Dear Journal,

Normally, I’d be busy trying to sneak a few curse words into the notebook right off the bat. But I’ve been in a pretty good place lately. Mentally, physically, emotionally, I’ve been feeling pretty stable. Maybe it’s due to the fact that I haven’t had to deal with that idiot Boba in a couple weeks. Or it could be that I’ve actually been given some time to relax, recuperate, and refresh. Whatever it is, I’m not feeling as spiteful as I was when I first got here. Here as in this world, this backwater planet your idiot colleague stuck me on. I don’t even know why I’m writing to you right now, maybe I just wanna gloat about the fact that I haven’t gotten into any life or death situations for about a month now. That’s definitely a personal record, I feel, and I plan on extending it. I don’t care what you or Boba have in store for me, I’m gonna figure out how to get my contract fulfilled with as little pain as possible. Just you watch, wherever the hell you are. I know you’re dead but whatever, I’m still gonna bad mouth you every now and then. You deserve it.

I’m feeling way better,

Sepeti.

Sepeti folded up the creased, dog-eared notebook and tucked it into the inside pocket of his vest. His pocket dimension opened up and he deposited the book into it without anyone seeing him access it. He’d been working on that little maneuver for a few days now and had found that it was all a matter of concentration. He only needed to imagine himself placing an item into the dimension and it would open up right where he was holding it. He’d gotten it wrong a few times and the tear that appeared had ripped up some perfectly good vests and shirts. This time, he’d executed the move flawlessly. He pumped his fist discreetly, allowing himself to celebrate his little win.

A week had passed since his ‘interrogation’ at the hands of the hawk-eyed branch director and he was feeling much better. He flipped his Association ID card between his fingers, enjoying the craftsmanship of the thing. He’d expected it to be little more than a flimsy piece of paper with some form of lamination on it, but the end product was much more satisfying. What he’d received was a small metallic card that fit in the palm of his hand. His name, level, class, and title were etched into the front of the card along with a strikingly realistic rendition of his face. It was detailed enough to show that he was missing an eye. This annoyed him but he let it slide.

The back of the card was blank but the receptionist had informed him that his choice of collective and affiliation would be inscribed upon his joining them as a full member. It was cool to the touch and heavy. Ever since he’d received it he couldn’t help but toy with it.

As he was busy playing with his ID, a waitress approached and placed a cup of water before him. She dipped her head in greeting and waited for him to acknowledge her before speaking.

“Hello, good sir/ A fine day to you/ Would you like a menu?/ Or can I get something started?”

Sepeti found that most Extuano weren’t as stringent with their language as the healers were. Some stuck to the rhyming conventions but most didn’t go out of their way to make everything rhyme. They all spoke in the same cadence that made it sound like they were reading poetry but not all of them used flowery language. He was thankful for this simply because he didn’t want to have to try to figure out what they were saying all the time. But he still refused to speak in rhyme, choosing instead to try his best to stick to Common and hope that the locals would understand.

“A menu, please.” He kept his voice low, leaning toward the girl so she could hear him. He still wasn’t sure if his language skill was automatically translating his words to be more palatable to whoever he was talking to. He’d spent some time trying to test it out on different locals but, so far, he didn’t notice any major difference. They all responded to him positively.

The young waitress placed a menu on the table before excusing herself. It was a bare-bones thing, giving little more than the names of the items and a very brief description. In following local custom, they didn’t list prices as it was considered bad manners to be up front with money. Not that Sepeti was worried about money, the healers provided him with an ample allowance. They had informed him that it was customary for the Congregation to ensure that those who were in their care were well provided for.

Sepeti chose a random item , committing it to memory before closing the menu. This was another local custom he’d been informed about. When a patron was ready to order they would close the menu. The young woman appeared again, bowed her head slightly before taking possession of the leatherbound booklet.

“What will it be good sir?/ I can make a suggestion/ Or do you have anything in mind?”

Sepeti deliberated. Well, he let the questions hang while he adopted a thoughtful look. Gran had told him that it was local custom to let the staff make suggestions when first visiting a new cafe. They’d always give him the option of choosing for himself but the expectation was that he would ask for their opinion. The giant had also told him that they’d look favorably on him if he was to ask for their opinion on a possible choice before asking for a suggestion.

“I was looking at the tarts, the plumberry one sounded good. Would you recommend it?”

The waitress flashed a smile that he felt bordered on being genuine. He’d made the right move.

“That one is a shop special/ Favored by diners of all ages/ Unfortunately, we’re out of it currently/ Might I suggest a slice of bröden cake/ With a spot of freshly brewed montiere tea?”

“I’ll take it,” Sepeti hummed, smiling slightly at the young woman. He wasn’t usually one to smile at others but it felt appropriate. “Thank you.”

The small cafe had appealed to him only because of the fact that it was tucked away in a corner of the foreign district. The more popular places that served foreigners were full of people, an automatic pass for him. This one was quaint. It gave off a feeling of homeliness. Plus, it gave him a nice little spot to watch out for the caretakers.

A small part of him felt bad for shaking them but he had grown fed up with their constant doting. Ever since they’d found out he could understand Extuahn-Lo they did nothing but pester him with questions. Constant babbling about the Sun and questioning his background. In some ways, he felt they were worse than the branch manager. They picked at everything he said — which wasn’t much — and pestered him constantly. At one point, Mo-Ka’ilo had tried to persuade him of the memory rejuvenation benefits of a magically induced coma. The bald man had all but forgotten about the recovery timetable.

Gran had made himself sparse after the caretakers made it clear his translation services weren’t needed anymore. The old giant still visited but spent much less time on Congregation grounds. He’d made Sepeti promise that he wouldn’t join a collective until after the giant took him out to a spot in the Zen desert. The man was adamant about it and Sepeti had reluctantly agreed, if only to get the giant off his case.

He pulled out the pamphlets the branch director had given him and laid them out on the small table. Excitement made his stomach bubble. Back on his homeworld, he’d enjoyed reading fantastical stories that had organizations similar to the Association and its collectives. The closest thing ‘Oseni had to them were large conglomerate unions that organized people into strict career avenues. On a basic level, they were very similar. Groups that came together to help support and ensure the rights of their members and all that jazz. But everything about his homeworld had been sterile and corporate.

This was much more exciting. At least, he felt like it was. This was much closer to the stories and he wanted to dip his toes and see which one could support him. He read the pamphlets in the order he’d been given them. First the Artisans, then the Peacekeepers, and finally the Hunters. He’d read them quite a few times since receiving the information. And each time he read them he got the same sense of wonderment and excitement. He was sure he could join all three. With his ability to easily learn skills and magics he was sure he could easily excel at whatever he decided to do. As long as he wasn’t railroaded onto a set path, that is.

The young waitress returned, cutting off his train of thought before he fell down a rabbit hole of self-loathing and anger. She placed a hefty slice of cake in front of him before carefully setting down a hot cup of tea. The cake jiggled at the slightest movement while a sweet citrus scent wafted up from the cup.

“Enjoy, good sir/ If you need anything, I’ll be over there.” She excused herself with a slight nod of her head.

Sepeti quite liked the local customs, for the most part. So far he’d been exposed to the most pleasant side of the people and the city-state. But a large part of him was itching to dive into the underbelly. He assumed there had to be a darker side. Where there was light there was inevitably darkness. Or something like that.

He dug his spoon into the bountiful cake and found that it was like he was carving out a spoonful of cloud. The cake practically melted on his tongue as a delicious concoction of new tastes assaulted his senses. If he’d been eating in a private room he would have let out a moan. When was the last time he’d had the luxury of being able to eat something tasty without worrying about being attacked?

He couldn’t remember. As far back as he could dive into his memory — pretty far considering how long his second life had lasted — he could only pick out a handful of truly peaceful moments. And most of them were spent alone in a dank room eating something nowhere near as tasty as this cake. He was never one for introspection but it was truly depressing how fraught his previous lives had been.

His teeth clanged against the spoon as he shook off the downer thoughts. So what if he spent most of his time jumping from one life threatening experience to another. The only thing he could do was forge ahead. Sitting around and complaining about it just wasn’t an option.

Yet, maybe it was. What had really been the driving force behind his long, arduous lives that usually amounted to extreme moments of violence and destruction? Was he just going to accept his lot in life as a whipping boy? Was he ever a whipping boy or was he just victimizing himself?

Sepeti’s mind began to spiral as he continued to consider all these existential questions. For once, he had time to sit and self-analyze. And he found that he didn’t really like it.

“Good, you shouldn’t like it. Self-discovery is the biggest load of crap I’d ever bought into,” Boba’s undulating voice interrupted his thoughts. “If you ask me, the act of doing things is where it’s at. If you have no idle time then you don’t have to think about stupid things that just make you feel down.”

Sepeti took a sip of his tea, reveled in the tang of citrus as it slid down his throat, and let out a discreet sigh. He’d been having such a good month.

“Of course you have. You got to laze around and recover while being doted on. Living the life! Don’t let little old me change anything.”

His back and neck began to ache as the annoyance creeped up his spine. All he wanted was more time to enjoy himself, relax, and be free of overbearing Gods who obviously didn’t know anything about personal space. It was painful, having to share a head space with someone, or something, that imposed itself whenever it wanted. Maybe he could learn a skill or magic that would allow him to ward off the God. Or, at the very least, something that would give him warning as to when his mind was going to be invaded.

“Ah, you don’t need any of that. I get the message, loud and clear. And, frankly, I just don’t care. I’ll show up when and where I want, ‘cause I’m a God and there’s nothing you can do about it.” A loud whistle rang in Sepeti’s head. “And don’t think I don’t know about you bad mouthing me to Journal. Just because I haven’t gained omnipresence yet doesn’t mean I don’t already have omniscience. I’ve been keeping a tally of every time you’ve slighted me.”

His head grew heavy as an invisible force bore down on him. It caused him slight discomfort. If anything, it was much more annoying than disconcerting.

“You thought I couldn’t directly affect the material world, didn’t you? Well you thought wrong! I can exert some pressure. So you watch yourself. Every time you want to mess with me, I’ll mess with you.” Boba snickered. The sound bounced around in Sepeti’s head, adding to the annoyance he was already experiencing.

“Whatever,” Sepeti whispered into his cupped hand. He made sure his voice was so low that a passerby would have to put their face right next to his to hear him. As much as he didn’t care about what others thought, he didn’t want to have to deal with the stigma of being the strange foreigner who talked to himself. He would have answered the God in his head but every time they were around it felt like there was no space for him to get a mental word in. “Get on with it. What the hell do you want?”

“Jeez, can’t even take some time to catch up with your oldest and only friend!” Boba harrumphed and the mental picture of a faceless being crossing their arms and pouting filled Sepeti’s imagination.

“We’re not friends. I don’t worship and I don’t even like you.” Sepeti took a sip of his tea, using the motion to appear normal. He caught the waitress looking in his direction and he gave her a curt nod. “Just get on with it. You’re here to talk me into that deal. What is it?”

Boba sighed, filling his head with a gloomy cloud. Sepeti wished the God wouldn’t impose his mercurial moods on him, it was tiring to deal with.

“I need your he…” Boba murmured, voice dying out before he finished his sentence.

Sepeti didn’t even want to dignify the idiot God by asking him to repeat himself. He knew what the God was trying to say but he wouldn’t give it the satisfaction of finishing its sentence for it.

Sepeti took a long sip of his tea as he ignored Boba. The citrus had long given way to a deep berry taste that was pleasing. He would probably order a second cup. The heat of the tea was pleasing to his throat, warming him as it slid down into his stomach. He’d never been much of a tea drinker before but maybe this was the beginning of a new, healthy habit. The young waitress had called it montiere tea and it was automatically his favorite. Maybe he’d try another of her recommendations, seeing how tasty her first suggestion was. Yes, he was going to take up healthier habits. He could feel the aff--

“I need your help, dammit!” Boba screeched in his head. “Enough with the damned tea! Make the deal with me, you insignificant little manling! How dare you ignore me!”

Red clouds rumbled in Sepeti’s head but he ignored them. To him, it felt like the ineffectual tantrum of an overgrown child. It would soon pass and he wouldn’t dignify the little baby with any reaction.

“I’m not a fucking baby!” Boba’s voice grew louder as the God screamed at the top of his nonexistent lungs. Sepeti’s ears rang but he remained stoic. He let the angry outburst hang for a few interminably long seconds.

“You done being a cry baby?”

Ragged breathing bounced around in his mind making it hard for him to hear anything else. The God’s anger and annoyance pressed down on Sepeti but he was determined to show the deity that he was just as, if not more, stubborn than they were. This was nothing in comparison to the long hours of ‘resistance training’ he’d gone through during his first life.

“Whatever,” Boba murmured sullenly as the God’s emotions lifted off of Sepeti’s shoulders. “You think you’re hot shit. Whatever.”

Sepeti sat quietly, emptying his mind. He wasn’t going to meditate, he was just searching for another way to annoy Boba. If the God wanted to be petty, he could be petty too.

Boba growled, thrashing around in his mind.

Sepeti smiled as the image of a wild boar angrily thrashing at nothing sprung to life right before his eye. The God really needed some emotional training.

“I don’t need anything! I’m a God dammit!”

Sepeti swallowed the last mouthful of his tea before letting out a low chuckle.

“Are you ok sir?/ Was everything to your liking?/ Another cup, or are you done?”

He smiled and nodded at the young woman, handing her his cup as he scooped up another spoonful of cake. It dissolved on his tongue once more, leaving only a savory taste. Boba’s anger lessened as the God made an odd slurping sound.

“That’s some good cake. Eat some more, I like the taste!”

Sepeti wasn’t going to question how the deity was able to taste something that he had eaten. Whatever logic the Gods of this reality ran on was sure to be a jumbled mess and he for sure wasn’t going to be the one to figure it all out. He scooped up another spoonful and shoved it in his mouth.

Boba let out a feline purr. “That’s some good stuff! Order some more, order a whole cake!”

“No, I’m already full. Get to the point so you can leave me alone.”

“God, you’re such a spoil sport,” Boba grumbled, still making the odd slurping noise even as he spoke. “At least one more slice. Just one. And I promise I won’t bother you for another whole month. Pinky promise!”

“Three months,” Sepeti said between a cough as he waved the waitress down, handing her the plate and asking for another slice.

“No, one month!”

“That’s not how negotiations work you idi--” Sepeti stopped himself before he called the God something that would surely lead to more annoyance. He just wanted the damned deity to spit the proposal out and leave him alone. Provoking it further would just elongate the unwelcome conversation.

“Fine,” Boba pouted as the sound of tiny feet stomping against a carpeted floor filled Sepeti’s head. “Three months. Now, about the deal. All I need you to do is go save the metal dragon. I’ll issue a quest and even give you an upfront reward along with a reward after you successfully save her.”

Sepeti groaned inwardly, unwilling to do so in front of the waitress as she placed a fresh cup of tea and a new slice of cake before him. He’d had a feeling Boba was going to try to saddle him with the dragon again. He let the proposal linger as he took a bite out of the cake, savoring the taste before washing it down with some tea.

“Damn! I forgot how good you humans eat!” Boba made the loud slurping noises again and Sepeti had to fight the urge to smack the side of his head. He fought to ignore the annoying sound, focusing on pushing the conversation forward to a conclusive end.

“And what if I say no?”

“Psh, you ain’t even thinking about saying no. So it’s out of the question. Just say yes and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Sepeti grumbled to himself as he quickly swallowed another spoonful of cake. Instead of enjoying the delectable treat, he wanted to see what the God would do if it was devoured without any enjoyment.

“Heh, that won’t do a damn thing. I can still taste it.”

He shrugged. It was worth the try.

“I wanna know what the rewards are gonna be first before I agree to anything.”

Boba mimicked the sound of someone clicking their tongue in annoyance. Clacking filled Sepeti’s head before a message dominated his vision.

Quest

Objective: Save Metala, the young metal dragon. Obtain information pertaining to her whereabouts and affect a rescue mission.

Time limit: None

Win Condition: Successfully rescue Metala.

Failure Condition: Metala is terminated.

Rewards: Upon acceptance of the quest; 1 skill of the user's choice. Upon successful completion; 1 skill of the users choice, 1 weapon of the users choice, 1 randomized boon.

Do you accept?

Yes

No

Sepeti scoffed as he read through the message. Only an idiot would agree to take such a barebones request on. The rewards seemed too good to be true. They were tantalizing, sure, but it made no sense.

“Are you fucking with me?” he asked the God, keeping his voice as quiet as possible.

“No,” Boba answered sheepishly.

“What is this shit? This is vague as all hell. Who do you think I am? I’m a fucking low-leveled nobody. It could take me a year, at the very least, to build up the rapport and know-how and proper skillset to be able to rescue a god damned dragon. What is wrong with you?”

Boba stayed silent as the image of a pair of large thumbs playing thumb war filled his head. The idiot God was twiddling his thumbs while Sepeti was waiting for an answer. Annoyance roiled in his gut.

“I’m not doing it,” Sepeti said as he began to focus on the glowing ‘No’ in the corner of the message. He envisioned pressing it firmly, just to make sure he got his will across.

Nothing happened. He redoubled his focus as he stared at the ‘No.’ An error siren blared as he attempted to deny the quest. The ‘No’ and ‘Yes’ disappeared as the wording of the message shifted before his eyes.

Mandatory Quest

Objective: Save Metala, the young metal dragon. Obtain information pertaining to her whereabouts and affect a rescue mission.

Time limit: None

Win Condition: Successfully rescue Metala.

Failure Condition: Metala is terminated.

Rewards: Upon acceptance of the quest; 1 skill of the user's choice. Upon successful completion; 1 skill of the users choice, 1 weapon of the users choice, 1 randomized boon.

Accepted!

Sepeti’s vision grew blurry as anger coursed through him. He clenched his fists and fought the urge to strike out at the nearest wall. An overwhelming helplessness bloomed in his gut as the feeling of being nothing more than a puppet made him want to cry. Tears formed in his eyes, dampening the patch that he wore over his right eye. He choked the sobs of anger back, unwilling to show complete strangers his weakness.

Another message replaced the quest but Sepeti was too busy fighting to control himself to bother with it. His blood thundered in his ears as an indescribable fury made it hard for him to breathe. He’d been lulled into a false sense of security over the past month. Hope had somehow wriggled its way into his subconsciousness after being left to his own devices for a time. He was nothing more than a tool and it infuriated him.

The tea cup shattered in his grip. The hot water stung but he didn’t notice it as his anger continued to thunder in his ears. He stood, dropping his coin purse on the table before calmly walking out of the small cafe. The anger made it easier for him to ignore the slight pain that was shooting up his right leg as he walked. It made it easy for him to ignore the startled looks of the staff and the few patrons of the cafe.

“Well.” Boba sounded nervous. He sounded willfully ignorant. He sounded absolutely infuriating. “Guess that’s that. I’ll see you in three months.”