Walking back to the house that the adventurers shared and had opened up to her, Faye was suddenly struck with the thought that she hadn’t really asked them what exactly the Administrator had demanded of them for taking her outside the town walls.

She would be so angry if the powers that be had forced them to pay a fine just because of her. It wasn’t the way she wanted to treat the people that were willing to help her in this world.

She needed to make it up to them, somehow.

The meagre sunlight was completely blown away by the swift, westerly wind. It brought with it the cooler mountain air, crisp enough to bite at her exposed face.

When she stepped inside the house, she saw that only Arran was home. He was drooped in a seat, holding a book of some kind.

“Ah, you’re back. What have you been up to?”

“Do you know, I can’t read a single word I see?”

He sat forward a little, setting his book down on the table next to him.

“Can you… normally read?”

“Of course I can!” She said, frowning. “Everyone I knew at home could read. You learn at like six years old, seven maybe.”

Arran’s eyebrows climbed. “That old?”

Faye felt her frown deepening. “Some people learn earlier, four or five. But yes, it takes years to gain the skill.”

Here, Arran nodded, slowly. “Sure, it can take some time to learn. But I haven’t heard of the skill taking more than a year… except in, exceptional cases.”

“Wait, you mean a skill like… a spell is a skill?”

He sighed again and leaned back in the chair, putting his hands behind his head.

“I keep forgetting that you apparently have none of the most basic of knowledge.” He paused for a moment, then sat forward, with his elbows resting on his knees. “Don’t tell the others. Skills are physical applications of the System’s magic in the world. Sometimes they’re as obvious as a spout of flame and at others they’re as subtle as learning to read.”

“So the System guides you into learning new skills?”

“Yes and no. You have to make an effort to learn something, usually. It can take years to learn a class skill. General skills are quicker, and easier, to learn but they’re still something you have to consciously work for. You can’t stare at a page of a book for a few months and expect to gain the reading skill, for example.”

“Damn, there goes plan A.”

Arran shook his head. “No, seriously, that’s a bad thing to plan on. In fact, the quicker you learn the skill, the harder it is to master it.”

She blinked; he’d clearly missed her joke.

“Taveon told me it took two people to learn, usually, anyway. What do you mean?” she asked, instead of insisting he pay more attention to her rapier wit.

He shrugged. “It’s not widely believed. Ask most people in the town and they’ll tell you a skill is a skill. But that’s only what the common person will ever have: just a skill. If you want to truly master your ability, you need to ensure that the skill is as part of you as breathing. Something that you practise, even after gaining the skill.”

Faye nodded. That made sense. “I’m used to the idea.”

“Good. Because learning how to do something the hard way makes the skill better.”

“That’s not true!” came Ailith’s voice through the door. She pushed her way into the house, kicking the door shut behind her. “Don’t fill her head with that nonsense. It has nothing to do with learning to do something the hard way.”

Arran’s jaw set and he stood to look up at Ailith better. She towered over him, still.

“Ailith, I swear to all the gods that if you—” he started, his hand up and ready to grab her, or push her.

“The gods will banish you for being an idiot,” she retorted. She looked at Faye. “All you need to know is that it’s not how you get the skill, it’s what you do with it after.”

Arran had opened his mouth to say something, but he paused. Then he visibly calmed down. “Wait. What?”

Ailith was looking a little smug now. She’d folded her arms across her chest. Faye was impressed to see that the woman’s arms were quite well defined with muscle.

“You never would let me get more than a single sentence out.”

“So you… do believe in training a skill properly?”

Ailith nodded. “Of course. But only once you have earned it. There’s no point going out of your way to stop the System giving you something you clearly need. Once you have it, it’s then you can refine your technique and learn to use the skill properly.”

“I never said that you don’t do that!” Arran replied.

“Yes, but you also said that taking longer to learn the skill is beneficial.”

“That’s how I learned, from some of the best.”

“And then, what happened?” she asked. It rang with the tone of someone who knew that they’d hit the mark. And she had. Arran’s wind left his sails, and he almost visibly deflated.

He sat back down. Without saying a word, he picked up his book and opened it back to where he had been before Faye had interrupted.

Faye shot a concerned glance at Ailith, who responded with one of her own: one that said “ah, he’ll be fine!”

Then, Ailith moved over to a flat-topped chest in the corner of the room.

“I have found some work,” she said. “I’ll be back tonight. Eat without me.”

Arran grunted.

“Have fun,” Faye said as the woman walked back out, throwing a wave over her shoulder as she shut the door.

It was obvious that Arran didn’t want to talk anymore. He was still hidden behind the book. Faye wasn’t going to sit in silence, though. Looking around the room, she felt that there was something she could do for the adventurers that didn’t cost money and would surely be appreciated.

Night had fallen on Lóthaven, and the chill westerly wind had deepened to a bone-weary cold that pervaded the house. Faye had convinced a moping Arran to build and start the fire in the hearth as she’d gone from place to place, tidying, organising, and generally cleaning the grime and clutter of the adventurers’ home.

Arran had complained that she’d stopped him from reading his book but had gotten on his knees to start the fire at her insistence anyway. She’d even caught him blowing hot air into his hands to warm them up, so she knew he’d been as cold as she had been.

Finding some long blankets with a regular series of holes cut into the top, Faye asked Arran if they were designed to be hung over the shuttered windows. He had said that he supposed it was getting cold enough that they’d need them soon enough.

He admitted that they hadn’t really taken them out to be cleaned since the last cold season, though. He’d been genuinely abashed when he said it, so Faye spared him and only gave him a look instead of treating him to the words she’d been thinking.

It’s as bad as having my second-year flatmates again, she kept thinking. At least the adventurers weren’t leaving mouldy food around the house.

If anything, the house was neglected more than it was messy. Arran and the others must have been spending a lot of time away from Lóthaven for the house to reach this state though.

“How often would you normally be out of town, Arran?” she asked, after running a rag over a dusty collection of trinkets along a shelf on the wall.

“It’s easier to think of how often we were back in town, rather than how often we might be away,” he said, eventually. “We are one of the core Lóthaven teams… most of the work that required a group would be sent our way because the Administrator knew we would handle it. Especially with Amabel’s team going on larger and more distant jobs. Though, I guess we’ve lost all those contracts now.”

“Who is Amabel?” she asked. She moved a pile of papers that someone, Gavan she guessed, had written on, and dusted around their dust shadow. “Someone I should meet?”

“No, I… well, most of us think she’s probably dead by now.”

She paused, cringing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“No one does, not officially,” he replied. “Plenty of talk about it though, always is when an adventuring team doesn’t return for so long.”

“So they’re missing?”

“Aye. We’re expecting the Guild Leader to announce their loss any day now. They were our largest and longest-engaged team. They gave Lóthaven the power and clout to take on defence contracts for more of the distant homesteads between here and the rest of civilisation.”

Faye nodded. She wondered how far away these ‘distant’ homesteads were and whether they were walled, like Lóthaven was.

“How did the best team in the town become missing in action?” she asked, unsure if she shouldn’t or not but too curious to let it pass.

Arran shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he said with a frown. “They were the type of team to take on a series of jobs and do them one after the other, making a circuit. They would often take additional jobs from elsewhere, too. Teams like Amabel’s were out for whole seasons at a time.”

“How do you all know that she and her team are late, then?”

“Because an adventuring team would always update their home Guild on their intended path and jobs at regular intervals. We haven’t heard anything from them for weeks, now. That’s not just unusual, it’s never happened to a working team before. It’s not likely something they forgot to do.”

Faye thought about it for a few moments. It made sense. She would not go a few hours without telling her superiors what she was doing, let alone days or weeks. And, to make things worse, a semi-military organisation like the Adventurers would have even stricter rules about how often you needed to report in, she was sure.

She folded up the heavy sheets that would go over the shuttered windows to keep the heat in, she was debating asking Arran for their money to go and purchase new ones. It would be somewhat easier than getting these ones clean again.

“I really admired Amabel,” Arran said. He’d gotten the fire started, the kindling happily burning but the larger logs had not yet fully taken a flame, so he was nursing it. He stared into the burgeoning fire as he spoke. Faye guessed he wasn’t even really talking to her.

“She was something to see,” he continued. “Always training, putting her team through tests and workouts to improve. Always getting better.”

He gently blew on the flames, and they sparked and rose higher briefly. The log was starting to hold its own flame, and the kindling had been reduced down to burning embers. He added a few smaller logs to bank the fire.

“I can still remember how we’d play as children. We both grew up here. We’re around the same age. We were…” he shook his head. “And yet, somehow, she charged ahead of me. Never told me how she’d done it. I promised her I’d get it out of her, one day, and she would always smile, laugh, and tell me ‘In your dreams, maybe’.”

“I’m sorry, Arran,” she said. She wanted to take back her words from earlier. She’d opened a wound, one that maybe he hadn’t even been aware was there, just under the surface, ready to burst.

“It isn’t your fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

The fire was well on its way, and he added a couple of longer pieces to create a triangle. It would burn for a while and chase away the chill. He stood up and turned to her and upon seeing the folded curtains he grimaced.

“We either need to give those a good soak, or we can burn them and buy new ones.”

She tried to smile as naturally as possible. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Later that evening, the house was smelling particularly fresh. Faye had found that the townsfolk liked to burn small, fragrant logs that released a pleasantly spicy scent as it burned. She’d purchased — with Arran’s money — a sack of them, with strict instructions to only burn one at a time or be forced to experience the apparently painful effect of airborne spices for as long as it took to air out the house.

By getting rid of the clutter, running a dusting cloth over everything, and ensuring that the rugs and blankets draped around the house were beaten to remove gathered dust and debris there was a definite sense of renewal.

For once, Faye understood where the phrase “spring clean” had come from. It was obviously a little late in the year for a new year’s cleaning spree, but she wouldn’t have enjoyed continuing to stay in a dusty, neglected place.

Arran had immediately perked up when he’d realised what a difference the few things that Faye was doing were able to make to the house. He had even enthusiastically helped, marching out into the courtyard with armfuls of items that were no longer needed.

Out there, in the centre of the yard but on top of a platform they’d made from thick paving stones, Faye and Arran dumped the unwanted items. By the time darkness had fallen, they had set the pile alight, gathering some wooden chairs to array around the bonfire.

Ailith had been the first to return home from her work.

She’d taken a look around the place, shocked, and then had slipped into a chair and stretched her feet toward the roaring bonfire, sighing.

Gavan, on the other hand, had a slightly different reaction.

“Who moved my things?!”

Faye looked up at the sudden shout. It had come from inside. She’d been dozing somewhat in her chair, the warmth from the fire soaking through to her bones. “Was that Gavan?” she asked.

The mage stormed outside. His eyes were wide as he took in the spectacle before him.

“What have you done?” he whispered, horrified. He was clutching something to his chest with his hands, but he was staring at the bonfire. Or, more accurately, the pile of old belongings they’d burned for the bonfire. “Years… just… gone. Sparks in the night air.”

“Oh, stop being dramatic,” Arran called out, he was leaning back on only two chair legs, in a display of balance that truly shocked Faye. He pointed to a canvas sack by the door of the house. “Your stuff’s in there.”

Gavan grabbed the sack and immediately rifled through it.

“I have no idea why you keep all those things.”

Gavan didn’t respond. He glared at them and retreated inside. Faye heard the door to Gavan’s room slam shut a few moments later. She smiled. She hadn’t gone in his room, thinking it was a bit too much of an invasion, but Arran had had no such compunction.

“That was mean, go apologise.”

Faye looked over to Ailith, but the guardian wasn’t looking at her. She had a single eye open, locked onto Arran’s face.

“It was just—”

“I don’t care. Neither does Gavan.”

Arran sighed, leaned forward so his chair returned to all four legs, and nodded. “You’re right. Won’t be long.”

Ailith closed her eyes again and sunk further down the chair seat, until her feet were less than handspan from the base of the bonfire.

“Men,” she muttered. “It’s a somewhat regular thing. Don’t worry about him.”

“About Arran?” Faye asked.

“No, Gavan. He’s okay. He doesn’t like it when we go through his things, but we do have a clean out every so often. We never throw out the important things.”

“How do you know what is and isn’t important?” Faye asked.

“You get to know after spending time with him, but it’s obvious which ones he’s been working on.”

Faye nodded. She would have to take Ailith’s word for it. She watched the dancing flames for a few moments, lost in the movement and light. The surrounding darkness drew in, crowding out everything except the fire. In it, she didn’t see anything supernatural or magical, but there was an inherent comfort in watching flames that were controlled and warm on your face, she thought.

Shaking herself, Faye blinked the spots out of her vision and walked inside. She’d made plans to cook something for the adventurers. They had been kind to her and if cleaning and cooking was what they needed, then she’d be happy to provide that for them.

Though, another thought wormed its way into being.

How long will I be staying with them?

They were adventurers. Or they should be, if Faye hadn’t messed that up. They spent days, weeks, at a time away from the town. If the Guild and Guard weren’t willing to let Faye leave the town, then there was hardly a chance she would carry on spending all her time with the adventurers.

That would mean staying here, in the house.

She grimaced as she gathered the ingredients and prepared to cook. That would make her, what, a maid? The housekeeper?

Could I live with that, for years?

That thought whirled around in her head for the rest of the evening and well into the night. The worst part was she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.