I don’t feel the chill of the Winter’s air, nor the sheets which I am nestled in. They are there, as am I, but I feel nothing; a pervasive nothingness that I have become acclimatised with. The feeling of knowing that I do not feel, despite all that I am touching, is still foreign to me.

The sheet comes off effortlessly, as it should. I look around, trying to find if anything is… off, but I fail to notice any difference. I make no sound as I rise, nor do I feel the ground on my feet, but I have learned to walk with freedom.

More freedom that is otherwise afforded. The door opens effortlessly; the knob making its usual clunk sound, and I walk through it as normal. I am breathing, but whether any air is entering my body is anyone’s guess; I feel nothing, yet the desire, the need, to inhale and exhale is ever-present.

No Skills work. Yet, in my being, I feel a certain wrongness. It is as if I don’t belong; a Creler in a nest of pheasants.

No Skills. The sense of wrongness is compounded by the vulnerability I feel, but there is nothing that can harm me. Not that that makes it feel any less invasive a thought.

Carefully, I walk down the stairs. There is order, here, and I obey it. One leg after another. Slowly, while hanging on to the bannister.

Orange light streams in through the windows, illuminating my steps and restoring my resolve; it is an anchoring force, reminding me that time is moving forwards. Another constant to guide my way.

I peer out a window and see swaying grass, and great barns in the far distance. More colour. Off limits. Nothing changed, so far.

There are boundaries that I must conform to, and I am unable to stray from them. I have a working theory on its parameters, but there are anomalies; a work in progress. I look down the terribly long staircase and hesitate. My theory is holding true, yet the wrongness begins to wax. There has, of yet, been no relationship between the two; I dare not, yet.

I turn and go back the way I came. I leave no footsteps, indentations or any other indication that I was ever here. Other than what I have touched out of necessity, I try not to interact with anything.

The door is still open as I left it, and I walk back inside, grasping the knob as I do and pull it shut towards me. I lay back in bed, entering back in the same way I got out, and pull the upturned sheet back over me. I close my eyes.

_________________________________

The chill of a Winter’s morning blew in Ivory’s room through the balcony doors. It didn’t knock anything over, as it wasn’t particularly strong, but to the rest of Phel’s Light, it was a reminder that Winter was here.

In this city, its inhabitants leant mostly one of two ways. As befits a coastal city, Summers were preferable—when it got too hot, you simply had a dip in the water. The city's local wild oyster farms were known continent-wide.

On the other side were those who preferred winter. You could always rug up to get warmer, and fishing was a year-wide vocation; [Alchemists]' concoctions could supplement the lack of fruit and vegetables in the event of typical Winter shortages.

Regardless of which side you were on, the onset of noticeable Winter weather was never pleasant. Winter wardrobes needed to be retrieved and Summer clothes put into storage; oh, the horror. The [Fishers] preferred the Winter, as it meant there was far less fish goop and guts on your skin. There were few things worse than having warm goo lather your forearms.

Ivory, and his household, did not have to contend with that future. In fact it was just Ivory that was lightly buffeted into the waking world by means of a particularly chilled outstretched leg hanging off the side of his bed. He swiftly withdrew it under the heavy covers and tentatively poked his head out from under the doona.

Oh. His room was fully illuminated by sunlight; he figured he’d better get up and check the time.

Pat pat pat. Not there.

“Downstairs…”, he groaned. “Bugger it all.”

And that’s where he went, or begun to. As he reached the top of the stairs, a small pain struck his head as he tried to make out what the raised voices he could hear were saying.

As he descended the stairs, the pain grew: like a nail was being pushed further in through his temple.

“—Guild on my side! I won’t be—”

The deep, threatening tone contextualised the pain: his [Dangersense]. Before Ivory knew it, he was running up the stairs, two at a time, to grab Misoe.

“C’mere,” he whispered as he scooped her up from the nest of sheets she had made.

He had his wand out as he leant against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, eavesdropping and preparing for the worst.

“The guilds of the city are under one banner, Fabian. I suggest you leave.”

Linda was, as she was to her [Singers], using her American accent. Hearing it being used in a dangerous tone made him erupt in goosebumps.

“I’m not going ANYWHERE until you sort out that little shit! Do you understand what he has put me through? Living with me, tracking dirt everywhere, and undermining me. Me!”

Ivory heard Linda sigh, and tap on the opened door.

“Again, Fabian, he was sent by his guild, and he does an excellent job. What do you want me to do about it?

“Fire him! Get some other [Peasant] to cut your stupid grass!

Ivory peeked around the corner to appraise this Karen-esque figure.

He could not make out much of his body, as he was standing right in front of Linda—but what he could make out spoke numbers.

He was easily two metres tall, with his shoulders and head clearly visible. He had a rancourous look about him, with veins bulging in his neck. Behind him stood two awkward-looking, shorter men whose eyes were averted from the argument at hand.

The man, Fabian, looked at the head that had appeared for a few seconds further into the house. Ivory felt a chill as he swiftly withdrew his head.

“No?” Linda replied, as if it were the most ridiculous suggestion she’d ever heard. “He’s a good kid, and—”

“He is a disgrace! I won’t have even the suggestion of him being compared to me, even if he was level 30! How would you feel if you were compared—no, you will never surmount to anything as a [Clerk], you could not even begin to comprehend the situation I’m in.”

Oh shit. All that Ivory could think at this moment was that this guy, Fabian, was making a dangerous enemy.

“I think it is time for you and your team to leave. Tanne is staying, and if I hear of you doing anything to him then I’ll be having words with the Adventurer’s Guild. What would they think of a Bronze-rank team threatening members of two guilds?

Checkmate. Ivory heard a silence descend, and wished he could see the look on his face.

“Cloaks of Avel, we are leaving. And fuck you, bitch.”

“Buh-bye, now.”

The front door closed gently, followed by a pursed exhalation of breath.

“What the hell was that?” Ivory said, giving Linda a small fright as he appeared from around the corner.

“That,” she stressed, “was Fabian, Tanne’s brother. Remember how I told you they live together? Apparently their parents were giving him shit after I sent a letter to them praising Tanne. Some really terrible things about poor Tanne. He was a [Lordling] but lost the class when he was disowned and sent to live with Fabian.”

“What, like a [Lord]’s kid?”

“Yep. And that big idiot’s a [Mage] too, so he is funded down to his fucking bones with spellbooks and artefacts. Did you see his two teammates behind him? They looked like they wanted to die of embarrassment.”

“I was more concerned about you,” Ivory admitted. “My [Dangersense] was going off the closer I was; I thought he was going to thump you. Plus, he looked at me like was going to personally slit my throat!”

“Ha. Yeah, he’s just a thug. You know that American joke that you never mess with the IRS? Well, you never mess with Merchant’s Guild here—he’ll be walking with his tail between his legs, praying I don’t report him.

Ivory grinned.

“Will you?”

“That’ll depend on whether he takes it out on Tanne. I’m not above using my truth stone when he’s here next. He’s not said a bad word about Fabian, bless him, but I’ll be asking.”

Linda strode past Ivory and picked up a bag that was on the counter; her swift pace did not match the situation. Ivory ignored it.

“Unlike you, I try to stay low-key. I care about the kid, but I’m not going to put myself in danger in his honour. He’ll dig his own grave.”

Ivory wore a look of minor affront as he sat down at the kitchen bench.

“Hey, I don’t do it on purpose! I—wait a sec. My god, you cleaned everything up!’

Linda spun around so fast her hair whipped her face.

“I, ah, yeah. It’s no biggie. I woke up early.”

“Well, let me do the next one, yeah?” Ivory replied.

She seemed off this morning, he thought, though after what he’d heard, it was hard to blame her.

“Yes, yep. I have to leave for work soon, so I’ll see you later tonight?” she said as she rummaged around in her bag, pulling out a tiny little stopper of stamina potion and putting a few drops on her tongue.

“Let me get dressed real quick and I’ll leave with you. Gonna go to the fight club—I’ll wake Nozumu up.”

“He’s already gone somewhere!” Linda shouted, as Ivory was already half way up the stairs.

Ivory just groaned. Again!

—————————————-

“You’re a needy thing, aren’t you?”

“I mean, I guess so, but safety in numbers and all that.”

The short walk into the city gates was pleasant. The sun was at their back, and the mild smell of salt water was in the air. Misoe was buzzing around joyously, bouncing between the two Humans.

“You know,” Ivory began, “I’m kind of shocked that a [Serial Killer] can even exist for more than five minutes in such a large city. Wouldn’t the, like, [Royal CIA] or whatever come and sniff them out? If we were back home, no one would even leave their houses.”

“Most murderers—[Murderers]—are either caught or are killed long before it reaches mainstream. Keep in mind also that there’s a criminal underworld everywhere. Okay, that look you’re giving me—yes, there is. Every city will have one. I’ve watched Underbelly; your Sydney has one. Anyway, point is that shit happens everywhere, but this is rare. Inhouse murders; hits on rival factions and whatnot. This [Serial Killer] is bad news for them as well, trust me. I’m sure the [King]’s on it.”

“Uh,” Ivory replied, looking at Linda with a look of tentative composure, “can you dumb that down?”

“Crime everywhere. This is super crime that makes the normal crime look bad. Police will sort it out soon.”

Linda coughed a few times, realising they were almost in earshot of the many [Guard]s posted at this gate to the city.

“Yeehaw. Alrighty, it’s working. You know the way, don’tcha?”

The six Human [Guards] nodded her through immediately, recognising her.

“Yep! See ya!” Ivory called out, his hand to his mouth.

The [Guards] formed a sort of human barricade. Two seated on each side keeping watching, both inside and out, and another two checking anyone going into the city. There were signs advising to anyone wishing to exit the city to do so at the designated southern exit.

“Hail. Are you an employee of the Merchant’s Guild?”

“N-no,” Ivory replied, figuring his reasoning. “Linda is a friend.”

“Very well. Protocol dictates we search any Bags of Holding you possess, as well as any artefacts on your person. Please hand any Bags of Holding to either of the [Guards] beside me—” she indicated left and right—“and present show any held artefacts to said [Guard]. You simply need to hold them, or present them if they are on your arms or face.”

The script was spoken with confidence, but there was a tinge of concern noticeable if you were anyone else. Ivory, dead gods love him, was used to this kind of thing on Earth, so he wasn’t very outraged as many others were.

“It’s pretty cold, you don’t have to pat me down!” Ivory said as passed on his Bag of Holding, enjoying the momentary reaction of the [Guard] as it became visible, which of course turned into a scowl of disapproval at the joke.

“That won’t be necessary. Do you have any artefacts on your person?”

“Just my wand.”

He felt it easier to present a wand rather than an acorn; easier to explain.

“And what exactly are all these…?”

The [Lawful Official], investigating what was passed on to him by the tired [Guard], raised an eye as he tilted the opened bag to show the looseleaf jewellery.

“Aah, I’m a [Spellbinder]. Like an [Enchanter], but cooler.”

There was a distinctive silence.

“Can I assume that these are unenchanted bijouterie?”

“Yes?”

The man sighed.

“Very well.”

The [Guard] who’d instructed him nodded at the [Official] and stepped to one side.

“Until the culprit is caught and the lockdown order is lifted, this will be the standard for entering the city. Enjoy your day.”

Ivory thanked all present and continued on into the city, relatively unperturbed by what he’d just had to go through.

What was perturbing, however, was the emptiness of the streets. Apart from the [Guards] and the Watch patrolling the streets—many sitting down, hands in pockets, shuddering from the cold—there was nobody. Sure, there was the odd person here and there, but that’s not what a city was. Especially not one that, apparently, was meant to be one of the nation’s biggest. The Lighthouse Keeps, almost ever-visible, were no doubt packed to the rafters; joy to those with access to their goods and amenities. The last place an important person wanted to be was in public when there was a [Serial Killer] on the loose.

And important Ivory was not, so he felt fine. The walk to the Relic Mage’s home was a decent walk, thirty minutes perhaps—but that was taking into consideration traffic and distractions. Ivory doubted there’d be many of them on the way.

All of the shops appeared to be closed; the only thing that made him question whether that was so was the lack of ‘CLOSED’ signage. Unsurprisingly, there were no open doors, but from some of the shops’ windows, you could see the suggestion of light inside. You could make any conclusion based on that, but better to assume horse than zebra.

With the amount of security in every street he’d walked through, it was a surprise to him that many shops weren’t open. This route didn’t take him past the Mage’s Guild or the Merchant’s Guild, but institutions like that tended to be perennially open, as they were larger than just the city it was situated in.

“Well,” Ivory muttered to himself, “I may as well [Identify Material].”

He had the collar of his shirt between a finger and thumb, and a sensation flashed in his mind. He recognised it as something that this world’s magic system ascribed to as, basically, ‘hey, we’re going to fill you in on something’. He would feel it when focussing extra hard on just probing a spell to figure out what it might do; by virtue of ‘having’ the spell, you automatically have the capacity to cast it, and at least some bestowed understanding of what it did. The feeling was amplified into a just-recognisable feeling by having complementary Skills aid him in goal of understanding.

This time, it was more profound—it was communicating something. Not by sound or vision, but the words appeared in his head nonetheless.

Cotton, Wool

Oh. It wasn't groundbreaking, but it explained why his clothes were so comfortable.

"[Identify Material]."

Ivory felt a slight scrambling in his head as the spell struggled to identify what the magic considered to be basic, nonmagical materials. Both due to some of the materials' foreign nature, and Ivory's level.

Lightning, copper, gold, iron

"Huh?" Ivory blurted out a bit too loudly. Many of the [Guards] were looking at him, alerted to the sudden loud caterwaul.

He sheepishly raised a hand of apology and put the phone back into his pocket.

"No plastic, or glass?" he wondered aloud, though a lot more softly this time. "Lightning? Wonder what Steve Jobs thinks."

He was neither here, nor alive, so that didn't matter.

Linda's words echoed in his mind, about discretion. He felt it wasn't really a big deal if he was recognised by Wistram, though it would implicate Linda.

"What a waste of an opportunity," he said to the sky as he rolled his eyes. "As if you'd not just be a celebrity, or introduce something new…"

Ears no doubt burned across all the continents. Mannus Lan, stocking some shelves of [Lesser Teleport] abruptly laughed, though he couldn't say why.

_____________________

He’d made it to the corner of Gonesworth Street in just under 20 minutes, which was considerably faster than when he last came here. A lunatic murderer on the loose sure made travel convenient.

Safe, too, apparently. As he turned the corner, he could make out easily 100 [Guards]-adjacent classes on the street. There were your standard issue [Guard] looking men and women, but also some that looked like [Knights]; adorned in shiny metal armour with large weapons sheathed on their backs and hips. There was a denser group of bodies far up ahead where the Relic Mage’s house was.

Surprisingly, none actually stopped him to ask why he was here—it was a crime scene, after all—and he thought it sensible to stop chain-casting [Identify Materials] on stuff he had. It felt like the equivalent of doing one of your hobbies while you were at the shops, like knitting. Or, hell, having your eyes glued on your phone. Both got you either odd looks at best, and scorn at worst.

It made walking boring, but not everything had to be wildly engaging. It gave him the opportunity to enjoy the looks of at-work [Guards] when they saw Misoe jovially bobbing up and down in his arms. She, for one, enjoyed Ivory not tinkering with his new class for this reason.

“Lap it up, mate. Give ‘em a wave too, I’m sure it’d brighten up their day.”

And that she did. She rotated herself a few degrees so she could get some good air and visibility with her flipper, looking like a hyperactive monarch.

“That’s it. Look, you made that one laugh. Be funny if he g—oi! Get back here!”

The [Guard] had to cover her face, the poor thing. Seeing some kid’s seal wave at her, and then its owner reprimand at it as it flew off was too much.

Ivory tried to grab Misoe as she floated into the next house along’s garden. Unsuccessfully, of course, as she just floated higher than he could grab.

He was tempted to cast some dense magic to try and tempt her back, but she wasn’t a cat—nor a pet—and at least somewhat cognisant. Her actions weren’t just… random.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered, sensing stern looks on his back. The last thing he wanted was to get booked for trespass or whatever laws there were here. Ivory fumbled with the mechanism on the tall gate as Misoe floated in front of the house’s front door.

“Get back here you maniac!” Ivory hissed at her, who looked back with a sheepish frown. He waved her back, successfully—she wafted back over to him slowly. He could feel, through their [Bond of Friendship] that she felt bad—and she, through hers, that he was anxious.

“C’mon,” Ivory said gently as she nestled into his arms, “you can’t just fuck off like that in this climate. There’s a bajillion [Guards] all wanting to kill some dude.”

The sound Misoe made was the embodiment of a frowny face. :(

“Just let me know if something’s up and we can figure it out without getting impaled.”

As the two turned headed back up the street, they heard a slick click. He turned around wide eyed, expecting to see a disgruntled homeowner—

“Oh, hello.”

Nozumu was standing in the doorway in front of a wizened looking old woman, wearing the most outrageously frilled, feathery and pastel outfit he’d ever seen. She had some kind of wide brimmed hat on, making it look like she had a vertical, red halo.

“Told you,” she croaked, just loud enough for Ivory to hear. Nozumu gave her a bow, which she waved off, and shut the door.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, walking across the smooth, gravelled pavement towards Ivory. He opened his arms to embrace the incoming seal who looked very smug.

“I think that’s my question! But, I’m here for my magic duelling thing. Who’s she?”

Nozumu noted Misoe’s look of superiority towards Ivory, who wasn’t meeting her gaze. Ivory began to walk towards his destination.

“Her name’s Jeanny. I met her by chance this morning when I was trying to find an open [Butcher] shop. She’s a… [Meat Witch].”

Ivory stopped moving mid stride, a look of incredulity painted on his face.

“I beg your pardon?”

“[Meat Witch].”

“Gonna need you to elaborate on that.

“She is a [Witch] specialising in meat. You said you have studied witchcraft, yes?”

“Passingly,” Ivory said.

“Well, before I even saw her, she said that she knew what I wanted, which made me quite concerned! Then I saw her.”

Ivory let out a deliberately quiet laugh.

“Yes, I thought the same. The sun had just begun to rise, as well, so it was still odd. She introduced herself as a [Witch] that knew of my nature. Partly because she was aware of what I did last night. Jeanny deals with satisfaction and contentment."

Nozumu let out a huge yawn; Ivory was surprised to see how, well, far his beak could move.

"Where are you going, Ivory?"

"The magic fight club's just up ahead—see where all the people are? Oh wow, we're close, actually."

Nozumu has decided to follow, despite not knowing his destination. He figured it was a safe bet that it would be, at minimum, passingly worthwhile.

"Oh. Can I watch?"

"I mean, I don't even know if they're letting anyone in. Excuse me!"

The [Watchwoman] looked up lazily, exhaling as she straightened her back.

"This is an active crime scene under investigation by Pheislant's City Watch, and is under the aegis of His Majesty the [King]. Please leave the vicinity immediately and return home, unless you have business most pressing that necessitates you be out in public."

You could almost hear the clouds moving during Ivory's stunned silence. Multiple important looking [Guards]—including a well postured man in robes—were all looking at him, now. Expectantly: both for his response, and what would happen next.

Misoe bleated cheerfully in Nozumu's arms, bringing Ivory back to earth.

"I'm here to enter the Relic Mage's home. Is there an [Attendant] here I can speak to?"

One of the robed men's lips cracked upwards.

"The city is on high alert for a [Serial Killer]. Go home, young men, and stay safe."

"I don't think there's anywhere safer than inside. Is this institution currently closed?" Ivory replied pleasantly. It would have impressed one with the [Waspish Tongue] Skill.

"Only those accredited by Relic Mage may enter," she said, eyeing him and Nozumu, and then turning towards one of the robed figures.

"She is correct," the man replied, "are you 'accredited by the Relic Mage'?"

"Yes."

"Great. If you'd both follow me? We can enter through the spectators' entrance."

The poor [Watchwoman] just looked dejected; she didn't question him, but Ivory could hear her speak to her colleagues as they walked down the side passage.

"... two children. Always doing this! [Mages]! Don't they know what happened…"

The [High Mage] opened the overly ordinary door with a smile as the [Watchwoman]'s voice petered out behind them, performing a sweeping motion to usher Ivory and Nozumu in.

"Just for reference—I know that you, Ivory Henderson, are a practising member here, but you—" he inclined his head towards Nozumu —"are not. We generally require a vetting process for new spectators, but I'd rather get you in here rather than be outside. Helps that you're with him, though."

Nozumu and Ivory were taken aback by the blasé attitude this man was taking to the situation—along with his immediate knowledge of who and who was not affiliated with this institution.

“Oh,” Ivory said, “it’s the relic Skill, right?”

The [High Mage] nodded, a satisfied look on his face.

“Correct—not bad for a newbie! I know as soon as I set eyes on you. I’m Charles, by the way. [High Mage]. What you’d call a ‘retainer’ of the Relic Mage, though I’d do it without fee. Stay as long as you like, the both of you—Garuda, you will need to talk to an [Attendant] to understand how all this works. Ivory, you know the drill. I have to get back outside.”

Charles exited the still held-open with haste. In truth, Ivory did not know the drill—he’d not been in this visitors’ section before!

“Wait. What’s a Garuda?” Ivory asked, turning to Nozumu.

“A race of avian humanoids. I have seen some have come to Drath via Dejima, and their similarities are vastly different to my kin’s physi… phyzzi… body. I can accept that a Human may mistake me for one.”

So that’s it. He knew the word from a Final Fantasy game he’d played when he was a kid.

“Racists, I tell you what! Okay, well, we have to figure out where we are. There’ll be [Attendants] around if we poke around the corner. Essentially—I’m going to duel someone with magic and you can cheer me on!”

Ivory grinned mightily, to the point where the sides of his mouth were twitching from the unnatural position. Despite the fact that he opted to come, Ivory was giving him a (pretty late) out.

The [Meat Witch]’s words sat on the forefront of Nozumu’s mind as he replied.

“Okay. Let’s do it!”

He raised an arm into the air, his talons coiled into a fist. Ivory whooped, and entered into the heart of the Relic Mage’s abode.