It’s not morning. As I sit upright, I see light trickle in under the doorframe, and hear what sounds like… annoyed grunts.

I get up and out of bed and open the door. The sudden flush of brightness doesn’t affect me in the slightest, which is a new discovery. I peek my head out and see Ivory shuffling past me, draped in one of his bedsheets. He looks in my direction, back to the open door, and then grunts in confusion… before shrugging and going back towards his room.

He resumes grumbling after a few seconds. I can’t make out what he’s saying, or what’s got him out of bed, but he waves a hand and the overhead light blinks out. I hear the latch of his door click.

I can’t be seen. The more information I learn about this… state, the better. But, I’ve made three discoveries—the third being that my heritage eyesight remains. I can see perfectly well in the dark.

The stairs respect my step, and I them, as before. I descend normally, opting not to hold the bannister on my way down. Easy enough.

The snug staircase, the first object of my curiosity, is only a few yards away. With each step, my stomach’s knots tighten. I gulp reflexively.

The foreign feeling of hesitancy is overpowered by my confused curiosity at its existence. Why do I feel this way? Why did I feel so… so wrong? It couldn’t have been the candles, or the incense. The [Singers]? No, no, and no.

One step at a time. Each one tightens the knot in my stomach fivefold but, paradoxically, it reinforces that whatever I’m feeling isn’t real. A dream, a vision; whatever it is, whatever that’s causing this is either paranoia or a warding spell. Or something altogether unknown.

I reach the bottom of the stairs and face the simple, austere door. Like a yapping dog brought to heel, the trepidatious knotting had subsided.

I’m underwhelmed. The moment I opened the door and stepped inside, the familiar feeling from when I was last here arose. Compared to the wretched twisting of my insides from the descent, this is but a small pinch.

I half-expected to find the [Serial Killer] down here, having taken refuge with Clarissa. Not Evangelinda—I knew from the moment I met her that she had lied about her name, but she didn’t make any secret of it. [Nice To Meet You], indeed.

The odious feeling in my stomach has disappeared almost completely; was it anxiety, after all? Was it all in my head?

It can’t have been, but regardless, I press on. The room is as I remember it—for all that I saw of it—except there’s no chairs in a semicircle. They’re stacked away in a corner, like some [Student] forum yet to be set up.

I see something new—a door, next to the stacked chairs. As far as I know, there could have been a Dragon in there last time and I wouldn’t have noticed.

The door opens easily enough. Like the rest of them, it didn’t creak as it opened; the click of the latch was soft. It opened inward, which was unlike the rest of them. Right to left.

As I step in, the first thing I notice is a couch—no, a bed. I look to my right and see an unmade bed. C—Linda’s, no doubt. Her bedroom?

At the end of this thin walkway, there’s a long desk continuing to the left; an L-shaped room is quite novel. I walk up to the long desk and examine the messy bookshelf, full of binders, folders, and of course books.

They’re marked with… curious names. ‘MG stuff’, ‘Flipping’, ‘Songs?’, ‘Earth ppl’. The rest I can barely make out; she’s written them in cursive Earth script. Lucky that Ivory taught me their alphabet. I’m tempted to try and decipher their contents, but I don’t care enough.

The desk is filled with absolute rubbish. Plates, food, scrunched up parchment, open books… it’s a mess. As I follow the trail of detritus, I force a gasp of shock back down my throat when I see Linda hunched over another desk against the wall, separate from the other.

I approach her carefully; I’m not sure why. I’m not able to speak or interact with her, but I’m compelled nonetheless. It’s obvious she’s not some insidious creature harbouring a [Serial Killer] or anything else that has caused me needless worry.

I’m about two metres behind her now, and I can hear her humming a tune. It’s not a tune I’ve ever heard, which is not surprising at all, but something about it is just… different. An Earth-thing, no doubt.

I step carefully towards her, intent to see what she's writing, when I hear a creeeeaaaak. I turn around, panic setting in—as if I’m a hatchling again, nosing around where I don’t belong. Of course, no one’s going to even see me. I turn my body around meticulously like one of those [Spy] movies Ivory’s told me about, repositioning my feet, and hear that noise again.

Odd. Where… I’ve made that sound. A floorboard? My tailfeathers?

Linda is standing up, her head swivelling around like a [Madman]’s. I stand as still as the dead as she grabs the back of her chair to help propel herself 180 degrees, now facing me directly. She shrills in surprise, recoiling backwards, raising her arm—

______________________

Nozumu awoke with a choking shriek. He scrambled back against the headboard and sat upright, coughing now; a barren, dry cough. Specs of blood floated in the spit he had coughed into his hand. He cupped his talons together and staggered out of bed—

“くそ！”

His shoulder crashed into the carpet. Luckily, he only half-fell off his bed; he’d got one leg off and on to the floor… and it buckled as he leaned forward to get up. Three-quarters fell off, really, as all but his other leg was still on the bed.

He didn’t try to get up immediately. His being was propelled into action too quickly; he was still catching up mentally to the past 20 seconds of action.

The muffled biip-biiping of a large bird on his balcony brought him up to speed. Nozumu looked at his soiled hand and grimaced. He held it palm up as he manoeuvred himself into a sitting position, and then slowly stood upright. It wasn’t immediately obvious why or how he had made such a wake-up blunder, but the first priority was washing his hand.

The cold water made him wince briefly. Each room in the house had a variety of temperature-control runes; Nozumu liked a hot sleep. The scented soap—lavender, a favourite of the house’s mistress—made him crinkle his nose, but he was thankful that his hand was clean, now.

A strong instinct to chase normalcy overcame him and, after drying his hand and putting on a light robe, exited his room and went downstairs.

After only a few steps down, Nozumu was struck with a wave of déjà vu. His chest… hurt. Huh?

“... Hhh…”

Suddenly breathless, Nozumu clung to the smooth bannister; his talons clicked as they struck, so strong was his grip, so desperate was it to hang on. He had no explanation for it; magnificent waves of sensation flowed through him, of fear, understanding, revelation. And a pain dull yet sharp, localised yet torso-wide, that made him reach for his neck.

“I coughed up blood.”

He murmured to himself not in his native tongue, instinctively. The fleeting thought made him almost grin, that he was losing his Dejimaean…ness.

Nozumu managed the remainder of the steps down without the assistance of the bannister. The curtains were down; rays of light streamed in through the kitchen windows.

“There you are. I was almost tempted to call the police—err, the Watch. Slept well, huh?”

Ivory had looked up from his phone at Nozumu, who looked awful. He grinned mirthfully.

“I’ve seen bed hair, but with feathers on a Bird Beastkin—you look just awful.”

Nozumu said nothing. Ivory’s smile turned upside down.

“Mate? You good?”

“... No. I don’t think so.”

Ivory followed him to the living room and sat on the singular chair perpendicular to the couch.

Misoe, clever Missy, got up from her nest of blankets and sat in Nozumu’s lap. He hunched over, resting his chin on her.

“What’s the matter?”

“Remember how I told you about my dreams?”

He did, and sat upright immediately.

“Go on,” he said.

“I have consulted my almanac, but I don’t even know what to look for. They have been more frequent since we came to Pheislant, but I think they started on the boat from Dejima. I don’t know what Skills to look for that are in Drathian.”

An exceptionally curious dilemma; a powerlevelling opportunity for a [Linguist]. After a beat, he continued.

“What did you call it? Lucid dreaming?”

“Yes! Where you’re basically in control of your dream, and can move about and influence anything.”

Nozumu gulped.

“I had one last night, which was the most… well, let me ask you. Last night, were you outside in your sheets mumbling about something?”

“Oh,” Ivory said, embarrassed. “Did I wake you up?”

Goosebumps flooded Nozumu’s body.

“No, that’s not it. You looked into my door.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“I saw you do it. In my dream, I was there.”

Ivory’s mouth opened, then his eyes narrowed. Biting his lip, he exhaled and slumped backwards.

“Like a ghost? Could you move through walls?”

“No, I could do everything normally. It’s like your explanation of a lucid dream, except I think it’s… real.”

Shit.

“My first instinct is to say how cool that is, but something happened, yeah?”

“I went into the [Singers]’ room. And then found Linda’s bedroom.”

Ivory’s eyes narrowed again.

“Okay. So, just to clarify, are you, like, feeling bad because you did something you weren’t meant to do?”

“No.”

“Sorry. Go on.”

Ivory brought his other leg up to sit crosslegged.

“She was in there; nothing was happening, but she was singing to herself at a desk. I got closer, but there was a creaky floorboard. She turned around, and then looked directly at me and screamed. And then I woke up, feeling really, really bad.”

The three of them sat there silently for a minute. From his relatively meagre consumption of the fantasy and magic back on Earth, he could not make a comparison to what this was.

“So, recap. You are dreaming, but it’s real. It could have been coincidence that you saw me in your dream, as you could have heard me and it influenced your dream. That’s happened to me before: I was doing school sport in the morning, and I heard my phone ringing. I checked it and there was nothing on it—then I woke up, and it was my alarm going off. And that’s without magic. There’s a saying that probably exists here: if you hear clip clop, think horse and not zebra. I reckon you have some kind of dream-body and are there, but totally invisible.”

Misoe hooted in agreement.

“How did she see me, though? Why do I feel like… existing is painful? I feel so weak, but on the inside. I do not know how to put it into words. When I woke up, I instantly coughed up blood as well.”

Ivory got up instantly and placed a hand on his chest.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Your blood flow seems normal I think, and [Purify Blood] did nothing, though I’m no [Doctor]. Did you do something with that ritual last night? I know we brought no reagent, but those spiritual classes surely work on things like emotion, like [Witches].”

“I think we need to go back to her. To Jennifer.”

That’s a yes, then, Ivory thought.

“Before that, though: Linda. It could be that you got such a fright at being seen that you just… spooked yourself into having an episode? It’s quite a leap, but people have died from fright before, and weird magic stuff is happening here, so this could be a reasonable explanation. All things considered.”

Nozumu cracked a smile—job successful. Ivory wasn’t being flippant, either.

“But yeah, a [Witch] could know more. Go shower and eat, then we’ll go.”

Ivory did a shooing motion with his hand. Misoe rotated in Nozumu’s arms and blew a light wind in his eyes.

“Yes. Okay. I will not be long.”

————————————————————

A short 20 minutes later, Nozumu placed his plate in the sink.

“Ready.”

“Very good. How are you for walking? I’m pretty sure I saw a wheelchair in one of the storerooms.”

“I can walk fine, but you will need to go a bit slowly. I feel… heavy.”

“Gotcha. Actually, I have something that might help.”

Ivory rummaged around in his bag of holding for a moment, before taking out a ring and presenting it.

“I’ve been tinkering with my [Spellbinder] class this morning—since about 7, actually—and I’m starting to get the hang of it.”

Nozumu put a cupped hand out to receive it, but withdrew it when he saw Ivory take off back toward the kitchen. He came back just as quick with some… string?

“Butcher’s twine. Or [Butcher]’s? Anyway, here’s what I’m thinking. Your torso feels weak, so what better than some ice-cold water to soothe your muscles? If you put this around your st—”

“My clothing is enchanted, Ivory. I am sure that I have told you this. It cools me.”

“Ah ah,” Ivory said, raising a finger, “that’s different. Cold water on sore muscles can help sooth them, and this is ice cold. I soaked the ring in the stuff for two hours! Magical cold probably doesn’t work and, if it did, the temperature of yours wouldn’t be low enough. Now, put some of the string around it and tie it around your midriff.”

Ever the compliant test subject, he did as he was told, though he was mindful of the time. He slipped his hand into his robe and readjusted the ring so it was on his front. That felt more, well, appropriate.

“Great. Now, it should act like an amulet that is worn, and not a ring. Put a bit of mana into it, and it should activate.”

Hesitation. He had a mote of mana ready to imbue into the little trinket, but Ivory’s track record for this kind of thing was…

“Okay. I’ll—hck!”

Nozumu choked an inhaled exclamation as a flood of freezing water enveloped his torso. With lightning-fast speed, he cut the strong with his talon.

With the connection lost, the magical water had no option but to obey gravity. Ivory jumped back to avoid the splash as it fell rather spectacularly down Nozumu’s drenched robe. He just stood there, frozen in body and mind both.

Ivory and Misoe exchanged a concerned look. She cannoned herself up to Ivory’s room.

“Okay, don’t be mad please. I’m not going to defend myself!”

His face was braced for a well deserved verbal drubbing. My kingdom for a goddamn drying spell!

Nozumu eventually just sighed. His arms were up above his head, but the rest of his body was soaked.

“I will peck your eyes out next time you offer me something you have not tested.”

Ivory clasped his hands, and grimaced.

“Yes, sir. Promise.”

Clunk.

Nozumu looked up at hearing a noise coming from above him, and was annoyed that he wasn’t more perturbed. He saw a towel flying through the air; its front oddly spherical.

“ありがとう。”

A beaming Misoe slid the towel onto Nozumu, who patted his midsection.

“You clean this up while I change.

“On it. [Splash].”

Ivory waved his hands in front of his face, as if to savour some beautiful smell. Instead, the water from his artefact flung itself towards Ivory, like a great collection of beads to a magnet. He caught the water between his hands, condensing it into a cohesive ball.

Frankly, he felt a bit silly; he imagined himself looking like some stage-charlatan pretending to cast magic. Yet here he was, cleaning a shoddy artefact disaster with said magic. He almost forgot about the situation he’d caused.

“Om.”

“Oh my. My little vacuum cleaner, you.”

He’d forgotten she could do that. In one great bite, the conjured water disappeared. Ivory figured that, since she didn’t put the whole thing in her mouth, that she had taken in all the mana, causing the rest of it to just fizzle into nothingness.

The dry, makeshift amulet remained on the floor for another minute before Ivory picked it up. He tapped it gently—which he probably didn’t need to do, but it felt appropriate—and removed the meagre enchantment. Back in the bag you go.

“Let’s go.”

Ivory jumped almost a foot into the air. Anchored onto the tabletop, he turned around and saw a figure in pink. Nozumu had on a robe in the same style as his previous, but this one was far more stylised. It looked like a cherry-blossom design; the robe itself was a pale pink that had much lighter inlays of rosy-white spirals, with darker swirls in centred within some spirals.

“You’re like a [Spy]! Nice ‘fit, by the way.”

“It’s dry, so it will do.”

Ivory huffed performatively.

“C’mon, man. Let’s roll.”

———————————————

In a chilly suburban street, the [Landlords] that owned most of Holdstonne Street’s property were having their monthly get-together brunch. ‘Cafes’, the newest craze of food and beverage socialisation, were their latest investment, and they were enjoying some beautiful eggs on toast.

And what a great investment on all their parts. They’d turned one of the larger condominiums into a great four-tiered cafe, Winifred’s. It was a triply-joint operation: one [Wealthy Landlord] who owned the grand building, an [Enterprising Landlord] who conceived the original idea, and a [Staffing Landlady] who found, and housed, the employees who now worked there.

Four levels, with close to a hundred employees. The [Landlord] triumvirate had not closed their business when the curfew was announced, for Holdstonne Street housed some of the wealthiest that travelled to the city. Guests of state, Named-rank adventurers and the like usually stayed in a Lighthouse Keep, but influential, travelling [Merchants], [Knight]-orders on official duties, and just anyone who wanted low-key luxury stayed in Holdstonne Street.

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Thus, it didn’t close. Their profits nose-dived, as the third-floor nightclub was forced to temporarily close. Sure, they got more business from the comparative plebs of the city whose local cafes had paused business, but the important clientele (read: big spenders) were too self-absorbed and thought they’d be next on the killer’s list.

They were on to something, though. Callen Wattles sat on the ground floor of Winifred’s—all day breakfast and lunch—making his final preparations. The first and most important was a large slice of sourdough toast with butter, four slices of bacon and two sunny-side-up eggs.

Yum. The [Serial Killer] delicately arranged three slices of bacon across the piece of toast, and one of the eggs right in the centre as the cherry on top.

“Anything to drink, sir?”

A [Waitress], holding a huge tray with myriad vessels, asked.

“A sweetened water, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“A nali syrup?”

Callan smiled.

“Please, and thank you.”

The [Waitress] returned the smile. She poured some chilled water into a tall glass, and then measured out a gloopy liquid in a jigger.

“Sorry, is that too much?”

Callan waved a hand.

“That’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

He eyed the drink in front of him. Whatever nali was, it didn’t change the appearance of the water. He took a sip.

“Dead gods.”

It was deathly sweet! Delicious, but damn. He thought he’d be getting honey, which was what he normally liked; maybe a third of that serving next time, lest he vibrate out of existence and bugger up a kill.

It almost turned him off his savoury meal. Almost.

His brunch was still piping hot, no doubt thanks to a Skill of the [Chef]. The bread was deliciously crisp; the bacon the same. The whites of the egg tasted slightly different than they did yesterday: herbaceous; perhaps a chive and thyme mix.

Callan put his toast down and leaned back, smiling. A simply perfect start to your day.

But, of course, this was just a prelude. Next to his plate was a small satchel, from which he withdrew a small notebook. Opening it, he went down the list he had made, muttering each dot point aloud.

“Knives, sword, rope, scrolls… Skills available… Potions… Ready, ready.”

He took another sip of water and winced in delight. He had half a mind to ask for another less-sweetened drink, but there were few vacant tables—as it had been since he’d arrived.

An objective third-party viewer of the scene would, quite reasonably, think Callan to be a fool to be doing any of this in public. But was it not true that adventuring groups oft had a [Warrior] type class in their ranks, who openly carried great weapons in their backs, or sheathed at their waist? If anything, Callan could be singled out because he was there on his own.

Munch, crunch, munch. Overpreparing seldom accomplished anything other than anxiety.

“I’m all set. Excuse me! I’d like my bill.”

_________________________________

Knock knock knock knock, knock.

Ivory and Nozumu waited patiently outside the [Witch]’s house. Ivory had taken a few steps back after half a minute, seeing that she wasn’t coming out immediately.

“Maybe she’s getting changed?”

The screen door silently passed Ivory as it shut. He was taken aback by the level of… modern?... engineering in this world. He’d not been bothered enough to consider such details since his cross-world kidnapping.

“She may b—don’t knock again!”

Ivory recoiled, his hand on the screen door handle.

“What? She’s not answering.”

“I have known [Witches] to hex you for being too demanding. I do not think she would, but be patient.”

Ivory withdrew his hand, albeit reluctantly.

“So Drathian [Witches] are either psycho, or this is comparing a mountain to a molehill. Honestly, she’s probably doing some meat stuff out of home—security was beefed… hehe… to hell and back. If it took us half an hour to pass a security check, it'd be pretty bad for exports ‘n stuff.”

“Your perception of what a [Witch] is… I don’t want to say the words my Skill is telling me your people would say. It is an outlier.”

“A what?”

Misoe plopped herself on his head, looking equally as curious.

“Your experience is not the same as everyone’s. On Terandria especially, they are seen as evil, much like from your stories. Except here, it is real. Ridiculous superstition.”

For all that Nozumu claimed to be indifferent to magic, Ivory felt the passion in his voice. He almost chuckled.

But he understood it. Magic, normal magic, was standard. Rituals, deals, and magic that would be considered ‘strange’ and nontraditional was anathema. No doubt, Ivory thought, there were [Witch Hunters] and other freaks who demonised people.

“Anyway, it is a class that should be given great respect. Even if it’s not knocking too much.”

It was such a silly thing to say given the circumstances. Ivory exhaled a laugh; even Nozumu had to smirk.

“Well, I’m not gonna stand here forever. Knock knock, anyone home…”

Ivory trailed off, speaking the latter to himself. Nozumu scrunched his face up in anticipation.

…

“That’s fine, no one’s home. L—eee!”

The front door cracked open, though it wasn’t the door that made the sound. A third of a head appeared out of it.

“What do you want?”

The two youths stiffened; it was like being chided by a wrothful headmistress. A bead of sweat began to form on Ivory’s brow.

“Hi—”

The three of them flinched as the door crashed shut. Misoe giggled.

“What the hell? Come back, please! It’s important!”

Click.

“It isn’t. Go home.”

“It’s about yesterday! W—”

“As a [Witch] of the people, please wait!”

The crisp winter wind, whistling quietly through the sliver of open space, became silent. The [Witch] emerged, like from the stories.

… This one wasn't told yet, though. There Jennifer Wright stood in all her glory—with a splotchy dressing gown and a bedraggled look. It changed the dynamic immediately.

Before Nozumu could rally, she spoke.

“That's the only time that'll work, boy. Whatever you have to say better be worth waking me up, lest you get hexed with food poisoning. I may do it regardless, so that you two shitting weasels stay home!”

She took a steadying breath, savouring both their frozen expressions for a moment.

Ah, she thought, they're good eggs, despite it all.

“Wait five minutes.”

Click.

The three of them shared a look of astonishment. A look that said ‘Jesus Christ, this was an end-game zone, how did we do that at our levels?’ Nozumu’s thoughts were understandably quite different; rapid-fire comparisons to stories from his home about surpassing impossible odds. Misoe just went with the crowd, bless her.

Five minutes, however, it was not. Ivory had found it humorous, now; Nozumu was still a bit shaken. He found it odd, but didn’t press it. They stood in relative silence as they waited for her.

Click.

“Let it not be said that a [Witch] is not only magnanimous, but punctual. We will have an early lunch.”

It went right over their heads, the dears, and she smiled.

“Hold on,” Ivory said, “what about the, well, everything?”

He gestured wildly—to the grass, Nozumu, the sky, the dead gods, would that they were alive, and everywhere else. Jeanny replied levelly.

“You’re welcome to go back home.”

“Eeeeahaaha!”

Ivory glared at his spherical companion. She was right, though; it was a curfew, not a lockdown. He had lived through the difference.

“Wait, wait! I’m coming!

_____________

It was a short walk to Winifred’s for two reasons, and one why it wasn’t.. The first was the one you’d expect—it was nearby, less than a kilometre’s walk by Ivory’s reckoning. The second was that the pensioner-aged [Witch] was a committed powerwalker. Ivory had to call out to her to slow down since poor Nozumu was hamstrung.

“Bloody hell.”

The mega-complex that was Winifred’s loomed mightily over both the party of four, and over the rest of the Holdstonne Street. It had no gaudy, metallic block letters to introduce itself to the world, nor were there neon lights illuminating it.

Yet, Ivory felt a sense of awe, fascination and apprehension. That was a new one for him—never before did he have mixed feelings about going to eat somewhere.

Wait, that’s not it—he was there to talk to her about Nozumu’s magic stuff, not eat. The [Witch] said nothing as she ushered them inside through opened doors, held open by a man.

“After you.”

“My, such manners. A fair day to you.”

She tipped her hat to the considerate man as she walked through, following the boys.

“Oh, it’s a cafe.”

“Correct. Yes, with pancakes and water for two, thank you. A window seat will do—sit, sit. Now, you have my undivided attention.”

They sat equally spaced at a spherical table; the boys looked at her incredulously.

“What ab—”

“Stop right there,” she said, pointing a finger towards Ivory, “we will discuss your business from yesterday, and that only.”

They felt a weight fall on them; no longer was this the kindly woman serving them tea. This was a [Witch] conducting her affairs. Nozumu responded immediately.

“Thank you for your time. Yesterday, Ivory found an item from your list…”

He explained what went down the previous day, with Ivory explaining his temporary acquisition of the Cenidau Ray. The [Witch] listened intently, though her order arrived shortly after and ate all the while. The boys and Misoe took the hint and ate whilst the spotlight was not on them.

“Do you think you failed, Nozumu? Ivory?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

They responded instantly, and looked at each other. Ivory raised an eyebrow, but Nozumu responded.

“It was not the result that we wanted, but Ivory did a good thing by freeing the creature. The technique you showed me is affected by feeling, not just magic and… items. Whatever ritual could be fuelled by what I collected, but it is not ideal.”

The [Student]—roughly translated—had his back straight as he made his [Succinct Point]. The [Witch] took a sip of her drink and patted her lips dry.

“No effort is ever wasted. A failure is only a failure if nothing is learned. From my perspective, regardless of your task, you followed your morals even though any observer would have deemed it foolish. You humiliated one who looked down upon you, and taught him humility; he won your money, but his pride will be bruised a while. He will think twice about exporting exotic catches going forward, whether you intended to shame him or not. Your actions changed the course of one high levelled individual’s life—it takes only a step to change the course of your life journey.”

She took another sip.

“Remember that you are nothing without the community you belong to. Be it friends, neighbours, or likeminded fellows—your lives are a tapestry, whose threads are woven from those whom you’ve met. Argued with. Loved, hated—everything.

Ivory felt the weight of her gaze. Something about that clicked with him; he had not yet really bought into her ‘community’ spiel. In that moment, he realised how much he owed others.

He was a product of all those he had met, here.

“A meal enjoyed and wisdom dispensed. And for me—”

Nozumu flinched as a bit of something left him.

“—remuneration. Return home, and leave it not until these ill tidings pass.”

“O-one more thing, [Witch] Jennifer. A… correction. What I wanted to talk to you about most is a dream I had last night.”

Ivory’s leg began to jig. The [Witch] touched the brim of her hat.

“You mentioned them previously.”

“Yes. I do not think they are dreams…”

Ivory held still his restless leg as Nozumu recounted his dream. The [Witch]’s face showed no movement nor emotion.

“Specialised [Mages] can throw their consciousness across long distances, provided they have a leyline to guide them. [Witches], too, through the right ritual. My craft and magic focusses not on the old ways of witchcraft; my understanding is academic and incomplete. This is not something that happens accidentally, mind you: you might accomplish this should you quadruple your level. Nonetheless, this is not what you are describing. I can sense nothing off about you, other than that you yourself know that you feel strange. A [Thought Healer]’s domain, unless you somehow find yourself in Desonis, then ask one of their [Oneiromancers].”

A new destination, perhaps, wherever that was. Nozumu shifted uncomfortably in his chair, frustrated at the lack of clarity. She read it clearly on his face.

“Take heart, young one. There is a sinister pall upon the land; those who deal with deep magics can feel it. Ill tidings, indeed. Good fortune to the both of you—find your way back to your home and think of what I have said. Think, struggle, act; it may be a mystery you never solve, but power and levels are granted to those who succeed against the odds. Off with you both.”

Compelled by her authority, they stood up almost immediately. Ivory pushed back weakly, unknowingly, against her subtle aura.

“That’s it? We’re just gonna leave?”

The [Witch] met his look. Her bottom lip protruded slightly; she was impressed.

“That’s it. Would you have preferred me to dissect and analyse for you the countless Skills happening around you? Dined until the wee hours of the night, swapping secrets? Perhaps taught you some witchcraft?”

It was a kindly takedown that hit the nail on the head. Nozumu attempted to surreptitiously jab Ivory’s leg to stop him from responding, but it was unnecessary.

“When interacting with an inquisitive person like you, one needs to be direct and with the fat trimmed. Nozumu has been a treat, I daresay due to past experiences with [Witches]. I prefer my meat cooked, not alive; your dear seal is nonetheless welcome for our future visits. Good day.”

There it was again. The insistence almost in his soul that he should leave—he wanted to leave. As they bid her farewell, Ivory reasoned that he ‘agreed’ with the feeling; that he clearly must have wanted to leave, as he did not feel that a Skill was used on him. At least, his opinion of her was such that he felt that a friendly [Witch] wouldn’t do something like that.

Well.

———————————

The hordes of wealthy citizens, [Merchants] and other ‘richies’ that they passed on the way out was staggering. Stereotypical background noise was all he could hear, as if being played from a soundtrack.

They narrowly avoided colliding with an approaching patron, sidestepping just as they excited the cafe. The woman, whose pursed lips and raised eyebrows could have imploded from the effort, gave them a minute nod of the head, as if remembering that the peasantry deserved a modicum of respect. Sometimes.

Ivory exhaled a deep, primordial breath as he slid down the fine black exterior of the cafe.

“I’m exhausted.”

“[Witches] are an… acquired taste. One of our instructors back home was a, err… [Politeness Witch]? I am not sure of the translation, but she was quite strict.”

Ivory took his head out of his hands and looked up at his friend.

“A—politeness? What did she teach, ‘please’s’ and ‘thank you’s?”

He said this cynically, but Nozumu nodded.

“Yes, in the common language, and how to act when around other species. Things like keeping our backs straight when sitting, how to bow… lots of stuff. It was everyone’s least favourite part of the week.”

A [Witch of Decorum]’s ears reddened in Drath. Ivory huh’d, not entirely surprised that that was a thing.

Misoe rotated backwards, staring up at Ivory and purred softly at him. He felt it through his entire body; this wasn’t a sound he’d heard from her before, nor was it like a cat’s purr that he was used to. This was a targeted sound, like she had done before.

He could feel her feelings and emotions, and she his, and even sometimes felt like she’d communicated with him rudimentarily, and she of course could understand him. But this was different.

“The… Merchant’s Guild.”

Nozumu, who had sat down as well, angled his head inquisitively.

“We should check in on Linda at the Merchant’s Guild. You said she was working long hours every day, and she hasn’t done a runner since you ‘saw’ her this morning, so…”

“Oh! Oh, yes, let’s do that.”

Lithe Nozumu stood up, excited to put to rest some harboured feelings towards her.

“—”

Too fast! Nozumu wavered forward, losing his footing—

“Oh shit!”

Ivory dove forward, conjuring wind to break his fall. Nozumu’s feathers ruffled wildly as the whipping wind held his face just inches from the ground. He picked him up and rested him against the wall. He was terribly light.

“You ‘right?”

He looked… confused, which was a disturbing sign.

“My chest…” he gulped, “... couldn’t move. I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“Okay, well, you aren’t. People who are fine don’t just collapse. Sorry Missy, but fuck the guild, we’ll just go home.”

Nozumu shook his head, though it was more of a wobble.

“I promise I am okay. Truly. I can get up fine, look.”

It didn’t look fine. His movements were geriatric; most worryingly though was the fact that there apparently wasn’t anything wrong with him.

“Fine. Missy’ll go with you, hold on tight to her, okay?

Nozumu managed a smile—the first one that didn’t look predominately forced. He gave her a meek squeeze as she bobbed into his arms.

“Okay.”

___________________

It was fortunate that the city’s main amenities were located so close to one another; living on the outskirts of the city would have been hell if you needed to nip into the Merchant’s Guild.

They by no means got there quickly, though. Nozumu was walking at a third of his regular speed, but continued to insist that he was fine.

Conveniently slow, as it happened. As the trio rounded the sharp corner into the main plaza that either housed or were just down one of the seven streets, there was a sudden commotion.

At first, they had no idea what the hell they just witnessed. A momentary blur of white, grey and blue that sounded like a herd of elephants. They felt no great displacement of air against their face, which there otherwise ought to have been had it been, say, a horse-drawn carriage out of control.

More pressingly, it was only by Nozumu’s lack of mobility that they weren’t turned into a chunky red mist.

“What in the utter fuck? Actually just almost got run over, wow. Was that people? I’m sick of weird shit happening. Guild’s over there.”

There were no complaints to field. Ivory checked his left with a sweeping turn—nothing incoming, nor anyone for that matter. He checked his right, down the lane.

What was that? He squinted his eyes to see down the dreadfully long street, and could make out some… moving dots?

No matter. Absolutely inconsequential—not interested, not one teeny tiny bit. No distractions. Check the left again, cross the road, enter the guild, chat to Linda, go home.

“And then nothing exciting for the rest of the month.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Let’s go in.”

It was striking how large the place was when there was literally no one else in here other than the three of them. There was no one behind the counter.

“Hello?”

“Is anyone here?”

Nozumu added that after an uncomfortable, silent pause. The two looked at each other, incredulous that the place was just… open. What about [Thieves]?

Ivory looked around for a chair and dragged Nozumu towards it, then throwing him into it.

“I’m gonna look for someone.”

Where to start, though? The building was gigantic, but obviously non-employees could only stay in the foyer area. Despite first seeing her as a [Receptionist] role, Linda had said she was just filling in, hadn’t she? Ivory realised he never really enquired as to what she did; in his mind, her job was analogous to an economist’s desk-job. It wasn’t like he could just go to the back and look around. The most sensible course of action, therefore, was clear.

The counter was a good height. Holding it firmly, he jumped up and flopped himself onto the counter. Nice chairs they had, actually.

It was difficult to move around, so he tried his luck

“Looking for someone to speak to…”

He felt it, first, in his torso before he heard it. The vibrations of a chair suddenly skidding back.

“Dead gods! Get back from there, this instant!”

“Err… I’m stuck, I think…”

Ivory reddened in record time—it didn’t help that he could hear the snickering of his companions over yonder.

“[Back of the Line]. What appalling behaviour.”

As if being rewound in time, Ivory slid off the table and assumed the standing position he had before. It was a disgusting feeling to move like that knowing you hadn’t done it yourself.

He quickly forgot about that—he was going to have words with this old geezer for speaking like that when he didn’t even respond to him or Nozumu.

Before he could, the man’s harsh face softened.

“Peacock Beastkin… seal… and a young man. You two wouldn’t happen to be Evangelinda’s friends, would you?”

“Y-yes, we are, actually.”

He caught himself just in time.

“Oh, how wonderful. How is she doing? You are both fine young men for taking care of her. How rude of me, though—I’m [Guildmaster] Unglenn. I’m sure she’s mentioned me.”

What. Ivory turned back to Nozumu who shook his head rapidly, before rushing over to join him.

“Hang on, what do you mean? Isn’t she here? Sorry, we’re a bit confused at the moment—I’m Ivory, and that’s Nozumu and Misoe.”

“A pleasure, a pleasure. No, she was quite ill; she hasn’t worked since, I believe, the day after the two of you caught up. Dreadful migraines—I sent her home immediately. She’s a cheeky one, so it wouldn’t surprise me that she’s gone for a bit of a walk if she felt better.”

Nozumu’s poker face was, well… he was composing himself in front of the man who’d first found Linda upon coming to this world. Ivory was lost for words.

“[Guildmaster], thank you for your time. We will need to bring Linda back—I know where to find her. Good day to you—let’s go, Ivory.”

Nozumu dipped his head; attempting to bow would render him unable to get back up.

“Oh, indeed, indeed. Stay safe, and give my regards to Linda. Tell her to take as much time as she needs!”

Another dip of the head. Nozumu gripped Ivory with his free arm and slowly dragged him out, where he came to.

“Ivory…”

“I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I, but we must get back.”

Ivory nodded amidst deep, drawn out breaths.

As terror gripped Ivory’s mind, Nozumu’s was being crushed by the weight of his Skills firing off, filling it with all manner of strange and unnerving thoughts.

It was all coming apart.