Dasha stepped into Lowkey, the lively ambiance of the bar washed over him, mingling with the scent of ale and laughter that filled the air. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on Charles Mackley, seated at a table with his friends. With him was a former Holy Dynasty knight who smiled at the jokes Charles told, and beside him was the wizard in the rune robes and with a bag on his waist.

"Charles, you seem unusually cheerful tonight," remarked the wizard, adjusting the straps of his rune robes. "Care to share the reason for your exuberance?"

"Ah, don't worry about it, really," Charles replied nonchalantly, taking a sip from his tankard.

"Come on, Charles, don't leave us hanging," the former Holy Dynasty Knight said, nudging his friend with his drink. "You've got that look in your eye. What's got you all fired up?”

“I told ya, it's nothing. Really! And is nobody other than me going to mention that he said exuberance?"

"That's because we're well-educated."

"Well-educated in stupidity," Charles shot back with a laugh.

Dasha observed from the shadows as Charles's friends continued questioning him about his jubilant demeanor. With a nonchalant shrug, Charles dismissed their inquiries, insisting that it was nothing of importance. But Dasha knew better. There was a glint of something in Charles's eyes, a spark of anticipation that hinted at a secret he was reluctant to share. He didn't want to tell them that he had been dreaming wonderfully.

For thirty minutes, Dasha watched from afar, biding his time until Charles was alone, which was easier said than done. The man was popular and often went around as if he knew everyone.

First to join Charles was Jacob, a Master Engineer at the Thunderstrike Brother, signified by the four lightning-shaped badges on his dark blue doublet. "Well, well, if someone isn't back to normal," Jacob quipped as he clapped Charles on the back. "What's got you grinning like a Cheshire cat?"

Charles, who had been drinking, spat out his drink and sputtered, “Oi!”

Jacob laughed. “I'm paying today, jimbo, so don't complain.”

“Pay day?”

“Pay day.”

After that, the irritation disappeared and Charles heartily bumped drinks with him.

Next came Sarah, a rogue in a black hood, with long black nails, and thick black eye make-up. She didn't seem to be affiliated with a guild and spoke in a thick, Yorkshire accent. "Charles, darling, remember last week?”

Charles groaned. “I know, I know, I'll join in.”

“No moaning?”

“No bitching,” Charles grumbled.

Arms crossed, Sarah leaned forward and teased, “Finally found that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?"

As the minutes ticked by, more faces joined Charles. There was Luke, a charming bard that began telling a story of the legendary Kingslayer, and Elena, a recently graduated woman of the True of True Magic with no job and struggling to pay for food. Charles offered to give her a coin which she rejected out of pride. Charles seemed to naturally form a motley crew of outcasts. He was charismatic and boisterous when he was drunk. Dasha remained in the corner, observing the interactions, detached.

But then it happened: he started to get agitated. His friends and allies couldn’t tell but Dasha could. He stopped responding as enthusiastically. His words were followed by a large gulp of alcohol as though he couldn’t function without it. It was a subtle wave of emotions that instinctively turned people away. In an hour, Charles found himself alone at last, drinking without company and with a weak smile. He didn’t understand himself or why he was so irritated on the inside. Dasha seized the opportunity to approach, striding invisibly across the room to where Charles sat.

"Mind if I join you?" Dasha's voice was smooth and measured as he made himself known. He was still invisible, still choosing to present himself in this way to the former top twenty winner.

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“Oh? Invisible man?”

“My boss just wants an update,” Dasha lied. “Will you commit? Or not?”

Charles didn’t reply instantly, pretending to busy himself with a drink of beer. He licked up the foam lingering on his lips and swallowed. “...how much?”

“We trade in materials, not points,” Dasha said.

“What’s the catch?”

“Dreamweaver’s Dust,” Dasha said. “As much as you can gather.”

“What? No idea what that is.”

“But you’re strong enough to get it. The highest quality comes from victims of Oneiros, Greek god of dreams, or Morpheus. However, killing a baku, nocnitsa, and mora could also yield some Dreamweaver Dust, though the quality will be much lower.”

“You want me to spawn-camp at Valhalla’s Colosseum? Wait weeks upon weeks for one of those things to appear—”

Thump!

Charles went wide-eyed as a huge brown pouch appeared on the table. He could sense the Dream Meth. Taste in its lips.

“A token of goodwill,” Dasha said. “I hope we can trust you, my friend.”

“Ha. You…you’re a little schemer, aren’t you?”

“Of course not. Be sure not to overdose. We are the type to stay loyal to our customers.”

“Ha…” A flash of pink crossed his pupils as he pushed the heavy pouch over to his side. Inside the pouch was a kilogram worth of Dream Meth. Weeks upon weeks worth of dreams. “Loyalty? That’s good. That’s very good. I will definitely get you what you want.”

Dasha sat there, listening to the man rush out with the pouch. ‘I'm counting on it.’

***

“That crazy bitch left her cave, huh?” Daughter cackled lightly, a cup of tea sipping into her lips. She cackled again as soon as it left. To her, the Imperial Noble Consort was something of a joke or an old friend. “Remember when I was talking about certain people that take advantage of us? She’s one of them. She thinks she can kill whoever she wants whenever she wants. We’ve lost enough people to her; when you’re strong enough, kill her.”

An enemy, then. Dasha didn’t mind. He sipped on his tea, calm. “Understood.”

“She’s not a regular customer but she always kills our people when she does want something. Seriously, I think only Xavier has lived to give her information.” Daughter emptied her tea cup and refilled it by telekinetically bringing the teapot over. She laid herself on the hammock, opening her mouth to get a small taste of the oolong tea. She made a face, let the cup tilt over again for another test. She decided it was suitable for her taste buds.

“Is that why he warned me?”

“Indeed. She probably has the highest kill count in the Heavenly Games. Well, second to the Kingslayer, of course.”

“Of course,” Dasha concurred.

“Ah, by the way, I heard you're having Grace get her Sorcery Degree.” She beckoned a finger and magically opened up the jar of sugar cubes. One, two, three, four, five; she took six sugar cubes and dropped them into her cup. “Do you intend to have her teach you?”

“Yes.”

“You were a swordsman in life. Sword spells are entirely different from magic spells, so I'm glad you're taking your second life seriously. However, shouldn’t you personally attend?”

“Why?” More than her question, he was concerned by her drinking position. Lying down and having tea pour into your mouth and then gulping seemed inefficient and unhealthy.

“I'm suggesting that you attend the accelerated player program. Obviously, those that are naturally born in the White Abyss will take the long four-year program but players like you don’t have that time. The shorter one-year program will teach you up to penta-circles. That will be sufficient for our needs, no? To be a cultivator and a sorcerer is next to impossible. You already spend three hours meditating every morning.”

“I would be mediating regardless of whether I was a cultivator. It was a part of my daily routine in my old life,” Dasha said. “More importantly, there’s the mask.”

“Ah, right, I forgot.” She paused in her drinking and side-eyed him. “How did you previously take off that mask?”

Dasha didn’t so much as blink. “I didn't. As a Templar, I merely needed to switch masks.”

“I see, I see.” Abruptly, she got up and rolled her shoulders, yawning. “But still, I suggest you go.”

“A futile suggestion as long as this mask stays on my face.”

Daughter swung her legs over, her bare feet touching the floor. “No need to worry. I possess Kundalini and can heal you as you desire. So? How about it?”

‘Kundalini?’ From his understanding, that was a kind of divine feminine energy located in the base of the spine. The word itself meant “coiled snake” and was attributed to Hindu goddesses and those that served them.

“Your education is my investment,” Daughter said with a smile. “I can heal that scarred face of yours no issue.” And with no extra favours, she implied. In other words, she was willing to help him for no other reason than because of their deal.

Dasha considered it. “No thank you,” he said. “I would rather achieve Tu Na Breathing and do it myself.”

“Is this a matter of pride? It makes no difference if it’s you or me, it is going to happen.”

“It’s a matter of experimentation. I am a scientist at heart. Your power would simply be intruding on my theories.”

“A scientist, eh? Fine. As long as it isn’t a huge deterrent.”

“You suggested I keep a low profile. Enrolling into the academy would be doing just that,” Dasha said. He began collecting his tea set, with Daughter cooperating and telepathically bringing her cup over to him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to meditate for the day. Some impurifications have built up.”

“Fair, fair.” Daughter nodded along with a smile. “One more thing.” Dasha continued to put everything back into his inventory one-by-one. “No need to pretend that you don't know the password. Come in any time you like, Dasha.”

“...I will then.”