after all, right? He could look it up in the library on his own if he did, but—
“No?” Salbei asked. When he looked like he was about to move on, Ryan raised his hand with a sigh.
He lowered it halfway, scratched his eyebrow, and raised it again. What the hell, why not?
“Yes! Mr. Payne? You have a question? Or a suggestion?”
“A question. About, uh … I know—or at least I’ve always been told—that the [Mother] and [Father] Classes don’t exist. I was just wondering if that is true and if so, if there is any known reason why?”
The benefit of one-second hindsight and he already regretted it. What kind of idiot asked about [Mother] and [Father] Classes in school?
“That’s an interesting question. Can I ask why you want to know?”
Please, don’t.
Some of the other students were giving him amused looks. Ryan sighed and pushed through. “Yeah, uh, my little sister was born a little while ago,” he said. “So I was just wondering.”
“Oh, congratulations then!” the man said and looked more animated. “Was this recently?”
“A month ago?” Ryan asked. Was that recently? “In the last week before we had to sign up our teams? On the twentieth.”
On the other side of the room, he caught a glimpse of Anne giving him a surprised look.
That’s right, he thought. I was busy trying to take care of my family when you decided to screw us over.
He loathed her so much. But that didn’t matter anymore because they had found a new team and done well, without her or her friends.
Ryan was a freaking [Mage].
He gave her his most charming smile. She frowned, of course, but that just made it genuine.
“What’s her name?” Mr. Salbei went on.
“Huh? Oh, uh, Hannah.”
“Hannah.” He nodded. “A beautiful name.”
He stepped back and rounded the desk to face the rest of the class as he spoke, involving them as well. “Well, as I’m sure you’ve all been told at some point, [Mother] and [Father] as Classes do not, in fact, exist. Or at least, there is no recorded instance of them ever being obtained.
Many people have suggested reasons for why that is. Some say it is because being a parent is natural, as if we were to get the [Human] Class. Others say because being a parent isn’t an occupation you can earn money from, as most Classes often double as professions. Others suppose the Class might be too specific for anyone to actually achieve, or require a high level.
These explanations are all just a few theories of the humanities and none of them ring quite true.
Not everyone has children and even arguably ‘natural’ behavior can get you a Class. See [Hunters] and [Gatherers]. And in some horrible cases you might learn about in history, or as is more common in the North, you can actually make a living from being a professional child-maker.”
He adopted a troubled expression. The class, more attentive now, followed suit with contextless frowns.
“The truth is,” he went on, “we don’t know. Perhaps someday we will. Maybe that’s something one of you will figure out, if you go into the Social Studies. But that does not mean there are no parental Classes at all, or parental Skills. Who can tell me which the most common ones are?”
If Anne had felt any kind of guilt at all about the stunt she’d pulled with their exam, it wasn’t enough to stop her from raising her hand to answer a question Ryan Payne did not know the answer to in class. When she wasn’t called on immediately, she even waved it a little in impatience.
“Yes, Ms. Heswaren?”
“[Guardian], [Carer], [Lover], and their variant Classes,” she said as if straight out of a textbook.
“Exactly.”
A handful of students snickered at the possibly youngest person in the room mentioning the [Lover] Class, and Ryan frowned, but Anne didn’t seem bothered.
“Now, most [Guardians] are actually climbers,” Mr. Salbei explained. “They are defensive fighters who protect their teammates. But they have been known to receive or level in their Class from charging themselves with the care of a person, similar to the [Knights] of your grandparents’ days. Often, these are adopted children rather than their own.
[Carers] are similar with the care of small children, usually as babysitters or kindergarteners rather than parents. Some [Nurses] also receive the Class when taking care of the elderly or similar people in need. A common variation is [Caretaker], although I am not quite sure about the difference. I think they may simply be a more specific consolidation? I would have to check.”
Ryan was making terse notes about the explanations when he frowned. If he had explained those two, then—
“And lastly, [Lovers]—” Mr. Salbei started and thankfully paused as if he had realized what he’d been about to do.
Most of the class snickered. One guy even called out, in an overly curious voice, “Go on, sir?”
He chuckled himself and walked around to lean against the front of his desk, saying, “Yes, yes. Laugh it up. I know it must seem funny to you.”
Ryan sunk a little lower than in his seat than he had already been. A simple no would have been enough.
“I’m sure you will cover this all in the second half of your school year soon enough with your biology or homeroom teachers. Luckily for you, it’s a mandatory part of the curriculum.”
Wait, what?
He sat up, panicking. No. No, no, no, no. They couldn’t do that. Ryan had already sat through one of those conversations once, he did not want to have to go through one again. The only worse thing he could imagine was having to do it alongside his classmates and with a teacher doing the explaining.
“But as I’m sure you know,” he said after the class finally quieted down, “watering the plants on your windowsill will not get you the [Gardener] or [Florist] Classes. It can, however, help you level. It’s the same for the [Lover] Class when showing affection or raising children. I think you can all extrapolate what most often gives you the Class in the first place, then.”
Someone yelled out a three letter word.
The class burst out in laughter.
Mr. Salbei gave them a slightly exasperated smile. “Any questions?”
A few people raised their hands as a joke and he looked at them until they put them back down again.
One girl didn’t.
Ryan and a few others glared at her. Put your hand down, he thought. Others were snickering behind her back. What was she, crazy?
“I didn’t actually mean that, but yes, Ms. Sellman?”
“I, uhm—” She blushed. “I spend a lot of time reading through old Proof Of papers in the Registry and, uhm, in none of them did I see the [Lover] Class? Did they just not all have the Class or …?”
“Ah, that is … actually a good question,” he said. “No, they probably had the Class. I believe an estimated nine out of ten people above the age of twenty have at least one level in it? Somewhere around there. Some people don’t receive it for other reasons, for example if they have too many levels in other Classes already or don’t see themselves as [Lovers]. But the vast majority of people never reach above level six in it anyway. That and a few other reasons are why it is one of the rare few private Classes.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
If you ever have to hand in a Proof Of paper for any reason, or if you go to an office to have one made, you will not be asked to say which level you are in it or whether you have the Class at all. Employers will simply assume it is below six or count your numbers of spouses and children and add one.”
“Oh,” she mumbled. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Ryan wasn’t sure if he should note any of that down. He scribbled ‘private Classes’ and felt awkward.
“And if they do?” somebody else asked. “Ask?”
“Then you have the legal right to decline and know what they did was in poor taste,” he said with a shrug. “Make of that what you will.”
Ryan got his exam out and subtly held it up on his desk for Salbei to see. I’m sorry I ever asked, the gesture said. Can we please move on?
Because really, Ryan did not want to talk about something he would never get …
… right?
He shook the thought away and took a deep breath. No, he was being stupid. And besides, he had more important things to think about, like the exam, their loot, his callings, and what he would do during the break.
New Year’s itself, in a little over a week.
His birthday.
----------------------------------------
“Heh-hu, heh-hu, heh-hu, heh-hu—”
“Stop that,” Ryan said.
Micah glanced at him, slowly tilted his face the other way, and went, “Hehuhehuhehu—”
Ryan shoved him.
He stumbled to the side with a laugh. They were on their way to Tower Studies and he was idly trying to see what other shenanigans he could come up with for [Controlled Breathing].
The crowd was sparse enough and the familiar faces so few and far between that he felt comfortable making an idiot of himself. He felt comfortable making an idiot of himself in front of Ryan anyway.
As far as he could tell, the Skill did what it said on the tin: It gave him control over his breathing, which was good for physical activities, meditation exercises, holding his breath, or trying not to cough when inhaling monsters, or whatever the hell Brent had tried to shove on him.
Yes, Micah wanted to figure out if he could breathe smoke rings more easily. He really wanted to find out. But no, he did not want to do it using whatever he had stashed under his bed.
He wondered if they could go to a shisha bar instead, someday. Would he have to be older for that? Was there an age requirement? Or was it a social age requirement, where a fourteen-year-old smoking in a lounge and drinking non-alcoholic, colorful drinks would look like an idiot?
… Probably the latter.
For now, he was glad he had something take up his time. The time he would have spent on trying to get [Kinetic Alchemy].
He was … a little disappointed that he had gotten the Skill. He wasn’t sure. A part of him had been looking forward to something concrete he could work toward, he supposed. But the much larger rest of him was just happy he’d leveled again.
The glossary entry he’d looked the Skill up in had even said some [Travelers] were so proficient with it, they could control how much humidity they lost on exhale. That sounded familiar. And awesome.
Both of them were small improvements, but they would compliment his pre-existing skill set greatly.
Micah looked the other way again and thought, Just the light. He had already prepared his less-blobby-than-usual light lungs this morning, and he took in a deep breath aimed at the space in front of Ryan’s eyes.
His eyelashes moved and their lids twitched. Realizing where the breeze came from, the guy looked at Micah with a frown. If he had done it right, his vision should have dimmed a little.
Micah kept all the light essence he’d inhaled in his mouth, swished it around a bit, and smiled, saying, “‘Pre-existing skill set.’”
The guy gave him a bemused look. What?
“Did it work!?”
His look shifted to awkwardness. “ … a little?”
“Aw.” He calmed back down. “Not enough light essence or what?”
“Or maybe it’s just too bright in here.”
“Yeah, that could be it. But on the other hand—” Screw subtlety. He took in a large breath and tried to get as much light essence as he could, reaching farther out than just the air that came into his lungs.
It was still nowhere near the amount Lisa had taken in from the gymnasium, but it was an improvement. The hallway around them dimmed fractionally, more apparent to Micah because of his [Essence Sight].
He repeated his trick and looked at Ryan again, who had watched him do it. “And now?”
He rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yes, Micah—”
“Is your mouth glowing?” a familiar voice asked. Mason was headed toward them from around the corner.
“Mason!” Micah exclaimed. “I was looking for you.”
He slowed and ran a hand up the strap of his backpack to adjust it, looking curious. “You were?”
“Yeah, about the exam. How it went and stuff like that? And if whatever you wanted to try worked out?”
His eyes went wide and he nodded once, earnest. “It did.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I got [Dissolving Splash] from my level up thanks to you.”
Micah blinked. “Really?!”
“Yeah, I tried using [Summon Water] and [Dissolve] on some monsters during the exam and it worked … pretty well. Not as well as I had hoped, but in some cases, it was useful, so—”
“Really?” Micah asked again.
“Yeah, and then I got the Skill on the morning of the last day and it was much better. The spell has some kinetic force behind it—”
“… really?” Micah mumbled.
“—so I could cast it further, because my range for [Summon Water] was limited, you know? It’s a little more like a projectile. And get this: It packs more of a punch. It was useful. My teammates said so, too.”
He was almost desperate, now. “Really?”
Mason smiled. “Why do you keep saying that?”
Ryan glanced at him. “What about, uh, [Kinetic Alchemy]?” he asked. He must have caught on to what Micah was hung up on. His stupidity, in other words. “Don’t you need that to cast the spell without fire?”
Yeah! Micah thought. What the hell, Mason?
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I learned how to do that a while ago,” he brushed it off. “My Path helped me.”
He dialed his enthusiasm back for a second to ask, “Your Path taught you how to cast the spell differently?”
“Yeah. Ours is a niche spellcasting Path, right? Alteration spells or however you want to name them. Didn’t yours— Oh,” he stopped. He must have remembered. “Right. You don’t have a proper alchemy Path, don’t you? You have that … Northern magic Path?” His voice went up.
“[Essence Path],” Ryan grumbled.
Micah nodded.
“Sorry, sorry. I just heard Forester say it once and it stuck with me. It’s easier to remember.”
“Forester can go shut his mouth before someone does it for him,” Ryan added.
Micah frowned and looked up at him. “You have no idea who he is, don’t you?”
He shrugged.
Micah smiled in response.
“Wait, so what was that alchemy weapon you wanted— or didn’t want to tell me about?”
“The same thing,” Micah said. “That’s just it. But I use it with [Kinetic Alchemy] and [Condense Water]. I didn’t get some fancy combination Skill or anything.” He was sulking by the end of the sentence and kicked an imaginary pebble. “It’s so unfair.”
Suddenly, he wasn’t disappointed by getting [Kinetic Alchemy] after all. He was greedy for more. It was a return to form.
“It’s not fancy,” Mason said, smiling. “It’s actually a little more expensive. But we had the same idea then, huh? Ha! I guess it was pretty obvious in hindsight. Some of the books mentioned it, too. Did you get [Kinetic Alchemy] as an improvement to [Basic Alchemy] or what?”
His second-to-last sentence reminded Micah of something, but he answered the question first. “No, I got [Personalized Alchemy] from it later—”
Mason’s eyes went wide.
“—but I got [Kinetic Infusion] from level five? I tried to adapt how it works to my other two spells, used them with hot water on monsters, and it became [Kinetic Alchemy] after the exam.”
“Oh.” Mason winced. “So you had to spend two levels just to get it? But you got [Personalized Alchemy] so I guess it evens out? Our Classes giveth and our Classes taketh away?”
He made it sound like a joke and Micah smiled along. But when he thought about it, it had been closer to three levels he had “spent” on [Kinetic Alchemy]. He was genuinely beginning to feel bummed out about that. If other [Alchemists] could get the same from their Paths, did he really have a headstart? Or had he just begun a marathon with a short sprint to take the lead?
“Uhm, don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, “but which Skills have you gotten from your Class, Mason?”
“Me?” He looked awkward all the sudden and glanced at Ryan. “Oh, uh—”
“You don’t have to answer,” he rushed to say.
“No, no, it’s fine. I got, uh, [Dissettle], [Lesser Cohesion], and [Basic Preparation], which are great, [Dissolve], [Lesser Constitution], and now [Dissolving Splash] and … uh, [Quick Quaff].”
Micah frowned. “[Quick—”
“I mean, I started out pretty well,” Mason rushed on, “but then I went way off the path after level five, you know? I’m hoping to get [Bettered Constitution] as soon as possible in the double digits.”
Micah smiled because of [Quick Quaff]. He imagined Mason chugging a maß in seconds.
Oh, but now he also wanted that Skill. Because that actually seemed cool. [Controlled Breathing] better let him puff smoke rings or he was legitimately going to be jealous.
Meanwhile, Ryan asked, “Why? What’s wrong with you?”
And that was too much. Micah had to clench up to not laugh. He knew what Ryan had meant, but his phrasing—
He must have caught on because he blushed and said, “I meant, uh, do you have any allergies or something?”
“Yeah,” Mason said. “Lots. To basically everything. I’m surprised I didn’t get the Stat earlier.”
Bettered was one of the five main intermediate Stats, Micah knew. It fixed things. With a dash of [Healthy Body], his Nana had always told him, though he had no idea why he remembered that of all things.
[Bettered Perception] could fix things like poor eyesight or hearing, [Bettered Vitality] all sorts of illnesses, but [Bettered Constitution] was the most common example because of its breadth. The Stat itself improved many little things in the body, like digestion, circulation, and the immune system.
It was technically up there with Might and Haste if you considered how many things it did, but because it was much more common as [Lesser Constitution] and, well … subtle, it didn’t enjoy the same level of renown.
“Oh. Well, good luck on that then,” Ryan said. He seemed as awkwardly removed as always around strangers.
“Yeah,” Micah agreed. “Good luck, Mason.” He added the name again just in case the other guy needed it.
He began to slowly walk away anyway and Micah frowned at him. “Where are you going?”
“We need to get to class.”
“But—”
“Me, too,” Mason said, “actually.” He pointed his thumb the other way, hand still hooked in his strap.
“But what about the exam? And the book locations you wanted to share? And that Skill you talked about?”
“I don’t have the locations with me … Later?”
“We don’t want to be late,” Ryan said.
“Everyone’s late.”
“That doesn’t mean we can be.”
Micah turned to Mason with panicked eyes as Ryan slowly dragged him off. “At least, the Skill?”
He smiled. “[Acid Splash].”
Micah blinked. “Wait, what?”
Ryan stopped, too.
“Yep,” Mason said. “Apparently, [Alchemists] in the first two generations could get it below level ten.”
“That sounds—”
“Terrifying?” Ryan suggested. “There’s no way I would let you anywhere near acid. Is this summoned, created, or affinity we’re talking about?”
Mason shrugged. “No idea. First or the latter, it doesn’t specify. Probably the latter because … where would you summon acid from?”
“Cool,” Micah finally finished. Why couldn’t he have gotten that? No monsters would have stood a chance against him.
“Okay, we’re going,” Ryan said. “Before you get any other weird ideas. Bye … Mason.”
“See you then.”
The moment they were out of earshot, Micah said. “I want [Dissolving Splash].”
“Of course, you do,” Ryan said.
He had a sudden idea and looked up. “Hey, maybe you could learn it, too?”
Ryan frowned. “Huh?”
He inclined his head. “Sir Mister [Mage].”
It got him a groan in response, but it was in good fun. More so than usual anyway. Ryan seemed more cheerful today and Micah thought he knew why.
He’s probably excited.
He was excited just thinking about it.
The New Year was quickly approaching and he’d made plans with Lang and Finn. A lot of things had happened this year that Micah wanted to celebrate and a lot he wanted to move on from. But it was also Ryan’s birthday.
They were going to rent a room, and invited a bunch of people, and buy fireworks, and watch the parade, and have a snowball fight, and sleepover, and it was going to be the best birthday ever.
Micah had to make up for the ones he hadn’t been a part of. He was going to make sure of it.
So he smiled when he walked in the classroom, and he smiled even wider when he spotted Lisa and Anne and headed straight for them, calling, “Lisa!”
“Micah!” she replied with flat enthusiasm.
He slung his backpack around and dug through for a small envelope the school had handed them. When he fished it out, he belatedly said, “Hey, Anne,” and looked back to make sure Ryan was still there.
He was, leaning against the desk one row down. He raised a hand in greeting and Lisa returned the gesture.
“Hey, Micah,” Anne said back.
He turned back to Lisa. “We have a gift for you.”
She frowned. “You do?”
“Yep.” He turned the envelope over and handed her what fell out: A small, blocky ring that looked more like it was made of black stone. “A mana ring. Because you lost your others?”
“Oh.” She took it and tried it on.
“It was the only one we found,” Ryan said. “We wanted you to have it. We figure we need to start somewhere, right? Does it fit?”
“It does,” she said. “There’s a bit of breathing room, but that’s a good thing for when my body grows.”
“And it’s easier to slip on and off, right?” Micah said.
She smiled. “Yeah, but— What about your teammates? Didn’t you have, like, four of them?”
“They were fine with it, the moment we told them what we wanted to do with it, anyway,” Ryan said. “And why.” He nudged Micah. “And there’s something else?” It wasn’t a question, but a reminder.
Micah hadn’t forgotten. “Yeah, we found a summoning crystal in the Tower for a fire slime.”
Lisa looked at him. He didn’t know if she was interested or merely curious, but she was listening.
“It has, uhm two ‘enchantments’, I think? The crystal can summon at a distance and the slime can eat various sources of fire and fire magic to grow stronger. We were wondering if, once we get it back—”
Lisa nodded as if she’d caught on. “It’s a nice offer, Micah,” she stopped him, “but I’m not looking to buy other summoning crystals for the time being. Not that I could afford one, anyway.”
“Huh? Oh, no, no, no—”
“We were thinking you might want to study it?” Ryan said. “Before we sell it. You’re a quick learner, right?”
After a moment, her eyes went wide in understanding. Everything that didn’t require appraisals, the school had handed back immediately after counting. Mostly, that was mana rings, chests, and crystals.
But for everything else, they would have to wait for them to be appraised and then their team to be appraised before they got it back. Micah wasn’t sure how long it would take, but they had split up the rest already. Ryan and he had given up a part of their shares to pay the others for their shares of the mana ring.
Anyone who wanted any of the items would have to do the same after they figured out how much they were worth. Until they did, the loot would lay around their rooms and be useless.
So why not?
Anne elbowed Lisa in the side, having watched the exchange, and she immediately glared at her.
“What?”
“What do we say …?”
She gave her a droll look and rolled her eyes. “I knew that. I just didn’t say it right away.” She turned back to them. “Thank you. I’d like that very much. And if you would like,” she addressed Ryan, “I could teach you some spells, oh Sir [Mage] the Wise and Exalted?”
Ryan gave first her, then Micah an annoyed look.
Micah butchered a whistle of innocence as he looked the other way.
In the corner of his eye, he spotted the other guy shake his head. “I was, uh … actually thinking I would check in with Myra and Eliot first to see what they could teach me about blue magic?”
“Oh.” Lisa almost seemed relieved for some reason. Had she only asked to be polite? “Yeah, you do that, uh—” She glanced at Micah as if to check with. “The Great and Terrible Ryan …?”
Ooh, that was a good one.
Ryan gave him an exasperated look. “Did you seriously force her to learn a bunch of stupid nicknames? You’re a [Mage], too, Lisa.”
“I’m not actually,” she said, “anymore. Oh, and on the topic: I have something for you, too.” She reached down for her own backpack and pulled it up. The mana ring disappeared in a pocket.
“You aren’t?” Ryan asked.
“You do?” Micah added, thinking of more loot. Their own hadn’t been that amazing, aside from the summoning crystal. What had the others gotten? What had everyone gotten from the exam?
He kind of wished they had a school exchange where everyone could share before they sold it elsewhere. Just classmates helping poor, underfunded [Alchemist] classmates with convenient sales.
Maybe he could bring that up with Cathy?
Instead, Lisa brought out an envelope as well, hers large enough for an entire page, and said, “Because you kept on badgering me about it? So I thought I would have a proper one made.”
She slipped a page of fancy paper out and Micah caught a glimpse of its writing. Was that a … Proof Of paper?
“Alright! Alright!” Mr. Sundberg suddenly called and clapped his hands. “Everyone to your seats. Class is starting.”
The loud voice surprised him and Micah jumped. He had to wait on Ryan to sit before he slipped around into his own place one row back. He spotted Vladi and Lanh to their right and remembered the victory dance the former had done on top his bed the morning after the exam.
He was back to his usual stoic self, but that was exactly it: levels were exciting, and Micah really wanted to get a peek at Lisa’s before class. They weren’t going to do anything anyway, right?
He reached forward to tap her on the shoulder just as Mr. Sundberg slapped a stack of papers down and said, “Pop quiz.”
Wait, what?
His hand froze. For a second, he felt a spike of panic pierce his chest. His heart beat a dozen times a second and only his breathing remained calm—the panic of a student caught unprepared.
But then he realized he had to be joking. It was the final week before New Year’s break; there was no way they were writing a pop quiz.
He smiled and the rest of the class relaxed in kind, but their teacher just glanced up as he split the stack and headed for one side of the room to hand them out, saying, “I’m not joking.”
The front row’s smiles vanished when they got their papers. Micah could only glimpse single printed lines with lots of empty space underneath.
Was this actually happening?
“You’re not serious, are you?” someone behind him asked.
Mr. Sundberg looked at her sharply. “Does it look like I’m not serious? We’re actually writing a pop quiz. Clear your desks and get your pens out.”
“But we just had the Tower exam,” Micah found himself calling. He added his voice to the chorus of complaints. “And midterms before that!” His friends glanced at him and he shrunk down in embarrassment.
But he was right, wasn’t he?
“We still need a final grade from you,” Mr. Sundberg answered. “So we’re doing a pop quiz. Deal.”
What were they even going to write about? The reports they had discussed for the exam? That felt like it had been ages ago.
Their teacher waited all the way until almost all of them had quizzes in front of them and those who didn’t were seething in frustration before he relaxed his posture and took on a malicious smile.
“Relax—” he said.
Micah groaned the moment he saw the questions and almost let his head fall to the desk.
“—this is a real pop quiz, but it won’t have much of an influence on your grade except to give us a second opinion for edge cases.”
Wait, “not much of an influence”? So it would still have an influence? But the questions were nonsense!
On a scale of 1-10, how would you rate your team expedition experience? Which aspects related to the exam did you have the most troubles with? Which did you enjoy the most?
It was a freaking questionnaire.
“And just like a pop quiz,” Mr. Sundberg said, “there’s a time limit. Thirty minutes. Starting … now.”
Half the class snatched up their pens and got to writing. One person gave their teacher a blank looked and asked, “Seriously?”
“Yes,” he insisted.
She began to write.
Micah saw four of the five people he knew around him had done the same. Only Lanh looked as lost as he felt. But Ryan already had filled out his name and was on the first question, so Micah rushed to catch up.
On a scale of 1-10, how would you rate your team expedition experience?
What was he supposed to go for here? Was he supposed to be honest or write what they wanted to hear? Some nonsensical platitudes, spun to sound pleasing like in an interview?
Either way, honest or not, what would the right answer be, then? How would Micah rate it?
He wrote down a nine, just to not seem like he was trying to be fake. His true answer probably would have been around there as well. His team had been pretty great, but all of them, himself included, had been pretty aimless most of the time like they weren’t sure what to do.
He said he’d had the most troubles with trying to find a good challenge that would satisfy them all. And he enjoyed … being in the Tower again? Oh, no— Scratch that, Micah thought as he literally crossed out the words.
I enjoyed being given the opportunity to explore the Tower with my peers after its changes and a rigorous preparation period in order to find and offer new information for the Guild and my fellow senior climbers.
There, that was both partially honest and sounded like he was trying to tell them what they wanted to hear. And it was one sentence. Perfect, right?
He almost cradled his head.
No, not perfect. Knowing Ameryth and Sundberg, this whole questionnaire was some trick to call him out a fault he didn’t even realize he had but was obvious to anyone else who knew him.
What do I do?
But the time was ticking by and Ryan was already on the third question, so he went on as well. It was frustrating how he could see where the guy was out of the corner of his eye but wasn’t brave enough to peek at his actual answers. He probably knew exactly what to write.
Lisa, on the other hand, leaned back and lifted her hands in exasperation as if to say, What the hell?
Micah wished he could have told her he felt the same.
There were more nonsensical questions about teamwork, building trust, and his role in the team. Not his actual role, of course. What he thought his ‘social role from the following list’ was.
Lost, Micah skimmed it and picked ‘Heart’ on a whim. [Alchemist] was officially a support Class and that sounded vaguely support-ish. He had tried to be supportive during the exam, he thought.
He bet Kyle probably thought he was ‘Heart’, too. Freaking Kyle.
Only when he got to the final two questions and the clock showed he had a third of the time left, did he let himself relax a bit. The second to last question asked if he had learned anything new about the Tower.
Micah racked his brain and wasn’t sure if there was any one big answer he could give. There were a bunch of little ones, though: exploring the railroads, Kobolds raising Teacup Salamanders for crystals, the relief, fighting true Salamanders for the first time, having to dig to find a buried treasure chest, and making a challenge out of an otherwise far too easy floor.
He wasn’t sure which to choose, so he chose them all with a lead-in phrase and wrote a short summary for each. The description hadn’t specified to pick only one lesson, after all.
He wrote something about the Tower continuing to surprise him and challenges being around every corner if one knew how to look.
The last question asked if he had otherwise learned anything new? And Micah had a sudden idea.
There was one thing he had been thinking about lately, but he wasn’t sure how to phrase it, especially not in a way they would want to hear. It related to the previous question, too, and was basically a moral.
He chewed on his pen as he considered, glanced up, and realized the time was ticking by faster than he had thought.
If there are no—
No, that didn’t sound right.
Without—
Not that either. He had to give context first, so he wrote down a short two sentences about how they had struggled with finding challenges and guardians in the Tower and only found something worthwhile to do in the meantime by making sacrifices and taking risks along the way.
Something like …
In the absence of opportunities, success is something that has to be built, even with risks, not earned.
Micah stared at the sentence. Yep, no, that sounded stupid. But it got his meaning across.
He still had to go over the other questions to see if there was anything he could fix, but the last question stuck with him. Because he actually did have a good opportunity for something coming up soon.
After he gathered the exams from his row and handed them in, he asked Anne, “Hey, what are you doing for New Year’s?”
He wished his [Controlled Breathing] Skill extended to [Controlled Heartbeat] at that moment. Ryan and Lisa were both staring at him. They had to know what he was doing. It was torture.
“Oh, uhm— Why?” she asked.
“Because Ryan, and I, and a few others— Well, I mean, a friend of ours knows somebody, the manager of the youth center, and they were going to rent a room from them. We were going to do like, a small party and invite a bunch of people our age from school and stuff like that. Would you … want to come?” He belatedly rushed to add, “Oh, but it would be in Westhill.”
“That sounds like fun,” Anne said and glanced at Lisa, “but I can’t. I’m spending New Year’s with my family, and Garen, and … You were going to come, right, Lisa? I kind of thought she might invite you.”
To New Year’s with them? Micah wondered. That actually sounded awesome. But no, his other plans sounded even better and besides— “But, uhm,” he said and looked at Lisa, “we wanted you to come, too.”
She shrugged, but it wasn’t dismissive. “I didn’t know you had something planned.”
“Yeah, but—” Micah started and glanced at Ryan. He had an indecipherable look on his face. Disappointment? Because Lisa had other plans? “Because it’s Ryan’s birthday?”
“On New Year’s?” Anne asked.
Ryan cut in. “You’re celebrating with Garen?”
She nodded. “Yes. Sorry? That I can’t be there for your party, I mean. I still got you a present, but I want to celebrate with him before he leaves.”
“Leaves?” Micah asked. “Where?”
“On a, uh, expedition,” she said. “He quit his job. He’s going climbing again.”
Micah had a much easier time interpreting that expression on Ryan’s face. He looked like he was both physically restraining himself from asking a thousand questions and at a loss for words at the same time.
Lisa smiled. “You could drop by before we leave? Sometime around noon to early afternoon?”
He opened his mouth, closed it again, cleared his throat, and shook his head. “No, uh, it’s— it’s fine, I wouldn’t want to—”
Micah shoved him.
Lisa gave him a look in thanks. “C’mon Ryan. He’d wish you a happy birthday?”
His voice cracked when he mumbled, “uhhokaythen. I mean, uh, is it alright?”
“Of course.”
Micah smiled for him, but beneath the expression, he was sad that neither Anne or Lisa would come to the party. They wouldn’t celebrate New Year’s together. But on the other hand, this would give them the perfect opportunity to get Ryan off their backs for a little while. She was still helping them, as always.
Besides, he consoled himself with the thought that there were a bunch of other people he could invite and he knew what could cheer him up at the moment. “Lisa?” he asked. “What did you want to show us earlier?”
“Oh, right.”
She got out the envelope again and handed them the paper inside it. Micah held it halfway between their desks so both Ryan and he could read it at the same time. It was a Proof Of paper, but—
[Of the Daughter Path]
[Skills: Mold Pattern, Surging Strength, Lesser Mana Mastery, Shepherd’s Ping, Magic Attunement]
[Mage Path]
[Skills: Create Fire, Fireball, Light, Shape Wind, Jolt, Firebolt, Sound Ward, Kobold's Flameseekers, Fire Charge, Spellpatch, Flamewrought Armaments]
[Summoner level 13]
[Skills: Summoner's Bond, Spell Mending, Lesser Fire Mastery, Lesser Imagination, Enhanced Permeability, Flamewrought Summoning, Appraise Creature]
She was only level thirteen? She was almost the same level as them, now. Had her [Mage] Class consolidated into [Summoner]?
Still—
“This is ridiculous,” Micah whispered the moment he found his words again, still staring at the page. It was a compliment. Even if they were almost the same level— He looked up. “You’re ridiculous.”
Lisa smiled. “Thank you. I put a lot of effort into it. So”—she let out a heavy breath in either exhaustion or exasperation, he didn't know—”so much effort.”
Ryan nodded and said, “Congrats on your new level.”
It was far above theirs.