Ryan sat in the hall outside Mr. Walker’s office. The back of his head rested against the wall behind his chair. There were six others. At least, there had been. One by one they’d entered, the clock ticked by, and they had left again with a loosely bound collection of pages—notes and figures, which consumed their attention.

Some wandered off after sending the next person in. Others had friends waiting for them. Micah was busy geeking out about new ingredients with the rest of the workshop kids.

Ryan pushed up and glanced around with a frown. Where was Lisa? He wasn’t even sure she had signed up for any of this. Probably not. He bet she knew everything about her vocation. He laid back down again.

He’d considered meditating, but he didn’t want to be caught doing it when it was his turn. Spells? All he knew was fire and he didn’t want to be That Guy, who had burned a scorch mark on the wall outside the vice principal’s office within the very first few months of school. He fiddled a bit with other concepts—light, wind, aura, and enhancements—and gave up soon after. There was no point when he didn’t know what he was doing. Could just as well mess up.

He stretched his legs and waggled his feet on their heels instead, beginning to slouch when his discipline ran out. Did he have the last appointment? He had gotten here way too early, but then again—he glanced at the clock—there were delays. There always were, with things like this.

Would he change that or only make things worse? He didn’t know so he didn’t judge, even if he wanted to.

Then they were three.

He glanced left across two chairs at the girl whose discipline had lasted a little longer than his. It looked like it was beginning to fray. He didn’t often see Saga in normal clothes. Glimpses here and there, around campus. They didn’t really share any courses. Ryan was used to her gray jogging clothes in the mornings, but they had been absent these last few weeks, too.

Something with her foot. Gone or hidden, now. He had been running on his own again.

She noticed him looking and he turned away, rolling his head like a ball along the wall. He stared at the opposite ceiling instead and slid up the seat a little to look a bit more dignified.

The clock kept on ticking.

The door opened and someone stepped out. She told the third person to go in and wandered off, looking like she would bump into every stray wall as she immersed himself in her papers.

Two.

“You were one of the few who went into the Tower, too, weren’t you?” Saga asked.

“Huh?” Ryan perked up. His voice sounded weird in the sudden lack of silence. “Me?”

“Yeah. You and your, uh, friend.”

‘Uh, friend?’

Oh. Ryan caught on. “Micah,” he supplied. She had forgotten his name.

“Right. Micah, thanks.” She fiddled with her hands in her lap and glanced around, looking awkward.

Ryan racked his brain and offered, “‘Happens to me, too, all the time. Forgetting people’s names.”

Saga shook her head. “No. Somebody— Stephanie asked me if I knew him just last week and I forgot already. No excuse.”

“Yeah,” Ryan repeated with a little more emphasis and a hint of a smile, “happens to me, too. All the time.”

She nodded, getting it. “So were you? I’d heard rumors. I saw his cast … s. You seem fine?”

The leg cast was hard to miss, Ryan knew. The fingers might go unnoticed from afar. Lots of people walked around with bandages in climbing circles. It helped with managing healing pastes.

He shrugged. “I am now. What about you? I saw your brace. You haven’t been jogging, lately?”

“Sprained ankle,” she explained and lifted her pant leg to show, but there wasn’t much to see. “Half a week to go. I want to start again now—I feel fine—but I don’t want to risk any long-term injuries just because I was too impatient to wait a few more days, you know?”

“Yeah.”

Especially in this line of work, though Ryan had started two days early with his [Enhanced Traction] training. She didn’t need to know that, he figured. No sense in stabbing himself in the foot.

“So why did you go in?”

He frowned because that seemed like an awfully direct question. She looked at him, no hint of hesitation.

“Stupidity?” he tried and shrugged. “We were distracted. We didn’t notice something was off until it was too late.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Through that crowd? Really?”

“Yep.” There was a hint of accusation in her voice, so Ryan turned the question on her, “And you?”

A smile. “Same thing, different circumstances.”

“Ah.” He furrowed his brows as he thought about it. He dimly remembered her in grey clothing. She had been jogging back then, hadn’t she? Had she seen the message or was she one of those adrenaline junkies who went jogging through the Tower? Either, way he nodded. “I think I see.”

Her smile vanished. There was a bite in her voice when she said, “I don’t think you do.”

One sentence and he was already on her bad side. Dammit, Ryan was bad at this. At least, when he was the one trying. Easier to not do it at all. “I see you in jogging clothes,” he challenged her. “What am I supposed to see?”

“Nothing. That’s the point of cryptic one-liners. But … point taken. It really wasn’t smart to head in with just a knife and sweatshirt.”

“Wait, you had a knife?” Ryan asked. “I was thinking of just the sweatshirt … Where?”

She leaned forward, slipped a hand under the back of her shirt, and pulled it out. A hunting knife a lot like the one Micah’s mother had given him, but more compact. The hilt was black with a slight camouflage pattern. The bottom looked like it could be used as a hammer. It didn’t look Tower-made. More militaristic, almost like the depictions of old church knives in books.

He whistled appreciation.

It disappeared back in its sheath. “Still wasn’t enough. Especially when you’re fighting slimes. They were the last thing I expected to fight here.”

He could see that.

“We were underdressed, too,” he offered, “for the floor we were on. As you said, you saw Micah’s injuries.”

“Bad?” she asked.

“Pretty bad.”

“Again, what happened?”

Ryan hesitated, thinking about Micah smiling with his colleagues in the workshop right now. “I would say ask him yourself, but I don’t want you to.” He only realized after that probably came out harsher than he’d meant it to.

Thankfully, Saga took it in stride. “Fair enough. And you?”

“Just bruised ribs, body, and pride,” he joked.

She nodded to herself and shifted to sit more toward him. But when he looked, her expression wasn’t amused. She hadn’t gone for the joke. Rather, she seemed impatient or even insulted.

“Okay, I think I deserved that.”

“Deserved that?” It seemed like a bit of a non sequitur. Had he said something?

“The cryptic one-liner?”

“Oh. No, that wasn’t on purpose,” Ryan said. He thought back and noticed it hadn’t been the first one. Great. He was making an ass of himself again. She seemed uncomfortable now, too.

“I was just making conversation,” he tried. “Honest.”

“No, I get it. But I really do want to know what happened? Thirteen of us went in. We’re kind of the forerunners, you know? Some of the others, I’d rather not bother with them. I mean— That sounds kind of bitchy. I just thought it would be nice to know what happened to you two?”

She brushed a strand of hair out of her face and looked at him with perfect earnesty.

Ryan had a hard time saying no. But he still felt bothered by something; the how of it. She seemed too pushy, like she was trying too hard or had something else in mind. Possibly both.

He shrugged and deflected, “Stuff. I really don’t want to go too deep into it or start any rumors. Read the reports. The information is somewhere in there.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want the information.”

“No?”

“No. I mean— Look, I almost drowned on dry land, okay?” she told him. It came out of nowhere. She had his attention. “I landed in what I now know was the first floor and climbed to the fourth looking for an exit. It was all small slimes and dark, partially submerged caverns. The walls leaked and it was cramped. Imagine the lowest floor of an ancient Sewer system that had collapsed centuries ago. But then I walk through this golden screen at the top of an incline—I thought it might be a portal out or something—and this freakishly large slime crawls out of a pipe across a small lake.” She gestured at the opposite wall as if she could imagine it. “The fight … didn’t go well. I won. Barely. They had to get the water out of my lungs.”

Ryan remembered the lakes they had seen, then a flood of black ink, a horde of horrors chasing him through tunnels. One had latched onto Connor and tried to drown him. He heard coughing, but it was Micah as he tried to cling to dry land instead of getting swept away by waves.

“I’m so sorry. Did you—”

“—Don’t be.” They spoke over one another and stopped. “Oh, sorry. Did you …?” She gestured for him to go on.

“I was going to ask if you at least got anything out of it?” Ryan asked, a bit hesitant. He would have let her gone first if he’d been a second quicker, but he wasn’t sure why she was sharing her story at all. Smalltalk was fine. This made him feel like he was missing something.

He couldn’t help but imagine the worst and he wasn’t looking forward to maybe having to give someone a shiner.

She nodded. “Some loot. Two levels. A Skill, [Lesser Viscosity].”

“That’s one of the [Mage] stats, isn’t it?” he asked and shook his head. “Sorry. Knee-jerk question. You wanted to say something else?”

He already knew. It was often compared to [Lesser Brawn] and similar Skills. [Lesser Fitness], from a different angle. That one fit her frame. At least second-tier, it was related to [Adhesion] and [Cohesion] and affected spell longevity and stability.

He knew because they were the type of stats [Alchemists] usually got. [Summoners], too.

“Yeah. I just wanted to say, I don’t want to start any rumors either,” Saga told him, “but there is more to what happened than just saying, ‘Floors one to four. Dark blue water slimes the size of cats to dogs. Lighter further up. Some creepy-crawlies. Worms. A mole. Slime the size of a cart behind a golden screen. Beware.’” She put on a mocking monotone voice as she said it, hiding a smile.

It was a bit infectious.

Her tone was lighter then. “We’re climbers, man. Not cartographers. I want to hear the stories, which is why I buy them instead of just the information collections. I mean, I like them.”

“Me—“

—too, he’d wanted to say. Ryan covered it up with a fake cough, bending over to hide his face.

What was he, five?

She waited until he was done, and when Ryan straightened up asked, “So, tell me a story?”

Ryan hesitated, but it was exactly the type of question he liked. “Alright. But, uh, really don’t start any rumors, okay? At least, nothing about Micah. Nothing bad.”

She nodded and gestured, “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

“Micah … also almost drowned,” Ryan started. He saw the connection form in her expression. “He was held underwater by this thing. We ended up on the ninth floor Open Sewers. Well, eight and a half. There was another floor above us, but the only stairs we found led straight up to the tenth. Not much happened on the lower floor. We just survived. If you want to know, you can check out the books on those. I think most of the report is still from us.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. We explored it for two days straight and saw a lot, so they questioned us the day after we got back. Some other things happened, but … I think it would take too long to tell you all of it.”

“That’s kind of awesome,” she said, “the report thing. So the injuries were from …?”

“All tenth floor.” He was aware he was mucking of the chronology a bit. It suited him just fine. “Same deal. Golden screen of light atop of a staircase and a valley opened up below us. There was a forest, river, and small lake. Steep cliffs to the sides. The rain didn’t help.

Our giant monster had greeted us when we first came in. It had run by the chasm wall next to us with deafening steps. It was this titanic centipede maybe five meters across. A hundred meters long? Two hundred? Long. Its feelers were like whips. Its legs could break stone.”

“Fuck. No kidding?”

“Yeah.”

They were both sitting toward one another then, one leg resting against either chair between them.

“And it tried to drown you?”

She sounded confused.

“Micah. It broke his fingers when he tried to fight back. It had three heads and human arms at the front,” he said, like that was an explanation. By her tone, she wasn’t confused by the ‘how’ of it but the ‘why’.

He was, too. If Ryan should feel grateful, he wasn’t. Bruised bones and bruised, twisted pride.

“Like a hellhound?”

“Like a … hellhound?” He needed a moment to catch on.

“Three heads.” She tapped her shoulders.

“Oh, I knew that. No. Three skins? Faces? They were like hoodies. Two, in that case. They stretched over one another.” He demonstrated flipped up an invisible hoodie in the air, then another.

Saga blinked, her face twisting into an expression of disgust. “What?”

Ryan shrugged. “That’s what it did. It had these antlers from its Stag face. Stag. Cougar. Woman. They spun like screws and the next head— face, would stretch over the last.”

The expression deepened. “Did it talk?”

“It screamed.”

“Like a person?”

“Like a lot of things. But also like a person. The layered over one another, so it was more of a cacophony with the last one. There is a description of it in one of the collections, I know, with a tentative warning because it may or may not come back. It was unmade, but it bled yellow and black ichor, which only then turned into light.”

Her polite disgust slowly eased into consideration when he mentioned the collection, but her attention caught on something in the last sentence. “‘Had’? Then how did you get aw—”

The door to the office opened. The last student stepped out. But instead of sending the next person in, Mr. Walker joined them with one foot in the hallway. He glanced at the seats as if counting attendance.

Ryan immediately scooted to the back us his chair and sat completely upright. What time was it? He checked the clock and realized it probably was his turn now, considering the delays. He wasn’t sure.

Mr. Walker turned to him.

“Ryan Payne?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You can come in now.”

He got up and gave Saga a look that hopefully conveyed an apology. She mouthed something. Later?

He was unsure but nodded.

The door closed behind them.

“As I am sure you are aware, there are many different ways of going about an appraisal,” Mr. Walker told him. He brought things out of the closet behind his desk as he spoke. A water bottle. A glass. Another. He offered it to him. “Something to drink? Water?”

“Please. Thank you, sir.” Ryan took the liberty of slipping a coaster from the stack in the corner to put under.

The man inclined his head and practically turned the bottle over to fill it with sparkling water. It gurgled down.

Fancy.

He filled his own glass with half an eye as he went on, “I have had many conversations with climbers in the past, during which I counseled them on their vocations, jogged their proverbial memories, or was simply someone to bounce ideas off of with helpful knowledge.”

Somehow, Ryan had a hard time seeing that. Not the knowledge part—he had no doubt the man knew a lot. But he seemed as stiff as a board. Not that he would ever say so out loud.

The bottle was capped and put aside. A pen appeared between his index and middle fingers as he sat. Bubbles sizzled in their glasses. He gestured with it as he spoke, “I’m rather new to this Skill of mine, but I seem to have an easier time if I go about it along those lines—a conversation, almost as an interview. If that is fine with you? With similar implications, of course.”

“Of course.”

Ryan had known from the start the Registry would want to collect data. The school was offering, so he wasn’t about to complain.

“Any further questions before we start?”

He couldn’t really think of anything, so he shook his head and declined.

Mr. Walker nodded. He pushed his open file on the table into a better angle, leaned back in his chair, and readied his writing pad. “Now, you began your ‘career’, so to speak, with [Exemplarism Path].”

A nod.

“We have no record of it in the Registry aside from your application files and the ones you have added with your attendance. That might mean that it is well and truly unique. And yet, you received it at the age of thirteen.”

He gave Ryan a pointed look, pen held to paper.

Was he expecting confirmation?

“Uh yes, sir?”

“How do you reconcile this?”

“Reconcile?” Ryan asked. “Oh, because of ‘consolidation’ delay?” He had learned about the concept in classroom. The more niche something was, the less likely someone was to begin with it.

[Mage], [Worker], [Fighter], and [Healer] were more common than their immediate follow-ups. There were a variety of reasons for why, just like there were a variety of reasons for the opposite.

“Almost,” Mr. Walker told him. “Consolidation delay refers more often to Classes, luckily. I’m referring to discoveries. [Fighter Path] becomes [Swordsman Path], becomes [Swordsmanship Path]. [Swordsmanship Path] becomes [Fencing Path]. [Fencing Path] becomes … [Bartitsu Path], perhaps, in this narrative. None of the former Paths are lost,” he stressed and gave Ryan the same look. “[Exemplarism Path] adds [Salamander Path]. But they change as a person does.

Here, they are not a [Fighter], not a [Swordsman], not a [Martial Artist]. They are simply someone who enjoys the idea of knowing their way around a sidearm to such a degree, it defines who they are. But what if they hadn’t gone through those steps? Picky eaters, my grandmother used to call them. Persons with narrow or even unique Paths often discover them late.”

And Ryan had gotten his almost three years early. Right. The concept wasn’t new to him, even if he hadn’t thought about it like this before. Rather than a picky eater, it painted the picture of him knowing exactly what he wanted.

He regretted coming here already.

Mr. Walker must have gotten the impression he wouldn’t answer. He went on, “You said in your interview that you were unsure as to the nature of your Path, which is understandable given the circumstances, but you also have a great many Skills from it. That would imply, surely, that you know something, would it not?”

Ryan fiddled with his pants. “Uhm … yes?” He reached for his glass and took a sip. “I mean, I know some things, but I don’t have a ‘great many’ Skills from my Path, sir. I only have two.”

There. That wasn’t a lie, was it?

“Two?”

He nodded. “[Mimic Beast] and [Pack Aura]. All others were either from the former or my [Salamander Path].”

“[Pack Aura],” he said as if trying out the word. “Is there any difference between it and your other Skills that you know of?”

He thought of a campfire, the people he had seated around it, and felt almost guilty for having drawn them there. What would they say if they knew? Could he take it back if they asked him to?

“Yes,” he said. “I didn’t draw just beasts.”

“Ah.” Mr. Walker made two quick notations that couldn’t have been more than ticks on the paper.

Ryan tried not to fiddle in his seat. He wanted to prepare excuses in case the man delved further into that topic, but his mind came up blank and he was beginning to panic.

Thankfully, the man asked something else. “Then which Skills would say are a direct result of [Mimic Beast]?”

He breathed. That Ryan could do. Skill memory was intrinsic. [Bird Singing], [Salamander Path], [Hot Skin], [Enhanced Traction], [Enhanced Senses], [Lesser Vitality], and [Strength in Numbers], he listed. He frowned while Walker made notes. It was strange how many Skills he had obtained from just one. Where would he be without it? Probably holed up in his room somewhere.

“Not [Lesser Fire Affinity]?”

“I— Uh, no?” Ryan said. “Not as a direct result, sir. It isn’t a painting, but rather … the paint I used to make some of the others? There are costs to my Skill. I can’t just mimic as much as I would like. I need an understanding of some kind, for one thing. It also affects my mana affinity and—”

Mr. Walker was taking notes. He glanced up when he paused.

“Yes?”

“Once, when I used all my mana, I felt cold instead of just having a headache?”

Mr. Walker nodded. But instead of saying anything, he glanced at the file again and pointedly asked, “What are your thoughts on why that is?”

Did he have his own, then? Just suspicions?

“I— I don’t know?” Ryan started. “Maybe some kind of interaction with [Hot Skin] or some kind of penalty, sir. I read about [Pyromancers] who have the same problem?” He made it a question to bounce off of Walker’s head in case he wanted to add any insights. The man considered.

Finn. He might have been hanging out with Finn right about now, looking for jobs together. Which Class might he have gotten if they had?

Walker nodded. “That is common, but I have also met [Pyromancers] who felt hot, as if they had a fever, when they ran low on mana. Mana depletion is very much individual. This could simply be your natural reaction. Your affinity Skill is rather new. Did it feel any different before?”

He gave him a pained expression. “I don’t know. I only really started practicing afterward?”

Ryan had never really been that interested in spells. They sounded in awesome in stories, but in textbooks and from what he heard from other classmates … it seemed more like advanced math than magic. And Class [Mages] were derided, who relied on levels to learn new spells—

“Ah. A shame,” Mr. Walker said. “But you know what you must do?”

“Experiment. Meditate.”

—which was stupid. Class [Workers] weren’t made fun of. They were supported, even.

Walker surprised him by giving him a tight smile. “Exactly.” He made another small notation. “Going back to your fire affinity then, would it be apt to describe it as an accumulation?”

Ryan needed a moment to catch up. He turned the word over in his head. “Yes … That could work. I have three which are red in my mind, now— Oh, I think I mentioned this during my interview, sir?”

“I have a note here.” He tapped the page. “Some of your Skills appear in colors to you?”

“Right. [Lesser Vitality] is yellow—”

“—and you believe it might influence what you can mimic in the future?”

Another nod.

“Prudent. If you had not said it yourself, I would have advised you to think carefully about what you mimic in the future, but it seems unnecessary. Do you have a plan for what you might wish to mimic next?”

“Salamanders,” Ryan almost mumbled. Future. Plans. He had neither. Everything he did, he winged under the disguise of effort in the hopes nobody would notice. It had worked so far.

“You want to further your Path first, then?”

“Yes, sir. Beyond that, I would prefer to wait until I have a better idea of my options. Especially with the changes.”

Mr. Walker seemed content.

See, he thought. It worked.

“That would wise. Now, we already have a brief description of how your Skills function. Have you gained any other insights into them since? You have also received new ones, I believe?”

Ryan told him about his new levels and Skills and the kind of training he had been doing, valuing control above all else. It reminded him [Lesser Vitality] was also from his Path. When he was done with traction, he could maybe look into training it. What would that look like?

A [Honey Ant Path] didn’t sound so bad, in hindsight. They repaired one another and made things. That also reminded him, [Pack Aura] wasn’t the only Skill that had people in it. He mentioned the former to Walker, but not the latter.

“Would you want to learn healing spells, then?”

“If I can?” Ryan asked. “Absolutely.”

“Even if it gives you an extra Class?”

He still nodded. He didn’t imagine himself being a great healer. It was supposed to be one of the most complicated disciplines out there, to the point where many even preferred traditional medicine over it, of those who considered both. But if he could get a single level and spell from it, he would gladly pay the price, level more slowly, let himself be called a Class [Healer] or anything else.

It might mean he could help when it truly mattered.

“I am aware that we advocate free choice,” Mr. Walker told him, “but that does not mean we advocate willful choice. We still want you to be educated. If you accumulate further Classes—which you definitely will at a certain age—you might want to look into consolidation options to strive for. That way, you wouldn’t suffer the penalties of having multiple Classes and could open up space for others.”

Right.

“[Ranger], maybe?” Ryan suggested on a whim. It was one of the more popular examples for what was a common pairing, [Fighter] and [Scout]. “They even learn some spells?”

Some also were [Beast Trainers], which he might be able to do more easily with his Path.

Mr. Walker nodded. “Don’t feel pressured, though. You have the Registry at your disposal. Use it. Go over your options. Or maybe create one of your own? I kid. Though of course, I do not.”

Ryan almost laughed at his dry tone, but he guessed that really was the goal of the school—discovering new Skills and Classes. That seemed more like something that should happen over decades, but he supposed it had to happen somewhere.

The man was drafting longer lines on the paper now with an unwavering hand. Ryan thought of the figures he had seen outside. Was he making those already? He turned a page and went on.

“Now, [Enhanced Senses] is listed in your file as a cumulative Skill. You received it during a level up?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you drew influences from …?”

“[Mimic Beast], again. I think I listed it with the others earlier …?”

“You did,” Walker assured him. “I won’t claim I am an expert on wildlife, but I do know animal senses can be quite different from ours. If you drew influences, which you did—I can sense the connections—you might want to look up on what those differences could be.”

“Differences? Like—?”

“The ability to see different colors,” he said, “hear different frequencies, to taste or hear through their skin, to communicate with scents and sounds, to discern movement more easily, or seek out warm places. Not to mention the entire species’ worth of instinctual knowledge that comes with those senses: what is good to eat, what things to avoid, to like.”

Ryan blinked. “I can, uh … I can focus on a single sound at once?” He had trained that a lot.

Another nod. “I would have to inquire to see if that is something humans can train or not. Or rather—”

“I should,” Ryan guessed.

“Yes.”

He definitely hadn’t ever considered that. He had just wanted to train control, not look into what animal senses were like. It improved his senses of hearing and smell, he knew. That had been obvious from day one. What else? It was almost a little scary, that he didn’t know.

Walker turned another page and glanced at his file. “Now, I would like to ask about something else. [Strength in Numbers], what does it do?”

“Oh, I actually looked that up,” Ryan said. “It makes me a bit stronger the more allies are near me.”

“Mm. And [Pack Aura]?”

“It makes my allies stronger—”

“Why?” Mr. Walker asked, almost interrupting him.

“Why?” Ryan repeated, confused.

“Or rather, how? Did you look it up?”

“I … did? The entry said it was an aura Skill influenced by bestial concepts of packs, which most commonly improves coordination, control, and general aptitude. It uh, had an asterisk for individuality?”

They put those with Skills which were ‘more individual’ than all Skills already were, varying by context or on a case-to-case basis. The same Skill could differ from [Shepherd] to [Ranger], especially from a Path.

“Do you think it is a strength aura in your case?”

“Yes?”

Hadn’t he just said that? Ryan got the feeling this was one of the questions where the “obvious” answer was supposed to be, “No,” but he had a hard time being sure because of the man’s lack of inflection.

“From a Skill which used to be [Lesser Charisma]?”

“Uh …”

Getting clearer.

“If you are sure, I do not wish to mislead you, but my Skill is telling me there is more to it. A compromise? Aura training is taught late into the second year, but if you want to investigate beforehand, courses for it have become wildly popular in the city as climbers have begun to realize their [Repel Lesser Pest] Skills are shooting themselves in their own feet. I will write you a recommendation for a Guild course, but feel free to choose another. Attend one session when you have time? In many cases, you can stop after just one if you find it isn’t for you.”

Ryan nodded slowly as the man scribbled something down, confused. “‘Something’?” he asked. “What exactly is it I’m supposed to look for, sir?”

“Why your [Pack Aura] makes your allies stronger when it is charisma-based. You also received [Strength in Numbers] at the same time. It might be cooperation between the two Skills or an influence, though my intuition tells me that isn’t it entirely. You know of Skill cooperation?”

“Yes, sir.”

Skills could work together or even depend on another. If he only practiced [Create Fire] using mana from his fire affinity, he would need it to cast the spell as a Skill, even if he had other mana left.

“Good. That only leaves one last question: Your new [Sure Grip] Skill. Cumulative?”

Wait, it was over already?

Ryan shifted up in his seat. “Ah yes, sir. Or rather, hybrid. [Fighter] nine and [Scout] three?”

He simply continued to draft his lines. When he finished, he set the writing pad down for Ryan to see and leaned forward. The paper wasn’t graphed, it was blank, but he had written as if it were in printed handwriting.

He pointed. The first page showed all his Skills from the top left corner to the bottom right in … chronological order? Different lines descended from them and pointed at lower Skills to show some kind of interaction.

“There are different ways to map out Skills,” Mr. Walker told him as if starting another explanation.

Ryan interrupted him before he could, “Uh, a question, sir?”

“Yes?”

His Skills barely fit from one corner to the other, even with the page turned sideways. “What if I had had more Skills?” he asked. “It doesn’t look like it would have fit.”

“Numbers or shorthand,” Walker told him. “It’s less comprehensive, but having more Skills always is. Now, this list is one for influences”—he turned a page—”and this is for interactions. I also picked out the more nuanced cases for both and wrote them out in more detail on the third page here. The last two are short descriptions of all your Skills with further reading suggestions.”

He leafed through the six pages for Ryan. The first one was a standard Proof Of paper.

On the second, [Explarism Path] led down to [Mimic Beast] and to [Pack Aura] with the full arrowheads, but a third, thinner line with a roofed arrowhead also led to [Lesser Vitality].

Walker had noticed, despite him not saying anything. How? His Skill?

A glance at the glossary confirmed it. The full arrowheads were for direct causations like explorations and Skills obtained from level ups. That particular type of thinner line was for speculations. A note told him he might want to investigate or touch on them again during a future meeting.

Ryan already knew the answer, though.

There were two other arrow types for greater and lesser influences. [Mimic Beast] had had an influence on his [Pack Aura]; [Lesser Fire Affinity] apparently on [Basic Fire Craft]. On the next page, they had an interaction line. So the influence was a reason why he had gotten the later Skill in the first place? And the interaction line showed they could work together.

Eerie, to see it all laid bare.

[Enhanced Senses] had a lesser interaction with [Strike Down]. Because it made it more effective?

[Bird Singing] had a lesser influence on [Enhanced Senses], as did his [Salamander Path]. Were those maybe the type of influences he had drawn? What were bird and amphibian senses like?

[Enhanced Senses] to [Scout]. Him scouting ahead with the Skill? [Lesser Endurance], too. Running around?

[Lesser Endurance] to [Sure Grip]. He wasn’t sure.

[Strike Down] to [Surge]?

[Scout] to both [Strength in Numbers] and [Pack Aura] …

“Wow.”

He looked the pages up and down and kept on feeling like he would miss something if he didn’t look carefully enough.

“It will take you a long time to go through,” Mr. Walker told him. “Longer than we have for now.”

There were easily two dozen interactions and influences on both papers. Ryan nodded and wanted to look up, but … One more arrow, he almost told himself as he followed them and guessed.

“If you have any questions, your teachers are familiar with the design. Go to them first. For example, if you have questions about your [Enhanced Senses] influences, you might want to speak with your biology teacher, not me. Only if you don’t understand afterward or it has to do with the design itself, you can come to my office and I will see if I can answer your question, Mr. Payne.”

Right. Because he was probably busy and couldn’t answer questions about foreign subjects.

[Hot Skin] apparently had an influence on [Lesser Fire Affinity], but the interaction line was speculative.

“Do you have any questions for now?” Mr. Walker asked and slipped a paper clip from his drawer. He gently took the pages with one hand.

“Huh?” Ryan glanced up. He needed a moment to track back and remember the question.

“About the structure of the pages?”

“Oh, uh—” He quickly leafed through them all again, noticed the recommendations the man had written under each Skill with further notes, but couldn’t find anything at a first glance. “No, sir.” He let go of them. “This seems very comprehensive. Thank you for drafting it.”

“You’re very welcome. Then, if you have no more questions …?”

Oh, right. The meeting was over. Ryan got halfway up, noticed his glass, and downed the last bit of water in it. When he looked at Mr. Walker, he didn’t know where to put it. The man stood and took it off his hands, handing him the loosely bound papers with his other. The glass disappeared in a basket near his desk.

Ryan offered a handshake. “Should I send the next person in?”

“Please, do.”

He headed for the door with his body turned halfway back. “Again, thank you, sir—”

“Think nothing of it.”

“—and have a nice day.”

“Likewise, Mr. Payne.”

Outside, he noticed the clock. Not late. Not early. He was right on time. He hadn’t made an impact at all. He wanted to glance down at his pages, but then he remembered Saga.

“You’re up.”

She’d already gotten up. “Thanks. Later sometime, then? Or see you during laps on Thursday?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“Bye.” She stepped into the room and closed the door.

Ryan wandered off and read.