“With feet like these, you should have gone to a shipbuilder.”

The cobbler had made an outline of Damon’s foot on two separate sheets of paper. She took some extra measurements using several pieces of string that had markings running along their length. The silver eared cobbler kept looking at the numbers, frowning, and then at Damon, a loose strand of black hair dangling next to her angular face.

It was tempting to blow some air, he wondered how she’d react.

“Just what kind of footwear are you looking for?”

“The sort I can walk in all day every day, ma’am,” he said.

She mumbled something, writing more down and scratching her chin. “And you want to work to pay for this?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave a nod. “I was told that a gaper hide may help cover most of the expenses. But I would like to cover the rest with work since I don’t have much else but the clothes on my back.”

The cobbler’s lips curled. “It depends on how good you’d want it to be.”

“If I may be selfish, the longer they can last, the better.”

“If my best were good, I would live somewhere better.”

Damon frowned. “I am looking for hardy shoes, ma’am. I think this village is a very hardy place.”

That appeared to lighten her mood a little, an upward tweak to her lips. “You bring that fur and I’ll see what I can make.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Call me Linda.”

“Beautiful?”

“Excuse me?”

Linda blinked in confusion, straightening her back as she focused on his expression like someone trying to read a blurry text. Her silver ears canted lower as she did. She might have had a decade on him, but she carried it very well, her features hawkish and severe. It was a face that would not be out of place on a strict teacher, but there was something in her gaze that felt curious. Apprehensive. But definitely curious.

“Linda means ‘beautiful’. At least where I come from.” Damon explained.

“Huh.” She moved the loose strand of black hair behind her ear. Her green eyes appeared to study his face for a long silent moment. She shook her head lightly. “A wasted name.”

“I disagree.”

Linda snorted, leaning back and crossing her arms as she looked at him. “You don’t say?” It was a challenge.

He took it. “I would.”

“Care to elaborate?” She hid the hesitation.

And that gave him some of his own. “It would depend, ma’am. I’d rather not step on any toes.”

The skepticism and surprise on her upturned lips melted into amusement. “I wear steel-tipped shoes.” Damon’s brows rose, and Linda laughed, gesturing at the entrance. “Go. Bring me the gaper hide and I should be done in three days. I will hear about alternate ways to pay for the difference then.

Damon felt an urge to stay a moment longer, the soft features of Linda’s neck, trailing down to the demure bump on her shirt, his mind wondering on what he’d find beneath. But he turned to leave rather than allow his gaze to linger.

“Wait.”

Linda fidgeted for a moment, looking nervous, chewing on her lower lip, and turning to look towards the wall as if she could see through it.

“Be careful out there.”

Damon wasn’t too sure what she meant, but nodded. “I’ll make sure not to trip.”

She didn’t look convinced, but returned the gesture. There was something about her face that made Damon pause. But she’d turned before he could ask about it. Was something bothering her? He’d ask later, for now, it seemed the more polite option was to leave.

He ducked under the doorframe, and the outside world met him with a cloudy sky with streaks of lightning off in the distance. The ground was tough, but it would likely turn into mud once the downpour began. Considering he was only wearing two planks of wood with some string as footwear, he was sure he’d want to stay inside the house once everything got muddy.

With the slap-slap his wooden flip-flops made with every step, Damon stopped when he felt a chill run down his spine. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed the death-cube looking at him intently from the smithy. It was hanging from the roof as the man worked on attaching the propellers. Theoretically, the machine had been staring dead ahead. Nothing about the eye could betray its focus was aimed at Damon.

But he felt the prickling against the back of his neck all the same.

He hurried along to the house, thunder rumbled above.

“You walk very stiffly.” A voice whispered into his ear.

Damon almost jumped, holding back the twitch and turning to look over at Sybil. The hooded woman had snuck up on him without a sound. Though she didn’t laugh, her sharp eyes were smiling through the cowl. The amusement was practically oozing from her.

“If you keep the pace, I could dance to the rhythm.”

He didn’t respond to her taunt. “Any luck?” He diverted the subject.

“The gatherer girl hasn’t left sir knight’s house, doesn’t seem willing to talk with anyone.” Sybil answered with a shrug.

“Did you try knocking?”

“Why would I?”

Damon hesitated mid-step, sighing. “Hymn, right.”

“Is that how you do things in your world?” She leaned closer. “You knock on doors?”

“It’s common courtesy.”

“Interesting.” Sybil lowered her voice as they approached the house. “Don’t go knocking on sir knight’s door.”

“Why?”

“Idina is terrified, and sir knight is nervous too.” She declared. “I asked around though. Not many want to talk, the whole village’s been restless since we showed up, but it’s been getting worse. I did find out the gatherer girl was the one who usually guided users around the place.” A slight shrug. “Their main income is from users, though, so with things drying up, they’ve been having a harder time.”

Damon looked at her inquisitively. He was about to speak, but something softly tapped his head, and he glanced up. A second soft tap on his cheek, damp. “Rain.” He glanced at the hooded woman. “What now?”

“We wait.”

The rain had turned into a downpour within hours.

Damon had kept to his room, struggling to fiddle around with the user interface. He’d mostly stuck to asking questions to Han and Sybil, everything he could think of that might be worth testing out.

Of importance was trying to figure out the differences between what they had and Damon had. Based on what they’d told him, theirs was more like a mix between a smart encyclopedia and a control panel for their grafts. His own had felt… different to that, way different. Almost like a game that had had its functions expanded upon by something else.

The most valuable use theirs had was the ability to visually recognize known monsters and instantly access the information that had been gathered on them by other users. And this encyclopedia was a cumulative database that would get updated whenever they visited the “thalaring temple”.

Aside from these features, there were basic capabilities to record things and distribute the recordings to other users. Though the method of ‘sharing’ was too vaguely described, neither Han nor Sybil seemed sure of how it worked exactly, only that you needed to be in physical contact with the one you wished to share it with.

Their attempts to send an image to him had failed. Disappointing, but not surprising.

That the term ‘gods’ and ‘goddesses’ was tossed around throughout the entire conversation was something Damon hadn’t wanted to dwell too deeply into. Instead, he focused on the things his user system could do that theirs couldn’t.

“System, erm, Sys? Could you give details on the translation function?”

[...]

Auto-translation: Engaged

Learning mode: Engaged

Active Languages:

-Halter-dialect

-User-Sybil Language

Inactive Languages:

-None

[...]

Two active languages. Which just sounded like plain English to his ears, and that he could speak without noticing it was anything else unless he paid very close attention to how his mouth moved or paid even closer attention to the sounds. It was as if his internal voice spoke in English while his ears picked up the original language being spoken by both himself and others.

If he tried focusing on it too much,it would give him a splitting headache.

But that dissonance wasn’t why he was glaring at the screen, something was off. Damoon’s thoughts returned to the cave, the monster, the dead man, and Idina. He’d wanted to ask the gatherer why she’d been there, if she’d seen or heard anything, maybe a clue about how he’d gotten there, or why she’d been there with the guy that got mulched, but…

With a sigh, Damon changed the names of the languages to match the terms he’d heard from Sybil and dismissed the window. He’d get to figure out more about the cave after the two users had dealt with the monster lord.

A part of him remembered waiting home when his pops went out on a call. His mother had never really handled the stress of that doubt, of whether pops would come back or not. The consideration dragged several unpleasant memories that Damon quickly pushed away to focus back on the thing that was stuck in his head.

His attention went to the second biggest function that put his axon apart from the others. The capacity to answer questions and react to his words. “System, how do you fill out the map?”

[...]

Error

Query answer not found

[...]

“How can you tell other people’s locations?”

[...]

Query Answer:

EM Tag

[…]

“What is an EM Tag?”

[...]

Error

Query answer not found

[...]

Even if the system was clearly missing many things, Damon felt there had to be answers hidden in this mess of errors and dead ends. He’d just have to find the right question. His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the bigger picture, to how this was possible and why.

Why was he here?

Like with every other attempt, his mind kept going back to the cave, the corpse, the gatherer, the alert about some apocalypse but no further details about it. Damon knew he couldn’t just sit and do nothing. He had his goals, find a way home. What could he do to be better prepared for that?

“Sys, can I customize the rules for the prompts you show?”

[...]

Query Answer:

Yes

[...]

He perked up slightly. This had potential. “Hmm.” A knocking at the door drew his attention elsewhere. “Come in.”

Sybil stepped through, glancing around the room through her hood and pausing near the door. “We are heading out.”

“You sure it showed up?”

“We can feel it in the way the hymns are disturbed. Our best guess is that the lord is northeast of here.”

“Disturbed?”

“It makes hymns harder to read. It is one of its powers, and the one of the reasons I brought Han. The best way to hunt this lord is by determining in which direction the disruption is coming from.” She shook her head. “Success or failure, it will take us between two to six days to come back.”

“Chances of failure are high?”

“It is a lord, and I am fighting it on my own, after all.”

Damon looked at her, unamused. “Why?”

“Because I must.”

“Is this some other weird rule people have to follow?”

“It is a trial I must pass.”

“… right. That sounds like a weird rule.”

“Perhaps it would seem that way.” She replied, tone stiff. “This is a test of strength. I must earn my grafts, prove myself to Janus.”

Shifting in the bed uncomfortably, he sat at the edge. Damon’s gaze met hers and frowned slightly. Gods again. With a deep sigh, he shrugged. “Your house, your rules.”

Sybil looked surprised. “That’s… it?”

Damon repeated the gesture. “I won’t pretend I know more about the monster or you than you do. Nor do I know how well you would mesh with Han in a fight against this lord. I do have several opinions, but it’s not really my place to convince you about them.”

She crossed her arms. “And what would those opinions be?”

“My father warned me to never answer that question, and I will take his advice.” He laughed.

“Your father was wise.” Han’s voice called out from the corridor, bringing out another chuckle out of them.

Sybil turned to leave, stopping at the door for a moment. “Be careful, Damon.”

“I’m the one staying in a cozy house and not heading out in the middle of a storm to fight monsters.”

Though she nodded, it was Han’s face that caught Damon’s attention. The golden-bearded sasin stared at him intently. “I’ll get her back. But you should hunker down.” There was a severity in those words.

Damon felt like he was missing something from the picture. He nodded as they closed the door.

Damon’s brow furrowed, heading to the window to watch them go. Both users wore cloaks and walked out of the village through the main gate. It was hard to make out through the hazy, uneven glass and the rain, but both of them looked to be light on equipment, other than the weapons and gear they carried.

What was he missing from this picture?

[...]

System ‘heads-up’:

User Handrondi EM-tag has left detection range

User Sybil EM-tag has left detection range

[...]

“Didn’t I turn this setting off?”

[...]

Query Answer:

ADMIN turned off notifications only for new EM Tags entering range, not exiting them

[...]

“Huh.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “Inform if Knight, Sybil, Handrondi, Idina, or the knight’s familiar enter or leave detection range. Accompany it with the map showing their last known location.”

[...]

System message:

Notification settings updated

[...]

Damon dismissed the prompt and took a walk around the house, checking the locks and confirming the basics of its security. The third such ‘tour’ today, committing the layout to memory. Again. One of the things that bothered him the most was the lack of curtains throughout most of the house, it gnawed at him, especially since some of the other houses clearly had them.

He didn’t care to enter the rooms of either of the other users, but he made sure every window and every door was securely shut. He meandered about barefoot until the chill of the empty house got him to just grab a snack and get back to the room so he could get back to using his time to further mess around with the user guide.

It would be several hours, the storm growing in power, until something else popped up.

[...]

System ‘heads-up’:

Automaton Isthatit has left detection range

[...]

The map popped out. A singular red dot showing the robot’s last known location.

It matched that of Sybil and Handrondi, out and northeast of the village.

Damon’s eyes widened. He jumped out of the bed, running to the stairs. His hand flickered the lights on, he began fishing for clothes and gear. But he froze half-way, brows furrowing, the notification had been for only one thing, not several.

“Show knight’s location.”

The map was updated, showing a singular red dot right next to the house.

Right outside the house he was in.

Damon’s brows furrowed. His mind went through several things. None were pretty. Removing the wooden sandals, he’d been about to go look for the gaper hide but remembered he’d given it to the cobbler that morning.

His hand lingered on the knob, checking it was securely locked. But he jumped back as several heavy thuds hammered against the wood, rattling it.

“YOU WILL STAY INSIDE!”

A bark of a command.

As silently as possible, Damon stepped back and looked for anything that could serve as a weapon. He found a handful of glass bottles and several cutlery knives. None of them were good choices to be used unless there was literally no other option available.

“I KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE! RESPOND OR YOU WILL BE DETAINED.”

Damon came to a halt in front of the entrance door. There was no peephole, but it appeared the knight was alone. “You are not allowed into this house. If you attempt to trespass, I will defend myself accordingly.” He declared.

“FINE.” the man declared.

But he did not leave.

Damon took a moment, frowning at the door. The bot had left, chasing after Han and Sybil. The knight was… trying to keep him there? Why? Damon’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to leave now.” He stated, glaring at the wood, considering his options. “And I’m going to give my friends a hand with the monsters.”

“You will stay.” The knight’s voice stated flatly.

Damon took a deep breath. “I’d been thinking something was wrong.” He growled under his breath. “It had been bothering me for a while. When your familiar attacked me, I declared my surrender. I did it in Halteros. It should have understood me perfectly. It is the language your daughter used in the cave.” He added. “But it kept going for me. Why?”

The silence turned into rattling; something metallic scratched against the lock. It took a moment, the lock turned, and the door swung open. The knight pushed through to step inside, wielding a short sword in his right hand and a mix of panic and anger in his eyes.

Standing next to the open door, Damon swung the chair he’d been holding, aimed squarely at the knight’ face.

The metal helmet the knight wore rung like a bell, most likely it saved his life. The short man didn’t so much stumble back out as much as get flung outwards, falling flat on the ground as if he’d just been hit by a truck. Blood and a few loose teeth fell to the ground as he tried to stand back up, weakly holding his weapon.

Damon ducked under the doorframe and followed through with the attack, swinging the chair a second time, knocking the blade out of the man’s hand. The knight let out a shout as the third swing caught his legs and knocked him to the muddy ground. The fourth swing landed on his legs again, the loud sound of cracking followed, and the man screamed.

Damon stopped, dropping what was left of the chair, breath caught as he’d half expected things to have gone horribly wrong by now. In his mind, he’d been imagining a fight in a confined space against an enemy with a blade and his movements restricted, danger, threat. Yet he was just about one or two good blows from blowing the knight’s helmet in without so much as a scratch on him.

The man was in the mud, clenching his legs and screaming bloody murder. Damon stepped closer and stomped his good arm into the dirt, pinning it in place. “Why did you send your familiar after them?”

“Killing me won’t stop it.” The man declared in a gruff cough. “It has its orders, and it’s too far away now.”

He frowned, shaking his head. “Why attack?”

The knight spat. “I owe you nothing.”

Damon reached down and yanked the knight out of the mud by the neck of his chestplate. The knight shrieked, but Damon didn’t pay it any mind, picking up the discarded sword and walking into the house while dragging the attacker. The man struggled and screamed, his broken legs were mostly useless, and his weight was not as much of a bother to him.

All Damon had to do was toss him into the bathroom.

“Last chance.” He said, standing next to the door, watching the man clutch his legs. “Or I start getting more persuasive.”

That appeared to snap the stoic brows of the man. “Wait!” The knight’s eyes widened, reaching out. “You… you can still save your friends.”

“Bullshit. Your hunk of junk flies faster than I run. By the time I reach them, the fight would be over.”

“It won’t attack them, not right away.” The man declared hastily, pale and sweating. “Its orders are to attack after the fight with the lord. To finish whoever survives.”

Damon ran the options, his brow furrowed. Sybil and Han had mentioned it would take them from two to four days to get back. That meant at least one full day to find the lord, and they’d left roughly eight hours ago.

He still didn’t like those odds.

“Just so we are clear.” Damon glared at the man. “I have questions, you will answer them when I get back. And I’m going to ask those same questions to your niece.”

The man gulped.

Closing the door and locking it, Damon proceeded to put a chair as added blockage. He glared at it for a moment, and reconsidered, dragging the big wooden table to make extra sure it wouldn’t be possible to open the door. Escape from the bathroom wouldn’t be possible through the window, too narrow, so he felt mostly certain it would hold until he got back.

Picking up the knight’s sword, he stepped out of the house and discarded his wooden flip-flops.

[...]

Congratulations!

Baby’s first real weapon! (stolen)

Gained: -1 Survival Points (Stealing from a knight!). TOTAL: 7

You can redeem points in exchange for upgrades (maybe you could’ve done that instead of stealing? Hm?)!

Nearest booth located at: 5͟͠҉&̶̴̡_̀͢:̶̀̕̕͢ȩ͝2̷̢͜2̸̨

[...]

“Sod off.”

He started marching.