“Hello Ian,” the card swipe lady, Octavia, says as I walk through the archway. I’m surprised I remember her name.

“Octavia,” I beam. “How are you?”

“Fine.” Her expression grows pensive. “You okay?”

What? “I’m fine, why?”

“Oh, nothing. Have a good one, dear.”

I’m not acting any differently than usual...am I? I’ve gotten my act together and I’m no longer outwardly jittering. I suppose it’s more than possible that my mannerisms have changed.

Regardless, I head over to get some food. At 8:30 in the morning on a weekend, the line is only two people long. I help myself to eggs, hash browns, and sausages and grab a glass of soda.

As I sit down, I think about what I’m doing.

I’m back at school, in the cafe. I’m about to eat a plateful of food. Warm, hot food, nothing like the cold stuff I poached yesterday. Y’jeni, I’m hungry.

I grab a fork and hold it out in front of me. Out in Illuet, where Menocht Bay is situated, people use their hands to eat everything. How long has it been since I used a fork?

“Ian!” someone calls out from behind. “Eating with anyone?”

My eye twitches before I turn around. It takes me a moment, but I remember her name. “Oh, hey Veronica.” I gesture to the seat across from me. “Be my guest.”

“Great! Be right back.”

Veronica lives in the dorm underneath mine. We’re in the same year, so I’ve known her for a while. We’re on generally good terms, but by no means close friends. Thinking back, I didn’t really have close friends: I had surrounded myself with a network of friendly acquaintances.

By the time she returns, I’m almost done with my plate. I consider getting seconds as she asks, “So, what’s up?”

“Nothing really. Why?”

She tilts her head. “Just asking.”

“He had a nightmare,” Xander says from behind. He pulls out the chair to my right. “Right, Ian?”

Thanks for telling Veronica, I mentally sigh. But hey, what do I care? “Yep. Horrible nightmare. I’m super tired because of it.”

“Oh no! Have you considered going to the nurse’s office at Campus Central? She can probably give you a boost to get you through the day.”

I snort, replying, “I don’t need to go to the nurse because I’m tired.”

“I’ve done it before!” Veronica exclaims. “Seriously. One night I was so worried about an exam that I couldn’t get any sleep at all. I was so worried about going into the test unrested that I called up my Dean and asked her for help. She told me to go to the nurse and, as you can guess, problem solved.”

“Maybe.” Going to the nurse because of fatigue, worrying about tests? Heavens, I’d trade tests written in classical Thakkish in exchange for dealing with ginger any day of the week.

Xander returns with a plate of food and begins to eat. “What’re you guys planning to do for winter formal?” he asks.

Literally the furthest thing from my mind. “Um...”

“I’m going with Rod,” Veronica says after swallowing a bite of food. “Already have my dress and everything.”

“When is winter formal?”

The two of them raise their eyebrows. “Seriously?” Xander says. “You’re pretty dense, but they’ve been advertising it all over.”

“Even in the bathrooms,” Veronica chimed in. “Every single stall has a flyer in it.”

“Guys, I’m tired as all hell. When is winter formal? Just tell me.”

“In five days,” Xander says. “Friday.”

I breathe in deeply. “Okay. Well, I’ll let you know once I have any updates.”

“Awe, man, you mean you didn’t ask Laura?”

Who? “...No.”

Veronica looks between the two of us, then laughs. “Better get your act together, Dunai,” she says, expression playful. “The clock is ticking.”

“Y’know what, Veronica, I think I will check out the nurse. I’ll see you guys both around.” I gather up my plate, silverware, and cup and push in my chair. Before I leave, though, I give them both a forced smile.

I’m really not up for conversation right now. What I really want is to get off of campus.

As I wait for the bus, I can’t help but think that things were much easier in a world with no consequences. I could whisk myself into the air and raise an army of dead without worry. Now? I’m waiting outside in the cold.

I end up at a cafe with barely any recollection of how I got there. I took the bus for twenty minutes, hopped off, and walked around, trudging through the fresh snow until I ended up here. The cafe is warm, unfamiliar, and open...the perfect combination.

All I want is a space to be alone with my thoughts without someone interrupting.

The plan works...at least for twenty minutes. Then, a random person taps on my shoulder. If I hadn’t sensed them coming I would’ve been startled.

“Um, excuse me, is that seat open?” The man is referring to the seat in front of me, of course.

I roll my eyes before turning around. “It’s open.”

He nods. “Excellent.” Then he sits, and just stares at me.

“Who are you?” he finally asks.

I run a hand through my hair. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t be more than twenty-five,” he remarks. “How is the energy of death so strong around you?”

I blink. “You can see that?” I cycle the energy that I picked up on the way over. Honestly, it’s not very much energy at all, just some leftover remnants from roadkill and animals dead of natural causes. The bus hadn’t even passed a hospital.

“I see it clear as day,” the man replies, folding his arms over the table. “What are you planning on using that energy for, if you don’t mind me asking?"

I speak the truth, for once. “Not planning anything.” I’ve resolved to reorient myself in my old life before I engage in any serious practice of decemancy. The restrictions on decemancy are numerous enough that I might just end up with an outstanding warrant for arrest if I’m careless.

“What’s your family name?”

I sigh. “I think I’m just gonna go.” He doesn’t stop me, but by the time I’m back at the bus and handing the driver my bus card, I realize the man slipped a business card into my pocket.

Maybe he did it when he tapped on my shoulder, back when he asked for the seat. I can’t think of another time that he had access to my pocket.

I flip the card between my fingers as the bus drives off. Walter E. Cristien. Wind Elementalist. Investigator of Preternatural Affairs at the Bureau of Issues and Answers.

I cough dryly. An investigator, huh? Does he think that just because I’m a decemancer, I’m involved in the occult? I’m surprised that he had the affinity to even notice my aura. Maybe he has some kind of device that lets him sense it, or a minor Life or Death affinity.

I ponder what to do next. Not just school, but everything in my damned life from before seems trivial. I never gave serious thought to what would happen once I escaped the time loop.

Maybe I should have.

I definitely should have.

—

I end up at Temple Beach. It’s cold and overcast so I’m the only one here, which is the point. The feel of the wind buffeting my hair is familiar, along with the sounds of the ocean and the countless blips of vitality around me. As I stare off into the distance, I half expect to see that familiar ship...

I shake my head and flex my hands, circulating warmth back into them. I wave my hand, bringing a cluster of shells up from the sand to cover my face like a mask.

Good. Anonymity, in case anyone sees.

Then I drag myself forward over the water, putting on speed until I’m gliding over the gray waves faster than anything in the water below me.

I’m glad that at least this much is real. Whatever happened–or didn’t happen–in the time loop, learning how to move myself around like this is undoubtedly a boon.

After I proceed about five miles out, I start to gather up bones beneath me. Soon, a giant, pink-red bone-whale crests out of the top of a wave and falls back down on its back. I smile at the spectacle and make more bone constructs, adding an entourage of dancing dolphins and a school of flying fish.

I did something like this several cycles back, when I was passing time on the cruise ship before it docked into the bay. They aren’t true animated bone constructs like the wyrm since they lack soul gems and foci, but they’re outwardly similar if I’m actively controlling them.

After fifteen minutes, my teeth begin to chatter and I realize that I’m wet and cold and that I might actually want to go to the nurse. Not for exhaustion, but for freeze.

Flying myself over the ocean while wet is agonizing, especially when my hair is starting to freeze and my shoes are soaking wet. Why did I decide to do this? Because I wanted to make sure I still could?

Shit. I see my vitality graying before my eyes. Definitely need to go to the nurse. I’d forgotten just how cold northern weather could be. Am I really so obtuse? I wonder in incredulity. I know that my sense of pain has dulled after everything, but to not realize that I’m freezing to death is something else entirely. Maybe I’ve also lost survival instincts after carelessly dying so many times.

I really don’t have time to wait for the bus. Maybe going into a warm building will be enough. I just need to warm up a little...

Before I leave the ocean, I take a handful of bones and direct them under my clothes, trying to use their energy-infused contours as a source of warmth. It seems to help, but only just barely, and looks mildly ridiculous, forming rigid lumps under my clothes. I toss the bones behind me and return to the shore.

Upon reaching the end of the beach, I choose to glide rather than walk on the sidewalk. Snow banks frosting the sides of the road offer decent cover–I simply glide behind them, obscuring my feet.

By the time I return to the more populated part of town, the cold has thoroughly seeped into my bones. If only I could dry my clothes, or walk as fast as I could fly. Having someone like Jeremy who could conjure up a fire and banish moisture would be invaluable.

This part of town seems kind of run down, with a few store windows barred up. I walk into the first one I see with an “open” sign and lights on. The sign outside reads, Pan’s Precious Stones and Other Goods.

“Welcome,” an elderly woman says from across the room, her hands resting on the counter. “Welcome to Pan’s.”

I give her a small wave and thank my lucky stars that the room has a space heater. I give her a smile. “Going to be honest with you, I’m just looking for a place out of the cold.” When I hold my hands out over the heater, I notice how much they’re shaking.

“Oh, goodness!” she exclaims. “You poor thing! You look half frozen.” She sets something down on the counter and runs back to a closet. She emerges with a yellow towel and hands it to me. “Take this off,” she scolds, helping me out of my sweatshirt. She wraps the towel over my shoulders and places my unzipped sweatshirt over one of her chairs. “Went outside without a jacket...all wet...” I hear her grumble.

“Thanks for the towel,” I say once my teeth stop chattering. By now, the vitality has crept back into my extremities.

No need to go to the nurse after all. Maybe.

“So tell me about this place,” I say. It’s clearly a local shop, probably owned by the woman herself.

“Well,” she begins, “this place–Pan’s–has been in my family for three generations now.”

“Long time,” I observe.

“It is.”

“So what exactly do you sell here?”

She laughs. “Well, in terms of what we actually manage to sell, mostly these books over here.” I turn around to see her point at a bookshelf full of Spirit Art guidebooks on the beyond. I scoff.

“I know, I know,” she sighs. “But people want what they want.”

“What’s the rest of this stuff taking up 90% of your floor space?”

She smiles. “Everything else is precious stones. Not the kind you’d use for jewelry–though many people come in and make that mistake. Specifically, they’re tools and reagents for practitioners of the Arts.”

I nod along.

“Not many people skilled in the Arts trust privately-owned shops like this for their reagents,” she sighs. “Too many things could go wrong if they use the wrong kind of focus or stone.”

Makes sense, unfortunately. What she said is right: using the wrong kind of reagent could backfire, especially at the lower affinity levels when stone foci are most commonly consumed.

“Shame,” I murmur. I’m feeling well enough to leave the immediate proximity of the heater and begin to walk around the shop. I appreciate how cozy the place is with its rustic wood paneling and its carpet-covered floors.

“Did someone die here?” I murmur out loud, not intending to be overheard.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing,” I call back.

“My husband died a few months back,” she says solemnly. “We lived in the loft above.” Ah. So that explains the residual energy of death dripping down from the ceiling like an unpatched leak. I draw the energy out, leaving the space above clean.

I make my way around the shop, looking at the various reagents and inspecting those that give off subtle auras.

“I’m feeling better,” I state as I come to the front counter. I grab my still-damp jacket off of the chair and grudgingly stick my arms into it, then run the towel through my hair one more time before draping it over the chair in my jacket’s place.

The woman looks at me carefully. “If you ever need a place to be at peace, you’re always welcome in this shop.”

I give her a nod before sliding my shoes back on and heading out into the snow and sleet, reaching the nearest bus stop just in time to catch the next shuttle heading back to Academia Hector.

When I step into my room, Xander’s working at his desk. “Hey,” he says in greeting. “See the nurse?”

“Nah,” I reply while hanging up my jacket. “I got some coffee, though.”

Xander grunts. “Well, at least that’s something.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling much better now.”

“Why are you all wet?” he asks, frowning.

“It’s snowing,” I point out, cocking my eyebrow.

“Not that hard.”

I shrug. “Hard enough to make my sweatshirt wet.” I take off my shoes and place my socks in the hamper. While I’m at it, I also pick up the socks piled around the hamper on the ground.

Seeing Xander working on homework reminds me...I probably have things to do, though who knows what: I sure don’t remember.

“I really think you should see the nurse,” Xander insists. “You’re still acting out of it. Maybe you’re coming down with something.”

I look over in his direction. “Maybe.”

“It’d make me feel better if you went and got checked out,” he replied. “If you get sick, there’s a 99% chance that I’m gonna get sick, too.”

I give him an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” Besides, maybe the nurse can restore more heat into my body. I still feel cold, even after the hospitality at Pan’s.