Charley was in agony. He tasted red, and the forest was suddenly gendered female all about him. Every nerve in his brain had been rewired and was screaming.

He had collapsed in the makeshift camp he had found on the edge of the treeline, exhausted, and when he had awoken he pilfered and immediately ate half the calories in his stolen bag. He made it halfway through the cold of the night before he gave in, and stripped the nearby body of its cloak. Another memory he would have to carry.

But right now agony. It had started with a window.

Cycle complete. Applying Core skill: [See the Weave].

And the world around him woke into a kaleidoscope of sound and color.

Charley just breathed, laying splayed out on the earth and staring wide eyed at the forest canopy above him. It was better that way -- if he closed his eyes, the feelings didn’t abate -- they just become less understandable without a vision corollary, and set him to a combination of queasy and dizzy.

So he kept his eyes open.

After what felt like hours his vision suddenly clicked to focus, as if someone had been scanning a radio and stumbled onto the right frequency. And Charley *saw* the world for the first time.

The leaves in the tree above him were alive. I mean, yes, obviously, they were alive. But Charley could *see* the sun’s golden light slowly, carefully, filtering from the sky and into the surface of the leaves. And then that energy turned golden-green, and lazily, slowly, slithered slowly down the branches and into the trunk, and Charley could see every single glorious, lipid ounce of sap as it moved under the bark and into one steady source. And that source moved like a flutter or a beat that was flavored in dark green, but oh so slowly. One beat in half a minute.

“Tree’s have a heartbeat.” Charley marvelled at the world. His eyes, unbidden, were again wet with tears.

This was his new ability, [See the Weave]. And the golden light in the sky, the dark green of thousands of little trickles that became a flood inside the tree. The very air he breathed out was vibrating with *mana.* Motes of it, flickering everywhere. In everything.

And he knew that no matter what else happened to him on this world, no matter the cost he’d have to pay to be here, that the magic was worth it. He wiped his eyes but it did nothing to stop the flood.

Just like nothing could possibly take away the wonder he felt in this moment.

“Thank you.” He said it like a prayer. The trees around him beat slowly and together, interconnected in their song.

It was a while before he finally heaved himself to his feet.

--

It took him hours to get back to the edge of the city. Every once in a while, his new sense would absolutely overwhelm him, and he’d stumble to a halt over the new sensations.

And now, Charley stood in front of Chimera with the afternoon light above him, streaking through clouds. Yes, he was dirty, his bored mud brown cloak stained with blood that wasn’t his. His knee still giving him trouble, his stomach a riot in progress. Wonder and horror fought in his heart. But he was alive.

It was like he had never seen the city before, either. And to be fair, he hadn’t. Not like this. From this angle he was closer to the river and the entire mass sparkled from the intertwined mana and power pumping out of its depths.

The earthen tones of the city stood out. She was a city surrounded on both sides by a river which split on either side, and reconnected beneath her. Small towers rose near the center, pink and rosey.

Five hundred meters ahead of him a stone bridge spanned the water, separated by a lonely little island before another bridge. The city docks shone beyond, huge and white and grey, masts of sailboats standing proud in the sunshine as they fluttered like a quilt on the water. Seagulls cried merrily to one another with the promise of food, and just a hint of salt was in the air almost like a promise.

The *mana* of the city was red, and orange, and decidedly ringed with blue. And it was just massively chalked full of tiny motes, to the point that it was almost impossible to differentiate them. Whereas the forest behind him had been a slow deep green, and light gold with thick fat motes that were the size of snowflakes.

Charley had no idea what any of that meant. But he was still grinning like an idiot.

He slowly, carefully approached a guard checkpoint at the bridge. A comforting stone arch hung above a wooden gate and he hobbled towards it.

“Stones, you look like a pigpen exploded.” One of the guards hailed him, “and you're what they used to clean it up.”

“Sir, that is offensive.” Charley looked down at himself. Green Chimeric blood splashed over dark red blood, parts of his shredded clothes scorched with heat burns. His least filthy article he had stolen from a dead man, and that after he had bled out into it. He smiled wanly, “..to the pigs. I could use a shower.” He gestured, “and a place to burn these.”

The guard nodded amiably. “Adventurer’s Hall is on Red street, just look for the tower of the same color. Can’t miss it.”

Charley froze for a moment. This man thought he was an adventurer? Well, why not. Today he was. And then he *felt* something around the head of the guard. He focused his eyes. Yes, there was definitely something ethereal, but present. He squinted. Tiny motes of blue. They motes arranged themselves into letters and numbers as soon as he acknowledged them. [City Guard, level 25]. Huh. That was going to be handy.

“Thanks.” The guard waved him forward. His step felt lighter. It was time to see a friend. He crossed the river bridge, and was humming along to Kesha when he saw something in the sky.

Charley stopped moving. “What in the fahhhhh..” Two hundred meters in the sky, a gorgeous vessel of alabaster white sails and a dark wooden hull blew gently crested through a cumulus cloudbank. She must have been at least thirty feet long, and had a deep keel. Two masts rose off her deck. “That is a ship in the sky.”

He rubbed his face, blinking out dry ducts. It was still there, slowly moving away from where he stood planted. All too soon he lost sight of the thing, the skyline messy with buildings. He sighed, wistfully.

Nearby, Charley heard a laugh, “First time spotting a lightsail?” An older man sat amidst cloth nets, rubbing fibers between his hands.

Charley gave him a once over: grungy and possibly hung over. But the old man had the same look in his eye that Charley did. They both watched until the ship disappeared over rooftops and steeples. Finally, he gave up scanning the horizon for another glance and turned to the man. “How?”

The old man knew what he meant, “Only the captains and the keepers know. Old magic, though. They have to follow the lines.”

“Eh..lines?” Charley frowned.

“Aye.”

Charley threw out his fingers in a negative, “What lines?”

The old man rolled his eyes. “LEY lines. The thick things in the ground, whats run through the world?” He stamped his foot, causing a few lengths of net to shift and spittle to mount onto his beard. “If you take a lightsail off the lines, soon enough it falls right out of the sky.”

Charley took a moment with that one: it was a lot of information to process. And then realized he was having a conversation with a possibly still-drunk old sailor, and raised an eyebrow. “How do you know so much about these ships?”

The man spat on the ground nearby, “Because I used to crew one of them.” His gaze was proud, spittle and all, and his voice echoed so oddly that for a moment he seemed younger.

Charley rocked back on his heels. Both stared at the sky. “Why did you stop?”

The old man grinned, wide and fleshy. “Because she fell out of the sky.”

Charley snorted loudly and a smile broke out on his features. He bent down and looked through the nets the old man had laid out in front of him. They were surprisingly high quality. Charley felt his [Deep Intuition] trigger and whistled: they were Greater quality.

The old man bowed his head for the compliment.

Finally Charley pulled away, straightening up and waving a goodbye.

Charley stopped in his tracks. “Can I ask a weird question?” Silence in reply. ‘What’s stopping a normal net from working well enough that someone has to buy yours?”

The old man looked at him strangely, “and do you imagine that the fish don’t level, either?”

Charley walked away shaking his head, to the sound of laughter.

--

The shop was just as he remembered it. The dim light, wood and sawdust smells of an active industry. It felt like coming home.

Charley stumbled his way tiredly to the counter, and sat down in front of Brand who was writing in his ledger, making entries. He didn’t look up, so Charley took the opportunity to just sit in a real chair. Charley’s brain, never off, noted absently that it was double entry bookkeeping with zeroes, which he supposed made sense. Where he came from double entries were around by the 1500 hundreds, and zero was a thing in 0 B.C..

Brand carefully put down his quill in a stand and turned his head up. “I’m sorry.”

Charley took that in. For a moment he didn’t know what Brand meant. Then it came to him. He’d been taken so quietly, there was no alarm raised with his disappearance. And Brand wasn’t surprised to see him.

Brand wasn’t surprised.

Conflicted feelings moved across his face. Why would he..? Ah. He let them in. And Charley could only think of one reason he would do that. “Maria?” There was a long pause.

Brand nodded. “She’s safe. They didn’t threaten her directly.” He sighed. “They didn’t have to.” He disappeared behind the cabinets for a moment. When he popped back up, he had an old red-glass bottle in hand and two pewter mugs. He popped the cork and poured out a healthy dollop in both. “You can’t stay here.” Brand handed one other.

Charley sipped at the brew. Smokey and sweet. And it burned pleasantly on the way down. And he felt the bottom drop out of his heart. “Yea. I figured. What with the betrayal and all.”

Brand winced. “You can come back. Once you resolve this thing. But I can’t have Maria lose a parent.” He didn’t have to say the last word. The one that Charley heard hanging on the end of the sentence like an anchor. Again.

They each settled into their drinks for a moment, watching the sun filter in from the window, lighting up dust in the beam. Whiskey had a kind of magic in it in moments like these. It helped.

Finally Brand piped up, “They registered you as an adventurer.”

Well now. That was interesting. It was good to know the caliber of people who were framing him, at least. “Oh. Yea. That's what I did. Me -- a crafter.”

Brand laughed, easing the tension in the room several degrees. “You are such an idiot. But at least they did you a favor with that one. It’s not cheap.”

Idly, Charley starred at the blue motes above Brands head, watching them slowly resolve into [Trader, Level 17]. “I’m getting smarter every minute i’m in this city, believe it.” Charley chuckled back.

“I don’t.”

Charley raised his glass, and Brand returned the salute. “It’s really more of an expression,” Charley grumbled. “I mean, I am lying to you. Do you want to know the details?”

Brand snorted, and poured the drinks back up to full. “Will it get me in trouble if I do?”

Charley nodded, “almost certainly.” He smacked his lips over the beverage.

Brand shook his head, resolutely. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks, though. I appreciate it.”

Charley felt his body radiating more tiredness, as the alcohol slowly relaxed his muscles. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know a good medic, would you?” He pointed to his chest, “just asking for a friend. Not complaining or anything.”

Brand let out a small grin. “Well now. When you were ‘registered’ for the adventurer’s hall, it comes with a room. And reduced rates for an in-house medic.” He shrugged. “Might as well take advantage of a resource.”

It was good to know that Brand hadn’t changed his tight-pursed ways in the days Charley had been out being almost mauled to death. “Fortune forbid.”

Brand stood up, and motioned Charley to stay a moment. That was fine with him. His legs appreciated the rest. Brand stepped up the staircase to the second floor and returned with a bag. He handed the parcel to Charley, “Just a couple of things.” He met Charley’s eyes, “on loan.”

Charley broke into a fragile grin. And then laughed out loud. “Of course they are. Thank you.”

Brand brushed off the thanks. “Oh, and before I forget, the crafting hall dropped something off for you.” He walked back to his desk and threw something bronze on top of it.

Charley picked it up; A small bronze badge, no more than two inches by three, with the image of a compass and an eye. And his name across the bottom. His sight revealed slightly more information, “A [Bronze Crafter’s Badge]?” Charley hadn’t known there was a way that people categorized members but he immediately wondered if there were other types of badges he could get. “Brand, did you steal this? For me?”

“Pssh. It was for the handsaws you did, the ones that cut wood like they were beavers.” Brand looked smug. “I sold it to the crews that were making the new crafts hall, and, well.” He coughed. “I guess they liked them.”

Charley slipped the badge onto his cloak, closing the clasp. It felt good there. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Pssh again. Now get the fuck out of my store. And don’t get dead.”

Charley slapped his empty mug down and rose tiredly to his feet. “No promises.”

--

Charley swung his extra bag to his other shoulder and stared at the building before him. It was red brick, with thick glass windows and oak wood shutters. Rising two stories high, the roof was terraced wooden planks at a slant. It looked sturdy and warm and didn’t seem to follow the typical Chimeric housing style of a plaster between lime, sand, and plant fibers. It also looked expensive. With the sun firmly behind him, the heavy oak wood door was propped open with a wedge.

He stepped inside and let his eyes adjust. Inside was a large and open room with a few sparsely populated common tables in the center. Ringing the edges of the room were tables separated by wooden screens for privacy between them, seemingly much more occupied. On one side, a medium sized fireplace was unlit but stocked, and on the other was a corkboard with various tacked up pieces of paper. Ahead of him, a kiosk window was staffed with a younger-seeming man, who perked up on seeing Charley.

He crossed the room, earning a few disinterested glances. He let his eyes go out of focus as he approached the younger man, catching the unique trace of blue motes. [Aspirant, level 12]. “Hi there.”

The young man nodded firmly. “Welcome to the hall, sir.”