Achieved Novice Supine Humorism [Grade 5]

Achieved Novice Invasive Scrounger [Grade 6]

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6th day of January 0 A.E.

An arm of heliotrope haze exits Lorcan’s nostrils. I drop the grains of yellow sand into a tiny jar.

“I’m going to suture this wound closed,” Terra says, standing next to me. “The last one I tried held. It seemed to extinguish the flame or at least focus it somewhere else.”

Nodding, I reply, {Aye, it is good. If thy threads can continue to help, I would certainly appreciate the assistance.}

Terra pulls at a needle with a silver thread attached. The thread draws a wound on Lorcan’s skin closed. “...You know it’s midnight already, right?”

{It does not matter to me. What matters is that thou knowest it.} I shake the specks of sand about inside the vial, adding, {I do not sleep. Ever.}

“I’m aware of the time; it was me who just told you after all.” The needle and thread are pulled into the binding of her silver tome. “...And you don’t have to say it so ominously.”

{Ominously? It’s merely the truth.}

Smiling, she looks at me. “I do not sleep. ...Ever!” she mocks before taking a sip of her coffee.

My eyes narrow. {...Simply drink thy bean water; thou knowest nothing.}

She shrugs and returns to drinking her bean water.

I glance behind me. In the corner of the room, Scarlett lies curled up inside a burrow of blankets with her face propped against her glass cane. Next to her, Miss Yarborough rests in her wheelchair with her eyes closed and her fingers massaging her knuckles.

{Scarlett did well, but her body needs another day of recovery. I hope that she may acquire the Invasive Scrounger skill.}

Placing her cup on a table, she fiddles with a device known as a ‘coffee maker’ while saying, “The odds of her getting that too are… well, I’m not totally sure, but I do know the Cosmic System won’t offer anything that someone isn’t incapable of. At least, I haven’t seen it do that yet.”

{Well, to be honest, I do not think this is the authentic practice of humorism, yet it’s working, and it’s all I know to do without more study or hints.}

“Call it Nightingale Spirit Arts...” Someone outside bumps into something. Terra raises a hand, listening to make certain the person walks away. She continues, “I very strongly recommend you stop calling it the ‘h-word’ if you want anyone to take it seriously and trust in its effectiveness.”

{The “h-word?” Thou couldst simply say it through telepathy.}

{Too tired,} she remarks in my mind.

I shake my head and continue, {...Prejudice against humorism aside, I suppose the question is if Invasive Scrounger shall grant Scarlett a medium to manipulate haze or not. Even if it’s not the genuine method.}

“Not likely, but who knows.” Terra looks at Scarlett’s nails. “Maybe whatever has changed inside of her will come into play. It’s hard to say.”

{Speaking of ‘play,’ I wish to ask. The zoo, is it unharmed? I wish to take the apes that inhabit it and introduce them to Fairy’s Pantry for Gen. The elderly rats have accepted him as their own, but I am certain he would enjoy having his old companions back as well. I do not wish for him to feel isolated.}

“The zoo…?” The coffee maker hums as she presses a red circle on its front. “Uhm, last we spoke of it, someone was still there feeding the animals. I don’t really see a reason the Maw would have targeted it. It’s probably much the same; though, I’m sure they’re running low on food as well at this point.”

{I shall have to find a way to take Gen with me to gather them soon then.} Shaking my head, I add, {Though, moving around Fairy’s Pantry is no easy task any longer. At least after going past where the BDP’s camp is located. I do not feel safe moving around alone in Fairy’s Pantry any longer.}

“And you shouldn’t be doing that anyway. From what I’ve heard, it’s far from safe there.” She crosses her arms, asking, “By the way, is Byron still there? In the Fairy’s Pantry camp, that is?”

Nodding, I create a line of haze and run it into Lorcan’s nostrils. {Aye. He and a few others, including the escorts that I believe go by the name Erin and Ruby.}

“...What are you doing?” a weak voice drones. Terra and I both look down at the ‘unconscious’ Lorcan. His eyelids are peeking open. “It’s like something is poking my brain.”

I withdraw the heliotrope line.

Terra steps out of the room. “I’m going to go get the doctors,” she says, hurrying out of the room.

“Hey,” Lorcan whispers at me.

I lean closer.

He coughs. “D-did you tell Ma?” he stutters.

There’s a squeak as Miss Yarborough’s chair moves. “Are you awake!?” she asks, rolling closer. “Lorcan, can you hear me!?”

Miss Yarborough takes Lorcan’s hand as his breathing gets lighter. “...Did she tell you or not?” he whispers.

“Tell me? Tell me what, honey, you aren’t making sense!?”

He smirks. “How…” Taking a breath, he forces out the words, “How freakin’ awesome I was.”

With a chuckle, he closes his eyes and falls back to sleep. The flames on Lorcan’s skin diminish and fade as the doctors come running in.

Earl appears, sitting atop a beeping machine. Staring at Lorcan, she shrugs. “Observation: Enough has been extracted for the fleshie to recover. The fleshie shall be able to keep his meat vessel and spirit… for now.”

Miss Yarborough’s eyes dart to me. I nod, corking the vile of yellow sand next to me. The inside of the vile glows and takes on what resembles a liquid fire.

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The Tower’s sprout draws me into the Mistress’s Gate. Unlike the other gates, the Mistress’s Gate follows along the same path that the deceased do when drawn into Tenebrous.

My vision dulls as voices echo from Tenebrous as I travel to Fairy’s Pantry:

“Hello. Anyone there?”

“Behind you!”

“Spider! Wait, huh?”

I am pushed from the bark of the giant willow tree at the heart of Fairy’s Pantry. ‘Earl calls the Mistress’s Gate “old-fashioned.” I call it a nightmare.’

My vision recovers. The scene becomes a rich green, and the exotic sounds of the many insect monsters pervade the air. In front of me is a narrow path, running between a dense grove of blackberry bushes. Beyond the bushes is a set of five tottering hovels fashioned from tree branches, vines, and fronds. Past those is a waist-high fence that circles the willow, blackberries, and hovels.

Shadows dart from the hovels. “Waaaa-squeak!” they shout. Elderly rats rush down the narrow path with their fists in the air.

Behind them follows the lumbering figure of Gen with his arms raised as well. “Waaa-oooh.”

All of them stop in front of me, pumping their arms in the air while they continue shouting. The elderly rats wear their usual wooden planks as armor while wielding rusty metal pipes they brought from the chamber pot tunnels. Gen too has been equipped with an assortment of wooden shingle-like armor around his chest.

While shaking my head, I squat. ‘Gen. Thou art not a rat. Thou dost not need to mimic them.’

Sir Mouser crawls from my belly and climbs up to my shoulder. Gen and the elderly rats freeze their jaws hanging open.

Remembering how the elderly rats beat one of my experiments to a mash, I take a few steps back. ‘Sir Mouser… be prepared.’

“Waaaa!” they scream. Their pupils dilate, and their eyes bulge. Raising their crude weapons, they scream “Waaaaaa,” and then charge, aiming for Sir Mouser.

The hazy hair on Sir Mouser’s body sticks up. His eyes radiate a purple light, and a groan rises from Tenebrous’s ground. Paws reach from the grass at our feet, and out crawls twelve shadowy mousers.

The elderly rats and Gen freeze with their mouths stuck open as if they are screaming. I raise my arms and make an ‘X.’ Still frozen, their eyes drift toward me. I then drop my arms and make a thumbs-up. They look between me and the mousers, pivot on their heels, and then walk away.

‘...What eccentric characters they are.’

I grab Sir Mouser from my shoulder and hold him in front of me. ‘Also! Pray tell, why didst thou not tell me thou wert capable of such a feat!? Where didst thou learn such a thing!?’ His ears twitch as his amethyst eyes blink at me. ‘Excuses!’

“Answer: It’s the power of a Cat-Sìth, an attractor of feline spirits.” Looking up, I see Earl sitting in a rope swing that hangs from the burning willow tree. “The Kiln Satellite could not summon its cabal because the feline shades within the cabal rely on Tenebrous to maintain its form. Note: The remnant is an exception. It should be capable of persisting in the Domain, but the Satellite leaves the remnant here to support the cabal in its absence.”

Sir Mouser nods.

The twelve shadowy mousers scatter into the blackberry bushes that surround the burning willow tree. Around us, the bushes rustle and outrun the knee-high elderly rat children. They chase after their kin with their arms flailing in the air.

Some time passes and before long, I sit with the elderly rats and Gen around their fire. Earl sits humming next to me while Sir Mouser sits in my lap, staring at me with big eyes. I keep my hand on his head. ‘It’s still difficult for me to believe thou art here. It’s so odd. It almost feels like thou never left me.’

He turns over, exposing his belly.

Glaring at us, Gen moves closer with narrowed eyes.

‘Do not be jealous of Sir Mouser, little hairy man.’

He crosses his arms and puffs out his cheeks.

Earl raises a hand toward Gen. “Observation: The smelly fleshling doesn’t seem to like the Satellite. Query: Should the fleshling be punished?”

I shake my head. {Nay. Do not punish Gen.}

I set Sir Mouser to my side and then walk to the blackberry bushes. Gathering blackberries on a leaf, I take a twig from the ground and then sit behind Gen’s back. I mash the blackberries and then motion for Gen to hold his arm straight.

With his arm held out, I take a stick and prop his arm up. The elderly rats gaze at us with tilted heads, watching as I clean off the dirt and vegetation from his wooden armor. I dip the twig in the blackberry mash. Using my penman expertise, I scratch elegant spirals, patterns, and designs on his armor. As I scarify the wood, the blackberry seeps into the grooves.

The minutes rush by as I concentrate on my work. Dipping, scratching, and scraping away excess blackberry until Gen is left with a flowing design of sharp red lines in his armor. I go back to where I began and inspect it. Heated by the fire, the blackberry juices have mostly dried and now stains the wood.

‘Aye! A beautiful piece of armor that’s worthy of an ape knight such as thee.’ Looking up, I discover Gen with his mouth open. He has fallen asleep. The elderly rats, on the other hand, have all made their own blackberry mashes and gathered their own twigs. One sits with their back, facing another. The latter scrapes shoddy designs into the back of their companion’s armor. They glance at my design, pouting when they compare it to their own.

I give a thumbs-up.

They nod, replying “Wa-squeak” with a mirthful chirp. [1]

One of the elderly children jumps to their feet. They climb the body of an adult elderly rat and tug at their whiskers.

“Waaaa-Squeak!” they yell, pointing at me.

The adult elderly rat’s eyes grow wide. They look at me and then the child. “Wa-Squ!” they yell while reaching over to cover his mouth. Gen shivers as the ruckus awakens him.

I shake my head. ‘Why do the elderly children not enjoy my company? I am a friend to all animals! ...This must be Emily’s fault. Terra should not have let her leave before making the elderly children adore me!’

They sit the little one down on a log and place his many brothers and sisters next to him. Raising their hands high, they perform a curtsy.

Taking a seat next to Sir Mouser, I place my hand on his head and tilt my head. ‘This seems familiar….’

“Squeak!” one says.

They pick up smoking pieces of timber while the elderly children, Gen, Sir Mouser, and I watch. Together, they hit a piece of timber against a log that sits next back with uniform taps, making an almost musical drum-like tone. The smoking pieces of timber throw off embers with each strike.

When the log does not break, they cover their eyes dramatically.

One of the elderly rats runs off and comes back with blunt weapons. They take deep, rapid breaths, and together, hit the log until it cracks and bursts open. Inside are a mound of blackberries. Dropping to their knees, they throw the blackberries in the air in celebration and then hold their arms toward me.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

My gaze drifts to Sir Mouser, who watches with a tilted head. ‘I believe they might have re-enacted how we met! I gave them wafers by breaking open containers. It was quite fun... until the wretched rat arrived, and then I nearly died for the fifth time that week.’

The elderly rat children study me with unbelieving stares while Gen saunters over and falls to his knees next to the adult rats.

I nod. ‘Though I do not remember dropping to my knees, it is all true! So do not hate me!’

The elderly children’s eyes widen. They too fall to their knees.

They all speak in tandem. “Waaaaaaa-squeak.”

“Waa-ooh,” Gen adds.

A grin spreads across Earl’s face. “Query: Mistress, isn’t this a form of worship amongst material beings?”

‘...Good lord, nay, say it is not so...’ The elderly rats prostrate at my feet. ‘They have invented religion!’ Gen peeks at the elderly rat to see if they are still prostrating and then imitates them. ‘…Save for Gen, he is playing.’

“Observation: The fleshlings beg for a place at the Mistress’s feet. It’s as this one believes it should be.” Swinging her lantern back and forth, she adds, “Opinion: The Acolyte may benefit from living with these fleshlings for a few material years. Then the Acolyte may learn the proper way to greet the Mistress.”

{...Hush, Earl.}

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My footsteps echo in the empty ballroom of the Hotel Casale. I reach into a box of messenger orbs. One by one, I line them up on a long wooden table until there are thirty-three of them. Walking to the far side of the ballroom, I wheel a big whiteboard across the room and place it behind the table. Overhead, two clickers watch me.

Taking the purple marker from a bar on the whiteboard’s front, I write a message for those meant to arrive soon.

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Welcome! As I am sure thee art aware, tomorrow is the day.

Prithee, before entering read everything that is penned to this whiteboard.

1. Show thy greater token before entry. Ordain the paper on the table for thy token. From henceforth, Tokens belong to thee and no one else.

2. Do not enter the Tower without thy messenger orb. Said messenger orb is on loan to thee from here forth. It is to be returned if requested, upon token resignation, or, god forbid, upon death. Of course, the latter is if the orb is found by someone else.

3. Do not enter the Tower without placing thy name upon the backside of this whiteboard beforehand and completing the above.

4. Upon entry thy messenger orb will receive a message from something known as the ‘Mistress Interface.’ It is as it sounds.

5. Messenger orbs may also be used for something known as the ‘Fairy-Speaker Bulletin,’ send or receive notes known as ‘Fairy Epistles,’ and daily updates from ‘Central News.’ Basic mana manipulation is required for anything other than the Mistress Interface. Inquire with an attendant for more information if required.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<

I return the marker to the board as someone approaches from behind.

The double doors to the ballroom swing open. “Guten morgen,” I hear Mrs. Jäger say.

“Good morning, Miss Nightingale,” Kenneth says.

Turning, I raise my hand up in greeting. Three more people enter as Mrs. Jäger and Kenneth stop in front of the table, studying the orbs laid out in front of them.

“Miss Nightingale!” Shriek says, almost skipping toward the table of orbs.

Mollie waves back. “Hey, Fairy.”

“Fairy.” Scarlett raises a hand with a smile while tapping a glass cane on the floor. She gestures at the People’s Gate behind me. “I can see the stage, and it’s so beautiful.”

I nod.

In front of me, Shriek’s eyes sparkle as he scrutinizes each and every messenger orb. They are the same except for their different colors: light blue, gold, emerald green, red-orange, and pink. “I finally get to choose my messenger orb! ...Granted, I only heard about them a few days ago, but still, this is exciting!”

I walk over to a flat, gray lap-top that lies unlit on the table. The Fairy’s voice was broken in Maw’s assault and it’s rather cumbersome too, so for now, I am using this to communicate.

Picking up a pen, I write a greeting. A woman’s voice emanates from the lap-top. “Good morn, everyone,” the lap-top says in an exotic accent.

Raising an eyebrow, Kenneth scrutinizes the tablet, saying, “Oh, is that a deputy clippie text-to-speech tablet? We used to give those things to students with disabilities in some of our public schools. Never heard one with a British accent, though. The accent suits you somehow.”

‘...British accent? I believe myself to be of Briton decent, and I can assure thee that this is not how I spoke.’ [3]

I shake my head and write, “Kenneth, how art thy goodwife? The Speaker told me she was found?”

“Goodwife? Don’t let her hear you say that.” He chuckles, rubbing a finger across one of the orbs. “But yeah, she and my infant son were fine. Oh, and thanks for helping Annette too. She’s demanding, hardheaded, and you never know what’ll come out of her mouth next, but she’s… uh, generally a good person.”

“Aye? I pray that is so; I have not spoken to Annette much myself. But I am curious, where didst thee find thy wife and infant?”

“A greater token recipient named Terry Allen told me he had led a bunch of people to Fuddy-Duddy Pharmacy. I didn’t know where that was at first, but it turns out it was just across the street from the quarant—” Pausing he sighs, and says, “…Well, you know.”

The mood becomes heavy with the mention of the quarantine. What happened at the quarantine is a fast-spreading rumor, and Terra has become the face of it. Her poor repute is now worse than ever. The only thing stopping people from rioting is the horrifying reports that detail the situation inside the quarantine. I can attest to that; it was nightmarish… I try to not think of it much.

Scarlett’s cane taps against the table. With a grin, she says, “I didn’t bump into it, and I didn’t even need Nick.”

I shake my head and write, “That’s very good. Though shouldst not be so stubborn if Nick’s help is needed.”

She laughs. “You and stubbornness are why I’m alive. Besides, Nick can’t come this far from the Tower anyway.”

“I don’t really understand your condition myself,” Kenneth says, watching how Scarlett can see me but no one else. “But, I do know what you did was very brave. Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Thanks, but… well, it wasn’t really bravery that pushed me to do what I did...” Pausing, Scarlett exhales and says, “I’m just happy to hear you found your family safe and sound. I also heard the vigil was beautiful. I hope it gave the people that needed it peace.”

Shriek nods, picking up a gold orb. “The vigil for the victims yesterday was something else.” He glances at Scarlett, gazing off into space. “A-and King Zero’s song was so different from his usual stuff. It’s good your wife was there to see it and participate.

“Yeah,” Mollie says with a nod. “...I didn’t really listen to King Zero’s music since heavy metal really isn’t my thing. But what he played yesterday was beautiful. Some kind of alternative electro-rock mix.”

“Yes, I was able to hear it. It’s sad that it’s not recorded anywhere. I’d love to hear it again,” Scarlett says, placing a hand on one of the messenger orbs.

There’s a thunk as several men enter the ballroom. They carry pieces of a device called a “body scanner.” Setting the parts aside, they walk out to retrieve more.

Mrs. Jäger stares at it with a tilted head. She points at the body scanner and then looks at me.

I nod. ‘Aye, that shall be thy task. I hear it is capable of speaking High German.’

Raising a finger, Kenneth removes a little book from his pocket that reads, “English to German Pocket Dictionary.”

“De-ine Ab-bit,” he says, reading from the tiny book.

Mrs. Jäger chuckles, making a thumbs up.

Picking up a messenger orb, Mollie asks, “So, Mrs. Jager is working the body scanner. I was told that I’m meant to be the Beast Directories representative, right?”

With a nod, I write, “Aye. Thou dost not work for me.” I point at Shriek holding the orb and then the vacant spot on the table. “Thou art not permitted to take the messenger orb until the morn.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I guess I’ll just grab it tomorrow….” He goes to set it down but freezes just before doing so. “Wait, the Tower’s technically open. Can’t I take mine now?”

I pause for a moment before raising my hands in surrender. “I suppose that’s true. It has been open for a week now. It’s simply that no one has been interested in entering with recent events,” I write.

With a smile, he removes his greater token with “#100” inscribed on it. “Then I’m ready!”

Shrugging, I point at a white sheet of paper that reads, “Pilgrim Identification Registry” and then toward Kenneth.

“Oh, the Registry, that’s my job. Well, it’s mine until I find someone else to do it.” Pulling a sheet of paper over, Kenneth continues, “So… well, you know the dangers. I won’t bother going into that with you, but you still need to fill this out. Uhm, make sure you include things identifying features like eye and hair color, tattoos, birthmarks, etc.”

“Uh, so by ‘identification,’ it means my body? ...Like… like if I die?”

“...Well, yeahhh, but it’s also just a general registrar form. I’m not as experienced with Fairy’s Pantry as you, but I’ve already understood the risk, so I’d hope you would have too.”

Shriek pauses, staring at the paper. Exhaling, he takes a pen and begins to write. “I wasn’t there for the attack last week, but it feels like everyone who was there understands the risk more than me now. Even my buddies in the RWR Alliance were behaving differently. They spent all yesterday telling each other what they’d want at their own funerals. What not to do, what music, what to do with their body….” He stops writing and adds, “They were acting like they were joking around, but they were serious, I could tell.”

“I guess I didn’t really think about it until now, but you’ve been inside Fairy’s Pantry for weeks now. A lot has happened since you went in and….”

A book drops from the table, sounding like a firearm discharging. Mrs. Jager gasps; her body shivers. Her face reddens as she places a hand over her heart. “Es tut mir leid,” she murmurs with a slight chuckle. [2]

Kenneth raises a hand with a nod and then continues his previous words, “...A lot has happened, and it’s the kind of stuff that changes people.”

In my peripheral vision, I notice Mollie with her eyes closed and a hand over her heart. ‘Some had changed even before this, it seems.’

“You should consider yourself blessed to have not been there. An event like that can change the way you see things. Transform the world around you into a duller version of itself,” Scarletts says, staring dimly toward where the book hit the ground. She chuckles. “Figuratively and literally for some people.”

Shriek nods and returns to the paper. “I can understand that,” he replies in a soft voice.

Turning to me, Kenneth says, “Miss Nightingale, are you going to run me through what these bulletins, messages, and news things are on the whiteboard? I could wager some guesses, but I haven’t really heard anything about those.”

I glance at the whiteboard and then nod. “Aye. I shall inform thee,” I scribble on the lap-top. “Soon the Pilgrims shall arrive for the orientation. It shall be thy responsibility to educate them.”

“You don’t want to do it yourself?”

“Nay. I wish to experience things as they do.”

“As they do?” Kenneth asks, furrowing his brow.

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That night I stand off to the side, fiddling with a small vial of yellow sand that’s filled with the water-like flame. I watch the focused expression of a group of six Pilgrims led by Gregor Damascus. Two women and four men in total, each holding a messenger orb in one hand and a weapon in the other. They all wear what I am told is termed ‘camouflage.’ It’s comparable to the Army uniforms except informal.

Kenneth raps his finger on the whiteboard while lecturing the group. “Fairy-Speak Bulletin is essentially a forum that anyone with a messenger orb can post to. Fairy Epistles is like text messaging, as I’m sure you’ve figured out. Then there’s the Central News which is just blurbs and articles are written by... well, we don’t really know who’s going to write them, but that’s what it’s for.”

My shoulders slump. ‘It took me half an hour to explain something that only took him three sentences. Am I too verbose? Or is it simply harder for me?’

Gregor adjusts his grip on a bow he carries and raises a hand. “Uhm, I’m not actually that good at reading the Fairy’s handwriting. Is there a printed version of those rules?”

I glare at him. ‘Print! This “print” is an ebbing of true handwriting, real penmen! Kenneth, educate them!’

Kenneth yawns and grabs a sheet of paper. “Yep, here ya go,” he says, handing the paper to the man.

Taking a pen, I write. “...Et tu, Kenneth?”

Oh, a William Shakespeare quote.” Tilting his head, Kenneth asks, “Are you a Shakespeare fan, Miss Nightingale?”

My eyes narrow as I shake my head. ‘Fudge! It was a highly popular adage amongst the children! He merely wrote it down. 1586, I saw him on Silver Street! The man was a comedian, I tell thee, a bawdy!’ [4]

Oblivious to my inner agitation, Kenneth smiles, and nods. “I like him too.”

‘Perverted deviant!’ I shout in my mind.

“The basic mana manipulation for the orb,” a woman Gregor’s group asks. “What is that exactly?”

“Uhm, well… that I’m not as sure about.” Kenneth pushes a sheet of paper with dates written on it toward her. “I know we’re supposed to be having a workshop for that every few days starting on the ninth, so there is that.”

Taking my lap-top pen, I write, “There is also a technique written within thy orbs if thou dost not wish to attend the seminar. It is something that requires practice on thy own regardless.”

They talk amongst themselves for a moment.

Gregor re-reads the paper and sighs. “We’re planning to spend two or three nights inside for our first trip, so we probably won’t be able to make the first or second workshop. Speaking of which, are we the first group here for the pre-prep?”

Shaking my head, I write. “Thou art the third group.”

“Two other groups already? We thought we’d be the first ones in for sure.”

I point to the back of the room as Shriek, Nyle, Ethan, and Ayameko walk in alongside fourteen other Pilgrims.

“They got here late this afternoon to familiarize themselves with their orbs.” Kenneth points and asks, “But weren’t there twenty of you?”

“Yeah…” Shriek raises a hand. “One of ours passed out after trying too hard to use that mana technique written in the orb. His sister stayed to take care of him until he wakes up.”

Nodding, I write. “Mana overdraw is an ever-present danger. Thy Orenda stat will increase the amount of mana available, which will stave off the overdraw. Until then it’s important thou dost not strain thyself.”

Turning, I take a marker and scribble a note on the whiteboard, warning of mana overdraw.

“Orenda, seriously!?” Nyle says, gesturing at the other Pilgrims in the room. “What’s everyone’s Orenda stat?”

They all look at one another. “Uhm… one,” a girl answers.

“Yeah, mine too,” a few Pilgrims reply.

Several other Pilgrims glance at one another. “Our’s is zero,” they say.

“See, ones and zeros; hell, I didn’t even know you could have a zero!” He looks at the people with zeros. They all turn away. Shaking his head, he adds, “Orenda is everyone’s lowest stat. Basically, no one is going to be able to use these orbs.”

While thinking, I return the marker to the whiteboard and turn. ‘It was my highest stat at twenty. I presume that is normal for ‘monsters’ such as I.’ Raising my hands in surrender, I then write, “Thou shouldst take thy complaints to the Cosmic System then, not I.”

Nodding, Ethan turns to Nyle and asks, “...Hey, are you really sure about your Orenda stat? Have you checked your chronicles lately?”

Nyle glances at Ethan. “Of course I’ve checked them.” The air wiggles in front of Nyle’s face. He squints, reading what I believe are his chronicles. “Oh…”

“Did yours change too?” Ethan asks, rubbing the smooth purple glass on his face.

Nyle shrugs. “Might have.”

Listening to their conversations, Ayameko remarks, “If it’s like how it was with me, it went up after the glass grew. That was almost a week ago, and you never noticed?”

“...I just missed the extra zero that was tacked onto the end of my Orenda stat in my chronicles. I knew I felt a little different; thought it was just the glass.” Nyle rubs the black glass on his arms. “Anyway, I was working on my Strength, Constitution, and Endurance. It’s what the Cosmic Atlas advises everyone to focus on, and I agree with them. It’s the best foundation.”

Ayameko purses her lips. “What the Cosmic Atlas advises everyone to focus on? I heard you were the one that freakin’ convinced them of that! Agility, Acuity, and Endurance are the ones I tried to tell them should be the first stats to increase.”

“I suggested Perception, Fortitude, and Endurance,” Ethan mumbles to himself.

Nyle runs his fingers through his beard. “Sure, I’m the one that convinced them, and I agree with what I told them.” He sighs, saying, “Anyway, I went into training mode, so all of us in Finite Scale could distribute our stat points. I wasn’t paying much attention to Orenda. Didn’t even have a reason to since it’s essentially useless without the proper abilities.”

Shriek raises an eyebrow, glancing at Ethan and Nyle. “Hey, wait. You two are a lot chummier than I remember? You were at each other’s throat a few weeks ago.”

Narrowing his eyes, Nyle asks, “Ever been beaten to within a millimeter of your life only to have a jellyfish forced down your throat?”

Shriek’s eyes dart about. “Is-is that a warning?”

“No, it’s an actual question,” Ethan responds with a stiff smile. “He’s being serious. Both of us were beaten to within an inch of our life.”

“The track star and I have two enemies in common now.” He rolls his eyes and scratches his beard. “And I think the ultimate way to humiliate them is for the two of us to be the ones to beat the shit out of them. That’s all.”

Tapping my finger on the wooden table, I gather everyone’s attention. “I have a request,” I write.

“A request?” Ayameko asks.

Nodding, I reach under the table and lift a canvas bag Terra lent me. I place the bag on the table and then write, “I request permission to join thy group tomorrow and experience Fairy’s Pantry as a Pilgrim. I have prepared my things.”

Ayameko, Nyle, and Ethan glance at one another.

“It’s the Fairy. She can go in whenever she wants, with or without us.” Ethan shrugs, gesturing at Nyle and Ayameko. “And it’s not like she’s interrupting our nonexistent team symmetry, and she’d be our strongest member too. What’s to consider?”

I perform the thumbs-up gesture and then write, “I believe we shall make an excellent posse!”

Ayameko rubs the back of her neck. “...Yeaah, rather than ‘posse,’ let’s stick with calling it a team.”