Chapter 13 - Of Answers Clad in Vanilla

The sleep of the babies was peaceful. The bundle of cloth that surrounded their tiny bodies – made of the usual beige plant fiber that seemed so common to impish fashion – snugged their bodies into a protective cocoon. Brother and sister were carried side by side, peaceful faces utterly oblivious to the hardship they had faced hours before.

Then again, what worth was there in remembering them of their suffering? It was for the best to let them let go of such experiences, their young minds protecting them with the sheer lack of cognitive capabilities of a newly-born. Let the siblings face the music at a later date – Kiringar already had too many wailing children.

Still, others had been there – those that had seen how they arrived, through death, ash and blood – and they reacted far more voraciously at the mere sight of them. They were a victory, after all! A great win against the grubby hands of death!

A spiteful clarion call that echoed in the ears of all that heard them cry that first shout of life – that defiance against endings and stopping hearts:

“Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Tomorrow!”

A beautiful thing they were. Symbols of brighter days to come – and Orieke had struggled to walk away from the medical camp, all of those that heard the sibling’s cry wanting to see whose children it was that were born here, so close to the dying and the dead. Dozens of healthy and sick bodies, wanting to carry them – to feel them against their skin and their smell of new life – but the [Perfumer] kept them away from their touch with all his might.

They hated him for it. Some even called him selfish – claiming that it was not his right to take the children from them.

All fools, the whole lot of them!

Orieke was certain of it. They would have basked in the children’s aura – set expectations so high that no imp could ever fly to reach. He… hesitated to call out how cruel it would have been, as those in more need of hope were those that knew the cruelty of life the best, and the [Perfumer] did understand where the need came from.

Scarlet Star, he had lost so much as well.

But still, he took the babies away. In silence. So that none would suffer more. Orieke believed in his intentions – he trusted his brain and conscience when his heart pleaded for him to do the same as the others would do, to use the kids instead of treating them as what they are.

Children.

In the end, his only selfish desire was that they would forget about their existence – that those of Kiringar would let these children, who already had so little of what truly mattered, live free lives.

When he had the time for it, he also doubted. These past few hours had been a hurricane of activities and getting things ready – all the while trying, fairly unsuccessfully, to keep the chaos around him in sight, be it Trakia and her plans or the return of the [Storyteller] – but in those moments when the [Perfumer] managed to take a breath, to lean on a wall and admire the little imps in his arms, Orieke doubted his own intentions.

Maybe he was reading too much into it. Maybe he was trusting too little. Maybe he only wanted them to substitute what was no longer here.

That was why he had returned to that very same tent the twins were born – after being approached by a little, wounded imp with a grim story to tell – and used a special perfume to turn a man into air, taking him into his own home. Because the only way Orieke knew not to make a mistake was by keeping himself in check with someone else – and since he couldn’t trust many others…

Well, then it was time to bet on new hounds.

So, when he returned home – exhausted and with his arms so sore and heavy they felt like logs – and met those dark brown eyes that shone with nothing but utter admiration at the sight of the babies, with all the relief in the world, the tired imp felt he had made the right call.

***

It was a sign of a good, healthy mind to be able to focus intently on something. Dominic was aware of that. A doctor had told him, during one of his seasonal check-ups, that it was common and natural for a man his age to begin feeling a certain loss in their attention span. A difficulty with focusing on the world around him.

Something about your neurons… dying, perhaps? He remembered letting his mind drift away as the young man explained, all too eager to engage in conversation after the old man gave him a surprisingly pointed question about the process. And no – the irony was not lost on Dominic.

But what could he do? It was borderline instinct at times, to let his mouth form special questions clever enough to draw attention and engage the mind – pieces of words he caught in the air, glued together with apparent fascination or doubt depending on who would answer

Tricks of a young man who had thought of himself as clever.

Still, focusing on something was no trick. Not like his questions were, at least. It demanded a certain degree of effort, a splash of intent, but it was just as easy at his old age as it had been when Dominic was in his twenties.

Yet, he could still narrow the world into a single point. Usually by way of boredom – the dissociating look in his eyes turning a pebble into a whole world for Dominic to stare at, especially as he waited for life to go on. Today, though, what made his eyes sparkle and the world narrow into a singular point was fascination.

He could tell who they were immediately. Two small bundles, eyes closed and jaws moving as if dreaming of blessed milk, a light pink so pure it resembled more of a pastel shade than the pig-like tone Dominic had found on other imps.

The [Death Doctor] rose on unsteady legs, feeling his knee flare with pain but too wild-eyed to care about the ache or the cane that rested beside the bed. His hands extended forward but froze halfway, memories of maternity protocols and an almost germaphobe Melissa rose in his mind.

Dominic stopped a couple of steps from the trio, a gentle giant of legends to those that rose only a little past his waist. His hands rested beside his body, jittery and twitching and pressing on the cloth so that he would not try to touch the newly-born.

One of the children moved – slowly smacking their lips together as if tasting the air. Sensing his presence, perhaps…?

Ha. No. Dominic shook his head. He was giving himself too much credit – but it still made him smile at the idea, an amused scoff and a rise of lips that made his cheeks swell with youthful vigor. The [Death Doctor] felt the pain flare once more as the joy settled in.

The silence was broken soon after, and only now did Dominic remember he had been asked something.

“Well, will you move or what?”

“...What?”

The imp looked at him as if he was the stupidest creature on Earth, and Dominic only snapped out of the surprise after the carrier took a step forward – far too willing to stomp on the [Death Doctor], it seemed. The smell of vanilla assaulted his nose without mercy.

Dominic let the man pass, wide eyes following his every movement as he let the babies rest on two beautifully woven baskets – a nest of blankets already fluffed and ready for them to rest upon. The imp – one he had seen before, at Celike’s final moments, though he could not remember his name – put both babies to rest with unfamiliar care, painstakingly slow as he tried his best to move them without hiding the worry he might do something wrong from his face.

It was cute, the elderly man had to admit. Past the initial shock of seeing the fairly demonic-looking people that imps were – and the fact many could very well kill him without effort – Dominic had to admit there was a certain… cuteness to their facial expressions. A twitch of a snout, the way their fangs jutted out of their lower lips, the tiny wings beating from their waist…

The entrepreneur in him could imagine how many companies would fight over the right to make plush toys like them. God, the niche for these types of… aesthetics – something slightly monstrous, slightly adorable – had been growing exponentially once again. A renewed dawn he had only seen in some Gothic movements back when he was younger.

He shook his head, stray thoughts drifting back into the depths of his consciousness. A good sleep had left him with a brain made of cotton balls, thoughts drifting lazily in the breeze. Dominic tried to wake up further, leaning on his bad leg a little and sensing the haze clear as the pain settled in.

“Who… are you? Where am I?”

“Shhh! You’re gonna wake them!”

The [Death Doctor] had forgotten to mind the volume of his voice and the imp hissed at him in response, indignant eyes flaring before he turned to ensure the babies had not, in fact, woken up due to Dominic’s words.

Watching as the man’s shoulders relaxed and a sigh escaped his lips, Dominic waited for a beat and whispered the same questions again.

“Orieke. Son of Wernik. And you – are Dominic.”

The elderly man retracted his hand.

“I… don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

“Hmph. No. We have not.”

Orieke walked through the house, sitting on a chair beside the table Dominic leaned on. He gestured for the [Death Doctor] to do the same.

“You are one of the [Healers], right? Trakia said she’d called for them before Celike… passed.”

Orieke’s eyes narrowed, his face a sour visage.

“Is that what she said? That I’m a [Healer]? Count on that woman to say things properly…”

His words faded a bit, thoughts dispersing for a second before Orieke focused back on Dominic. The imp sighed.

“I am not a [Healer]. I can heal. There’s a difference there.”

“Oh. I’m… sorry if I have offended you, then. I wasn’t aware.”

Orieke froze. He looked at Dominic with some surprise – but it faded soon after.

“...It’s fine. Be careful, though. Some people can be touchy about their Classes. Not that I expect you not to know that at your age.”

The [Death Doctor] scratched his cheek, nails feeling at the light shadow already growing on his face.

“I’m somewhat new to all these… System things.”

“So I’ve been told. Never mind that then. Just don't do it again and you’ll be fine – it’s best to ask people about their classes when referring to them. Though… it’s easy to learn it after a while.”

Dominic nodded, listening attentively, before his mind processed the subtle hint in Orieke’s speech. Words caught in the air.

“And your Class?”

“What about it?”

“...What is it? You never said.”

A small rise of lips. Orieke stopped cleaning his claws and enunciated every word with pride.

“I – am a [Perfumer]. One of the very best. And you?”

“A… Hm, [Death Doctor].”

The [Perfumer] stared at Dominic for a silent moment, the only sound in the room being the soft sleeping sounds of the babies – and massaged his snout in frustration, much like a human might pinch their nose. The old man furrowed his brows.

“Did I do something wrong again?”

“Did you…? Scarlet Star, when Kurian said you knew nothing I thought he had been joking.”

The name threw Dominic on a loop, causing his breath to hitch.

“Kurian – You saw him? He’s awake?”

“Hm? Oh, indeed. Iaakis brought him here after he woke up. He is at her home, resting a little more I believe.”

“Iaakis… The [Bone Mender]?”

Orieke crossed his arms.

“The very same… So you know her, but you had no idea of who I was? Really?”

Part of Dominic wanted to laugh at the honest indignation in the [Perfumer]’s voice – as if the possibility of anyone knowing Iaakis before him was almost offensive. The [Death Doctor] contained his laugh though, and waved a hand to dismiss the question.

Instead of answering, Dominic settled on another couple of questions.

“Are they close? Is he safe?”

Now it was Orieke’s turn to give him a quizzical look – one which soon morphed into true offense.

“Safe? Who would ever harm him here? Unless… Oh, I can’t believe you’d think we’d harm the boy. We are his family, for Sun’s sake!”

Dominic took a proverbial step back and relaxed his shoulders. The elderly man had been on edge since he heard Kurian’s name – the memory of that poor child clutching the temple’s bench with his remaining arm as his skill worked was still vivid in his mind. It had only been a few hours prior.

“I’m sorry, Orieke – I was just worried. Is he… Is he feeling better?”

He didn’t know how to ask if the boy had woken up screaming and crying, still clutching at the [Memories] of those that died at Sybillus’s hands. He didn’t even know if he should ask that.

Still, The [Death Doctor] improvised to the best of his ability, but the question came out mismatched. Vague and stuttered, more of an ashamed mumble than a reflection of his honest concern. And Dominic’s face scrunched in frustration at his sudden incapability to put in words what he wished to say – language failing him now that his world turned into a new, untackled beast.

Orieke observed in silence – and the [Perfumer] only sighed in the end.

“Kurian is fine. Iaakis said he woke up crying, sweaty and feverish, but we checked on him and he is fine. We… tried to pry into whatever it was that made him so nervous – but he refuses to talk about it. Linkri and the others are keeping him busy in the meantime. Chatting about other things – which includes how you two met.”

Dominic nodded. Then closed his eyes tight as understanding dawned on him. Whatever it was that Kurian saw during his sleep, it was harder to tell than their traumatic first meeting.

And that realization sent shivers down the [Death Doctor]’s spine. He inhaled, air whistling between his teeth, and opened his eyes to face Orieke. Still, Dominic knew he’d have to talk to the boy as soon as possible. Especially with him having an idea of what his Skill entailed.

“...He told you everything?”

“As much as he was comfortable with. We tried not to push too hard. In fact, we were hoping you’d fill in the gaps for us at a later hour. Or even give us your own testimony.”

‘Uh… Sure. I don’t know how helpful it would be, though. I can’t say I saw much of what happened.”

Dominic remembered hiding from the Python. Praying to the Lord Almighty that those rotting flames did not find him. For a moment, he was back there at the battlefield – but the elderly human shook his head and tried to let it go, his face turning a new shade of pale.

Orieke, in the meantime, tried to reassure him in that hissier tone of his.

“Trust me – anything you’d tell us would be of use. We… live a fairly recluse life here in the Grey House.”

Dominic nodded, absentmindedly, and Orieke’s face slacked at his reaction. The [Perfumer] felt the awkward silence settle in, almost embarrassed at his attempt at friendliness, but he did tell Kurian he’d do his best.

And Orieke needed the [Death Doctor] to keep them all a little safer.

Determined to try again, he coughed lightly and put on a smile that felt too stretched and fake – a display of pointy teeth that twitched at the edge as if the muscles on his face were unused to this. It was never supposed to be a benevolent show, but it did look dreadful at the end.

“Ahem. Well, Kurian also told me you knew little about us and the Voice. So… I’ll let you ask your questions in return for your testimony – I’ll answer those that I find suitable.”

His tone reverted a little at the end, the usual haughtiness showing its head and making Orieke grimace internally – but, regardless, his words did seem to elicit a reaction from Dominic.

The elderly man took an extra second to focus back on the [Perfumer], the imp’s words sinking in slowly and turning the worry into a spark of excitement as Dominic understood the opportunity presented.

“Really? You’ll answer all of them?!”

“Not… all. As much as I can. And lower your voice – you’ll wake the babies shouting like this.”

The [Death Doctor] mumbled an apology, shooting a look at the twin bundles to ensure they remained motionless, before giving Orieke a small, relieved smile.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Thank you. Really. I have – so many questions that I don’t even know how to begin.”

The [Perfumer] gulped, mind fervently trying to remember the few formal lessons he had during his childhood and what he had learned through experience during the years. Star above, it was supposed to be Trakia’s job as the [Priestess] to teach these types of things – she had the classes all planned out even, hidden somewhere in that temple of hers – but Orieke would be very well damned if he’d let that old hag do anything better than him.

The imp straightened his back on the chair, chin raised higher.

“Then ask at will. We have time.”

Dominic’s hands almost shook with excitement. Which question should he speak first, when there were so many to be asked?

The [Death Doctor] tried to come up with a proper compromise, different parts of him proposing questions that all seemed to suit the first-place position, but in the end, Dominic decided to go with whatever. Not like he even had the knowledge to decide which was more important.

“Right, right. So – you saw how I managed to possess Celike, right? You were there when I left her body.”

Orieke hissed once in affirmation.

“Okay, so I was wondering why it isn’t a Skill? Or – you know – a Spell? It does seem fantastical enough to be one.”

The [Perfumer] tilted his head with a quizzical look, seemingly thinking for a moment.

“And this… possession, as you called it, is something you can do naturally?”

“Well – yes, I guess. There is no prompt for it, if that’s what you are asking.”

“I… think I understand what the problem is then. It is surprisingly simple actually.”

Orieke adjusted his position on the chair, relaxing the muscles that had tensed up at the thought of having his brain picked by Dominic’s questions. The imp opened up both clawed hands, all of his eight fingers pointing straight to the ceiling.

“Well, let’s consider this one your Skills, alright? And the other one is you. Your Skills, Spells and whatever else the System grants you is built on top of it. Of your… self, let's put it that way.”

Dominic watched one of Orieke’s hands close around the other like a hug. The [Perfumer] soon split them again after noticing the man followed his thoughts.

“What happens is that the Voice’s gifts can either give you new things or improve what you already have. So, for example, a Spell can make you… uh, I don’t know, shoot a ball of fire. Something you were not supposed to be able to do if you aren’t trained in magic. But it does grant you the capability.”

Orieke took a second to gather the best explanation.

“On the other hand, it can take what you are already able to do and improve it. So, if you are a [Ranger] and also quite good at stealth, it could very well give you something like [Silent Steps], to make you even better at it. But, if I understood correctly, you are talking about something that is natural for your kind – and, when it comes to those, there’s no reason for the System to make it into a Skill when you already have it.”

“I… think I get it. It won’t give me a Skill for it for the same reason I don’t get one for… breathing, for example.”

“Exactly.”

The [Perfumer] smiled, a little prouder, and lowered his hands. Dominic thought for a second, and another question came to mind.

“But the System could give me something to make it better, then.”

“Well, yes – if you want it and it suits your Class it can easily give you when you level up. Many imps get Skills that help with our flight, for example.”

“Yeah, about that. I only got new Skills now at level 5 – after I got the Class I mean. Do I… I don’t know, expect them every five levels?”

Orieke’s smile died down, replaced by a furrow of his brows. The Imp’s eyes flashed for a second.

“Oh… I see – did you lose your Class, perhaps?”

“What do you mean?”

The [Perfumer]’s quizzical look deepened. Confused and disbelieving. Dominic Jones felt he had surfaced questions that were best left undisturbed.

“Because there’s no way you are only Level 5. Unless you lost your Class – or… well, maybe amnesia? If you’ve acted too against it, they can be lost.”

The imp hummed, conjuring wild explanations on his own – and, very pointedly, the [Death Doctor] spoke not a word. Dominic… didn’t understand why Orieke would ever make such logical leaps for him – then again, maybe it was easier to understand that than assuming he had arrived from another planet entirely.

Another Plane of Existence, if the System is to be believed.

The [Perfumer] seemed to reach a conclusion – and simply shrugged. Dominic couldn’t contain it. His sigh of relief was loud.

“Well, to answer your question, the first five levels are what we call a Novice Period. Some believe it is a safeguard so that people won’t get locked in Classes they don’t truly want, especially children. It is easier to remove a Class during those first levels.”

“Wait, you can do that?”

“Of course, you can. It’s expensive – and somewhat rare since you need an Oblivion Stone – but it is far easier to do it then than beg a [Noble] to remove it after you’ve completed your Class’s Path. Or lose your Class, of course.”

A nod later and Dominic took a few seconds in silence to fully process the knowledge – and they were only seconds, for Orieke’s eagerness seemed to soar a little higher with every answer he gave.

“Well, what else?”

The [Death Doctor] sped up his thoughts and filled the new information, before jumping for another question. He adjusted his position on the chair, feeling the cushioned seat move under his bones.

“Still about the… uhm… Status. There’s something about a secondary and tertiary Class in it, but they are locked for me. Does it open up after a while?”

“Ah, not at all. You’ll get to access them when you reach certain levels in your primary one. 25 and 50, exactly.”

“That… seems a little far.”

The old man wondered how many lives he’d have to struggle to save to reach such a level, but Orieke hissed twice in a negative.

“It isn’t. Really, I mean it. And they are too important to not strive for. Mostly because it opens up a whole new world of possible paths for you to walk on.”

“Hm, but won’t I just get one other Class?”

“Yes, but that’s not what I mean. Classes change, Dominic. And, when you get your second and third ones, they begin to merge. That’s when things get really interesting.”

Dominic took a second to understand, and the closest idea his mind could conjure was that of rum, coconut milk, and pineapple juice mixed for a perfect piña colada. You could taste all of them by themselves, but for a proper day at the beach, you needed the mix.

He could really use one right about now. Or a dozen. God knows he could use the liquid help in understanding all of this.

“So Classes can be removed, can change and can… uh, merge. Right. Okay. Anything else?”

Orieke pointed a finger in warning.

“They can be lost too, don’t forget about that. Mostly if you commit some great foul acts – or if something terrible happens to you. But if you were to, I don’t know, act in opposition to your Class and think of yourself as undeserving or not wanting it, the Voice usually listens as well.”

Well then. Dominic did not have plans to become something like a [Murderer], if that was even a Class – but Orieke’s explanation did illuminate his own questions on what had happened to Kurian when he gained his [Broken Survivor] Class.

Still, another question came to mind. More of a curiosity than anything else.

“Do you have your second Class as well?”

“Me? Sure.”

A beat of silence.

“May I… ask what it is?”

Orieke gave him a toothy grin of approval, glad he had truly understood the etiquette.

“I’ve merged it once already – but it used to be a [Mage] class. Got my 30th Capstone with the merged one and everything. Quite an achievement if I dare say so. Had to leave Kiringar for a while though.”

Dominic assented, but a frown remained on his face.

“And now? What is it?”

The imp scratched his cheek. Was that… embarrassment?

“Well – it’s not high-level but… I’m also a [Reader].”

“A… [Reader]? That’s a Class?”

Orieke managed to look genuinely offended.

“Of course it is! A great one even – I get to read books in a fraction of the time with the Skills it gave me. And I never forget which page I stopped at!”

The staunch defense of all things book-related surprised Dominic, but it was not the first time the man had met someone with an odd interest. He just didn’t understand why a [Perfumer] would want to be a [Reader] of all things. How would the Classes even merge?

He seemed to utter the question out loud, for Orieke answered soon after – and it began with a shrug.

“I don’t know. I don’t actually expect it to merge before I open my Tertiary Class. But it could happen – the Voice also listens after all, and it can grant us any path.”

Such a firm belief in his tone. It… bordered on religious, to Dominic’s ears – and his were well trained with years of going to church – but the old man could understand the faith. Especially after having experienced the System’s miracles himself.

The conversation died down after that – not because there were no questions to be asked, but because it was getting harder to keep track of all these things. Dominic had always considered himself an adaptable man, but this deluge of new possibilities could leave his head spinning. Mostly because he hadn’t even thought about what to do now.

Plus, this wasn’t the last opportunity he’d have to pick someone’s brain on the inner workings of this new reality he was in. Dominic had to believe that.

Still, just to keep things broadly on the same area of information, the [Death Doctor] presented one last doubt.

“You… implied that I shouldn’t tell people my Class, right? Why is that?”

“A… simple enough question. Hmm, how can I put this? Well – imagine you are a [General] or a [Rogue]. What do you think would happen if people knew of your Class?”

“They’d be worried?”

“Well… yes. But if you are a [Rogue], people would expect some Skills from you, right? [Evasive Maneuver], [Disarm Traps], [Nimble Hands]... All Skills befitting the Class.”

Dominic nodded. The part about skills was a little confusing, but the [Death Doctor] stumbled through the logic as best as he could.

“...Alright? I don’t see the problem yet, though.”

Orieke raised a placating hand, his tone turning into one befitting a teacher. It was… an odd change, especially now that they had been talking for so long. The [Death Doctor] wondered if only now did the [Perfumer] realized the position he had been in.

“Aha! That’s because that isn’t the problem. The common [Noble] will have, for example, many safeguards for the general [Rogue] – in the same way [Strategists] will create plans for the common [General]. But see, Dominic, few people have common classes. Star above, there’s no way to keep them at higher levels according to the Bidirectional Theory.”

“The… what?”

Orieke stopped, hitting the mental breaks, but – to his surprise, most of all – the [Perfumer] didn’t mind the interruption as much as he thought he would.

“Bidirectional Theory. That your Class defines you and you define your Class at the same time. Voice and Listener, going both ways. Understand?”

Dominic nodded. Amazed at the idea that the imps theorized and philosophized just like humankind did. Which, in retrospect, was silly of him for not considering.

Especially when it… wasn’t as confusing as it sounded, surprisingly – and it did fill him with a certain degree of relief that he wasn’t just a subject to the System as he feared. The fact he could have some effect on his own Class took a weight from his shoulders that the elderly man hadn’t realized he had been carrying.

“Alright, then. So – as I was saying – few people keep growing in their nominal classes, like [Rogue] or [General]. Most never even have one, already jumping steps into more specialized Classes. And I’m not talking about merged Classes or whatever, just different ones. Slightly specific – that would be the best way to call them”

Orieke breathed. He had been… speaking faster by the end, sounding excited – and it was getting harder to keep any type of facade when the man in front of him kept nodding like an excited child.

“Anyway, that’s why it is dangerous to reveal your full Class to someone. It reveals your capabilities, in a way. For example, I’m a [Perfumer] – but if I told someone I was a [Magical Perfumer] or a [Perfumer of Lustful Pheromones], I would get different reactions. Especially because one of them can be quite the dangerous Class.”

Dominic could imagine. It wasn’t so different from the power of information in the cooperative setting. Having access to what a company could do or even what their next steps were could easily change entire plans, from marketing to even which people would be responsible for every step.

Sometimes, he’d have to counter an employee from another company with one from his own, as if they were champions of old. It was quite the thing, to watch two egos battle through billboards and advertising campaigns – but he had considered the rivalry a necessary step for greatness.

The elderly man thought differently nowadays, but it was undeniable that he had done much with that old conviction in mind.

“I understand. It… actually makes a lot of sense. Though I do feel a little silly now that I’ve told everyone about it.”

Dominic scratched his cheek in embarrassment, but the [Perfumer] didn’t let him dwell for long.

“Please, it’s not like it would be that hard to find out your Class. You are not even protected from [Appraisal].”

The [Death Doctor] froze.

“...What?”

“Hm? [Appraisal]. The – spell. Wait… you do know what [Appraisal] is, right?”

“I… believe I’ve just gotten it, actually. I haven’t had the time to use it yet, no.”

“You… just…”

Orieke’s astonished look remained for a beat, but soon his brows furrowed in consternation. The hairless skin pulled so tight together that Dominic could see the lines of expression forming on the [Perfumer]’s face like small waves in the ocean.

When he spoke, it was with a pointed question at the tip of his forked tongue.

“Dominic. How long have you had access to the System?”

And how was he supposed to answer that? Should he say that it had been less than a full day? Maybe keep up with the half-lie he had been telling everyone, and claim he had grown up without it in the faraway lands humans were from?

Yeah. Maybe it was for the best to keep with the charade. Dominic wavered at the thought of having to explain the imp’s lives was part of his Tutorial. How would one even react to that after all?

“I… grew up far from the System. Actually, I only got access to it a few days prior. We, Humans, do tend to prioritize living without it.”

The [Death Doctor] gave his best smile, not a single tell from his posture or expression. A poker face that anyone too polite to interrupt someone would kill to have.

Orike, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes.

“You are a… what?”

Dominic gestured, the smile still on his lips. He puffed up his chest, back straightening as far as he could without causing a flare of pain.

“A Human. That’s what my kind is called.”

Narrow eyes stared at the elderly man, the [Perfumer]’s shoulders rising like a cat’s back when annoyed. The [Death Doctor] could see the moment the opening Orieke had given him closed like a bear’s trap, suddenly and silently. Something was wrong – and Dominic could not understand why.

Until Orieke spoke.

“You… are lying.”

Dominic paralyzed, wide eyes staring at the imp in front of him. From his mouth came the stupidest of babbles, a word he had uttered so much since he came here that he should already have glued it to his forehead just to avoid the hassle.

“...What?”

***

“It’s not a lie! I am human.”

They had left the table a while back, Dominic having followed Orieke after the [Perfumer] rose from his chair with a huff and began walking through the corridors of his house and atelier. The elderly man only had time to grab his cane from beside the bed he woke up on and stuff his new, shiny stone on his belt before limping after the imp.

Orieke had refused to speak after calling out Dominic’s lie – but had not stopped the [Death Doctor] from following him as he walked over the grey stone floor, every wall adorned with open glass windows that let the wind and the sun’s red light illuminate the darker halls.

After some time, the duo began to walk down smooth steps made of stone, cut as if from a single piece of the ground. They had left the room with the sleeping babies sometime before, having both unconsciously chosen to not argue close to where Celike’s children slept.

“C’mon, Orieke! Why would I lie about that?”

Dominic still tried, appealing for a response that was not the warm and angry silence the imp emanated. And it worked.

Claws stopped dead this time, the [Perfumer] standing in front of a closed wooden door – the smell of wet wood thick in the damper air of the basement. Dominic could only see due to odd crystal growths that sprouted out of the walls like fungus, almost fleshy-looking bulbs, were it not for the fact they were as hard to the touch as any earthly gem – a property the elderly man had discovered after having to stop to take a breath and leaning on one of them.

Their whitish glow cast deep shadows in Orieke’s face – the [Perfumer]’s horns elongated and sharper looking due to the contrast – and the disappointment in them, the frustration and barely concealed hurt, was as sharp as the White Stalker’s claws to Dominic.

“Will you stop?! I can see you are not human or -- ryuman, or whatever! Stop lying. Just… stop. And stop following me, for Sun’s sake!”

The [Death Doctor] promptly ignored that last part, unwilling to let go. He followed Orieke inside after the imp produced a bundle of keys from the little satchel at his side – unlocking the door with familiar movements.

The inside of the room, as Dominic followed a grumpy [Perfumer] inside, was something that truly should have belonged to Earth’s fantasy books. The lab – and it was a lab alright, filled with the glassware and other modern-looking instruments that would not look weird back when Dominic had Chemistry lessons at school – was filled with a low hum as if someone had turned on an old computer.

The room was large and rectangular, easily twice the size of the main room from upstairs and even taller than some of the houses he had seen while walking through Kiringar’s streets. Dominic hadn’t realized how deep underground the stairs had been leading him, and the sight in front of him was both aggravating and impressive.

Mostly because besides the fairly human-like instruments, the real amazement came from the magic in everything else. Water orbs floated in the air at a corner, surrounding a tall metallic post from where lightning was produced at a constant rate – zapping the orbs with electricity and causing the water to heat enough to steam.

At a table on the left side, a hurricane spun wildly within an invisible barrier – a collection of runes, equally mirrored at both the ceiling and floor, kept the wildly moving cone of air from destroying the rest of the room.

There were other, weirder sights as well. A piece of gray rock tumbled from a small mound, slowly turning into brown mud as it got closer to the lowest point of the inclination, before suddenly reforming back where it began. A collection of sticks, dancing around a campfire like [Witches] during a Sabbath as they spun and twisted – until one of them seemingly tripped and fell into the flames, burning to ash and soon being replaced by another walking stick that rose from a basket nearby.

And above, below, or adjoined to every single one of these sights were funnels, as large as his head or as small as a grape – the producers of the low humming Dominic heard – and they seemed to constantly suck the air around these magical events and transport whatever it was collecting to a line-up of tiny vials, their mouths connected by a series of thin pipes.

It almost seemed like a production line. An automated industry that would leave Henry Ford moaning in delight – before he put on a [Wizard]’s hat and tried to replicate it all over the world, of course.

Dominic’s jaw slacked at the sights, his mind coming up blank at the multitude of alien events happening right before his eyes, but Orieke did not stop moving. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to reign in his admiration - the dull thump of his heart and the rush in his ears making it clear his success was a frail thing – before the [Death Doctor] managed to lock his wandering eyes on the [Perfumer]’s back – and asked.

“What do you mean by saying you can ‘see’?”

Once more, Orieke turned, and this time with a pointed claw aimed straight into Dominic’s chest. The height difference made the scene more comic than it had any right of being, but none laughed at the circumstances.

“You think [Appraisal] is just a spell? It can be more than that – and I can see right through you with it, Dominic. You. Are. Not. Human.”

“Then what am I?!”

Dominic wanted to hear it. Lord Almighty, he had to hear it or he wouldn’t believe it.

“You are a Ghost! An Undead! I don’t understand why you keep lying!”

“Because I don’t want it to be true!”

The sound of the rubbery tip of his cane smiting the stone floor was loud in their ears. Dominic breathed heavily, honesty draining of energy and leaving behind only a hollowed-out chest. He wanted to laugh, really, but the elderly man knew it would come out choked and twisted – more of a cry than a peal of joy.

It was ironic, wasn’t it? He, who had been so willing to show others their wrongs and mistakes, could barely stand to face his own.

Some things really never change.

Orieke lowered his hand. He was confused – but also, Star forbids, hopeful. Because maybe, just maybe, he had not been wrong.

“What… do you mean?”

There was a counter beside him, and Dominic leaned on it out of habit. He had his eyes closed, and only opened when his face was already facing the ceiling. All that gray stone settled his mind, in a way, but it didn’t make the sting of reality hurt any less.

“I was a Human. I still am – I… I want to believe that. I need to believe that. But also… But also… Lord Almighty this is madness. But I’m also a dead man.”

There. There it was. All the truth in its rotten glory. Dominic refused to face Orieke’s face, a cowardice that hurt his pride – but that he did not manage to overcome. The [Death Doctor]’s eyes kept focused on the ceiling, unblinking and wet, almost drowning in the somber color.

A movement beside him took his attention. Dominic almost moved his head, but instead simply focused on the sound of it. The sharp song of wood scraping against stone.

Orieke sat on a stool – a taller than most piece of furniture, made for him to work at the higher counters of his lab – and faced the Ghost in front of him with elbows resting on his knees.

“What – what does that mean?”

Dominic listened to the words in silence, biting his lower lip so hard his teeth neatly met. When he did what had to be done it was in a single movement, so quickly his neck flared with pain – because of course it would. It was fitting, after all.

The [Death Doctor] faced Orieke. His words were a whisper, more for him than for the imp.

“....I died. There – is no other way of saying it. I was working, you know, trying to help someone. And then… And then I fell. I think I broke my neck.”

He still remembered the vertigo. The heart-dropping sensation of when his foot stepped forward and didn’t meet anything to support his weight. He had never forgotten the cracking sound of his neck – like a piece of kindling in a bonfire.

“That… is impossible. You should go to the Ground after you die – you can’t just… live.”

Dominic scoffed. His tone was amused, almost. Laughing through the pain and confusion of his condition.

“You think I don’t know that? I was never supposed to be here – I… I was supposed to die. Fully. To go and meet the Lord Almighty. God, I was damn ready for it. But… It gave me a new chance.”

“The Voice?”

Dominic nodded – and he could almost read those light blue words written on top of the azure screen. They still made no sense to him, those inner workings of the Universal System, but they were his only clue.

“That makes no sense. Why would it give you that?”

“I don’t know! It threw me in here with no explanation, no warning, and it still wants me to do what it says!”

A light appeared in Orieke’s eyes. An understanding.

“It gave you a Path…”

An affirmation, through and through. The imp seemed to stop and think while, once more, Dominic nodded.

“Can I see it? If the Voice gave you a task – then it must be important! Unless… Wait – is it related to us? Is that why you are here?”

Dominic held his tongue from admitting it. He had to be careful now, and even though the emotions were there, the consequence of revealing this was a Tutorial… No. Not unless he could edit what was shown. Restrict the information.

And lo and behold. The System, in all its sick responsiveness, showed him a version of his Path of the Tutorial – the three tasks proposed by it in all their twisted glory – and this time with no name to the group.

The title was empty.

He mentally forwarded it in Orieke’s direction – trying to imitate what Kurian had done to him when the boy showed him his new Class – and watched for the [Perfumer]’s reaction like an eagle.

Dominic… didn’t know what he’d do if it didn’t work – but he was alert. It had to count for something, right?

Nevertheless, Orieke seemed to receive the prompt with no particular problem – and the loud hiss that escaped his mouth showed how serious this was.

“We… We’ll have to talk to the others. Let me grab my things.”

Dominic heard it all like a death sentence, already worried over how he’d have to explain it all once more – still, he didn’t have the heart to say no.

The cat was out of the bag now… and it was best for him to tackle it.