“-And he ROARED as he FLUNG them to the earth, stomping until their BONES BROKE and their FLESH WAS RED PULP-”

He found Inkspur by a campfire, loudly recounting the tales of Nic slaughtering ten human warriors. It was about as accurate you could expect, considering Inkspur had been nowhere nearby to see it, but it was enthralling the warriors who sat and chewed on skewers of rabbit around a cookfire.

They cheered the moment they caught sight of Nic. Before he could protest he was being pulled into a seat by the fire, given food, given drink, clapped on the back. People were glad to see him. He was the hero of the day.

“I-” A skewer of roast rabbit was pushed into his hand. The golden-brown, deliciously greasy meat was coated in spots of flaking black char from the fire. The meat was coated in a salty-sweet sauce, sticky and tasting faintly of tart, rich berries.

“Inkspur-” Somebody filled a drinking horn with amber mead for him, and before it reached him a soldier had taken out a crystal flask and poured in a clear shot of minty, medicinal tasting liquor to strengthen the brew.

“Yes? I’ve been telling them of your DARING EXPLOITS. Of the terror you struck in the human camp! How you cut the earth from under their feet and set FLAME to their ships!” The little wyvern proudly puffed up. “And how I helped!”

And for a second Nic wanted to argue.

But it was true - except for Inkspur helping. He’d done all those things. And more.

So instead, he said, “You should tell them about the time I stole away a mantis princess imprisoned in a tower. You know. After navigating a nest of giant spiders, dueling her guard, and climbing the tower with my bare hands…”

Inkspur’s jaw flopped open.

Nic grinned. Warming up despite himself, despite the ache of knowing the last time he sat around a campfire with friends was way back when he and Tawley and the rest camped out in the dream-realm before it all went wrong.

He felt alive as he began to spin the tale, and listen to Inkspur spin it again, until it was blown out of all proportion.

Redjaw and Sunfire slipped from his arms, uncoiling from his tattoos with swirls of ink-black energy. In the background someone played a harp made from turtle-shell. His hands grasped at the air and described the swing of swords, the clash of weapons, the brutal fall from the heights as he kicked the mantis-guard through the tower’s window…

---

Nic finally left the campfire feeling pleasantly overstuffed with cooked, spiced food, and more than slightly drunk. He rotated his cultivation and shed enough of the intoxication to make the buzz manageable, leaving only a floating lightness of mind.

He felt good. It had been- too long. The golden feeling of good food in his stomach was matched by the glow of idle conversation, companionship, laughter around him. And it was still early in the morning.

Even knowing he had to set out to save Tarquin as soon as possible-

Nic wanted to spend a little more time on this feeling.

He dropped by the greensinger’s workshop, listening to the old, somber-voiced elf sing ivory branches into shape. With every motion of his hands and command of his voice the living wood was shaped by his will, taking the forms he wished. Not just bows, but spears, shields, armor made of curling and interlocked roots, helmets with stag antlers extending up from the alabaster crown.

The singer was getting ready to outfit an army.

Nic watched while he shaped a shield that resembled a leaf, the entire thing made of a single living piece of wood.

“Yes? Back for more of my people’s ancient secrets? Perhaps my mother’s recipe for jam tarts?” He accused as he saw Nic standing there - but his voice was light, joking.

“YES! My companion wishes to learn ALL your secrets, for he wishes to MASTER the art of greensinging.” The wyvern on Nic’s shoulder crowed.

Nic winced. If he wasn’t very careful with Inkspur, everything he said came out… flavored by the little wyvern’s ego.

“I was just wondering if you had any books or instructions on how to start. I know it’ll take time, but I wanted to try learning a technique on my own. Without the System.” Nic said, prodding Inkspur with a glare to repeat it more accurately this time.

“Oh-ho. Well, we don’t really write things down, is the truth. Greensinging is taught master to apprentice and it takes years. Except…” The old man paused for just a second too long, before shaking his head and giving a sudden grin.

“Wait one second.” Disappearing into a corner of his workshop, he returned with a stack of ancient reed papers bundled together with red twine. He blew dust from the curled edges. “I actually... a while back... a long while I guess…”

“I had a colleague. Another greensinger. The man had a mind like a knife with no handle. Always cutting himself trying to grasp the future. Anyway, tradition-breaker as he was, he kept extensive notes. I don’t actually, ah, know how useful they’ll be to you, but he was a runescribe himself and his designs at least might be worth your time...”

Nic accepted the papers and flipped through them, pausing with awe at the first rune inscription that was diagrammed out.

It was leagues above him. Easily an E-Class design for size alone, but full of complexities, interlocking smaller designs, small flourishes. It was a masterpiece.

“Is it really okay if I take this?”

“Oh, of course. I’m no runescribe, and I don’t need to forget everything I know about greensinging just to learn it again his way…” The old greensinger tried to wave it off, but Nic was good at reading people when he had to.

He’d noticed the way the greensinger looked at the papers as he handed them over, saying goodbye to an old friend who only lived in memories now.

It reminded Nic too much of Sula giving him the stardust.

They were both trying to pass down a legacy that had been gifted to them. Nic knew, with sudden certainty, that they were both planning some reckless self-endangerment.

---

Nic’s next stop was the tortoise bookseller, but he paused along the way.

The healer’s tents were full of prisoners recuperating from being beaten and starved - and one lonely watcher, clearly not welcome, who stood over the bed of his friend.

Matteos was guarding Jessie like a hawk. Nic watched him from a distance, unsure of where he stood with the giant, and sensing the mood surrounding him was like a thundercloud. It didn’t look like any of the healers on duty were in a rush to help Jessie, despite her injuries being the worst of the lot.

Largely because none of the rest had to fight Nic.

Sidling up, Nic coughed. Matteos turned and Nic noticed the giant was still wearing his glasses, despite not needing them anymore. A piece of the old world.

“Nak? You’re already better?”

“He is IMPOSSIBLY BAD AT DYING. Despite his best efforts.” Inkspur crowed. “Many have tried to kill him. Yet look, he is pink and free of scars like a newborn babe!”

Nic chuckled and added, “Yeah, mm, I do kinda bounce back quickly. Listen, Matteos, about the water I gave you-”

“Right. I’m not- I know you came through for me, but I don’t know what on earth was up with that. Why did you have me poison that woman?” He seemed angry. As angry as Matteos got, anyway.

“She was cursed. The water purged the curse- I think- but it must have torn her up in the process. Sorry. I swear I tested it on myself first…”

Matteos squeezed his fist tight, digesting the information.

Nic had worried the trust between them had broken - but Matteos, even an angry Matteos, was willing to listen to reason. He began to nod, slowly.

“It does make sense. They were all acting so strange. I- I’ve had to lower my expectations of people a little in this apocalypse, but that camp was all wrong. Beyond what makes sense even for desperation and anger. I guess Moira made the right call...”

Nic’s fronds perked up. “Right, where did Moira go? And Shane?”

“I don’t know, Nak. Jessie got hurt and I wanted to take her to the camp to heal. It was a hard decision. Most of these places, well, Nak, they’re not humanity at their best. You give people a little power and a bad situation and some of them will take advantage. So we were trying to go it alone when you found us. Moira wanted to keep Shane away, so we split up. I gave Jessie to the healers and when she came back-”

He paused. He must have suspected, but it was only now he could put words to his conclusion.

“She’s cursed too, isn’t she?”

Nic nodded, and reached into his bag for the last flask of fountain water. Matteos took it with hesitation, staring at the clear blue spark and shine within the glass with suspicion.

“I’ll tell the healers she’s a friend and they’d better not let her die.” Nic said. “But you’ve gotta trust me on this and give it to her. Somebody’s controlling her. I think they can see through her eyes, and I think you need to give her this soon, before they can spy on everyone here.”

Matteos nodded slowly. “Once… she’s a little better…”

He reached into his pocket and took out a faded tin, snapping it open. It was full of glossy pink squares. “Ever had bubblegum?”

Nic shook his head.

“Well, this might be the last of it.” Matteos held the tin out. “I’ve been saving it to remember the old world, but, maybe you should try something new. Go ahead. You chew it.”

Nic lifted a square of bubblegum and stared at it for a moment. It was scented like vague sweetness and nothing in particular.

Then he smiled, waved, and went on his way. He knew just what to do with this.

---

Nic’s final stop was the tortoise merchant, who sat on a rock admiring the heat of the sun with his wrinkled eyes. “Oh-ho. Young fellow, back again. Drawn by the siren call of books and knowledge, eh?”

“Something like that…”

Nic dug into his bag and froze. Someone had piled a stack of Shards neatly atop the rest of his possessions within. As he pulled them out he realized he recognized them.

They were the Shards of the people he’d slain in combat. The woman with the hellfire whip. The boy with the vine-parasite in his arm. The girl who could split herself and summon weapons. The only one missing was the golden-winged warrior, who Nic guessed must have escaped.

But one of them…

One of the Shards was a Primary. It was an azure cube with thin fingers of crystal creeping outwards from each edge. They must have found one of the humans - the one with the ice-arms - still alive when they tore it out.

Frostbind Shard. F-Class (Peak) // Primary. This shard contains purest Essence attuned to the concepts of cold and binding. It allows the wielder to constrain the aura of those they touch, temporarily sealing their abilities. Due to peak quality, the resulting skill will be easy to advance. Well suited to forming a Fetters Core, an Entombment Core, or Verglas Core.

The merchant’s eyes lit up instantly. “I’ll give you one thousand credits for that...”

Nic paused. One thousand. It was a twentieth of what he needed for the Mercenary License, a huge step forward. But as he watched the tortoise’s beady eyes following the gem in his hand, he just smiled, sensing his opportunity.

“Tell you what. I have some other stuff to sell first, then we’ll talk…”