“Tuesday. Tyr’s day. Mars’s day if you’re French.” Peter lay in bed talking to himself. He was trying to psych himself up to actually rise but it wasn’t going well. Fortunately his mum hadn’t gotten up either. He could tell because she hadn’t tipped him out of bed yet. He heard his dad sneak out earlier though, probably having grabbed a breakfast bar from the pantry on the way out.

When he eventually dragged himself out of bed, Peter was quite surprised at how non-terrible he felt. He’s become accustomed to waking in pain and exhausted. Fair enough, the exhaustion was probably from playing TAOS&S all night instead of sleeping, but it was a welcome change nonetheless.

Whipping himself up a cup of tea and a bowl of the least objectionable cereal, Peter took the elevator to the roof and found himself a seat looking out over the city. The sun was just cresting the horizon and the world was waking up. A wisp of steam curled up from his mug as Peter enjoyed the solitude. Carefully chewing a spoonful of cereal and thinking about his Shop A assignment gave Peter an idea about his weapon. Maybe I should have to have a word with the smith or his apprentice to see if they could possible to modify it? If they could, there might be a way to turn his regular scythe into a war scythe. The blade in line with the shaft would give his some sorely needed reach and if his idea worked out, you could change back and forth relatively easily.

A blinking icon in the top left of his vision grabbed his attention. A tiny picture of his mum let him know who was calling. He swallowed and picked up the line. “Morning mum. What’s up?”

The icon solidified and his mum came through. “Where are you? You’ve left the milk on the sink and you haven’t made your bed.”

“Sorry Mum, I’m up in the garden. I left the milk out for you to make breakfast, I’m sure I heard you stirring.”

“Peter Buckminster Fuller. Don’t lie to me. Now get down here and clean up.” The icon turned red as the line disconnected.

Sighing, he spent one last moment appreciating the vista before heading down. Peter resolved to redouble his efforts to get to the capital city and see the world from the top of the crystal towers as the elevator took him down. Back in the apartment he put the milk back in the fridge and wiped down the countertop under his mother’s watchful gaze.

The moment he finished her frown melted away and she gave him a hug. “I know you’re having a tough time at the moment, but that’s no reason to let our standards slip. We don’t tell fibs, do we?”

“No Mum.”

“And we don’t leave a mess on the bench, do we?”

“No Mum.”

“You’re not going to do it again, are you?”

“No Mum.”

“Good boy. Now go get dressed, I’m taking you with me today.” She pointed in the general direction of the bedroom.

Grumbling under his breath, but having no real objection Peter complied. This was his last day before he had to go back to school and he had really hoped to spend it having fun. Following his mum around various shops and sitting in the yoga studio kid minding pen was not what he though fun meant. He pulled on his favorite hoodie and a pair of board shorts. A pair of white sneakers completed the ensemble. When he flicked the hoodie up the absence of a comforting warmth made him miss DB. Maybe he could convince his mum to let him get a rat for real.

Probably not though.

By the time Peter had changed and returned to the kitchen, his mother had also changed out of her PJs, done the washup, packed a gym bag and had enough time to be standing by the front door tapping her foot. “Come on honey, we’ve got a few places to get to today.”

Dragging his feet would get him nowhere fast, of that Peter was certain, so he plastered a smile on his face and picked up the pace. Maybe I can convince Mum to get me a VirtuPet or something if I’m really good.

As they drove downtown Peter browsed the net at 50% transparency but kept up the small talk with his mother. He really didn’t have much interest in what book her book club was failing to read this week while drinking wine and bitching about whoever was absent. Nor did he care overmuch about what her yoga instructor thought of her form or if he was paying too much attention to Karen, whoever Karen was. The more his mum could be convinced of his fascination with the subjects, the less he had to talk about his inevitable return to school, his grades, the messes he left on the bench or why there was extra laundry this week.

Hope blossomed in his chest as Peter realised where their first stop would be. Yoga class. They had a childminding creche thing. Most of the kids there would be toddlers screaming for their parents, who were of course completely out of earshot for that hour of sanity in their day, but Peter didn’t care. He could log into TAOS&S from a comfy chair and get in an hour of practice, questing, whatever. Not dealing with the real world in any way.

He put on a sorrowful expression when his mother told him he would need to wait in the minding area with all the little kids, assuring her that he would be ok while she got in her daily fitness. So good was his acting that he scored a cola to boot.

Peter sat and sipped his drink until the doors to the classroom closed behind the last student before sealing the container and slipping it into the drink holding pocket on the side of his bag before getting comfy and logging in.

The wonderfully Victorian world of The Age faded in, obscuring the horribly modern decor of the fitness centre. Drawing a deep breath he set off, head held high.

First stop was the blacksmith’s. Led by the ringing of steel on steel, he found the smith himself out the front of the workshop pounding on an innocent bar of metal. In the darkness of the back room the man had appeared wizened and frail last time Peter had seen him. This time the light reflected off the sheen of sweat coating an impressive musculature as he stood shirtless in the sunlight. Peter stood well back with his hands over his ears to protect his hearing and tried to attract the smith’s attention with a waved elbow.

Once the cherry red bar had cooled to a dull black it was dunked in a nearby barrel with a hiss. “Yes, boy?” The bassy rumble indicated that this man also possessed no inside voice. “What can I get ye?”

It took a moment to pop open his inventory and extract the scythe, which was then presented for inspection. This time, to his surprise, the man was able to take the weapon out of Peter’s outstretched hands. He turned it over a couple of times, held it up to the light, tapped the blade gently against the anvil and held to to his ear.

Peter watched in rapt fascination. “It says I can’t analyse it, but someone told me it was something called… soulbound? How is it that you could take it when they couldn’t?”

A freakishly muscled eyebrow was quirked in his direction. “Could it be that ye don't know what it is that ye have here?”

Seriously, who has face muscles that stand out like that? Peter thought to himself. Out loud, “It was given to me by someone, they said it was a quest objective to do so? I tried to show it to someone else but they couldn’t take it.”

“Hmmm.” The smith held the scythe above his head as though trying to see the sun through it. “It is indeed bound to ye. It cannot be sold, gifted or destroy it like a normal item does when it’s durability drops to zero, but ye can still lose it. Soulbound items can be dueled for and lost, or wrested from ye in special circumstances. It may not look like much now, but this beauty has hidden depths.”

Peter barely heard what was said. He was staring at the smith’s abdomen. A twelve pack? That’s just not fair. “Buh, wait. Hidden depths? I was going to ask if it was possible to modify it, does that mean I can’t? That it’s a legendary or something?”

The smith’s forehead creased with some impressive furrows. “A legendary what? I’m not sure what ye mean by that, but I tell ye what, I can definitely help improve her. I can even show ye how to get her to show ye under her skirts, if ye catch me meaning. It’ll take half an hour and a couple of copper for me time, but ye’ll soon know a dirk from a dagger and the difference between a mace and a morning star. I’ll cover the basics of customising yer weapons along the way. What say ye?”

“I…” Peter started then stopped, unsure if he could commit to the time.

The smith brought his palm down on Peter’s shoulder with a whack that made his knees buckle. “The ayes have it then, boy. Let’s get started. This,” he picked up the bar he had been working on from the barrel, “is steel. It’s the hardest metal we work here in Averton. The ores come from the mines over yonder. Over here,” Peter was led to a set of carefully arranged pyramids of metal ingots, “we have copper, bronze, tin, brass, lead and iron. Some of them make good blades, some of them make better components for gearlings. Can ye figure out which is which?”

Despite his initial misgivings and anxiety over being interrupted by the real world, Peter soon got into the lesson. Determined to retain as much of the information as possible, he pulled out the beautiful pen he’d acquired from the Mayor’s wife, and the small pile of paper from the recovery room. He took extensive notes on the rudiments of smelting, alloys, quenching and work hardening. The small range of weapons available now made a lot more sense to him, being more than simply stabby, whacky and cutty. He even tried to lift the smith’s hammer.

Once.

Unsuccessfully.

You have been tutored in Appraise (Weapon craft). A popup in his vision informed him and an itch from his arm informed that his skills list had been updated. Peter handed over the coppers he earned delivering the mail, wincing slightly at being back to zero again. Still, he actually learned something and earned a valuable skill as well. He thanked the smith and ducked across the square to the inn.

Worrying that his mum would be done soon he nipped around the back and into an empty stall in the stables. A repeat of the time he had logged into the game in the doorway of Bovrn’s shop would be regrettable. Taking a seat on a bale of hay he tucked his writing implements into his inventory and logged out.

Impeccable timing if I do say so myself. Peter was just sitting up and pulling out his cola when the yoga class began filing out past the doorway. He quickly slipped the drink back in the appropriate pocket and met his mother in the hall.

“Just a moment hun, wait for me at the front desk.” She waved him off and returned to the whispered conversation with the instructor.

Whatever the issue was, it involved animated hand gestures. Big ones. Peter pulled a face a their backs and went to wait by the desk as instructed. The young lady attending the station was quite easy on the eyes and reminded Peter of Dani, though with more lycra and fewer weapons.

“Don’t stare Petey, I taught you better than that.” Peter’s mother’s voice made him jump. “Come on, we’ve got plenty more to do today.”

Face colouring rapidly, Peter followed his mum out to the car. “I wasn’t staring Mum. She looks like a girl from school. I was trying to figure out if they’re related.”

Peter’s mum gave him the side-eye while concentrating on the road. “We agreed no more fibs, Petey…”

“Honest. I’m going to ask Dani if her sister works at your gym when I see her tomorrow.”

“Sure.” His mother sighed but sounded mollified. “Well, next stop is the new bookshop cafe downtown. I need to see a lady about some paperwork, do you think you can entertain yourself for an hour or so?”

Peter’s heart fluttered in his chest. An hour of uninterrupted play? Score! Wait, be cool. Don’t sound too excited. “Can I get a coffee while I wait, please?”

Again with the side-eye. “No, coffee will stunt your growth. If you promise to be good and not interrupt,” she held up a warning finger, “I said if, then I’ll buy you a cup of the expensive tea.”

“Can I have a new book too? Please?”

“You’re pushing it…” The warning in her voice was evident.

“Sorry mum,” he apologised. “I promise to behave and not interrupt your meeting. I will sit still, drink my tea and read a book I already have.”

His mother reached over and gave his leg a squeeze. “That’s my biggest, bestest boy. Now, we’re here. Can you see a car park?”

Today was really looking up. Peter had expected to be dragged from pillar to post, and yet here he was having learned something, got to play for an hour so far, and promised a cup of the good stuff.