We stare at each other for a solid minute while I cycled through an incredible amount of emotions I genuinely cannot put my finger on before I finally have something to say.

"Aren't you supposed to help me with that? I don't even know anything about most of the world, let alone my options in it. I don't know what I want. Well, I do, but it's nothing you can solve." I want to have been born to a family who actually loved and cared about me, but 'thems the breaks,' as they say.

"I'm a swordsmith and I can fight with the best of them. Beyond that, I couldn't tell you. Do you need weapons made? I'm sure I could figure out other kinds of weapons, but the skill is specifically for bladed weapons, just so you have that information before we go too far." I continue, overwhelmed.

She had told me to follow her so that she could assist me. Why would I be able to ask for anything at this juncture? I had literally just said before entering into Esh that I wasn't even sure what to ask for because I'm not from around here, hadn't I? Maybe I'm being dramatic but come on!

Then I see Sytoria's mouth quirked slightly upward at one side. Had she been trying to make a joke? Why is it that everyone who has tried to joke with me since being taken from Earth is supremely bad at it!? I thought I was bad at joking but these people have me beat a hundred-fold. How is a serious question or statement intended as a joke in Sytoria's sake and Aethos's puns had been Transcendent-level dry. The dad jokes to end all dad jokes.

I roll my eyes when I catch on. "I appreciate your ... attempt... at humor, but I'm not exactly in the mental state for it right now. I've been kidnapped and taken to an unfamiliar place where I know no one and know nothing about the world at large, despite how otherwise well I might be appearing to handle it."

"You are remarkably good at pushing the issue out of your immediate focus for someone who's as flighty and unfocused as you, I will say, but I can still feel the weight that it's having on you. I was attempting to further distract you from your thoughts. I see that I have been unsuccessful, however." She shrugs in an apologetic way before sitting straighter in her chair.

"So the first thing we'll have you do is head down to Stitches. It's a store that sells clothing, though they sell light armors and provide simple enchanting services as long as it is on a material designed for said clothing. I'll give you a few ounces that you can take with you and Abenjiirin will take great care of you. No need to pay it back. It serves me more to have you looking presentable than it does to have you wearing a torn, dirty, and somewhat bloodied robe that is somewhat small on you."

I look down at the robe I'm wearing and realize that I hadn't even thought about how the thing fit me after I had put it on. Just that it covered the most important bits and that was all that mattered in the moment. I mentally shrug. Not much I can do about it now. I'll take whatever hospitality I can get. Hopefully it doesn't come back to bite me in the ass later. Sytoria continues on.

"The second thing you'll do is get in contact with the Forgemaster, Luchyr." She points at a piece of paper on her desk with the person's name written across the top for reference. Upon a quick scan, it's a document entailing the growing need for someone to assist them as there are too many people and too many requests for, and I quote, "one insanely hot forgemaster to satisfy all by herself."

I wonder idly if it's a coincidence if most of the people I've heard about who are occupying positions of power are women or not. It could be. Maybe the world is a bit better about respecting people for their skill rather than their gender? It is a world—Universe, rather—with an incredible number of different races all living together, so it would be weird if there were still hangups about that type of thing. Then again, I wouldn't be surprised, really. Where there's a will for prejudice, there's a way.

"She's in need of an assistant. She can get you squared away, set you up for payments and contracts and the like, and then we can go from there. I don't imagine you'll stay here permanently, of course, but you are welcome to settle here if you'd like. I think in the meantime, however, that it would benefit you to stay here in Esh while you get your bearings, learn a bit about the area—which includes not only Esh, but the surrounding country of Azlan, and Drajora as a whole, not to mention the other continents—and see what you're interested in."

She doesn't move beyond turning her left hand palm up, but suddenly there is a small brown pouch—exactly the kind of coin pouches you see in RPG games, ironically enough—sitting in the center of it, tied closed by a piece of string.

I don't know if I should reach out for it or not. She said she'd give me coin, but what if that isn't it? It would be sooo embarrassing if I go to grab it and she goes, "what are you doing?" I might die. I'd definitely have to leave town to avoid feeling the embarrassment every time I saw her. Maybe a Confluence would solve the problem for me while I wander around waiting for death because I'm just that pathetic.

"Zed?" Sytoria's voice calls out questioningly. Her perfect purple eyebrows are slightly furrowed. She smells of confusion and concern.

Oh, yeah. I forgot I'm not the only one who knows how others are feeling. I totally just had a weird panic attack right there, didn't I? Oof. I chuckle nervously.

"Sorry. That all sounds interesting and everything but where will I be staying? Is doing jobs at the forge how I would be earning my keep? I'm interested in learning about the Confluences as well. I think it would benefit my Path to find some way to maintain balance between the crafting aspect of my Path and the combat aspect." I don't know why I don't want to tell her about my Class. I don't think there's anything bad about doing it, nor any way for her to use that against me, but I'm ... embarrassed? Why would I be embarrassed about it? Am I worried she'll judge it? That would be weird.

This whole thing where I'm not great at identifying my own emotions but am literally supernaturally good at deciphering others' emotions is a hoot. I imagine it will remain so, as well.

Either way, it appears that I am embarrassed about the prospect of telling her what my Class is. So unless she specifically needs that information, I suppose I won't say anything. I'm weird like that sometimes. It's the trauma, I know. I'm very well aware that my childhood, or lack thereof, screwed me up in many ways.

She remains concerned, though, not taking my bait to change the subject. Ugh. I'll need to keep a tighter leash on myself than I had even on Earth. At least there I could have my emotions on the inside, even if I couldn't show them on the outside. Here, I can't even do that much.

"No, Zed, I must have said or done something to cause such a wave of self-hatred. I apologize for whatever it was that I did to cause such feelings. I would be grateful if you told me so that I can rectify it and prevent such an occurrence in the future." She smells regretful. I have to figure out a way to turn this scent thing off. I don't want it to cause problems for me somehow. I'd much rather it be intentional than involuntary. I hope that's something I can do, anyway.

"You did nothing wrong. You don't have anything to apologize for. It was just some silly thoughts I was having. They didn't have anything to do with you, I promise." I wave dismissively. She doesn't budge.

"I can tell that you're being truthful, so I'll accept the words as you say them, but there is still the matter of the self-hatred. I won't pry about it, as it is your life and your decisions on how you deal with it, but feelings like that will cripple you on your journey down your Path. Gaining understanding of the workings are one thing, but it also requires an intense understanding of oneself. An acceptance of yourself and your place in the world. Finding peace," she says. Her tone is motherly despite the fact that she is maybe ten years older than me at max, judging by the way she looks. She's a human. Humans don't live for thousands of years, at least. I can't be too far off.

I both appreciate and am irritated by her attempt at comforting me. I know she is not being patronizing—I can literally smell the sincerity coming off of her—but it presses those buttons in my head anyway. Long-since entrenched wounds that wouldn't be going away just because of logic. If that were the case, they would have been gone years ago. If there's anything I'm good at, it's logic. Perhaps not in the moment, but eventually.

"Thank you for your concern," I say, instead of any of the reflexive biting comments my brain was telling me to say. "I understand the detrimental effects of my mindset better than anyone, I imagine, but if it were so easy to treat, I would have done it by now."

Her eyes don't leave mine as she speaks. "We have people here—very good, very specialized people—who you can speak to when you're ready. I don't know the things you have been through but your soul is scarred, Zed. Whatever tribulations you encountered before coming here seem to have gouged pieces of you away in order to replace them with their darkness instead. There are those much older and much more powerful than you who have experienced similar things. You aren't alone and it does not make you weak to ask for help."

Cutting right to the chase, then, I see. Logically I know all this. I've told myself this more times than I can count since I was taken from my father and placed with that foster family. They wouldn't have stopped me from going. If anything, they told me to get therapy "to fix whatever fuck shit I've got going on up there" many times. They never brought me or tried to push beyond that, but they did recommend it. I just ... didn't.

I couldn't—still can't really, even though I understand the necessity—fathom bearing my soul to someone in the hopes they can "fix" me. It sounds very embarrassing in so many ways it's hard to describe. I can't even pinpoint what's embarrassing about it or why I would find it embarrassing in the first place, but it seems shame is a core piece of whatever problem I have. I'm deeply, incredibly ashamed. Of myself, of my wants, my needs, of expressing that I even have them, of having those needs met, even.

As if expressing them is admitting weakness. As if throwing them out on a fishing line hoping to catch a fish but the fish might steal the bait and escape, leaving me more vulnerable and simply less trusting. Even if my needs are met were I to express them, I know I would consider it to be them doing it out of obligation and that I'm a burden to them for making them do anything for me. That they'll judge me for having the needs at all.

I guess there's fear there, too. And sadness. And grief.

But when I dive into the boxes I've shut away in the attic of my mind, where I store all the pieces I don't want to see anymore, am too scared to look through, or have lost over the years, it's hard for me to close the boxes back up the same way they were before. As if the pieces don't fit the same way they did before I'd opened them. Things get messier and harder to put back and then the attic looks less organized.

Of course, it wasn't organized in the first place, but every time it just gets worse. At this point, I just throw the boxes into the mass of the others that are spilling off of shelves and upended onto the floor, encroaching on the entrance. If I go to organize it now, how long would such a thing take? How long would it be before it works again? How long will I be juggling pieces that had a place but don't anymore until I make or find another? What if I break some of it? What if pieces have been missing this whole time and I just won't ever get them back?

It's just a big pile of 'what ifs' masquerading as a shield. An excuse not to start because I'm afraid of my own emotions. Im afraid to experience them again because they hurt me so much the first time. I'm afraid of being hurt again.

So I don't open the boxes anymore. It only affects me when a box falls from the attic, or when one overflows into the livingroom, or when there's a flood that the boxes don't soak up completely. It's not too often. It's more comfortable this way. To ignore it. To push it away. As if by keeping them out of sight, someone will eventually come clean the mess for me. Of course, that's not how it works and I know that. Of course I know that. If no one knows about the mess in the first place, how and why would they come clean it?

But what if I'm not strong enough to lift them anymore? What if I break underneath the pressure the boxes have built up over the years? If I can't ask for help now, how could I ever ask for help then?

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Are you following the metaphors?

"Zed, I'm not sure what it is you are feeling ashamed of but there truly is nothing wrong with feeling this way, nothing to be ashamed of. I won't pressure you. I'll even change the subject after saying one last thing. Emotions are like pressure. You can think of whatever system of containing pressure suits you best but it's the same in any case. The more build up that occurs, the harder it is to contain. The more that is contained, the more damage is being done over time."

She places the pouch on the desk in front of her, gestures slightly, and suddenly a ball of gray stone is hovering above her palm. As she speaks, the stone gets larger and larger, small cracks forming on the outside.

"After a while, if you don't release that pressure, in smaller and more controlled ways, then that pressure is liable to cause damage on its way out. To the system in which it was contained, and those the pressure is released upon. It might be easier at first to just ignore it because you don't have to do anything actively, but after a while you're expending more effort to keep everything inside than would be required to let it go."

The stone bursts, then. Small shards of stone explode outward, though each stops after an inch or two, leaving behind crumbled stone on her palm and a bunch of shards that would have probably caused damage had they managed to reach anything. After a second, the shards and the dust form a small stone circle again, a motion even my eyes are barely able to track, and she casually tosses it behind her where it disappears into the wall, a if it had never existed in the first place.

"Now that that is out of the way, and with the reiteration of there being very qualified people here you should speak to, and soon, I'll move on. In addition to the Forgemaster's Smithy, we also have an Adventurer's Guild presence—it was originally called The Vigilants but only members of various clergies still call it that, in case you come across that terminology instead—the Sentinels Guild, Dungeoneers Guild, Artificers Guild, various Faith affiliated guilds, the Healers Guild, and even some hobby spaces. You don't have children with you, if you have any at all, but there are daycares and orphanages and recreational spaces for them you'll come across, as well. You are free to join as many or as few as you like."

"What is the Sentinels Guild?"

"From time to time instead of a Confluence occurring as a result of the buildup of Essence, the fabric of space is affected instead. We're not sure why, even now. When such a thing happens, a Rift is formed, which is a pocket in Elemental Space that weaves its own fabric seamlessly into ours that contains any number of things. Could be nothing at all, though that is rare, or it could contain eldritch horrors from even the Gods' nightmares. In the latter case, the Sentinels Guild is sent to, for lack of a better phrase, 'unweave' it, thus closing the instance. It requires intensive tutelage and training, however. It's a lifelong endeavor commitment, but it is rewarding. In pay, and in the knowledge that you have saved vast quantities of people from a terrible death with each instance closed."

"So what happens to the ones that aren't bad, if the Sentinels Guild closes the bad ones?"

"Sometimes they are cleared by the Dungeoneers Guild members, the anchor taken from the inside and closed upon exiting, but others—in the case of Rifts whose contents were too valuable to allow to dissipate—are pulled further into this side of Elemental Space, forming what is known as a Dungeon. The Dungeoneers oversee Dungeon formation and make sure they remain organized as far as the general public goes. So if you, as someone not of any guild, wished to delve one you would go through them."

"So why doesn't the Sentinels Guild do the Dungeon formation, as well? It sounds like the opposite side of the coin where 'unweaving' the Rift goes to me."

She rolls her eyes. "Don't let them hear you say that. They were once the same organization. At some point, Henrik—the current head of the Sentinels—defected from the Dungeoneers Guild citing some nonsense about the function they served being too important to remain subordinate to such an 'unrefined' group as the Dungeoneers. Literally everyone except the Sentinels agrees with your deduction but as they had a significant backing from the outset, there was nothing the Council could do. Either lose the majority of members who could stop Rifts that might cause an apocalypse from occurring, or allow them to form their own group for the sake of keeping the peace."

"Ah, pride. I know a few people like that. I mean, it makes sense. Let them feel important and they'll keep doing what they were doing before, even if it's under a new banner. You're not really losing anything. It's glaringly obvious he's insecure and wants his accomplishes validated, and that would be obvious to everyone outside of that group as well, so the only one it hurts is that group in the end."

"Exactly. The Council basically told him he was being a vexing toddler whose parents didn't wean him off the teat until much too late because he believed it was his right to continue drinking it but allowed him to defect anyway. It was a great meeting."

"How long ago did that happen?"

"Oh, somewhere around two hundred years ago or so. Benna and I had just been assigned to the same province, this province, and we were required to attend as superior members of the deciding peerage."

First of all, holy shit. She's more than two hundred years old? She looks no older than thirty, and even that's stretching it. Second of all ... "'Superior members of the deciding peerage?'"

"It would take far, far, far too long to explain the intricacies of how the law works at a local level let alone on Ackellia as a whole, but basically local matters are first brought to the heads of the settlement. That would be Benna or I. If the matter is deemed of greater importance, less cut-and-dry, or politically necessitates a larger audience, an Inferior Procession will take place. This is where a Head—Benna or I—will preside over a town council comprised of inferior members of deciding peerage, or those that live in the town in question and thus will be given say in the matter, who will hear the case, put in a vote and then the head will make their ruling based on that vote. The ruling doesn't have to agree with the peerage, but it does, more often than not."

So, judge, jury, executioner as a default, but a court proceeding with a jury if it's more complicated. Got it. I nod to indicate I understand.

"If that matter is deemed too complicated then, or the head has a different ruling than the inferior peerage, then that case is then elevated to a Superior Procession. In this case, someone from the Kingdom Proper is sent in to act as Acting Head of Law, several town heads from the surrounding area are brought in to act as the superior members of deciding peerage and then the case is heard from there. The term superior essentially encompasses a group of people who are deemed 'more important' in the eyes of our system of law, depending on the circumstances." She gestures in my direction with one hand.

"You, for instance, would always be a member of inferior peerage as you are now. The Forgemaster, as head of a local Guild or business, might be considered inferior in the case of an Inferior Procession, but depending on the matter at hand, might be a member of superior peerage if a Superior Procession was called because of her position. I would be a superior, except in cases where matters that affect the Kingdom as a whole are being discussed, but even then I would be given greater weight than someone such as you, who would not be allowed to attend such meetings."

"So the Sentinels Guild meeting wasn't one of those meetings? That sounds like something that affects the whole Kingdom to me."

"It does, yes, but as a Guild matter, not a matter of law as such. There are different factions of the government that oversee different things so as to allow for more specialized oversight in different matters. You could elevate something to the King himself with enough support, but few matters are seen as important enough to do such a thing. The Council procession we were required to attend was overseen by the Royal Guild Council. Benna and I are guild heads as well as town heads so we were brought in for the former, not the latter."

"Ah, okay, I see. Thank you." I'm not sure what else to say. It sounds very complicated, and like nothing would get done because of all the different organizations vying for supremacy but if it works then it works. Sytoria seems to pick up on my lack of further comment, grabbing the pouch, and tossing it to me. I catch it.

"It's not much as far as purchasing a whole new wardrobe goes but it's more money than most make in half a year. Not because it's not available, but because the people here are comfortable. You are not that. Don't worry about paying it back, just give it to Abenjiirin and tell him to 'go wild,' as he likes to say. When you're properly outfitted, have him reach out to me and he'll take you to where you'll be staying for the foreseeable future. You can meet with Forgemaster Luchyr tomorrow morning. Abenjiirin can probably take you to that meeting as well."

"So this Abenjiirin owns Stitches, then?"

"He does, yes."

"And he can just leave to take me all over the place whenever?" I don't want to take him away from his job to be my escort instead. That sounds like something someone would be upset about, especially if they're essentially being ordered to do it. Sytoria smirks infinitesimally again.

"I promise you that he will be more than happy to do it. Just between you and I, Abenjiirin is in need of others his age to, as he says, 'hang out' with. He also gets more than enough business being the only dedicated clothing store from here to the Kingdom that he can afford a day or two off if he wants." She smells amused for the most part but there is an undercurrent of bitterness to it that I'm not sure the origin of.

"I'm sorry if this is rude, but I sense some ... irritation underneath that statement? Is that something you're willing to clarify, or no?" I can't make her say anything to me, obviously. If it's personal, to her or Abenjiirin, then she probably wouldn't. Or shouldn't.

She heaves an annoyed sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Yes, there is irritation. Not with Abenjiirin, if that's what you're worried about. For Abenjiirin. That boy is too good for his own good. You'll notice it as you spend more time here, or with him if you end up taking my suggestion, so there's no harm in me explicitly saying it. His own community, the other minotaurs, treat him like an outcast because he does not yearn for battle as they do. He does not yearn to die an honorable death amidst the chaos of war as his people do and, as such, even his own father treats him as worse than a stranger."

I can hear the irritation in her voice now, in addition to smelling it coming off of her in great waves the longer she speaks. She cares about Abenjiirin, it seems. Quite a bit.

"I have spoken to Mevjuutir, Abenjiirin's father," she spits the word with barely repressed disdain, "several times on the matter, and he is unwilling to bend. Not even for his son. Abenjiirin acts as if it doesn't affect him and goes out of his way to be nice even while they throw stones and spit on his kindness, but you'll feel it the way I do that it's settling in his soul like a parasite. One day it will grow and I am worried how such a creature will develop. He would not hurt anyone else. That is not my worry." She doesn't finish her last statement. She doesn't need to.

I fully understand her meaning.

"That's horrible. I understand how it feels to be treated that way by one's family, and even how it feels not to be a part of a community you were born into. That pain hurts worse than most others, even if you have the cushioning to defend against it. It still gets through, in the end." I don't even know him and I already want to protect him. Weird. I'm not usually keen on other people. Especially ones I don't know. I still resolve to befriend him, though. I could use a friend, too, after all.

"I suppose you do," she says, her anger softening again, concern and care seeping in the cracks.

"Can I ask why you act the way you do out there when your real personality seems to be very different? I mean, you're still very intense, but not all ... stiff like you were earlier."

"I believe I mentioned that I keep things close to the vest in regards to details about my life. My personality is one of those things. I keep appearances with those I'm protecting here in Esh to give them someone to look up to, someone who will take care of them when needed but also someone who brooks no arguments. Someone to be respected. I do the same for other people on my level, though I retract my Aura and manage the fluctuations so as not to reveal my emotions or thoughts the way I can detect yours, because I am in a position of power and I must maintain the image that I am dependable, stoic, and strong."

I nod because that all makes sense, and motion for her to continue. She snorts lightly, amused by that. Probably not used to being told to do something. I flush slightly. Right. Forgot. Sytoria can crush me without moving a muscle, best not forget that. She continues anyway.

"None of those things would have worked on you in the first place because you can sense emotion in a way I can't block as a human. I also saw no reason to keep the facade up when I realized that it was making you more uncomfortable than it was helping. Plus it's just exhausting to have to do it all the time. I also sensed ... quite a lot of turmoil coming from you. More than your expression seemed to lead on. I wanted to give you the opportunity to talk without the pressure, if I could. I care a lot about the people of Esh. I've been here for two centuries. I've watched them be born, grow, have children of their own, and so much more. They're family to me, even if I'm just a leader for them."

I would refute the final statement if I hadn't smelled the fear the soldiers who had escorted us here had experienced at her rebuke. I don't say anything, even if it doesn't seem to make her sad, or that she had accepted it. No need to rub salt in a wound that I might not be able to see.

"I want to help the people here. If that means being the stone upon which their enemies break, or just someone who cares enough to nudge things in the background and defend them where possible, then I will do it. If not with a smile on my face, then one in my heart. I'm scary, Zed, make no mistake. I have buried entire towns with naught but a flick of my fingers because they offended my Benna. I don't regret it. But I also care. Benna deserves better than she receives. They hurt her deeply, that town. So I hurt them deeper. Literally."

I actually chuckle at that last bit. It was morbid, to be sure, but still funny. She smiles, then. Actually smiles, teeth and all. I try to ignore how it makes her look like she wants to eat me and instead focus on the happiness she feels.

"Alright, thank you Sytoria. I really appreciate you talking to me about all this and your suggestions. I'll go find Abenjiirin and this Stitches place, then." I stand up and reach to push the chair back against the desk but Sytoria beats me to it. It simply glides back into place silently. She doesn't stand but she does open the door for me.

"Travel down the stairs into the Hole. About halfway down you'll find the shopping district. That's where Stitches will be. Abenjiirin will probably show you around afterward, so feel free to go right there. You'll probably get some stares given your current state of dress," she says. I smell the light amusement coming from her.

"Yeah, I figured. Can't walk around in a torn and bloody robe these days." I joke lightly, passing through the threshold and back out into the hallway. The door silently shuts behind me, leaving me with the four guards. They all turn to look at me as I exit.

Stitches here I come.