Everyone had staggered into their respective bedrooms, feeling absolutely and positively stuffed. Nozumu had grilled a whole kilogram of beef and rice respectively, along with a smattering of vegetables. Everyone’s plate was clean.

A collective uurgh escaped everyone’s maw as two of the three fell into their beds.

[Spell – Splash learned.]

[Skill – Basic Necromancy learned.]

[Spellbinder Class obtained!]

[Spellbinder Level 3!]

[Skill – Basic Enchanting obtained!]

[Skill Change – Imbue Object (Electricity) > Elemental Spellbinding!]

[Skill – Elemental Spellbinding obtained!]

[Spell – Identify Material obtained!]

[Skill – Test Aptitude: Spell and Focus obtained!]

Ivory woke up abruptly, his heart racing. He placed a slightly twitching hand over his chest and felt the definite beating… five times in four seconds. A healthy and normal rate—then what was this feeling? It was like adrenaline, but nothing had happened that warranted this burst of energy and lucidity? He knew he’d received a new class, but it frankly didn’t warrant excitement-inducing adrenaline—and this had not happened during any other night he had levelled up.

There was no chance of going back to sleep, at least not yet. He was no [Stargazer] like Nozumu, but the moon must have been on the far side of the sky; visibility in his room was just so that he did not need to provide his own light. He dressed himself and covered himself with his doona instinctively; Misoe hadn’t been in the bed with him, and wasn’t enmeshed with the depowered Shocktowel on the floor, where she liked to sometimes sleep in.

“[Detect Magic].”

It, plus his [Bond of Friendship], acted like a turbo-charged Find My Seal. He already knew she was awake, close, and that she was feeling… a contented awe.

He walked outside through the opened balcony door and admired the view. It looked like one big, white streetlight was illuminating everything in sight. Pretty, but she wasn’t out here either. His [Detect Magic] didn’t give him x-ray vision, but since he and Misoe were attuned to one another, he knew that her magical bulk was within throwing distance. The only place she could have gone was out, and her options were up or down. He felt his hair rustle, and looked up—

There Misoe was, hanging off the roof with pursed lips. She stopped blowing air as he looked up at her, now grinning.

“Get down, you maniac. No, don’t—argh.”

Misoe floated back up the roof, out of sight. He called out again, but she didn’t come.

These happenings had to be related somehow. Unless Misoe was in some kind of danger that she didn’t realise, just what was this feeling? If he didn’t feel so awake, he would have just gone back to bed and waited for everything to sort itself out—but that wasn't an option.

He looked beside and over the balcony if there were any ways of getting onto the roof, which there unfortunately were not. Ivory tsked and decided to do a lap of the house to check for ladders. Making his way down the corridor, [Flashlight] on, he saw that there was a faint light coming up the stairs.

In the case that no one else was awake and the [Light] runes hadn’t been disabled, he didn’t call out to check.

The [Light] rune above kitchen island was dimmed, but was bright enough to illuminate the carnage of the night-gone-by. Many dirty plates and containers were strewn across it, a vile problem for the next day. Later today.

Ivory didn’t know how to turn off the rune, so he let it be. He raised his wand, still emitting [Flashlight], and made his way outside through the front door and held the doona closer. In no situation did he want to stay out here for very long in such freezing temperatures. 50 degrees Fahrenheit, in fact, whatever that was. Cold! He didn’t feel as cold as it was, but the point remained.

The front garden looked beautiful, bathed in pale moonlight. The flowering plants seemed to drink it in, like a sunflower facing the rising sun; no doubt some of these acted in a similar way.

Nevertheless, he scurried ‘round the house. The place had no shed, so he was looking up against the sides of the house and to the ground to search for a ladder.

“Come on!” he groaned, finding an inbuilt ladder at the back of the house on the opposite side from where his room was.

The ‘steps’ of the ladder were more like rectangular monkey bars, the kind you would find on a telephone tower. He tightened himself in the doona and wordlessly cast [Gravetender’s Grip] and effortlessly made his way up.

Pulling himself up onto the roof thanks to the provided metal bar support, he saw two things, each as wonderful as the other.

The first was the perfectly full, giant moon above him. It was an all encompassing light blue, contrasting with Earth’s grey one—and unlike his moon, this one had no ‘imperfections’ that he could make out. It was so smooth, so perfect. The lack of texture made it all the more mystical to behold, and it was then that he thought he knew what had caused the strange feeling inside him. Full moons had some kind of magical effect to it, he knew, so it made sense. He had levelled, after all!

The second was what he saw when he looked down from the moon. There sat Nozumu, on the very centre of the roof—a flat, 2x2 metre section—in a meditative pose: cross legged, eyes shut, and his talon hands making the equivalent of the ‘finger-thumb’ meditative hand sign.

What was most extraordinary, however, was his feather train. It rotated in its full green and violet glory, made all the more stunning by the shine of the moon. When Ivory had last seen his feather train, each of the feather’s eyes were a dull grey, as if unopened, with an orange outer-area.

Now, they were open. Where once was grey, now was a pale blue—where once were closed eyes, now, they were waking up. Ivory realised that this scene was causing his mysterious feeling. Whatever Nozumu was doing was causing such dense magic to flood the air. A ritual?

Whatever it was, Ivory knew that he shouldn’t interfere until it was over. He sat uncomfortably on the angled roof after having turned off [Detect Magic]; it was about as helpful as casting [Find Water] when neck deep in a river.

Being able to pinpoint a cause made the feeling inside him escalate in severity, to the point where breathing became difficult. Bloated, but with mana and air. Would draining his mana help? [Whelp’s Barrier] was his highest mana cost spell… could it be chain-casted?

Before he considered that, Misoe came into view—she was flying around Nozumu, filled with a freedom only a seal thousands of kilometres from home could feel while orbiting a nucleus of rich mana. She was a fairy light in the sky, drenched in charged moonlight.

When magic was added to the equation, the celestial became a lot more interesting; this was no moment for Ivory, though, so he sat uncomfortably in wait for it to end.

Ivory was preventing blood from dribbling from his nose with his Skill when the scene was broken.

It came with a flutter, and a small crash. A magical whiplash made Ivory cough up some bile from the immediate vanishing of the magical density of his surroundings. He looked up and saw Nozumu lurched over; his feather train likewise fallen backwards, slowly coming back together to form a ‘tail’.

“You okay?!” Ivory asked, clammering up the roof to sit with Nozumu.

He was panting, face wet with sweat. Each bead glistened with white light, somehow making even sweat look salient. Nozumu took an audible gulp of air.

“I… yes. What are you doing up here…?”

The question made Ivory second-guess himself.

“You did something to the air, to the mana everywhere. Like some kind of Tier 5 spell,” Ivory said, reflexively rubbing his chest. “What did you, um, do?”

Nozumu tried to compose himself as he sat down cross-legged.

“[Lunar Communion]. My… capstone Skill. According to the almanac, it empowers all my Skills, waxing and waning with the moon’s cycle that I used the Skill on.”

“Capst—it did more than that; I felt sick with the amount of mana in the air! This was some serious stuff. Your feathers, too…”

Nozumu grabbed the base of his train and spread it out in front of him. His beak opened and closed, unable to form any words.

“The, um, eyes,” Ivory offered.

“They react to your class… that they’ve changed means that I have my life-path revealed.”

Ivory understood what he meant; Nozumu smiled bittersweetly.

“It is what my clan believes, like a rite of passage, when your feathers take on the appearance of your class.”

“This isn’t a bad thing, is it?” Ivory replied softly.

Nozumu bundled his feather train and hesitated, before using his artefact to hide it.

“It’s an important day for my kind, one of great celebration. I should be home with my people… my family. What is that term you once used? I am a ‘black sheep’ of my clan; most of my kin have this moment years ago.”

Nozumu wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

“It was a mark of shame that my feathers were like that, and why I left home to travel with you. The pressure from my family, my clan leaders, was stifling. I strayed from the normal path of my kin—[Onmyouji], [Healers] and [Diplomats] are what hatchlings are encouraged to pursue; the ‘life-path’, we call it, which is the primary class you take and base your life on. A [Diplomat]’s feathers might [Calm], or a [Healer]’s can speed up the recovery of a patient. It is an incredibly powerful boon.”

He sighed.

“I am sure I will receive something useful. Though, the wonder of magic was ruined for me early on, and being told what to do made me not want to do it.”

“Preach.”

“I’m glad you understand. Your perspective from someone not of this world was—is—nice. Even though you thought I was a bird. But it seems that I did care deep down.”

It was a tale as old as time, that transcended universes and species: societal, and parental, pressure to conform. It was almost laughable to Ivory that it happened in a world with classes, Skills and magic—your class didn’t necessarily have to be your job, in the same way that you did not always have a class that corresponded to your hobbies and things you enjoyed.

What was especially shit was that magic could be made undesirable. For all that Nozumu tried to defy the expectations pushed on him, he ended up with a ‘life-path’ embroiled with magic, though by his own design. He knew that cultural relativity was at play here… but there were some general truths he needed to get out into the open.

“I don’t know much about class variety, but magic is everywhere… don’t feel like there was some master plan to get you to conform. I’m a [Beast Tamer], but I haven’t done any taming at all! Look at her. She runs her own show. Screw expectations! Do whatever you want and live your life. Moon rituals, telling the weather—you got this!”

Ivory fist-pumped the air, eliciting a laugh from Nozumu.

“That’s my battle. I am sorry for burdening you. What about your new class, you said?”

“Oh, yes. Let’s go inside, though.”

A bone-chilled shudder escaped Nozumu, to the delight of Misoe, now nestled inside Ivory’s equipped doona. Neither of them felt the negative effects of the cold; they were both quite cosy.

Ivory carefully made his way down the room, scuttling across the tiles on his backside so that he wouldn’t trip. It was a bit difficult, actually: the introduction of Misoe to this equation meant that a lot of his upper body was dedicated to keeping her and the doona in place.

By some miracle, he made it down in one piece. Well, actually, it was his grip Skill, but it was nonetheless scary making the descent. Ivory looked up to see Nozumu’s progress, but saw he wasn’t there. Huh?

“Oi!”, he exclaimed as he turned and saw Nozumu standing beside him. “Where’d you come from?!”

Nozumu squinted his eyes and raised his arms, looking at them with confusion. It took Ivory a few seconds to realise what he meant, resulting in him aaahhing.

“Keep forgetting you can fly. Do you even have wings, though?”

“You have seen me fly,” he replied dryly.

“Well, a lot was happening and that wasn’t what I was focussed on—oh shit!”

Long blue feathers suddenly fanned out from each of his arms. Ivory felt the same wonder he had felt when he saw his spread out feather train.

“Before you ask, that is not special; we can all do this. I use an artefact for my tail… though I don’t have much reason to, anymore.”

Oh, due to the shame. That snapped Ivory back to reality.

“Point taken. Inside we go.”

___________________________

“An unconventional, entry level class for a medium-levelled untrained [Mage] specialising in enchanting artefacts. Akin to a hedge-[Enchanter], and will consolidate with a higher level magic class by level 20 if not already upgraded. Examples of such include [Artefact Enchanter] or [Wondrous Spellbinder].”

Nozumu’s [Review Text: Perfect Diction] was exceptional. That it upped his proficiency in the common language to native-levels spoke to the great flexibility of the Skill.

"I'm surprised I got a class and not just a level up and some Skills. No complaints from me!"

Nozumu closed the mighty almanac and placed it aside, rubbing an eye as he did so.

"I must have been asleep when you were making all those things… though I did dream you got Linda wet."

"Huh. Maybe you were like half awake? That happens sometimes.”

On cue, both yawned fiercely. Nozumu's beak audibly snapped shut, stopping short the unseemly act.

"Bed time. Go, go, go."

________________________

As the two foreigners in the outskirts of Phel's Light went to bed just past midnight, a village across the ocean was enjoying the cool night air.

Yurluxiamo, being an omniurnal society, meant that at all times of the day there was something going on. It befitted a society comprised of varying degrees of diurnal and nocturnal Snake Beastkin.

Its ruler was wide awake. And concerned. Deep underground she coiled, surrounded by a small council of important figures of the small nation. Level 50 was the bare minimum to be considered part of this meeting, and to be a permanent resident or close friend of Yurluxiamo.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

For all but a select few, this was the first such meeting of this generation; there had been no need for centuries. For most present, they had not even realised they were a part of this arcane group.

Two [Great Generals] sat cross legged on the hardened mud floor, eschewing the earthen furniture Jiji had created. A leg of each respective brother was shaking, despite their position.

A [Grand Magus] bit her lip, unable to [Bottle Emotion] the myriad emotions that were floating around in her mind.

Not all present were military or combat personnel, however; a [Nursery Owner] held the shaking hand of an [Arborist], who in turn was seated next to a sleepy [Master Carpenter]. There were many more, and none the reason for their gathering here, save for that it must be exceptionally important—the Matriarch seldom appeared in her true form.

The Dullahan [Emissary], Therepentous, looked around at the sheer superiority of this isolated place's might. And yet, in his position as [Emissary], he was not a spectator here—he was an active participant.

("Thank you, all, for your graciousness and haste for accepting my summons.”)

She looked left and right, appraising her company, before smiling.

(“I will skip the pleasantries, as befits the seriousness of the occasion. The call to action has been sounded: Seamwalkers are moving in numbers never seen, perhaps ever. His Eminence, the Emperor, has decreed a state of emergency. No doubt nations beyond Drath will answer the call. What say you, [Emissary] of the Iron Vanguard?

All eyes were on Therepentous, and he felt the weight of dozens more than 20 levels higher on him. He knew that it would be him that elaborated on this mighty claim, but he was sweating profusely despite the temperature.

(“Thank you, Matriarch. I greet all present in the name of the Dullahans of the Iron Vanguard. Tulm the Mithril, second-in-command, encountered the destroyed Border Fleet at sea and spoke to a heroic Kitsune, Sharetsu, whose dedication to her nation kept her soul intact long enough to pass on her warning. H…hundreds of thousands of Seamwalkers, unseen, are invading. Tulm informed the Emperor personally.”)

Therepentous stopped as murmuring erupted. This knowledge, he realised, hadn’t trickled down to the elite of Drath yet—or, at least, of Yurluxiamo. The Matriarch knew, having consulted with the Emperor himself. Therepentous felt it prudent to wait a minute for everyone to get calm down, after having persisted through the gasps and a few wails. The brief flicking of her tongue in his direction confirmed this.

But it was another who spoke up before he could resume the speech that he had practised until his mouth felt like bleeding. The Human-looking figure with translucent purple wings uncrossed his arms and stood up. A Djinni?

(“As surely as the sun rises each morn, so too will Drath live to see it. A Seamwalker unseen is one that inflicts a pox upon the mind of every living being. The mind. I knew not this Kitsune, but whatever she saw was either in the realm of a mind rotted by the putrid entrails of a defeated Seamwalker, or one of prophecy. Both I acknowledge. But that our souls are not already blackened by their filth, and our homes flattened underfoot, means we have need not to worry overmuch.”)

The silence that followed echoed throughout the great underground cavern. Jiji sighed internally, and the looks of concern from the gathered host turned into ones of shock.

(“So we should sit on our tails and fan ourselves as we wait for calamity?”) a Snake Beastkin [Brewer of a Nation] exclaimed, the rattles on her tail shaking warningly. (“Great Chokeshin, your words are ill-spoken.”)

Therepentous, his head atop a tall counter beside him, looked wide-eyed at the speaker.

(“No. I say—prepare for extreme Seamwalker intrusions, as Jiliansuthus surely intends. Drath will endure. Trust in His Eminence’s designs.)

He sat back down, wings folding in behind him.

(“Well spoken, if perhaps indelicately.”) Jiji replied. She did not agree with her fellow immortal’s view, but it was what needed to be heard. No native present would participate in meaningful opposition to a direct Seamwalker attack, as if they somehow made it all the way inland to Yurluxiamo…

Well, all would be lost.

(“[Emissary] Therepentous, your forgiveness I ask in advance—is this the extent of your report from your Great Company?”

He gulped, sensing a major deviation.

(“Matriarch?”)

(“I must see to the immediate future of the village.”)

(“I understand. Yes, Matriarch, that is all.”)

Jiji smiled, exposing the teeth that kept the village safe.

(“Your dedication to Drath is noted, and I release you of your duties as [Emissary]. You will return to Baleros when the waters are safe; until then, enjoy the sanctuary that Yurluxiamo has to provide.)”

Therepentous picked up his head and bowed deeply, and headed up the long flight of stairs to the surface.

(“My [Principal Leader of the Serpentine], I leave the rest in your capable hands.”)

A tall Snake Beastkin, some eight feet tall and embodying the qualities of an anaconda, took his place in front of where Jiji lay coiled, facing the gathered elite.

(“We thank you, Matriarch. We are in constant discussion with senior government leaders of the capital regarding contingencies and safety precautions of citizenry…”)

__________________________

The long, winding cavern Jiji was moving through was only about 15 metres below the lowest section of the subterranean portion of the city. It could be used as a safe refuge if there was a genuine attack on the city, but its main, and thus far only use, was for if Jiji needed to go directly from her parlour to the edge of the village fast.

Her transformation into the form of a Snake Beastkin was instant. No poofs of air, no great ritual, and certainly no simulacrum or projection of some kind. Her role as Matriarch of the village necessitated this ability, which took a long time to perfect, and wasn’t really very efficient, as it took so much mana that a local [Archmage] from another age, after enquiring, had almost fainted. As far as those kinds of spells went, anyway.

But it worked for her, and that was the least interesting thing about her. She checked her body, as was routine, to see if she was clothed—yes, good—and climbed the ladder that led to the ground floor of her parlour.

That was the name she gave to the structure at the centre of the village, not just the ‘roof’ area.

If it was thought that Jiji was acting with indifference, then such hypothetical thinkers would be right. Especially considering the fact that she wasn’t even officially running the emergency meeting that she had just left, leaving the de facto ‘administrator’ of the village to do what Jiji called ‘the tedium of leadership’.

Nothing good came from immortals running nations. Especially when one decides to, on a whim, petition the Emperor of the land for permission. And convince the lion’s share of Snake Beastkin from Baleros to emigrate to Drath, of all places. Lion Beastkin were too proud for her.

But she had done it, and the Emperor at the time was willing to burn gold and artefacts to see it happen. An investment, he had said, for the future of Drath.

And what an investment it was, not least because winning the strengthened allyship of an immortal was usually beneficial.

But that was the past, and the present involved a check-in with her [Secretary].

(“Two [Messages] from the mainland.”)

Jiji beamed, happy for something to take her mind off of the crisis of the moment.

(“How the days seem to blur, of late. More seems to have happened this year than in the last hundred. From whom are the messages sent by, Caeminh?”)

(“I can check for you, Matriarch—”)

Jiji put a hand on her hip and wagged a finger.

(“My [Secretary], you simply must know who is sending your employer a [Message]! Read them too if you desire, for all that they might bore you. I trust you with my all.”)

And, of course, anything actually important would be communicated directly to her. Caeminh looked down and blushed.

(“S—yes, Matriarch.”)

(“Good boy. You may go home now, and send my thanks to your mother for the beetle souffle. It was simply delightful.”)

Jiji delighted in making her subjects happy, especially if she could help them level. Caeminh was brazen enough to run up to her whilst she was on a leisurely walk and ask for a job. His mother had sprinted after him and grabbed him with enough force that it was a miracle his insides didn’t turn into mush. She had thought about it, and dubbed him [Secretary], or [Checker of Messages and Correspondence That Wasn’t All That Important, Generally Speaking], would that that was a class. Sure, this ended up with making the process take even longer, but it meant she had a dedicated person to, well, do [Secretary] things that she otherwise wouldn’t have bothered doing.

Plus, he got a cool class: [Great Snake Secretary]. She’d referred to herself solely as Great Snake for a week after that.

Such a minute change on her part constituted a lifetime for another. A trade she would—and has—made every time.

Jiji left Caeminh with a smile on his face; it was intimidating working for one such as her, but at least she was nice. She did not get far.

("Matriarch!") he yelled, running to catch up to her.

Jiji felt the tingle of a Skill tickle her neck. She spot-[Appraised] the Skill: [Alert Employer]. Mundane, but it did the job.

The Skill itself did not actually work, for a variety of reasons, but in the same way that [Tap You On The Back To Get Your Attention] would inherently do exactly as it says on the tin, Jiji turned stopped and turned around.

(“There is another, from a… a Guinevere Chalidge of Samal.)

The name wasn’t known to poor Caeminh, who did his best to read the foreign characters comprising the name. Samal he knew, as the world’s paradises were famous for a reason. He had the reading level of a child in the language of the rest of the world, but this name was no Barry. Or Kate.

(“Oh, how splendid. I haven’t had need of her services for a long while. She is a magical routing contact in Terandria, for when select foreigners wish to contact me. That it endures still in the capital’s Mage’s Guild is testament to their goodwill. It’s easier, you see.”)

Caeminh handed the scroll to Jiji, who unfurled it and pointed to the margins.

(“You see the sides? Embossed with locks and keys, as befitting the Kingdom of Keys. It borders gaudiness and the extraordinary, but I felt it appropriate to have redirected messages show the kingdom’s identity.”) She leaned in close to his ear. (“I was a bit bored, you see, so I had an arts and crafts day creating the formula,”) she whispered.

Caeminh blinked—yes, he had eyelids—and smiled, thinking it best not to make further comments, despite wanting to cackle at her endearingly fatuous manner.. Even he, a month-long employee, knew that she was a chatterbox, and that she had a village to run. But he was curious about something.

(“... Who has sent you this message?”) he asked.

(“You must remember the Human I hosted not long ago? He’s sent me a reply, and a short one too. How odd.”)

Jiji rolled the parchment back up and raised an index finger in the air. A delightfully serpentine brain wave struck her.

(“Ah! Make note of this, my [Secretary]—a system for our young ones to exchange letters between us and foreigners! An exchange of culture, of ideas, of stories… of love? I think that is an excellent idea. Enquire with the Mage’s Sanctum about auto-[Translation] paper.”)

Caeminh was using another of his Skills, [Personal Memo], to record this. By thinking the words as she was saying them, he would be able to play his voice back at a later date.

(“Done, Matriarch. One thing, though… what you describe is already, well, a thing. My kid-brother has an inkpal in Tikhatit, his cousin.)

The Sun City, of course, Jiji remembered. Her mother had been poached from there. Perhaps their [Masters of Magic] had what she needed.

(“Add that to your list: contact Tikhatit as well. You are fluent in their dialect?”)

(“Yes, Matriarch.”)

(“Excellent. Wonderful. I think we both have some work to do! Do let me know when your labours bear fruit.”)

Caeminh inclined his head and then went back the way he came. Jiji turned to face the wall and gave it a prod with her finger. She went through the door to the rooftop of her parlour.

The strong, beautiful moonlight shining down made Jiji stop and take it in. There was nothing like coming into the cold air of the early morning and admiring a full moon. That was, of course, until a translucent wing puffed black particles at you.

(“[Dispel Magic], [Dehex]. Shouldn’t you be acting like a facetious larva afore my [Principal Leader?”]

The Chokeshin withdrew his wing and scoffed.

(“At least I have the character to leave behind a [Double]. Enjoying a nice break up here, are you? I know how busy you get.”)

Jiji lost this round, rolling her eyes as a grin creeped in through the sides of her mouth.

(“It has been a long time, Codsuke.”)

(“Needs must when Seamwalkers rise. What is your plan?”)

She noted the tone in which he said your. She knew what that meant.

(“We wait. And carry on. Should the filth emerge in the material world, my village will endure.”)

(“And of the rest?”)

Jiji sighed, taking a seat on a bench, cross legged.

(“Speak to His Eminence if you want word games and riddles. I am the protector of this tiny fraction of the archipelago.”)

(“Spoken like a lazy Dragon sitting on her hoard.”)

(“Viperous words. Are you here solely to deride me? By all means, take your leave.”)

Now it was Codsuke’s time to sigh. The immortal was young by their standards, some 800 years old, and had experienced Seamwalker incursions before—even joined in a hunt, once. The arrogance of forever was strong in him, Jiji knew, but he understood not the bigger picture.

(“I know what you’re thinking. Bigger picture. If even a thousand Seamwalkers appeared, we would be doomed. And yet, we sit here squabbling like rats. Alive, without a horror in sight.”

(“I hope you are right,”) she replied, knowing this was not going anywhere. (“So? What do you want?”)

Codsuke’s wings folded in and sat on an opposite bench. He ran a hand through the dozen green tendrils that acted as hair in his humanoid form, but were magic-sensitive feelers in his natural butterfly form.

("I thought when His Eminence was informing us that even the mighty Jiji would be in attendance, that I may see her show some emotion. Imagine my surprise! He could have said that Gnolls had fur. I came because I wanted to see how you do it.")

They shared a long, continued gaze. Under the auspicious light of the full moon that empowered the many [Oracles] and the magic of Chokeshin both, did it look like Jiji was weary.

(“I am old, Codsuke. I have no outrage left to give. Perhaps if your bullheadedness subsides, you will learn that life has much joy to give, even if it is fleeting. This Human I received a [Message] from will be dead in the blink of an eye relative to my lifespan.”)

Jiji picked up the scroll from her side and flapped it about. Codsuke narrowed his eyes as she opened it up; the Samal impressions on the side were wholly overlooked.

“Dear Jiji—”

(“Dead gods, wait.”)

“You learned the common tongue here. You have no excuses.”

(“It’s been a long time.”) Codsuke took a deep breath and cast a recollection spell. (“Go.”)

Dear Guinevere,

I’m writing firstly to say: bugger off Wistram, don’t read my shit.

“Ha.”

(“Quiet. Wistram is necessary.”)

Thank you for your letter. Unfortunately, I’m writing to you with a bit of urgency. Nozumu (my Peacock Beastkin companion from Drath, if you remember) and I are currently staying in a city of Pheislant called Phel’s Light for the time being. It’s a nice place, but there is a [Serial Killer] in the city, and there’s going to be a sunset curfew, so I thought I would send a brief [Message] before it happens, just in case. We’re lucky to know someone ‘in the know’.

Jiji continued reading, but Codsuke was physically taken aback at the mention of a [Serial Killer].

I have levelled up quite a few times, and received many new spells. I’m confident in saying that your words of wisdom helped greatly. I regret that I never properly experienced Yurluxiamo, so I’ll definitely come back at some point.

Hopefully I will not be stabbed in the head, so I can write to you again.

- Ivory.

P.S. I think I’ve defeated the purpose of using a pseudonym by referencing Yurluxiamo.

(“So, you played host to some noble [Mage] and they’re grovelling for some aid?”)

“Not a noble,” she replied, placing the scroll beside her and incinerating it; the wisps of smoke rose up through the moonlight, dissipating quickly in the cool air. “A common [Mage] who came through a series of coincidental and unlikely events. And speak the tongue, won’t you?”

“Fgrehhhheshh—”

Codsuke hacked, physically unaccustomed to speaking the language.

“He’s a curious Human; you’d like him, I think. His approach to magic is similar to yours, if less dangerous.”

(“Are you serious? A Terandrian? I have completely lost interest. Well timed, too—your meeting’s just finished, and I’ve made an excuse to speak to the [Brewer] before I face the doom of this world. So, goodbye once more.)

“Wait.”

Jiji rose and took Codsuke’s hand, just stopping him from taking off. He wore a look of disdain.

(“Will you train me a generation of [Hexers], my pupil? When this calamity subsides?”)

After a long pause, he faced away and nodded, refusing to get sentimental after such a long duel. Jiji let go of his hand, taking a few steps backwards to give him ample room to spread his wings.

She sat back down and considered her immediate course of action. There was, realistically, nothing more she could do to further empower the erected defences of Yurluxiamo, save for when the threat of attack was visibly imminent.

It annoyed her to admit that Codsuke’s words had gotten to her. It was paradoxical; he believed that everything was going to be fine, but derided her for thinking only of the defence of her home, and not greater Drath.

Where, then, did it stop? Send aid to Baleros? Terandria? It was the arrogance of superiority; ‘everyone for themselves’, as it was said.

Nevermind, nevermind. Codsuke was unlikely to perish. She, and her village, will continue to prosper.

[Summon: Scrolls]. [Mass Enchant: Lesser Teleport]...

This is what she could do: prepare for the worst. A Scroll of [Lesser Teleport] for each citizen, among other things, for when the news would break worldwide.

She spoke aloud a new message for Ivory Henderson as she created the scrolls; it was low priority, but in truth, she was beginning to get nervous. Not for the city of Phel’s Light; death translates to levels. Nor for Ivory; he wasn’t stupid enough to die, but nor was he stupid enough to let himself get killed.

It was the fact that her [Oracles], arguably the greatest of the world at present, had given her nothing. No ill-tiding, no portent of any kind. There was precedent in their detection of the odd Seamwalker.

Jiji stared over the floral awning of her terrace rooftop, far into the rainforest canopies, hoping that they would endure.

_______________________

In his sleep, Ivory’s ears flared red. Nozumu’s power was waxing, and Linda smiled as she slept.

Upheaval was in the air.