Chapter 14 - The Artisans That Remain

They had taken the babies. Because of course they did. Neither Orieke nor Dominic felt it was safe to leave them behind, even with the Grey House being far more protected than any other place in Kiringar.

The reasons for it differed between them, of course. One worried over unseen things, that which was yet to be but was heralded in every touch and gasp of the other imps. The other? Well, he worried due to far more practical reasons – after all, his mind, still unused to putting magic into the equation that was reality, did not understand how the younglings could spend so long without either eating or soiling themselves.

Celike’s children behaved more like dolls than real babies. Dominic hadn’t asked why – not when he had the opportunity to do so, and definitely not now when Orieke was far more preoccupied with the things the [Death Doctor] had revealed, but the elderly man still kept an eye on them.

Barik and Eyoka. Not just them. They had names – given by Celike herself, before the water rose and the distance between them grew as Dominic floated back into life itself. The [Cobbler] had stayed behind, and Dominic had suspected it was because she no longer belonged here among the living.

Neither did he, right? His place was right there with Celike, embraced by the all-consuming death – but the System had given him a second chance. And now more than ever, Dominic felt bothered by the realization that those blue screens had a plan for him.

Did it think, this Universal System? Was it conscious of the decisions it made or was it simply a super advanced computer system?

More questions. Always more questions. Dominic felt as if he had opened a book with infinite pages – one with a plot so complex and convoluted that no matter how hard he took notes, there would always be something more.

The elderly man’s grip on his cane tightened – his other hand, carrying one of the baskets with the babies, remained as stable as he could make it – and he took a deep breath to try and still his thumping heart.

In the meantime, as the rush of blood in his ears died down and he began to hear the faint song in the wind, Dominic focused on what was around him. Mostly, what the Grey House looked like – and he, a man that had traveled wide to see Earth’s different cultures – did once again feel a little disappointed by the lack of wonder.

Some of the architectural details were shared between the common buildings of Kiringar, located outside of this ring of buildings, and the Grey House. Mainly, a large number of windows and the high ceilings – almost as if a single door was not enough of an entryway to a race that could fly at will.

Here, however, the windows were all made of glass and rimmed with a metallic alloy – gray, like steel. Along with the large blocks of chiseled stone that made the walls, Dominic could easily see where the name came from – and it was not the most creative one the imps could come up with.

As soon as Dominic stepped outside what he realized was Orieke’s atelier/house, the [Death Doctor] began to absorb his surrounding like a sponge. The nine buildings were spread around in a circle, forming a small plaza at the center where a small, communal garden seemed to thrive. The small pathways were made of stone, and all of them were adorned with both benches and small lights that floated lazily through the air like fat will-o-wisps.

At the center, the crown jewel of this shared space between all the houses, was a tree. Immediately, Dominic’s eyes diverted to it – especially because it wasn’t the common species of dark wood and gray leaves that grew around Kiringar and the Fear-full Woods.

No, this one was a fat tree and so short it couldn’t reach the lowest ceiling of the ateliers, making for a secret detail only those able to enter the Grey House could appreciate. It had a few scarce branches on top, a dozen thin arms that grew twisted and branched out until they ended in sharp-looking green leaves, the color so deep they almost looked toxic.

The trunk was unnaturally smooth, rising like a half-buried pill cap. Still, what made Dominic stop in his tracks and gain an inquisitive from Orieke, were the roots.

They grew in a spiral, tighter and tighter as they got closer to the trunk. There was – of all things – a layer of paint over them, one that stretched through the spiral pathways of the garden and climbed the front walls of the buildings. It was dizzying, to look at – beautiful in a way, but that same type of beauty one found in fractals and quick twists. One that gives a headache if stared for too long.

The first [Painter] was the one to make it. Trakia’s voice spoke in memory at him, and now he understood what she had meant by saying the center of the [Spiral of Malign Spirits] was here in the Grey House.

Thankfully, the lines of rust-colored ink were thin enough that they could easily be blended with the background with a little effort – and Dominic soon focused on other details as he continued to follow Orieke around the garden instead of through its spiraling paths.

The duo – a quartet, if you counted the sleeping babies – had been walking counterclockwise towards another house, and Dominic got to see the front of two other ateliers. The elderly man realized they all looked fairly similar when it came to their façade, the distinct details being the few odd rooms that grew on the back of the buildings – like the greenhouse he could see in one of the buildings on the other side.

On the front doors, however, there were certain clues to what kind of craft the Artisan inside them was devoted to. The first building at the right of Orieke’s atelier, for example, had a bundle of toys carved onto the wooden door – the artist had taken care to detail his piece with an astounding degree, the boxes and balls chiseled with vivid patterns, and the dolls, which were an imp and a dog-like creature in miniature, were complemented by button eyes and clear seams on their joints.

The next building also had its peculiar sign. This time, though, it was of a simpler making – a single candle, perhaps a little on the thicker end of all Dominic had ever seen, burning with a flame lit on top. There was the carving of a few droplets of wax going down the candle’s length, forming a puddle at the bottom, and the artist had taken care to etch a halo around the flame to symbolize its brightness.

It was the next building that they entered, however. This one with a long needle etched on the door – a piece of thread going through its eye. It wasn’t hard to discern which craft the house was devoted to.

They did not stall for long, Orieke climbing a couple of steps on the front porch and knocking on the door without giving Dominic time to take a breath. The heavy basket had been making him lean on one side for too long. Still, Eyoka did seem to be perfectly comfortable within her little nest and that was truly all that mattered in the end.

The door opened without a sound, hinges working smoothly as it revealed the inside of the house and one of its occupants. Iaakis, the [Bone Mender] that had assisted on the twins' birth and – by Merino’s account – seemed to be a friend of the [Apothecary], stood with her dark and silver robe, little fishes swimming lazily over her sleeves.

To the earther at her doorstep, the woman was disturbingly similar to some of the punks from a few decades prior – minus the leather and heavy makeup. But then again, there would be little need for it when you were a demonic entity straight out of the Vatican’s locked books.

In fact, the [Bone Mender] largest similarities to the punks Dominic knew, were her spiky mohawk and her natural skin color – leaning more towards a grayer shade than the usual clear pink. Besides that, her dark leather sandals were one the few things she wore as an accessory, along with a belt and a pouch tied to her waist.

For a second, Dominic was confused as to why she was here – but then he remembered Celike calling the young woman “Linkri’s daughter”, who he assumed was the owner of the house. A [Seamstress], perhaps?

“Uncle. Mother was already asking when you’d arrive.”

Iaakis opened the door further, stepping out of the way so that they could go through. She stared at Dominic, who could only notice her dark eyebags and the tired face of the woman before he gave her a nod.

A non-commital grunt was all he got in response before she closed the door behind them.

The house’s interior was not so different from Orieke’s own, resembling a lot more modern architecture from Earth than he would expect. It began with a short corridor, a long carpet covering the stone floor with threads colored red and black. The decoration mostly consisted of tapestries – hanging from the walls by hooks embedded in the stone.

These pieces offered a complimentary contrast to the red carpet – mostly showing meadows of yellow and orange flowers or creatures stalking through woods dark and somber. In one of them, Dominic saw different figures from the ones he had already seen ever since being transported to the tutorial – tall, gorgeous men riding on two-horned horses while wearing armor befitting any dark knight. Or [Dark Knight], considering his circumstances.

Through the lack of a helmet, Dominic could see the color of their skin – ranging from dark blue to deep purple – and they rode around a meadow of yellow flowers while carrying heavy lances, their faces – fairly human-like all in all, despite the large horns curling at the side of their heads – were oddly peaceful despite the readiness of war.

No, not peaceful per se. Dominic narrowed his eyes as he stopped in front of one of them, examining the sight. The man looked… satisfied, almost – he had the face of someone that knew things had already worked out. A person who was already holding victory in their grasp.

The [Death Doctor] turned towards Iaakis, noticing how Orieke had already walked forwards without waiting for them.

“Who are they?”

“These? Incubi [Riders]. Mother had a thing for them a while ago.”

Iaakis answered lazily, leaning on one foot after the other to try and keep herself awake. Dominic looked at the young woman and saw a hundred other younglings burning themselves out in office cubicles.

“Are you alright? It must have been intense to deliver the babies. Have you slept?”

The [Bone Mender] shrugged.

“I'm fine. Got a nap a few hours ago, though. You… you are the one Kurian was talking about, aren’t you? Uh… Dominic?”

“Indeed. And you are Iaakis, right? Merino’s friend? He told me how you two were studying the Ashen Lungs. I must say, it’s quite the noble thing to do.”

Dominic gave her a small smile, truthful in his commentary even if it was pointed. Iaakis looked at the floor and shrugged once more.

“I wasn’t that great of a help – Merino is the scholar between the two of us. Have you two met? Besides during… the birth, I mean.”

Domini nodded, appreciating the softness in Iaakis voice as she avoided the optic of Celike’s death. If it was a sore topic for him, who had only met the dead [Cobbler] on her deathbed, he could only imagine how it felt to the girl who had to open someone they knew for a long time.

Even having grieved before, the [Death Doctor] could admit his loss was different from Iaakis’s own. The… closeness she had to Celike’s death – how personal it had been, with the [Bone Mender] having to shove her grief deep into herself to save the children – was in a dimension of mourning Dominic had never experienced before.

Not even when Richard and Melissa had died.

The elderly man’s eyes softened as he answered, a kind smile on his face.

“We had talked a few moments before. Merino answered many of my questions on the disease and, well, he mentioned you after that. Something about it being more like a poison than a malady?”

Iaakis gave him a long hiss of affirmation. They began to walk once more, prompted by Dominic, but the [Bone Mender] soon took to the front in an attempt to guide them through the house – and that made it hard for the elderly human to see her face. But even so, when she spoke, Iaakis did sound more relaxed.

“Yeah. It… wasn’t that hard to come up with the idea, actually. We’ve tried one or two poisonous baits to fight against the Nightmares. That’s where the idea came from.”

“So… you think the Ashen Lungs might be a type of poison?”

Iaakis hissed twice. They took a turn right, passing by a large living room from where a fireplace burnt brightly, already on. Wherever it was that the others were, it was deep into the house.

“ I think it acts like a poison, not that it is one.”

The man nodded, but silence settled between the two after Iaakis’s response. They walked through a couple of other corridors, making only a small pause when little Eyoka began to stir on her basket, but soon enough arrived at the room the others were in after setting the baby back to sleep.

The room was half a workshop and half lounge, with no clear markings showing where one began and the other ended – but the two functions were blended. Looms and long coils of thread and cloth hung from wooden frames, sharing space with armchairs and beautifully made divans at the same time.

Yet, it wasn’t crowded. As per impish architecture, it was both a taller and larger room than it had any reason to be, the door being the only indication that whoever worked inside was from a smaller race. Not only that, but the very organization of it all – a sense to all the small maelstrom of cut cloth and sharp scissors – seemed to turn functionality into decoration.

Dominic had to admit – the design was ingenious in ways he had rarely seen.

Of all things the [Death Doctor] noticed, however, it was the lack of a certain piece of furniture that jumped at his eyes. Tables were few in here, with only one that served as a workstation hanging in a far corner while another, lower table currently served as the centerpiece for a small seating area, positioned on top of a circular rug and within easy distance of the seats – this one housing a teapot and a few sets of cups, steam rising lazily from within them.

The crowd surrounding the table was a hubbub of busy imps, all of them talking, discussing, or measuring a fairly embarrassed Kurian, who stayed still in front of the Artisans as they finished some kind of planning. Dominic put the sleeping Eyoka beside her brother, both resting softly on top of an empty divan and approached the commotion with Iaakis right in front of him.

“I’m saying I could make him the prosthetics easily enough! The boy will be using it in no time.”

The oldest imp Dominic had ever seen spoke, his face saggy with wrinkles and his back hunched even as he sat on one of the armchairs. He had a blanket over his thin legs – and hands that constantly fiddled with a chisel, unconsciously carving at the arm of the chair as if it were some piece of wood.

A scoff came from beside the older imp, and he turned with a glare in his eyes. The woman, a small figure dressed in purple and with a pointy hat on top of her head spoke soon after

“And what would you make, Saleko? A doll arm? A bundle of cubes? Please. He needs a functional arm – not toys. That’s why I’m saying if we could just make the perfect wick, we could easily–”

“Biakis, dear – that will never work. Or do you have enough Nevermelting Wax to make an arm so large?”

The woman with a pointy hat, Biakis, turned her face with a mumble. The one that spoke, an elegant Imp with perfectly healthy and pink skin, sighed softly. Her dress, a tight-fit model colored a deep orange, hugged her figure in ways the common impish robe could never expect to do. The frills around her neck almost made it too much, but the woman’s straight posture and platform heels made it perfectly suited for her.

Not to mention the contrast of the dress with her dark wings.

She stood for a moment, lips pursed as she looked at Kurian again and again, circling the boy in a way Dominic recognized immediately. She carried the look of someone measuring your proportions, trying to adjust an idea to the body that would be clothed.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

The stare of a [Tailor].

“No, no. We will do it in parts. I’m thinking… a cloth outer layer and a wax interior. Do you have enough magic, Biakis?”

The [Chandler] shrugged.

“Nothing a quick visit to the camp won’t fix. Why?”

“Well, my dearest friends – it’s about time we made a true magnum opus, isn’t it? And who better to give it to than the youngest of us all?”

She raised Kurian’s face with a claw – fascination and pride mixed in her face, even after knowing his story – and the look on the Artisans’ faces grew hungry at the proposition. Even Orieke, who had been silent since their arrival, had a new glint to his eyes.

The [Survivor], however, shook his head off the woman’s grip. He rubbed the sore stump of his arm with a grimace, though Dominic didn’t see it from his place behind Kurian.

“Auntie… Why… This is too much – All those materials…”

The woman laughed. She threw her head back and truly laughed. The others gave different reactions – a scoff here, a slight smile there, even a sharp cackle that pierced the ears.

“Please, Kurian – all those materials you talk about were made to be used. And if we can’t even do this for one of our own, then we would be very poor Artisans. And an even worse family, right?”

The foolish boy still struggled, weighing worthiness as if it were a pound of flesh – and Dominic decided to give his own two cents. His cane struck the stone floor softly, rubber meeting solid ground in a dull encounter.

“I believe you should accept, Kurian. It would be most distasteful to deny a gift so freely given – especially when it comes from deep within the heart.”

The boy turned, prompted by the voice that spoke behind him – almost lecturing.

Say what you want about money and the price of luxury, but the sight of Kurian’s face relaxing as he saw Dominic – a small smile stretching upon too-tired lips before the teenager caught himself – felt invaluable to the [Death Doctor]. In his mind, the elder man heard his own promise echo back.

“Dominic! You… really think I should take it?”

Kurian didn’t know why he asked, but the elderly man took to his question with a nod.

“Indeed. You deserve to have the best, my boy. And if the opportunity comes for you, why wouldn’t you take it?”

The boy’s shoulders relaxed and then turned with a single hiss towards the [Seamstress] in front of him. Dominic gave the woman a nod, and she returned with an amiable smile of her own. From his place at the side of the commotion, Orieke fought against the grin rising through his worries.

“How would it work… exactly?”

The boy spoke more carefully, but the implicit acceptance was enough for the crowd of excited Artisans. The oldest of them all, Saleko, gave a gentle scoff.

“Nifestu’s son indeed. That boy couldn’t help but ask about everything as well – couldn’t damn well shut his trap at times, the annoying little pest. What are you thinking, Linkri? A Livingwood Core?”

“Hm? Indeed. It will be a delicate balance to not stop him from leveling, let us not forget – but we can try and ensure the upgrades grow with time.”

Biakis sucked in air between her fangs, hissing inwards in an odd display. The [Chandler]’s eyes narrowed. She read Linkri like an open book, and the [Seamstress] gave her only the slightest of smiles.

“You want it to be an Artifact, don’t you? A living one. That’s… madness, Linkri.”

“Is it? What’s stopping us, Biakis? We’ve spent months doing so little already – and I know you’re itching to reach your next capstone. Maybe this will do the trick.”

The [Seamstress] turned, and her eyes focused on Iaakis with such intent that the [Bone Mender] gulped.

“Plus – we have an expert on bodies with us, don’t we? Or am I wrong, daughter?”

“You… want me to work with you?”

“Well, if you’re going to keep that gruesome Class of yours then there’s no reason for us not to use it, is there?”

Iaakis gave a long hiss that wavered with disbelief. Of all things the [Bone Mender] expected to hear today, the sudden approach was not one of them.

“I… would still need to study it better though. Muscles are not my expertise. But if you give me some time and materials – then I could come up with a sketch for you of all the parts?”

Linkri clapped in satisfaction, turning around immediately to face the other Artisans.

“It is a plan, then. I’ll sew the outer layer for it and Biakis can carve the muscles out of wax. Saleko, you’ll be responsible for the bones and all that. Hm, Vriako? Dearest? Could you give me some of that good leather for a better grip?”

A silent imp, eyes puffy as if he had been crying, turned his head towards the [Seamstress]. Vriako had been silently staring at Celike’s babies – and, if Dominic understood it correctly, then the man was possibly the closest thing to a family member the children had now.

“I can do that.”

The [Cobbler] spoke curtly, finger intertwined over his lap. His staring match with the twins continued in silence – and Dominic could not fault the grieving man for not knowing what to do.

It was never really in our plans to really lose someone.

Still, the other Artisans continued to decide on what to do about Kurian’s prosthetics - and Orieke asked the same thing that had been bothering Dominic after seeing the [Seamstress]’s focus on the boy’s arm.

“But what about his wing, Linkri? Shouldn’t we do something as well?”

Linkri faced him with a large smile, her tusks shining brightly despite the slight yellow to them. Was that… gold on the tip of her teeth?

“Ah, so good of you for asking that, Orieke – I was just about to put you in the job, in fact. My cloth won’t be good enough to make him fly again – but if we used some of Vriako’s leather and…”

“Treated it with a special oil? Hmph. Easy enough. Any ideas on what type?”

“Something… basic. Let’s not get too wild on this yet.”

Orieke hissed once in agreement, gaze suddenly calculating. The [Perfumer] took a second to decide on something, not wavering in the slightest under Linkri’s expectant gaze.

“Alright, then. Air it is. Iaakis, please sketch a wing too – and you, old man, you better work quickly.”

The last comment was directed towards Saleko with a wide grin – and the oldest of them all huffed in distaste. Orieke’s smile stretched, with the easy familiarity of a misbehaving child that had done it a hundred times before.

“Quiet, misfit – or I’ll put one of the dolls to haunt you ‘till the next True Night. And I’m working perfectly fine, thank you very much. Better than you and your stinky bombs.”

A snickering Orieke went back to his seat, satisfied. The [Perfumer], however, would not let Linkri leave without further explaining her plan. None of them would, in fact.

Artisans did not work blindly.

“You still haven’t said how you are going to make it into an Artifact, Linkri. And I doubt you’d trust the Sulphurborne to enchant something of this magnitude.”

Biakis hissed from her corner, pointy hat twitching as if alive.

“It’s not an elemental, is it? You know how hard those are to come by – and I won’t have enough magic to summon one. At least not a peaceful one.”

Still smiling, Linkri hissed twice – an almost humorous denial. Her tight dress restricted her movements a little, but the [Seamstress] slithered like an enchanting snake as she set her hand on Kurian’s shoulder, ready to answer their questions.

Dominic had to admit – Linkri knew how to keep the attention on herself.

“It won’t be through enchantments, Orieke. Or an elemental, Biakis – though those two would work as well. But no – this is a project for the remaining Artisans of Kiringar. A last show of our craft, to prove that even though we lost so much… we still endure. It – is a way to honor our siblings, something we should have done when the nine of us were still here.”

Her face fell, voice cracking a little at the end and turning the room’s mood into a somber one. Dominic now understood why there were only five of them here. All the others were dead.

And the [Death Doctor] knew only some of the names. Nifestu. Guintaro. The [Painter], if he was not mistaken. And someone else.

The elderly man took a step to the side so that he could keep his eyes on Kurian’s face, but even though the [Survivor]’s gaze was locked on the floor, he wasn’t crying – and Dominic couldn’t tell if that was better or worse than the other outcome.

Linkri gave Kurian a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, a smile returning to her face – though with an inkling of pain on the toothless gesture.

“We will do this with our own Skills. And only that. Because, dearest friends, we will have the Voice itself recognize it as part of Kurian once we give him the artifact. That is the only way to ensure it grows.”

Silence settled for a moment as all the others processed her words – the same ones that flew completely over Dominic’s head. Saleko, however, was the first to react. A scoff came from the elderly imp in a loud display, his arms crossed above his stomach, though his grin was ferocious.

“Ah. Clever girl. The Keeper’s Solution, then.”

Grunts of understanding followed Saleko’s commentary, the other Artisans quickly understanding and grinning at Linkri’s untold idea – sadness giving way to a higher purpose, one that they willingly shared.

Dominic, however, understood nothing – and like a small boy in class, the [Death Doctor] raised his hand to pull their attention.

“Sorry – but what is this… ‘Keeper’s solution’.”

Kurian hissed a long affirmative from his place in the center of the artisans, and even Iaakis – exhausted as she was, even through her excitement – silently thanked him for asking with a quick smile.

Dominic replied with a nod, a little more comfortable in his sudden position as a spokesperson.

“You don’t know? Wait, who are you again?”

Saleko asked, suddenly frowning as it dawned on the old imp that Dominic was not, in fact, someone of their race. The [Death Doctor] tried to keep his face passive in the face of his rapidly quickening heart.

Orieke was the one that came to the rescue, settling a hand on Saleko’s covered lap.

“I’ll explain later, old man. For now, Dominic, kids, the Keeper’s Solution is what we call an Item Skill. When an object or artifact becomes such an integrated part of the person’s path that the Voice acknowledges it as something that belongs to them. Usually, it only happens with powerful magical items – ones that are great enough to change a Class – but, sometimes, it can be a useful solution to… some [Broken] Classes.”

Orieke hesitated at the end, shooting a look at Kurian – who shrunk his neck in a failed attempt to imitate a turtle hiding in its carapace. The [Perfumer] noticed his mistake and coughed in one hand, embarrassed, but another of the Artisans came to complete his thoughts.

“It’s also a great way of ensuring you won’t lose an Artifact. Nothing can take away a Skill after–”

A thwack! resounded as Saleko’s quick hand slapped the back of Biakis’s head, almost making the woman’s hat fly away. She turned at him with a flaming gaze, before meeting his own eyes and shrinking like a chastised kid.

“Don’t say that type of thing, girl! Tempting fate like that – you are a [Witch] for Sun’s sake. You should know better.”

Nursing her sore head, Biakis pouted in silence – giving ample opportunity for LInkri to sigh and continue the explanation.

“Violence aside, an Item Skill will also abide by the common rules – which means that it’ll grow with your levels like every other Skill.”

Dominic’s eyes bulged out, the [Seamstress] not noticing his sudden surprise.

“That’s a thing? Your Skills get better with levels?”

“Hm? Of course they do. And Kurian’s arm and wing will grow much more powerful the sooner he manages to turn it into an Item Skill. And we finish making it – of course.”

Done with her answer, Linkri sat back on her armchair – a plush thing colored an almost neon orange – and gestured towards Orieke.

“Now, with that done and dusted, it is about time you tell us why you called for a meeting, Orieke. – and tell us why Trakia is flying around like some vengeful vulture. Did you fight with her again?”

The [Perfumer] gulped. Slowly, he got up from his place and occupied the same center Kurian had been in a moment prior, gesturing for the boy to occupy his seat.

“Well, my friends. I’m afraid it is a little more complicated than that. Dominic, could you get closer? Iaakis, grab the man a seat.”

The poor girl snapped out of her exhausted daze with a shudder, head lolling back for a second before the [Bone Mender] found enough energy to firm herself. Orieke’s request was met with a grumble, but Iaakis was quick in pulling a stool over for Dominic to sit in.

He, of course, thanked the girl immediately. No reason not to. Still, as Dominic sat in front of all these imps and thought of what explanations he would have to give, the elderly man did gulp.

“For starters, as you can see, Dominic is not an Imp. He claims to be from an unknown race – the so-called humans –”

“How unknown are we talking about? Like Leviathans? He does look fairly Abbadonian – if slightly pale. And corporeal.”

Saleko interrupted without second thoughts, making Orieke almost swallow his tongue. The [Perfumer] shot the old man a look.

“Unknown as in, we have never heard of it. Now, please let me finish before interrupting me.”

The man waited for a beat of silence, and only after the Artisans understood he wanted their confirmation and hissed in agreement, did Orieke continue.

“As I was saying, Dominic claims to be a human. But, if you use your [Appraisal]...”

“A Ghost? What’s that?”

Orieke sighed in defeat, massaging his own snout as the Artisans began to confirm with each other what their Skills were telling them. Dominic, however, kept his eyes on Kurian – he had told the boy he was a human, and the last thing he wanted now was for him to think the [Death Doctor] had lied.

Still, before the annoyed [Perfumer] could continue, Dominic decided it was his turn to face the music.

“We believe ghosts are the souls of the dead. Usually, those that still have… some type of deal with the living. Regrets or unachieved goals.”

The silence lasted for a second as he finished speaking, the pain in his back making him a hunched figure – one leg stretched over as his knee had begun to pulse with pain and swell. Lord, this was going to be a painful day.

Nevertheless, the questions soon came.

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“You are dead?”

“What type of regrets are we talking about here?”

Dominic ignored Saleko’s question, though he could sympathize better than most of those present with the idea of leaving unattended matters after dying. Still, the [Death Doctor] gave short answers.

“‘We’ as in my kind. Humans, like Orieke said. And yes… I’m fairly certain I have died. Though – not for good apparently.”

He tried to keep his voice nonchalant – but the truth of his statement clawed against his throat in a refusal to leave. Dominic’s grip on his cane was as white as his hair, but his smile was everlasting.

Some of their gazes diverted towards Kurian, who watched with wide eyes as the conversation continued. These people knew the story between the two of them.

Dominic could only feel bad for the way he hoped it would make them more sympathetic to his plight.

“Does Trakia know of that?”

Of all people, Biakis was the one to ask first. Dominic… didn’t know why the [Witch] seemed to consider that a priority, but it was as good of a start as any. So he shook his head in denial.

“No. She has seen… some of what I can do, but she still believes I’m nothing but a human.”

The [Witch] sighed in relief.

“Good… Let’s keep it that way. She is… unkind to those that defy the faith – and your state of… not-dead will be as much of a taboo as any.”

Dominic frowned. He knew that Trakia could be heavy-handed – God, he had tasted the woman’s stubbornness himself. But hostile? She had threatened to be able to kill him once, but part of him – the sensible part, perhaps too used to Earth’s way of things – had not really believed she would do it.

For a second, looking at Biakis’s tension, Dominic wondered if he should have felt more afraid.

“Would she really be hostile? She can be… rude, I’ll grant you that – but to be as violent as you are talking about sounds far-fetched.”

Dominic’s voice began to die down at the end, the reality of the matter settling in. People killed for less – had always caused harm for less – and here he was, old and from Earth, doubting the limits of someone he did not know. But then again… how could he so easily believe someone he had worked with, who had taken care of him, would be so quick to change ways.

Silence reigned for a moment though, and it told him much – though some of those inside Linkri’s house were more confused about the conversation than reminiscent. Still, the [Witch] broke the silence soon enough, snapping back and shooting Kurian a quick look.

“Just try to keep it a secret, alright? It will be the best for you.”

Dominic understood and nodded – though now he felt curious about the story clearly untold.

A humming sound called for his attention, and Dominic saw Linkri slowly analyzing something unseen – probably her own System’s prompts.

“Then this… Undead Type of yours – what are they exactly?”

Dominic frowned, not expecting the question.

“You don’t know? I thought you’d understand better than most.”

He gestured toward the Artisans, but all they gave him were more confused looks. Even Saleko began to mumble something about insanity under his breath, which Dominic pointedly ignored.

“Us? Why would we? It’s your kind, after all.”

“But… Isn’t the Undead… magical?”

Dominic stumbled over words, not knowing how to correctly put them – and even though his attempt was definitely lacking, it seemed some of the Artisans did understand what he meant.

“Hm? Magical?”

Biakis spoke from her place, neck craning forwards as she grew more interested in the conversation after the sudden dip in her mood. The [Witch]’s eyes sparkled, and Dominic could only nod in the face of the eagerness in them.

“Yes. Magical. Bodies brought forth by Death Magic and whatnot. Uh… I think the name is Necromancy? That should be it.”

Biakis frowned mightily, something about the [Death Doctor]’s words making her confused – though Dominic could not tell what it was. She mumbled for a second, lost in thought – the [Bone Mender] beside her so focused on the conversation she was hearing that her eyes barely blinked – but it was Orieke the one to call for Dominic’s attention – a frown also twisting his features.

“Did you say Death Magic?”

“Uh… yes?”

Dominic didn’t understand where this was coming from, but just to ensure he wasn’t speaking nonsense, the [Death Doctor] pulled the System’s explanation.

Type - Undead

Products of a coalescence of Dark or Death Magic, the Undead are all of the creatures birthed through the death of another without achieving proper life. Beware of rogue [Necromancers] trying to control you and [Priests] trying to destroy you.

He read it all again, eyes focusing a little more intently on that last sentence now that he had met a proper [Priestess]. Was that what the Artisans thought Trakia would do? Destroy him?

Dominic didn’t know – and the doubt scared him more than anything. Nevertheless, he found the information he had first been looking for.

“Yes. It’s right here. A product of Dark or Death Magic, the System says. Why? Is something wrong again?”

Orieke massaged his snout, a sigh escaping his lips. The [Perfumer] looked at Dominic and didn’t have the heart to complain.

“It… uh, it’s not your fault. We just never heard of Death Magic. It… shouldn’t even be possible – right?”

He asked Biakis, hoping for an answer – but the [Witch] shrugged.

“I don’t know. You’re the [Mage] between us.”

“And I didn’t like the studying part of it all, Bia. You’ve never heard of it too? In the books your mother left, maybe?”

“[Witches] don’t work with Affinities like you do, Orieke, you know that. But… no. There are some deadly curses, of course, but not death magic. It… wouldn’t find too much of a place in the Covens I think. Too grim of a craft.”

“Hmph. Says the one that works with Terror.”

Once again the [Witch] shrugged, avoiding Orieke’s little affectionate jab with a sly smile on her face.

“A product of my circumstances, that I am.”

The [Perfumer] chuckled, a little less tense – and turned towards Dominic a little more certain.

“Does your kind know anything about this, Dominic? When we say we have never heard of this… Necromancy, we mean it. There is no record of such an Affinity – and if even [Witches] won’t dabble in it – then you better keep it a secret as well.”

Another one. Dominic wanted to laugh, really, more an annoyance than anything else – but he kept the sudden burst of emotion held back by biting his lips. The man gripped his cane with a little more strength, thinking quietly.

A quick snap diverted the room’s attention before they stumbled over what to say – and all of those present turned to focus on Orieke once more, his hands still joined after clapping.

“Revelations aside, we’ve strayed from the real reason why I called you all here – and time is of the essence. Now, Dominic, could you show them your Path?”

The [Death Doctor] sucked in air, wishing to have more time to prepare himself, but still complied. With a quick call, Dominic asked for the Path of The Tutorial to appear before him.

Path of The Tutorial

Stop the Cult of Eternal Dark (0/1)

Learn the Truth About the Imps (0/1)

Eliminate the Queen of Skeletons (0/1)

Dominic did the same alteration he had done for Orieke, removing the title of the Path, and sent the prompt towards all of those present with a quick wave of his fingers. Even Kurian, still confused and shocked – though his feelings shifted more and more as time went on – received a new prompt from the Voice.

“As you all can see, the Voice gave him quite the… complicated Path. But it explains much – and opens new questions. That’s why I called you all here. So… thoughts?”

Saleko whistled a sharp sound of disbelief, and all those pairs of eyes focused on Dominic. The [Death Doctor] gulped, and straightened his back a little further – but the conversation before had eased his nerves.

Of all things, Dominic had to admit, he did feel a little more ready.