Birds were singing and twittering all over the place, practically exploding into a fulmination of avifauna; Topher scowled and sipped his coffee, annoyed he hadn't been able to sleep in past noon like he'd wanted. The coffee was good, of course -- all the coffee here was good -- but the important thing was that it was real coffee, brewed by an actual person, and not something he'd summoned or conjured up. The ability to have any food or drink he could imagine with a wave of his hand had initially been intoxicating (sometimes literally) but the novelty had worn off quickly once he discovered that he could never be surprised by anything he created (since he had to define the flavor as part of the casting). Besides, he thought to himself smugly, it stimulates the local economy.

Around him, the city was eternally bustling; the elves of Kal'Pandu, diverse if not multitudinous, kept all sorts of hours and seemed to harmoniously flow together and apart in accordance with some unspoken schedule. About half of them seemed to rise with the dawn, but a good portion lazed until midday or kept night-owl hours; he liked it. It reminded him of Earth in all the good ways, and none of the bad ones.

A pair of green-skinned hands slipped around his waist; Zanasha's breath tickled in his ear as her body molded itself to his back. "Husband," she purred, "you have been long abed."

"Not long enough," he chuckled, turning around and wrapping an arm around her; she melted against him, half-smiling, and closed her eyes. "I'm guessing you got up early?"

"I broke fast with the Archmagus and his family," she replied, nodding as she straightened up and faced him; as always, he was struck dumb by her beauty, unique and untamed. "Lady Leafwind is, as one might expect, a cook of surpassing expertise."

"You'd think they'd have servants, or something," he groused, regretfully releasing her and hunting around for a pair of socks in his suitcase. "Aren't they, like, the richest of the richy-rich elves?"

"I imagine they do possess them," she agreed, lowering herself smoothly to the bed and sitting on its edge with unconscious grace; she was dressed, he noticed, in a pressed cotton shirt and leather trousers somewhat at odds with the sumptuous teal robe of gossamer-thin silk which covered it; the effect was humorous, but set off her jade-colored skin and fiery red hair unbearably beautifully. "But I understand that today is a special occasion. The Lady Gilbert is with child."

"Elara? A baby?" Topher smiled despite himself; I bet Kelfir shat his pureblood-aristocrat pants at that one. "Well, at least they'll have no problem teaching it to talk." He took a final sip from his coffee, then poured the rest into a potted plant and set the cup down on the balcony railing; a passer-by would no doubt collect it and return it to the shop. Elves were big on sustainable community crap like that. "How's Varissian taking it?"

"I am not familiar enough with Lord Leafwind The Younger to know for certain," Zanasha murmured, her voice betraying the humor her words hid, "but he did not seem ill-at-ease."

"Probably over the moon, but too stuck-up to admit it," Topher sighed, pulling his socks on and following up with a pair of thick black boots; today was not a day for slippers. "At least it'll give him a break from studying for all the exams. I don't know what Kelfir's thinking, trying to set him up as a bureaucrat."

Zanasha tilted her head. "You do not approve?"

"Me? Beloved, I don't approve of damn near anything." His boots finally in place, he stood up and kissed her on the cheek. "Except you, of course. But they don't have to listen to me; shit, probably better that they don't. The day Kelfir thinks I'm not fucking things up is the day I need to get my head examined." Chuckling and shaking his head, he threw on the overgarment he'd picked out for the day -- a long coat of brown leather with white-furred trim -- and tucked his folded-up nightgown into his suitcase before chucking it carelessly through a portal back to their shared base of operations on the moon. "Besides, I think he really might know best on this one. Elves play the long game; I wouldn't be surprised if he's setting him up to be whatever passes for a prince or a king at some point around here."

Zanasha, belting on her swords, raised an eyebrow; Topher thought that the new one, a green-bladed gift from Hana that had apparently been crafted by a demon smith, made a fetching complement to Nethersbane. "You do not believe he will be the next Archmagus of the Golden Tower, my husband?"

Topher shook his head. "Varissian doesn't have the Archmage class, or anything that could promote to it; besides, it's not a hereditary thing anyway. I'm betting Kelfir will retire in the next few decades; whatever underground elf Illuminati actually runs shit in the deep waters of their society has some other up-and-comer picked out." He chuckled again. "Probably not Dakath, though. He kinda took himself out of the running when he weaseled his way into that Mage Guild job." With a wave of his hand, he summoned a portal to their next destination; but before he could even turn and offer a hand to Zanasha, a knock sounded at the door of their cottage. He raised an eyebrow as he dispelled the portal, looking back at her. "We expecting anybody?"

"I would be surprised," drawled a voice from outside, "if you were capable of predicting any events without grave errors." Topher chuckled; he muttered a few words and gestured towards the door, which opened itself to reveal Varissian's beleaguered countenance. He bowed, betraying only a hint of mockery. "Master Bailey. Miss Jones."

"Orinor," Topher greeted him, enjoying the scowl which he got in reply. "Sorry I missed breakfast. I was up late."

"Indeed?" Varissian raised an eyebrow. "Called away in the night to defeat some terrible monster, perhaps?"

"No, I was reading those fucking novels your mom gave me," Topher complained. "I wouldn't have figured elves for good mystery writers, but god damn; I couldn't put the last one down until I knew who'd stolen the ceremonial oatmeal spoon. Fucking bullshit, man."

Varissian's mouth quirked at one corner. "I am pleased that you enjoyed them, but I must correct you on one point. The author of that particular series is not an elf; she is a dwarf. Kal'Pandu attracts a certain number of... casual enjoyers of elf culture." He bowed again, for no particular reason Topher could understand, then turned away to examine the cottage's interior. "These are the quarters with which you have been furnished during your visit here? I confess they seem rather... plain for one of your stature."

"Buddy, we both rented identical rooms in a cheap village inn," Topher objected, rolling his eyes. "The fact that we both fell ass-backwards into shit way above our pay grade doesn't make me genteel any more than it does you." He pointed a manicured finger at Varissian threateningly. "Everybody puts their pants on one leg at a time, pal. Don't make me clonk you over the head again."

"Perish the thought," the elf murmured with deadpan humor. "But I shall not delay you. I simply wished to inform you of some last-minute news; my wife, distraught at the prospect of your departure before she could speak with you again, unexpectedly unlocked her Class after Miss Jones departed some hours ago." He coughed delicately. "I confess she had been hoping for a spellcasting Class of her own; she has oft shown interest in my studies. So you can imagine her disappointment when her Class was revealed to be Hostess."

Topher laughed out loud, somewhat involuntarily; he shook his head, chuckling at the irony. "Did you tell her that one of the greatest heroes of our age had the Hostess Class?"

"I did indeed," Varissian confirmed, "but I doubt she heard me over her expression of her own opinions." He sighed, but Topher detected happiness -- muted and self-effacing, but present nonetheless -- underneath his affected manner. "I confess that I had hoped to entreat you for intervention on my behalf."

"Buddy," Topher replied, looking wistful, "you are, like, twice my age. I shouldn't have to clue you in to this, but let me give you a little marriage advice; she'd rather have you endure her unhappiness than have you fix it." He patted the elf's shoulder condescendingly; as always, Varissian flinched away from the contact, looking as though he'd been vaguely insulted or besmirched in some way. "In sickness and in health, pal. You signed up for it; start liking it."

Varissian sighed again. "As you wish, O Supreme Magus." He bowed a third time, this time with mockery not even Topher could miss. "Will you be returning soon?"

"Probably," Topher admitted. "To be honest, you'll probably be seeing a lot more of us; I'm thinking about building a summer home here, if you guys will tolerate a stinky old curmudgeonly human like me in your neighborhood."

"I believe we may make an exception," Varissian opined, "for stinky old curmudgeonly humans with beautiful, highly tolerant wives who also just happen to be Gold-Rank adventurers." He bowed to Zanasha, who smiled, but said nothing. "If you do come to such a decision, please notify my mother; I believe she holds some influence with the homestead planning committee of this district. Provided, of course, she does not decide to simply invite you to live on our estate outright; I believe she views you as honorary children at this point."

Topher shook his head, his smile losing some of its mirth. "Not likely." He chucked the elf very lightly on the shoulder. "You already had a brother. I'm not cool enough to fill those shoes." Varissian opened his mouth, closed it with a wistfully sour expression, and shook his head; Topher patted him again and conjured another portal. "See you soon, Orinor. You'll forgive me if I duck out on Elara this time; she can talk my ear off when we come back."

"I shall convey your promise to her," Varissian agreed dryly; Topher cursed as he took Zanasha's hand to help her through the portal. Me and my big mouth.

----------------------------------------

Emerging atop the low hill, Zanasha shaded her eyes against the sun; she sniffed the air, one hand on the hilt of her left-hand sword. "It is colder here. I am not used to such rapid changes in climate."

"Yeah, there seems to be some kind of temperate band around the middle latitude," Topher agreed, banishing the portal behind them; he was struck by a strong sense of déjà vu as he looked out over the sparsely wooded expanse, occasionally dotted with small gray canines and large beetles the size of Volkswagens. "Also, I think the elves cheat; I've never seen the temperature in Kal'Pandu get below what feels like 70 degrees. I'm curious to see if they let it snow in the winter."

"The season does approach swiftly," his wife agreed, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm; he held it steady for her, having learned by now that she enjoyed being traditionally escorted. "How does it feel to be approaching a year in our world?"

"Well, it won't quite be a year," Topher disagreed, stepping carefully down the hillside with his free hand atop hers; he had to watch his step, since none of his Skills or powers would protect him from tripping and falling on his face. "I keep a logbook now; today is day two hundred since I was Summoned." He grimaced. Although if it weren't for Authenticate Document, I doubt I'd even know how long it's been. "But it damn sure feels like a lifetime."

Theatrically, Zanasha held the back of her free hand to her brow. "I am stricken; my husband tires of me already. Woe, alack, and similar human words."

"Oh, shut up." Topher pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately; she slipped her hand behind his neck and ran her fingers lovingly over his bald head, a smile flickering across her lips even as they exchanged kiss after kiss. Eventually, reluctantly, he let her go; they weren't exactly under a time limit, but he didn't want to put this off any longer than he needed to. "I don't suppose Orcish has a word for 'alack'?"

"Its vocabulary," she murmured, releasing him to take hold of his arm again, "is not nearly as robust as the human tongue. The closest thing would likely be 'Goh'ngzka', which roughly translates to 'unfair hunger'. Most commonly used when someone else has taken the choicest cut of meat from your kill." She tossed her vibrant red hair, her expression thoughtful. "I think I may have let it slip once or twice before."

Topher chuckled. "It does sound familiar." His eyes slid up and to the left, remembering. "Maybe that time when we just missed the last tickets for the Fantasia?"

His bride's face fell. "Ak'zul. I had hoped you had forgotten." She looked at the ground, chastened; her mouth quirked, but not as mirthfully as he might have hoped. "I fear I did not behave very responsibly that day."

"You mean the part where you asked me to summon up magic tickets to get us in?" Topher smirked, enjoying her embarrassment; Jesus Christ, she's the cutest woman alive. "I think you got a pretty good consolation prize, though."

She sighed. "I suppose my own personal floating chariot to view it from the skies may have been a little more than I was entitled to. One day, husband, I shall have to insist you stop spoiling me."

"Never gonna happen, babe." He kissed the back of her hand, then patted it gently, and led her onward.

They ventured down onto the broader plain; occasional small dells and clusters of trees drifted by like shadows as they made their way towards the city in the distance. They were nearly halfway to their destination when something caught Zanasha's eye; she tugged on Topher's elbow, a broad smile on her tusked face. "Husband! Husband, look!"

Squinting, Topher gazed in the direction she indicated; amidst a low cluster of thick grass and weeds, there was a small shrub that looked different from the rest of the vegetation. It was about two and a half feet tall, with perfectly round leaves; and nestled amongst the spindly, delicate branches were clusters of a small, dark shapes that toed the line roguishly between fruit and berry. Amused, he let Zanasha drag him over to it; she rested her hands on her hips, beaming down at it, and he had to laugh. "You look like you're admiring your craftsmanship, dear."

"You mean Hana-chan's craftsmanship," she corrected him, smiling; bending down, she plucked a pair of the dark fruitlets and held one out in front of his face by her fingertips. "Say 'graah'."

Topher, charmed, obediently opened his mouth, then bit down on the pome when it met his tongue; the juice, tart and sweet with a flavor vaguely between a blackberry and a salty lime, poured out in a satisfying gush that cooled, soothed, and satiated him while leaving a dulled, tart aftertaste that made him not want to eat a second one. "Turned out pretty good," he mumbled around the flesh of the drupe as he chewed; spitting out the hard seed within, he swallowed and made a face. "I still think we should have gone with mint for the aftertaste, though."

"Hush, husband," she reproved him gently; eating her own berry with relish, she bit down hard on the seed and chewed it with several satisfied crunching noises. "I had thought I would need my Unique Skill to consume the seed, but it is not as hard as I expected."

"Yeah, it's closer to a sunflower seed," Topher agreed. "Extra protein and fiber if you need it; further distribution of the plant if you don't. The main benefit's hydration and nutrition; more water than cucumber, more electrolytes than watermelon, and more vitamins than plums. At the first summit, everybody agreed; food security is definitely the world's biggest problem right now, and it could happen again in the future." He sighed. "One of the first things I discovered is how easy it was to break the regeneration of resources here; when the war messed up food production and distribution, the impact was way worse than it would have been in my world. So introducing a new, invasive plant that's got optimized nutrition, self-limiting consumption, and is unappetizing to animals seemed like a safe first attempt. Who knows how it'll all end up, though."

Zanasha crouched down, stroking the little round leaves; she smiled, her expression a pure conduit of uncomplication. "It is good. We have made this world richer, though the measure may be small." She stood, moving back over to him and taking his arm again. "A good first step, beloved."

"Yeah." Topher nodded, a smile fighting its way past his natural disposition. "As Acts of God go, I've seen worse."

----------------------------------------

The copse of trees was unchanged from their last visit; the great divots in the earth Topher had clawed open with his hands had healed somewhat, washed and smoothed by rainfall in the preceding three months, but the marks were still easily discerned. Topher stepped over them on his way down towards the lowest point of the thicket, where a sleek river trickled through the lowest point of the wood. A few wolves had sniffed at them as they'd passed, but fled from Zanasha's amused glance each time; probably figured out we're not the Level 1s they normally tussle with, he'd thought to himself with amusement. Reaching their destination, he felt his palms sweating slightly; everything had gone according to plan so far, but he hadn't counted on being this strongly affected. "I need a minute," he confessed, sitting down on a mossy rock near the water's edge. "I thought I was prepared, but... it's difficult."

Zanasha crouched down next to him, her eyes full of worry. "You need not do this, husband. Things may continue as they are for as long as we desire; do we not rush unduly?" She bit her lip delicately, her leftmost tusk poking up adorably; Topher gazed upon her with contentment, soothed by her nearness.

"I want to," he disagreed, shaking his head. "The spell that the Infinite King -- well, all the Infinite Kings, really -- tried so hard to suppress was sealed for a reason. But Hana did the hard work of applying the Edict we came up with to make it work; all we need now is to confirm it." He looked around, taking in the sights and sounds with as much of his attention as he could spare; even now, this place made his head ache and his pulse pound. Old wounds die hard, a voice in his mind observed. "But it's your choice too," he added; "This affects you as much as it does me. I mean, after all, it's your world; your choice."

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"Our world," the half-orc corrected him, blinking slowly and touching his cheek gently; her fingertips trailed through his short beard, lingering. "I have no doubts, husband. Let us make the attempt; one way or another, all will be well."

Topher sighed, then nodded. "Okay. If you're sure." He took her hand, squeezing it a final time, then let go; walking to the water's edge, he raised his hands and closed his eyes. One way or another. Either way, there's no turning back after this. Taking a deep breath, he began.

"Koth Elrr Akq Eid Tanok," he intoned, drawing the sign for Yttr with his left hand. "Phii Rosh Ib Meigu Xipk, Rxs Orv Cairei Poq Kuul; Ozi Moxix Bomch, Suu Yxo Danx Korpu." With each incantation, he drew another rune in the air; they hung, illuminated with white light, where his fingertips had passed.

Rosh. Zu. Mij. With each pass, the magic took hold; light, golden and shining, began to gather before him in the heart of the forest, near a young willow tree.

"We'll be opening a box we can't close, Topher," Hana had said. "These restrictions... you really think they'll be enough?"

He'd shrugged. "We can't know; only hope. But we don't have to repeat the same mistakes. We can make new ones instead."

The spell had already come with a big stack of its own conditions; clearly, somebody else had tried to plug the obvious holes before whichever previous Infinite King had clamped down on it. But they'd added their own; predicting the future was hard work, but everyone had chipped in. They hadn't made the decision on their own; it affected everyone. And, succeed or fail, not making the attempt was worse; everyone had been unanimous.

Still the spell continued, rune after rune; the light was already so bright he couldn't see anything around him. His hands came together, cupped around a pulsing core of energy that had manifested between them; it required, he realized, a personal touch. He held it gently; between his palms, it pulsed once, twice, three times, like the beating heart of a bird.

And then, suddenly, it was over; the tension in the air swelled to a crescendo, then evaporated, leaving behind a breathless calm and quiet. He lowered his hands, afraid to open his eyes; behind him, Zanasha stepped close and slipped one hand into his. "Husband," she breathed, but no other words followed.

Finally, Topher couldn't stand it anymore; he opened his eyes, breathed, and took a step forward. Then a second, and then a third; by the water's edge, he reached down to the base of the willow tree and took hold of a hand that hadn't been there a moment ago.

Eyes opened; lips parted. Breath filled a chest given form by hope; a first and hesitant blow against sorrow and loss. A confused, disoriented gaze met his own, mutely asking for understanding as he helped her to her feet.

"Welcome back," said Topher to Haruko Ikehara.

She blinked, cocked her head slightly to one side; her dark bob of hair fell around her eyes, straining for recognition. "...Bailey-sensei?" she stammered, mystified. "I was somewhere dark... sleeping, I think..." She glanced anxiously around; her hand clutched his, hesitant and fearful. "Where are we?"

"Home, kid." Gently, he wrapped his arms around her in a hug; perplexed but unresisting, she hugged him back, closing her eyes as he looked over her shoulder to Zanasha's triumphant, hopeful smile. "You're home."

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"What confuses me the most," Makoto huffed, ladling another spoonful of curry onto her plate, "is that your stupid old man brain would pretend to be Hotaka-kun to trick you. Wouldn't it be smarter to pretend to be, like, somebody you wouldn't question?"

Hotaka shook his head, using a flat little paddle to spoon rice onto his own plate; the curry swirled and melted into its edges, staining a few grains golden brown. "Not necessarily, Makoto-chan. One may feel a desire to rebel against authority figures; but a trusted junior person who supports you may be less likely to be perceived as a threat." He sat down at the long table Topher had conjured, looking out over the snowy landscape below the tower's expansive windows. "Though I do feel quite honored that Bailey-sensei's subconscious would choose me to deliver its counsel." He smiled, bowing to Topher from his seated position.

Topher rolled his eyes, filling a pair of pitchers with tea; I can't believe these little freaks drink unsweet tea. Just insane. "Don't get a fat head, kid. I think my brain just figured you were a big enough nerd to understand magic wizard shit." He set the pitchers down on the long table, admiring his handiwork; the long table, flanked by six chairs, was covered end-to-end with enough food and desserts to make everybody present sick. "Any more requests, or should I keep summoning cakes until the floor gives out? I do have limited MP, you know."

"Indeed," Zanasha murmured, eyes bright as she filled her own plate and sat down; she plucked a pair of chopsticks up from her napkin and began to arrange them between her fingers with careful precision. "Another few pastries, and you might dip below a quarter-million."

"No, no, Bailey-sensei, you have done more than enough," Haruko stammered, blushing and bowing her head repeatedly. "Such generosity is already more than we deserve." She pressed her palms together, murmuring "I humbly receive," under her breath, then began to pick daintily at the motley collection of food on her own plate; Topher was amused to see that it was a discordant mixture of vegetables and tiny sweets. "Conjuring food from thin air... it seems like a wondrous power."

"You might be able to learn it too, for all we know," Topher said with a shrug. "Since you get MP from your Unique Skill rather than your Class, the possibilities are anybody's guess." He filled his own plate, then sat down next to Zanasha; she scooted her own chair closer to his, and he smiled and kissed her scarred green cheek with a deep-seated sense of satisfaction and happiness. "Eat up, kids. Your mother and I are expecting a lot of growing out of you."

Everyone laughed, although with different degrees of awkwardness; Hotaka seemed faintly bemused, while Makoto seemed to find the entire idea ridiculous and fumed slightly at the implications. But Haruko seemed the most affected; she blushed again, her long-lashed eyes flicking around the table furtively. "Will... will it be disrespectful if I do not refer to you as 'father' and 'mother'?" She dropped her eyes back to her plate. "I am grateful, but..."

"But you have a real mom and dad, back in the other world," Topher agreed, nodding. "I was just joking, Haruko. All three of you are free to go wherever you want and do whatever you want; but if you want to stay with us, you'll always be welcome." He took Zanasha's hand; she intertwined her fingers with his, gripping his palm with an intense emotion he couldn't unpack. "We probably won't have kids of our own, but even if we do, I'll always consider you three family. Sorry if that's embarrassing."

"Well, I'll say it's embarrassing!" Makoto scoffed. "Wouldn't that make Hotaka, like, my brother?"

Hotaka leered; he put down his chopsticks and reached over as if to grab her waist. "What's the matter, Makoto-chan? Give your brother a kiss." She squealed and shoved him away, blushing furiously, but Topher could see her fighting down a smile. He relented, picking up his chopsticks again, and lofted another chunk of rice and curry into his mouth with expert skill.

Everyone ate silently for a while after that; it was, Topher had to admit, a lot for everyone to process. But as the excitement died down, the elephant in the room began to draw everyone's eyes by degrees; the empty sixth chair, next to Topher on the table's far side.

Haruko was the first to speak; dropping her napkin on her empty plate, she looked down at the ground and sighed. "I know the situation is... complicated. But... it doesn't feel... right." She raised her eyes to the others, sadness filling them like snowglobes. "Couldn't... couldn't we forgive him?"

"I forgave him a long time ago," Topher sighed, putting his fork down, "but there's nothing I can do. The Resurrection spell has a lot of requirements, Haruko, and one of them is that the target has to be Level 1." He shook his head. "Noboru was Level 2 -- a Level, I might add, that he gained from murdering somebody else, an innocent bystander who was one of the first people to help us in this world." Whatever his reasons. "A person that, I might add, was the son and brother of two of the people who helped save it."

Makoto scowled, throwing her chopsticks down and crossing her arms. "Haruko, the hell with that fatty. He stabbed us, remember? You really gonna sit there and mope that he's not gonna get the chance to do it again?!"

Haruko dropped her gaze again. "N-no. I just..."

"He was my friend too." Hotaka's voice caught everyone by surprise; Topher looked over to him, watching him chew a mouthful of rice and curry thoughtfully. "And I think I knew him the best." Gently, he set his chopsticks down; blotting his mouth with a napkin, he stood up and bowed very deeply to Topher. "So I hope you will not think poorly of me if I say that Noboru-kun would not be grateful to be returned to life. He made his choices; we can best honor them by respecting them." He sat down again and picked his chopsticks back up, then reached out to pluck an apple turnover from an overflowing plate. "And I am pretty sure I know the best way to remember him."

Despite himself, Topher smiled; one by one, the others all nodded, reaching out to load up their plates with sweets and confections of all kinds. Even Zanasha, who normally ate sugar with great restraint, heaped pastries and other desserts so high upon her dish that Topher couldn't even see it; he smiled, his love for her like a burning star within his chest. And she didn't even know the little bastard. Yariel was right to pick me to fight; she would have crushed him beneath the sheer weight of her heart.

----------------------------------------

Later, when all the food was gone, Hotaka shoved his chair back and wobbled to a couch nearby; with a heavy exhale, he flopped onto it and stared up at the ceiling. "I may perish a second time from gluttony, Bailey-sensei."

"You'd better fucking not," Topher admonished him. "The Resurrection spell only works once on any given target; it's a second chance, for innocents who didn't get a fair shake. You kids are all out of extra lives, so you'd better look both ways before you cross the street."

Haruko, who was perched in a chair near the window with her knees drawn up, stirred; she looked over at the two of them, her expression thoughtful. "What about our Magic Stones? Could you not revive at least our memories, as you did the dragon in your story?"

"Noboru-kun ate our Magic Stones, dummy," Makoto hissed; she turned over onto her stomach and hid her face beneath her hands. "Why did you guys let me eat so much?! I am gonna throw up."

Topher shrugged. "You'll probably grow new ones, honestly. But Vashyarl and Irineth were ancient and really fucked up; even if you live that long, I doubt yours will get powerful enough to do anything like that." He leaned back in his chair and sighed, shifting carefully so as not to disturb Zanasha; she murmured against his shoulder, not quite asleep but making fast progress. "And even if I could use somebody's Magic Stone to bring them back, I'm pretty sure they'd come back wrong; Irineth and Vashyarl's echoes weren't people, they were the damage they'd left behind. One of the biggest dangers during all that bullshit was that Vashyarl's shade would escape Sahlerra's control; it would have been like unleashing something from a monster movie."

"Like Gojira," Hotaka offered; Topher noticed Zanasha's mouth quirk into smile and imagined her inner thought at the comment. Hey, I understood that reference!

"Pretty much, yeah." Topher sighed, resisting the urge to burp. "But, like I said, unless you get really strong and high-Level, your Stones probably won't grow much at all."

Makoto heaved herself up onto her side, her expression grim. "Fat chance of that. You and Haruko-chan get all kinds of spells that can change the whole world; all Monks probably get is Super Flashy Punch 5."

"I do not believe so," Hotaka disagreed, surprising them all; he dangled partway off the couch, his eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling. "Much of what Bailey-sensei told us intrigued me; the combinations of our Skills, our Classes, and our personas likely have impressive potential as F-Rankers." He waved vaguely at Haruko. "Haruko-chan, for example, might have a Class which combines with her Flower Magic to enable her to create spells or spell effects which grow on their own, or even spread seeds and germinate."

"Hey, yeah," Topher shouted, startling Zanasha out of her doze; he murmured an apology and laid back down, thinking. "Varissian's Swan Sorcery spells are alive, and they can do shit like move around on their own; as a result, he can do incredible things with even Level 1 spells. Who knows what sort of bullshit he'll be able to pull off when Kelfir completes his training?"

"Probably some fancy crap way better than anything a Monk can do," Makoto complained. "And how would my Class and my Unique Skill work together anyway? Control Smoke is even more of a joke than your power -- no offense, Bailey-sama."

"It is possible," said Hotaka, very seriously, "that you could become the strongest of us, Makoto-chan." She gave him a skeptical glance, but he shook his head. "The Monk Class likely contains Skills which allow for control or mystical infusion of one's breath; it is a common trope in our world, like in the manga Demon Slayer. Using your Unique Skill to control the 'smoke' of one's own spiritual energy could have many impressive applications -- potentially even surpassing those of a spellcaster." He looked thoughtful. "Provided you still wish to become an adventurer and raise your Level, of course."

"Fuck yeah I do!" Makoto jumped up from the floor, then grabbed her stomach and turned slightly green. "Uh oh. Oh -- urp -- shit."

"First door on the right," Topher commented; the young woman sprinted from the room, her hand over her mouth. He laughed, watching her go; everybody's gotta learn the hard way.

"I do not know if I wish to raise my Level, however," Hotaka continued, surprising Topher; he turned towards the bespectacled boy and raised an eyebrow. "I unlocked my Class this morning," he explained; his heavy brows knotted together over the rims of his glasses, the corners of his mouth turning down. "It is Student. The same as the previous Infinite King; an ominous sign. Perhaps it would be best if I were to remain powerless."

"Buddy," chuckled Topher, "if you think you can take the Infinite Rulership from Hana, go for it; you'll find out real fast exactly how tough it can be to fight God." He spent a few moments being amused at the idea, then shook his head. "But I think deciding whether or not to Level up has to be your own choice, and I don't know that it should be made out of fear. This whole world was made to be a place where people could make those kinds of choices in the fullness of time, without hurting other people; the First Hero created monsters so that little adventurers would have something to fight, slay, and Level up on without a moral crisis coming along for the ride." He stretched out, then gathered Zanasha up against him more tightly; she snuggled in closer and made pleased noises. "I'll admit I don't know exactly how Summon Vegetable could become a world-shattering Cheat Skill, but I'll bet you do."

"Some thoughts have occurred to me," Hotaka admitted relucantly. "But I agree that it is a choice I do not need to make now." He fell silent for a while, then rose with difficulty from the couch. "I believe I shall turn in; are we still expected to visit Muchenje-san and the King of Sheonn in the morning?"

"'Expected', is probably inventing a little extra obligation," Topher denied. "I told them we might swing by, that's all. They wanted to meet you all, but it's mostly that they're getting antsy about heirs; I'm pretty sure they'll want to know if Hana and I can magic up some kind of way for two dudes to have a baby. I'll probably just tell them to adopt." He gently disentangled himself from Zanasha, then gathered her up in his arms; she was heavy, but he was strong enough now to do it with a little effort. He smiled down at her, nestling her head against his chest. "I'm a pretty big fan of adoption."

Hotaka nodded; a small, hopeful smile played across his mouth. "Very well. Until tomorrow, Bailey-sensei." Stepping carefully past Topher, he disappeared down the hall.

Topher made his way into another room, far away from the others, and laid his wife gently down upon the great soft bed there; she murmured reluctantly, reaching out for him, and he kissed her fingertips gently. "I'll come to bed in a minute." Mollified, she turned over, stealing most of the covers in the process; he chuckled and returned to the dining hall, banishing all the plates and leftover crumbs before dismissing the table and chairs back into the ether from which they'd come. It wasn't actually necessary -- they were as real as furniture made from regular trees -- but Topher liked cleaning up. If he wanted permanent furniture, he'd buy it from elves or dwarves. Racist, muttered the distant part of his mind, which made him chuckle.

Turning away with satisfaction from the now-empty den, he noticed that Haruko was still awake; even after everyone else had drifted away, she was still looking out upon the snow with a pensive expression. He was reluctant to bother her, but when he began to steal away, she murmured his name; surprised, he turned around and came back over to her. "Everything okay?"

The girl took a long time to answer, eventually, she turned to him, then looked back out the window. "My mother's name was Yuki; it means 'snow' in Japanese. My grandmother named her that way because she thought the Japanese language was beautiful, even though she never learned to speak it as well as Korean." She bit her lip. "I had... I don't know. A fantasy, I guess; that there might somehow be a way home for us."

Topher winced; he hadn't forgotten her dying words before. "Yeah. I'm sorry, kid."

"No, Bailey-sama, that's not what I mean." She reached out and caught his sleeve; then, all of a sudden, she was standing up, speaking earnestly into his face. "You gave us -- all of us -- a second chance at life. A chance we never had back in our old world. I wasn't wishing I could go back to them." She shook her head, then unexpectedly stepped forward, burying her face in his chest. "I was wishing I could bring them here," she mumbled into the cloth of his robe.

Awkwardly, Topher patted her back and said nothing; eventually, she withdrew, sniffling and wiping her face. Embarrassed, she bid him a swift good-night and retreated to her own room; Topher, left behind, spent a long time staring out the window himself.

The tower, he thought to himself, was a good compromise; it looked impressive to the Archmages, kept the wildlife out, and gave people a place to look for him in the snowy wilds of northern Thoxen as a sort of counterpoint to Hana's own tower in the Demense. They were almost perfectly diametrically opposed; she at the southernmost point of the continent, and he at the northernmost. Between their two towers, he could almost imagine a line or tightrope, stretching out across the land in a way that branched off over and over to each of the ten billion responsibilities that they both shared.

Then, just as he was about to go to bed, a soft chime rang out; and there was a little thump in a small box upon the counter in the kitchen. Blinking, he strolled slowly over and opened the box; inside, a small piece of paper rested, folded neatly and with great severity. Bemused, he pulled it out and unfolded it.

Topher:

Are you and the kids available for lunch or something next week? I want to geek out about anime and JP TV shows. Bring Zee too, I found a demon-made tea she'll like.

白兼花

Topher smiled; summoning his Stylus, he sketched a quick reply and dropped the note back into the box; with a swirl of magic, it disappeared, and he knew a similar chime would herald its arrival at the other end. Turning away, he began to pad quietly down the hall to his bedroom.

This is how it starts, a cold voice said in his head dully; with resignation, he recognized it as Yariel's. I miss my mom. I want to hear about how the next season of Super Punch Guy ended. Just one quick Summoning. And Sahlerra will eventually become a problem too... Archmage ruling the largest nation, with what's now the highest Intelligence... until somebody finds another one of those tomes...

Sighing, he knew it was true; the temptation would always be there, for others if not for him. But temptation wasn't damnation; he knew that better than anybody.

Hanging up his robe, he climbed carefully into the bed next to Zanasha; she mumbled and reached out for him, and he let her draw him into his arms and nestle his head against her as his own arms slipped under her neck and around her waist. Holding her close, he felt his heart shiver within him at the impossibility of everything -- hopeful and yet trepidatious, satisfied and yet anxious to lose all the precious things he'd gained. But her solid presence soothed him; slowly, his eyes began to close. There would always be more risks, he knew, more problems and more dangers; even things that could threaten him and Hana, like the Guardian of the Vault and other banes and calamities yet undiscovered. But the words he'd heard, over and over, welled up within his mind; mixed into his memories, they lulled him off to sleep.

To fail is no sin, Master Bailey. Especially not in comparison to those who do not even make the attempt.

It may not succeed, but... will you make the attempt?

It appears you must make the attempt, despite the risk.

A worthy experiment, given what I have seen of your aptitude. Let us make the attempt.

"If I give you an opening, can you make it work?" "Yes. I can but make the attempt, but... yes."

One can but make the attempt, Christopher.

I have no doubts, husband. Let us make the attempt; one way or another, all will be well.

Yeah. It's a start.