In the morning, Ranvir supposed that was as good a definition as he was going to get. A clerk knocked on the door for their wake up call. He stretched out from his seated position, opened the door and thanked the clerk—some sort of bear-like person, reminiscent of kortian females.

Afterwards, he made his way over to Frija, who was still swaddled in blankets and resting on the windowsill. “Firehearth,” he whispered, gently knocking the back of a finger on her forehead. “It’s time to get up.”

She sniffed multiple times, then tried to roll out of his reach. When finally she’d exhausted all the other possibilities, she grumpily opened her eyes, scowling at him. Her hair was a red mess, eyes slightly bloodshot, as she squinted out from her nest.

“What?”

“It’s morning,” Ranvir said gently.

She glanced out the window, seeing only the dark of night. “No, it’s not,” she complained, her voice thick with sleep.

“It is, baby. Their day and night cycle just work different from ours.” it even made a sort of sense to Ranvir. Since he’d spent most of the night going through his various low-impact exercises, he’d had a lot of time to think. Many of the animals the people resembled were nocturnal to his knowledge, so it made sense that society, as a whole, wouldn’t bow to the cycle of light and dark.

“Fine,” Frija grumbled, extricating one of her arms and gesturing for him to help her out.

An hour later, Ranvir’s daughter was looking and feeling much fresher. Splashing some water in her face, and taming the sleep tossed hair into a utilitarian braid, really helped. Together, they walked out of the inn and headed towards the museum. Ranvir’d spent some time yesterday, between talking with the smith and going to the zoo to arrange a special tour of the place.

Most people simply called it the ‘Museum’ or ‘History Museum’, but Ranvir caught enough information to make some educated guesses about the actual content of the edifice. Specifically, a word he thought he recognized from the zoo as well. Either this was a historical museum of animals, or a royal museum of history.

Ranvir did not expect it to be a perfectly logical and unbiased record of the events of history, but he hoped it would tell him something of this world he’d found, as well as the mana that inhabited it alongside the people.

As they passed through the park on the way to their destination, a sudden chorus rang out as over two dozen birds all cried at the same time. It was enough of an occasion that even distracted Frija noticed it.

“What was that, daddy? What did the birds do?”

Ranvir sucked air in through his teeth and gazed at the lines briefly. Such a brief glance wouldn’t be enough to recognize anything with real detail. Honestly, it was mostly pointless. He was simply checking to see if some burst of mana had passed over them undetected to his senses. The mana was as reluctant as ever to reveal itself to him. He found nothing.

“It appears they are listening to some kind of signal,” he replied. “Maybe they have powers.”

“Like the creatures in folds?”

Ranvir nodded. “Perhaps.”

“Woooow,” Frija cooed at all the stray pigeons and other birds they saw for the rest of the trip.

Arriving at the museum, Ranvir entered, sensing a person sitting at what he assumed to be the reception desk. It was a beetle person, all six-limbed and freaky faced. Ranvir stopped, his steps hitching for a moment before Frija tugged him onwards.

She ooh’ed and aah’ed at the strange person before her, asking all kinds of questions that Ranvir suspected might be a sort of rude. Gently, he peeled her back using a slight pressure from his hand and a healthy dose of tether-sense infused with respect. He tried his best to instill in her a respect for others, but her childish enthusiasm blew anything he’d ever said to her straight out of her brain.

“My name is Ranvir,” he said. “I’m here for a private tour.”

The beetle person clicked its mandibles at him. “Thank you, sir. I will be right back.”

As they left, Ranvir had no clue how to read gender through the carapace and bug-eyes. Frija shook with her desire to bombard the stranger with her curiosity.

Ranvir found a bench for them to sit on. They only had to wait, at most, a quarter hour, probably less, before someone stepped out. He was recognizably a man, though also insectoid in many features. His strength sat firmly in late first-stage of powers, similar to Ranvir’s own space powers. The bug-like nature was mostly hidden, though Ranvir caught an odd bulge on his back and a flicker of reflected light, suggesting that he perhaps had wings. His pupils were also faceted, which, despite the otherwise human face, gave him a more alien look than the clerk.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

They greeted each other briefly as Ranvir assessed the man. Wind and light mana were the richest of his mana-types. Most of the people didn’t have such a clear delineation, nor did they so obviously favor a single or even a couple types. That was interesting in and of itself. Ranvir wondered if that was something he should’ve paid more attention to.

Did stronger people have more focused mana types? All the animals seemed to only ever have one or two types within them.

“Before we start the tour, I will make some things clear,” the man said, his occasional words having a slick click to them. “This is a historical museum. We will therefore not be targeting much, if anything, related to religion. If you desire religious enlightenment, then there are over a dozen chapels and churches throughout the city whose services you can avail yourself of.”

“Yeah, daddy, we don’t want to hear your gibberish,” Frija said, immediately taking the guide’s side, despite only having ever exchanged names.

The bug-man smiled at her and winked, causing her to giggle, though the hand gripping Ranvir’s pant leg didn’t evade her father’s notice.

Letting out an affronted noise, Ranvir waved his hand through the air. “Bah, whatever! Let’s just get a move on.”

Frija giggled mischievously, exchanging glances with their guide before moving on. Moving through the museum, the guide took them first on a route of some of their older finds. He showed them something they called the Monarch’s Heresy, a crown made of ivory. It did not exude any traceable mana, however. Even a brief touch of his tether-sense made Ranvir’s knees knock together and he almost fell over. Ranvir couldn’t remember ever having felt such a strong Concept before, let alone one infused into an item.

Not even Saleema’s enduring pocket-spaces held that kind of strength.

He showed them bones so old they’d turned to stone. Even these seemed infused with Age as a Concept. They were far easier to examine than the crown. His best guess put them and seven or eight times the age of Korfyi, which was even older than Vednar. They were quite frankly impossibly old.

Then they got to the real good stuff.

“Modern history starts here,” their guide said, waving his hand in front of an ancient parchment. “The Lord King Stratos’ first manuscript. The first edicts and the beginning of Star Wing Dynasty.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Frija for the hundred-thousandth time, pressing her face against the metal bars, keeping visitors at a distance. “What are they?”

“They are the Laws of Stratos,” the man said proudly. “The very ones we still follow today,” Frija and Ranvir examined the man, standing with his chest puffed up and chin held high. Pride was clear in him, from posture to his voice. “All of Lesta and most of the other planets follow the guidelines he set down almost nine-hundred years ago.”

“Wow,” Frija muttered. “What are they?”

For a moment, it looked like the man might burst apart in sheer confusion. Then he deflated like a balloon. Ranvir couldn’t help but ruffle Frija’s hair as she looked inquisitively at the man.

“All the people of Lesta should know the Laws,” he muttered.

“Then tell me.”

He shook his head, glancing at Ranvir from the corner of his eye. “Kids nowadays. The Laws of Stratos are the five guiding principles through which we bond with and subjugate animals.”

Frija kept looking at him with genuine interest, but clearly no comprehension. Eventually, he continued while Ranvir thanked all the minor miracles in the world for the innocent curiosity of children.

“First,” he began, clearly reciting from memory. “They are not our pets, they are animals. Understand the difference.”

“What does that mean?”

“Animals work together so long as it is convenient. Once it is no longer so, they will turn on each other.”

“What does that mean?”

The man licked his lips. “When the end of the bonding comes, the animal will show its nature.”

Frija opened her mouth.

“Second,” he cut her off. “Compatibility over power.”

“What’s tha—“

“Your capability to take care of your chosen companion is more important than its power from the outset. If you do not have the food necessary, or the facilities necessary, you will end up weakening the bond and therefore your final powers.”

“So, can you strengthen them as well?”

“That is what the fourth rule is about. Third, Material connection. Feeding the animal in accordance to its element will strengthen its form and powers, that goes twice for an elementally attuned habitat. Fourth, two years and two days of bonding. This is the allotted time that all bondings should take,” he was clearly expecting Frija’s questions at this point and jumped into further explanation immediately. “From the first connection till the day of the duel. Six-hundred-and-fifty-four days.”

“Is that how long a year is?” Frija asked, cocking her head.

“Two years and two days, Firehearth,” Ranvir corrected before gesturing for the man to go on.

“Fifth, remember the Cycle. The Cycle in this case is the commonly held belief that life moves in a circle. Prey becomes predator, becomes food becomes prey. It is steeped in enough mysticism from the churches that I won’t speak on it too much, but suffice it to say that Stratos was a firm believer of this order.”

“Right,” Ranvir said with a smile. “Is that what’s written on the parchment?”

The guide rocked his head back and forth, something clicking in the back of his throat. “The language has changed much in the past eight-hundred years. This is the original, but it’s a translation. Lesto has grown more literal since those times, which unfortunately causes some loss of understanding.”

“Can I get a copy of them? Maybe I could get you to write them down?”

The tour-guide brightened up. “Actually, you might be interested to know that we sell copies of the original in our gift shop, which you will see at the end of the tour. We sell both original text and the most common translations!”

Ranvir smiled. Like this trip wasn’t expensive enough already.