To ignite a fading star

You trudge down the hill, each step towards town landing heavily under the weight of the crushed optimism you're carrying; your gait ponderous and plodding as you force your way through the clinging swamp of disappointment.

(You have to straighten up and jog a few steps when the hill gets a little steep and it turns out that your slouch doesn't have the best center of balance, but then that is over with and you resume slumping along once more.)

Why did Garrett have to be on duty this morning? You're certain that any other guard would have been more attentive, would have spotted the great fountain of dirt. Then when you came back they'd be all anxious and worried, and be like 'Oh my gosh Eliana, are you alright!? I saw a scary explosion and it scared me because it was so scary!' And then you'd be all like, 'Fear not citizen, for I, Grand Explorer Eliana Shira Al-Hafiz, have fearlessly confronted the unknown peril. I return to you not only unharmed, but bearing an artifact of ancient power!' And then they'd be like, 'Wow Eliana, you're so cool and brave and amazing! We should totally throw you a festival, and then everybody will sign a petition to the adventurer's guild to have them accept you as an explorer! Not that you'll need the petition when they see how cool and brave and amazing you are!'

Or something like that. You are paraphrasing a little.

Anyways, this is all the fault of that lazy guard. You'd been completely ready to launch into your story more than once, but he kept interrupting you and ruining your momentum. Yeah, this is all his fault, stupid Garrett. You are totally blameless here.

You reach the edge of town proper and begin weaving your way between buildings. There is only one major road through town, and while it technically does pass by the forest, that's only after travelling almost two-dozen kilometers to the west so that it can slip around the edge of it rather than have to pass through. You could go around the outside of town until you reach it, but it wouldn't save you any time to do so.

Not that weaving between the buildings is all that difficult. Verildburg– the closest city –has plenty of cramped alleys and narrow, winding streets due to the nature of cities to try and pack as much into as little space as possible. But out here– even if buildings aren't spaced in the most –orderly fashion it is more important that every street be able to accommodate a farmer driving their horse and cart down it without trouble.

So it's not difficult to make your way to the center of town and then turn onto the main road. You came in from the very north end of town, and your destination is on the south-east side, so it takes a while for your lumbering form to make it all the way there.

Which makes it difficult to maintain a proper aura of despondency all the way there. Not only is all the slumping starting to make your back ache, but each face you pass is another pair of eyes beholding your theatrics, and therefore another battle between your resolve and your social anxiety.

But nay! You shall not be swayed! This slouch of yours is of the utmost importance! You have been slighted in your quest towards your glorious purpose, and to give up on your pouting expression of this indignity to the wider world would be to cast dishonor upon your quest! Yes, these slouching shoulders and clumsy gait are the noble bearing of one acting in defiance of fate itself!

And so, the dauntless bulwark of your grand resolve remaining unswayed by neither back pain nor raised eyebrows, you arrive triumphant at your destination. You enter the building like a malignant black cloud, your dark aura of despair draining all joy and hope from the room. The shop attendant's head lifts to behold your arrival, and they cannot tear their gaze away as their mouth opens.

"Awww, what's wrong Lili? Did the bakery sell out of scones again before you could get one?"

You snarl at her, and you have a pretty good snarl. Comes with being part-dragon you guess. That just makes her mouth pucker in a cute little moue of concern. And when your trek reaches its final terminus, ending with you flopping onto the counter and thunking face-down into the wood, her only response is to reach out and start soothingly petting your hair. "It's a bit more serious than that, Millie."

Your first friend hums solemnly, as if you had just revealed some great wisdom about the universe, and even with your nose pressed into the wood you can picture the grim nod and comically serious expression that must be accompanying it. "I should hope so. I haven't seen you in a funk this bad since… well." Yeah. No need to bring that up.

Your heavy sigh reverberates oddly against the wood, and you let your head flop listlessly to the side, peeking one eye up through your hair at her.

You and Millicent 'Millie' Engberg are a study in opposites. You are a scaled half-dragon with straight black hair. Your mom and dad are both rather normal heights for where they came from, but they'd both been a bit shorter than the average around here, and that has passed on to you. Your build is best described as 'lithe'. You aren't a dedicated warrior or runner, but you still manage to work in some exercises and the occasional sword practice between all your other chores to stay fit. And that is on top of your drake-ish build making you 'slim' from top to bottom in, well, pretty much any area you could name (yes, even those ones).

Millie, on the other hand, is a pure-blood human who has a body shape one might politely describe as 'lush'. Her family is reasonably well off and had never struggled with a poor harvest, lack of clients, or the like. Also, Millie spends even more time behind a desk than you do (nowadays) and these things combined with genetics mean that she carries a bit more… 'weight' on her. A small amount of that 'weight' rests around her waist, but the majority found its way to more… flattering locations.

She is also just a smidge above average height for ladies around here. Just a bit, but it means that when you stand at your full height the top of your head just barely fails to come even with her eyebrows. And that's when you stand at your full height, back straight and legs stretched as long as you can, which you rarely do. Your digitigrade legs like to have some natural bend in them, which drops your height further.

All together, your natural, comfortable posture means that Millie doesn't even need to tilt her head to rest her chin on your head. Something you know she revels in. Oh, she never says so, and would even deny it all the way to hell and back with seeming earnestness. But you could see the amusement and smugness shining gleefully in her eyes every time she towered over you.

Her eyes aren't smug now. When you look up at her round face, her brow is furrowed in over-the-top seriousness and her mouth is pulled into a theatrical frown. But her bright blue eyes are filled with genuine concern that peeks through the act, betraying the questions she is refraining from asking.

You sigh again and close your eyes, turning your face back towards the counter for a little extra privacy as you take a moment to think. Millie is worried about you, that is clear, but she also doesn't want to push you if you aren't comfortable sharing. You know that if you say you don't want to talk about it, she'll just do her usual routine of being bubbly and cheerful and do her best to cheer you up, no questions asked.

But… you could tell her. About the explosion, the gale, the dungeon, the artifact, that damned suit, and your new armlet. You know Millie can keep a secret, but… you were always the one who craved adventure, not Millie. Millie isn't the one who gets frustrated when work leaves them too busy for sword practice. Millie isn't the one who prefers travelling shows about epic duels and perilous quests over ones about sweeping romances and torrid dramas.

Millie (as far as she'd ever shown you) seems perfectly content with her lot in life (minus all the new shit with the Emperor, of course). She seems to be fully on board with the idea of staying in the store for the rest of her days, seamlessly transitioning from employee to owner when the time comes. She enjoys her work, the economics, the haggling, the rumor gathering, the lot. It is a bit more intellectually stimulating than the average job in this town, but still, the greatest threats she pictures in her future are recessions and swindlers, not dragons and liches.

It would help you to have it off your chest- to open up to someone -but… Millie was concerned for you when all she knew was that you were feeling down and nothing else. Her list of imagined problems you were facing probably didn't include mysterious dungeons or an artifact attaching itself to you beyond your ability to remove it.

Could she handle that worry? Could you handle her worry? What is the right choice here?

[][Secrets] Tell her everything. (The streak of grey, the exploding hill, the crater, the dungeon, the strange doors and flickering lines, the drawer and its contents, how it knocked you out, how you awoke with a splitting headache and a new costume, how the costume made you feel stronger, how it disappeared into the jewelry, how you cannot remove it, and oh, how it's still is on you. She can handle all that, right?)

[][Secrets] Tell her nothing. For now. (You can always tell her later. It'll just be a day or two. Once you have figured out more about your new jewelry and maybe had a chance to visit the dungeon again, then you'll know more. And if you know more, she'll worry less. You'll just take a little bit to test things out, and then you can tell her. Definitely.)
-[][Secrets] Optional write in: Promise a time to tell her later. ("I can't tell you here. I have to show you. Meet me at {Location X} at {Time Y}." Or something along those lines.)

[][Secrets] Something in between.
-[][Secrets] Write in. (What parts do you tell, and what do you hold back? Maybe you admit you found a dungeon, but don't mention the exploding hill part? Or maybe you let her know about the armband, but say you can't tell her where you got it just yet? There are a lot of options here.)

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Hi there everyone. Been a bit.

This week's chapter is a tad short, I know, but it's just where the vote ended up being. I actually had all of this minus 4 sentences and the vote descriptions finished last Thursday, but rather than try and power through the last bit to have it done last week, I thought I was going to do a kind of cut to post conversation, and write a little more about what you do after this convo just to stretch the chapter out a little. Maybe even get to a second vote in one chapter if it turned out to come along quick enough. Like Tinker of Fiction did a lot, wasn't uncommon for them to have, like, 3 different scenes going on at once all on different days of the week.

Yeah, turns out I'm not good at that. I kept tripping myself up over the different things you could do even in a single conversation, and brain broke trying to find a good way of handling them. So I spent the last week only making a little progress on that idea, and then eventually kind of gave up and spent the rest of the time brainstorming how future mechanics will work once they become relevant. So not a total waste of time, but in retrospect, should have just gotten this up last week.

Anyways, yeah, I think that about covers it. I still made my "every other week" minimum requirement, and I could have put this up earlier this week if I wasn't following my system, but it's probably better to have a system that constrains me a little and forces me to spend time on other things rather than write too much all at once and burn myself out. I hope everyone is doing well and that everyone is enjoying this so far!

In the privacy of your fortress of Having-Your-Face-Pressed-Into-the-Wood, you frown lightly and your brow scrunches up as you think about what to tell Millie. You do want her to know, to have at least one other person in on the secret with you. But… you really don't know what the secret you're sharing is yet. All your adventure yielded you was a big pile of questions and not a single answer. Every moment from that first streak to your final step out the dungeon's door was just confusion and unexplained mysteries. The greatest discovery you'd managed to make with any certainty was the existence of drawers, and that isn't exactly enough to build a theory off of.

Being honest and sharing with people is important, but so is taking their feelings into account first. If you drop all of this into her lap at once it'll probably keep her up tonight just as much as it is going to keep you up. And also… even if you go back years together, it's a lot to accept just on your word alone. But maybe…

Millie has resumed petting your hair, but she takes her hand back when you twist your head to look back up at her. She raises an eyebrow but says nothing when you squint up at her, formulating a plan.

Yeah… that could work. Seeing is believing after all, and while Millie wouldn't exactly want to trek all the way out to the forest to see a short hallway and a single abandoned room, you have your armlet as tangible proof of your story. You push yourself up off of the countertop and continue to squint in concentration.

Your eyes flick around the store, which makes Millie's second eyebrow realize it's been left behind and it tries to catch up with its companion. You're alone right now, but someone could come in at any time, and you don't want them overhearing. And if you get Millie to touch your armlet and then someone comes in, who knows if Millie could keep her composure while you both waited for them to leave so you can explain more.

With a soft 'hup' of effort you push yourself up onto the counter enough to lean across it while cupping a hand near your mouth. Millie's eyebrows find the strength within themselves to climb even higher, but she doesn't hesitate to lean in given your obvious intent. "I can't tell you, I've got to show you. Can I pull you away for a bit?" you whisper.

You lean back with a sharp toothed grin, tail flicking. The prospect of getting this off of your chest, the thrill of sharing a juicy secret, has brought back the excitement from earlier and banished the disappointment you arrived with.

Yet once again, the response of the one you are talking with takes the edge off of your excitement. Millie's expression of mild concern is back, but it's not theatrical this time. "Lili, you know I can't do that. We take our business very seriously, and we can't just close up shop on a whim." Her brow furrows deeper. "Speaking of, why aren't you at your shop?" And then she looks like she took a bite out of a lemon. "Surely you aren't letting your dad man the store."

You shake your head. Your grin melts away, but your tail keeps flicking. Your excitement is back under control, but you're still a bit antsy with the prospect of sharing what you've found. "Nah, I closed up for a bit. Had to run to the forest for more supplies."

Millie lets out an 'ah' of understanding, before her brow furrows again– this time in confusion –as she puts two and two together. You nod, preempting her, "Yeah, it has something to do with what I want to tell you so if I could pull you away for just a liiiiittle bit," you say, hoping to entice.

But she holds firm, shaking her head. "No, Elly. Mom and Dad are out having a chat with one of our suppliers. If I step out then there isn't anyone to watch the store, and if the store isn't private enough to show me in here, then you're going to have to take me out into the hills, aren't you? That doesn't sound like it'll only take a 'little' time."

You groan in agony, but don't deny it. Curse her and her reasoning. "Come on, Mills. Pleeeeease? I really need to show you, but I also can't show you here." You are shamelessly whining now. "I promise I'll be as fast as I can!"

You see Millie waver…


…but then sigh and shake her head again. "Sorry Elly, but I really can't." You pout, and the traitor has the gall to smile when she sees it. "If it's really that important, can you show me tomorrow? I'll get mom or dad to man the front tomorrow so you can show me whatever it is that's so important, okay?"

Tragedy. Betrayal. Truly, this is an unjust and cruel world, and it is out to get you. Specifically. Your arms give out and you flop back down onto the counter in despair, letting out a cry of anguish. Millie giggles and tries to pet your hair again, but you slap it away. She's lost privileges.

You huff and fight to keep down a blush. You like to 'let your hair down' and relax around your friends, let yourself forget about all of your (numerous) troubles for a little while. But at the same time you get even more embarrassed acting childish around them. Like you are right now.

This goes double when that friend is Millie. You can still remember how you'd met when you were both little, albeit through the fuzzy and rose-tinted haze of youth and nostalgia. She'd only been 7 and you'd been almost 9. She'd been your cheerful salve against the bullying you'd faced, but in all other ways you'd been her 'big sister'. You'd been the one she looked up to, whose lead she'd followed, who'd given her advice and helped guide and protect her.

And then puberty had happened and your fey/dragon genes had kicked in. While everyone else started shooting up like a zephyr, your development suddenly slowed to a crawl. You'd watched Millie (and all the other kids) growing up towards you, and then even with you, and then leave you in the dust. Millie had 'filled out' years ago, while you'd only recently felt confident you'd stopped growing taller. You are a year and a half older than her godsdammit, but you look like you are twice that amount younger than her.

You are the older one here, and don't need your oldest friend forgetting that. Which means it's time to deflect. "If you aren't going to let me show you, can you at least tell me what's going on so I can take my mind off of it? What gossip have the merchants dragged in this time?"

She has a smirk that says she knows what you're doing, and you magnanimously choose to ignore her continued indiscretion. Then– letting your earlier slump and ongoing secrecy be forgotten for now –she slides right back into her regular persona. Her casual self and her professional self are very similar, both full of unending cheerful energy, except you know her well enough to tell that the one difference is the casual bubbliness isn't forced.

"Well Lili, if there is one shipment that's always on time it's our regular gossip delivery!" She claps her hands together as her grin grows to squeeze her eyes shut. "As I told you already, mom and dad had to go have a talk with one of our suppliers, and that's 'cause they're short on the goods we were promised!" She sounds absolutely delighted by this, once again swept up in her enjoyment of sharing gossip with you while apparently unbothered by the content of said rumors.

"A lot of the merchants have gotten caught up in the war effort, and while there's always plenty of money to be found in a war there's plenty of risks too. War has a habit of either making or breaking merchants, you know?! So our supplier has had a lot of business carrying goods to the warfront, but he's also been losing a bunch of caravans to a pack of Iron Wolves along the north-west road!"

You'd propped your chin up on your hand halfway through, taking in Millie's Millieness with a wry smile. You give her a grunt of acknowledgement, "Huh. I think I heard Alexander say something about that earlier."

Millie's eyes flash open, and they glint dangerously as they lock on you. "Did he?" Gulp. You know that nugget of information had just been snapped up, and would no doubt be dissected later. Knowing Millie's supernatural intuition for gossip, she'd probably be able to figure out exactly why he'd been talking to you from that alone. And if she couldn't, she'd only need an hour or two with the town's rumor mill to figure out the rest.

Mercifully, Millie's eyes release you after only a moment, resuming as if you hadn't said anything. "Now, due to those lost shipments, he doesn't have enough product to satisfy both contracts! He chose to prioritize his contract with the empire, diverting some of the supplies he promised us towards the front in order to make up the difference. Which is understandable! The throne certainly has a lot more money than us and a lot more ability to recollect lost expenses from him, prioritizing their contract is simply the logical move! But that doesn't mean we're just going to ignore that he failed to uphold our contract, no no! We understand his predicament so we won't seek repercussions, but if he can't meet the demands stated in the contract then we'll just need to renegotiate the contract to one he can fulfill! And knowing mom and dad, they'll no doubt get him to make long-term concessions in return for our short-term ones that mean we'll actually come out ahead from all of this!"

You make a small sound of affirmation to signal that you're following, which Millie doesn't even seem to notice as she keeps barrelling along. "Which reminds me, apparently there is a new mercenary group in Verildburg!" You make a more energetic noise of curiosity. Mercenary and adventuring groups were your interest after all. "Or, well, they're new to Verildburg. Word says they have been around a few years, but only recently came up north. No doubt looking for merchants like our supplier who need some extra blades covering their shipments." She shrugs. "Best of luck to them I suppose. By my estimate I'd say most of the merchants either already have guards working for them, or aren't big enough to afford their prices."

You make another noise of interest and stand up a little straighter. "They must be pretty good if they can afford to charge prices that dissuade merchants in a situation that– as you say –'makes or breaks' them."

Another shrug. "I think they're mid level? From the word on the grapevine they at least don't sound like newbies. They're called," Millie pauses, putting a finger on her chin and tilting her head back as she considers the ceiling in thought, "... the Violet Hawks? I think?" She turns large, curious eyes on you and you shake your head. You keep track of the designations of the biggest and/or strongest adventuring and mercenary groups in the empire (as best you can) and you even know the monikers of a few in the neighboring nations, but it's not one that rings a bell.

She shrugs again, "Anyways, they're in the city, and it's apparently big enough that people are talking about it," and leaves it at that, dismissing the subject. Her thinking face returns and the ceiling once again comes under inspection. "Hmmm, aside from that, supply lines to the northern front are still struggling, even leaving out our local suppliers. Our 'esteemed' emperor isn't exactly the best at foreign relations as I'm sure you're aware, and while trade across the borders isn't closed, it's not as healthy as it could be. But the southern empire had a poor harvest this year and they're straining to keep the troops sufficiently supplied. Oh, and apparently the emperor is quite peeved about this and is once again looking for some fingers to point and some heads to roll, so all of the nobles are scrambling across the entire empire. The ones in the inner circle are competing to keep their head off the chopping block, and the minor lords are trying to land some accomplishment that'll let them be the one to fill the inevitable hole in the political house of cards."

"So it's all business as usual in our fine empire?" you drawl sardonically, and Millie giggles like it is all just a joke and you'd delivered the punchline. You sigh. Well, you aren't thinking about your little secret anymore, so at least she'd accomplished that. "And you're all handling this alright? Is it all business as usual for your family, Millie?"

Millie waves away your concern, "Pfft, you kidding me Lili? I only said the south had a poor harvest. We came through just fine up here and so our crops are in more demand than ever! Plus, being so close to the front means that our produce is the freshest stuff they can get and our transportation costs are practically non-existent! Business is booming for our fine town!"

"And as the town rises, so rise the Engbergs?" Millie giggles again, but conspicuously doesn't deny it.

You sigh again, but this time it's in fond exasperation at Millie's antics. You can only hope some of this sudden windfall for the town makes its way through your doors. Maybe people will be able to afford to buy your inks more often?

You push fully off the counter and back to your feet. "Thanks for that Millie, I needed the distraction. I should probably get going though, I don't want to take up all your time."

Millie seems to enjoy that for a second before a cloud of concern passes over her bright smile. "You're really okay, Eliana? I know you said you can't tell me just yet, but if there is anything I can do-"

You shake your head even as you walk back towards the door. "It's okay Millie. I'm feeling better, really. And remember, I'm going to pull you away to show you tomorrow, so that means no excuses! You promised, and a merchant is nothing if she can't keep her promises!"

That gets a laugh out of her, and it seems it is her turn to smile wryly at your antics. "Right Lili, I won't forget. Say hi to your brother for me!" She waves.

You wave back. "Will do, and tell your folks I said hello. And if you ever want help dying your hair again, just holler for me!" And you step back out onto the street.
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Well hey there everybody. Fancy seeing you all here. Hope everyone is doing well.

We have our first ever roll in the story! And it isn't even your roll, it's an NPC roll. That's right, NPCs are going to get rolls as well using their own stats. Exciting.

You were so close to swaying her too. But even for you it's a tall ask for her to leave the store unattended for that long. I hope everyone is satisfied with the way I chose to handle the outcome of the vote, because the majority seemed to vote in a similar theme, just disagreed on the exact details. I did my best interpretation of the results.

This chapter got churned out real quick. The brain demons cooperated with me this time. I had this all up and ready to post on Thursday, formatted and everything, but at the last minute I decided not to post it. The next chapter is going to be... a lot. There is a fair amount of ground to cover until the next big vote, and trust me, it's going to be a BIG one. So look forwards to that! But while I can't know how long a chapter will be until I put it down, I wouldn't be surprised if I end up chopping it up into two or even three parts. Plus I have another sidestory chapter planned before then. So I held back on posting this for a few days to spread the chapters out rather than dumping it immediately and then having a drought. Hope that makes sense.

But yeah, that's it for now. Big plans coming down the line. I'm excited. Take care.

At first you leave the store with purposeful strides, but after only a few seconds you begin to slow, until you are departing the merchant store just as swiftly as you had approached it. Before you had trudged under the burden of disappointment, and now you shuffle with the reserved gait of the inattentive, careful not to accidentally run into anything while your mind is far away, mulling over the conversation in your head.

So, you have an appointment with Millie tomorrow. She was right, the only place that made sense to you for the demonstration was the outskirts of town, but narrowing it down beyond that is tricky. You are surrounded by hills on all sides, so someone might think you are flush with options, but it's a bit more complex than that. Millie probably won't want to follow you a kilometer outside of town, and closer to town there are complications. Finding a spot between the farmlands that is out of earshot and is also out of line of sight of the guardpost will be tricky. Not impossible, but tricky. Maybe I should scout out a location ahead of time?

You glance up absently, and you jerk to a stop, your entire body locking up as your blood runs cold. Oh… right. The sight in front of you drags your mind away from your planning and plotting and gracelessly slams you back into the present.

You're home.

You have made it all the way back. Holding no Dwarf's Beard, down one basket, and up one magic armlet. The sight of your home, looking as you always remembered– comfortable, safe, familiar –gives you a brief surge of vertigo. For a single moment you feel as if you've awoken from a dream, all the thrill and mystery of the last- gods, has it really been less than 3 hours? Wait, how long was I unconscious? It couldn't have been that long, right?

Anyways, your entire adventure suddenly seems impossible when confronted with what your soul recognizes as the final bastion of normalcy. Your last refuge of stability in the face of all the chaos of the world, a small boat weathering the tempest of war and bigotry. For that one heartbeat you feel insane, almost convincing yourself that you have imagined everything that has happened since you stepped out your front door.

You catch yourself as the second heartbeat comes around. The pressure of the armlet suddenly feels comforting rather than infuriating, its presence steadying you. It's tangible proof you didn't make all that up. It's there, on your arm. Even in the face of your home that pressure remains, and that fact makes it feel more solid. More real. It's refusal to fade in the presence of your home dispelling its last traces of fantasy.

Now you just have to take those last few steps. Cross the street, up the stairs, and in the door. Yup, there's absolutely no reason that should feel more daunting than it had to first approach the dungeon opening. Just go home, face your brother and father, and act like nothing is wrong while lugging around an invisible brick strapped to your arm (it's actually surprisingly light). Easy peasy.

You swallow your nerves and stride across the street. You think your movements might be a bit mechanical, but at least your back is straight and your chin is up. You go up the stairs, muscle open the stuck door, and pull it shut behind you.

And you stand there for a few seconds, staring at the door, trying to remember what comes next. You'd been so focussed on getting yourself inside that you've forgotten what you're supposed to do after that.

You hear a slam behind you and nearly jump out of your scales. "Shira, 'zat you?" the slurred voice of your father greets you.

You fight to calm your heartbeat as you glance over your shoulder. Through the door into the living section you can see dad's shadow on the wall, but he hasn't actually come to look through the door. It seems like that was just the sound of him closing a cabinet door a bit too carelessly.

You have to clear your throat before replying, "Uh- um, yeah. It's me, dad! Just… back from my trip! I'll start making dinner in just a minute!"

He gives you a noncommittal grunt, and you see his shadow disappear with the sound of his retreating footsteps. You sigh with relief, untwisting yourself as you catch your breath. You lay one hand on your chest, willing your thudding heartbeat to slow, and glance down at your hand that is still gripping the front door handle.

Your eyes widen. Slowly, you unwrap your fingers from around the handle, and bring your arm up in front of your face. Whoa.

Wood-brown scales emerge from beneath the short sleeves of your dress. The telltale sign of your being startled a second ago, they extend in a uniform sheet up until your arm abruptly stops a centimeter or two below the elbow. But not with the clean line of a blade, no blood or gore or torn flesh. Instead, your arm appears to simply fade out of existence, leaving a sizable gap in the air before the scales rematerialize from your wrist onwards.

You lift your arm and stare straight through where your forearm should be, your disembodied hand floating up with the movement. It's not difficult to guess the cause of your disappearing arm when the missing portion lines up exactly with the part the armlet was resting on. Is resting on, you suppose, as a quick prodding from your other hand confirms the flesh is still there, just perfectly transparent.

Or… not perfectly? Your finger dimples your skin where you poke it, and your view through your arm distorts with it. Is… is it doing this to my scales?! Your camouflage was shit at what it's supposed to do, but this…

Your heartbeat slows as you get distracted by the phenomenon, your curiosity chasing away the adrenaline. Brown scales lose their color, shifting to a pale buttery yellow as the rest of your arm fades back into view to match. It's not alone, as your armlet emerges into view once more, appearing first in the same yellow as your scales, then melting back into the colors you first saw it in, before suddenly blinking back out of existence.

You raise an eyebrow. That was… odd. Both the missing arm part and the way your jewelry had acted while returning (temporarily) to visibility. But this could potentially be helpful? You aren't exactly certain what this thing is supposed to do, but if it can turn you invisible… well, you hope you can figure out how to make it work on the rest of you. If one forearm is its limit, you'll be extremely disappointed in its creators. More than you already are.

A shake of your head helps you refocus. Testing later. Maybe Millie would even have an idea or two. For now, you need to get through the night without spilling the beans, which means you need to act like nothing's up. And that means it's time to start making dinner like you said you would.

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Cooking is going pretty well. You'd always believed you were a pretty good cook whenever you'd used to help dad out as a kid (mom's ideas of what counted as edible were a bit… 'exotic' by human standards). Now, with a few years of having to cook every day, rather than just helping on occasion, you can say with confidence that you know you're a pretty good cook.

You've been getting into your flow state. Ingredients are getting cut, blended, and cooked. Fires are being tended and monitored, and wood is being added as needed. You're not making anything too fancy, but it's still a pleasant blur of activity, something you can let yourself sink into to keep your mind off the hunger gnawing in your brain that wants to drop everything and just experiment with your new mystery. So when something intrudes in your space to interrupt this flow it is both a welcome distraction and an irksome interruption at the same time.

Or, rather, someone. "Hey sis, I'm back. Do you need a hand in here?"

You look over your shoulder at your younger brother. William stands in the doorway, hand on the frame as he looks up at you. He's 14 and only hit puberty a year or two ago, so it's a bit soon to tell if he'll have to deal with the same 'slowed development' as you will, and you often struggle with yourself on if you'd prefer he did or didn't. On the one hand you wouldn't wish upon your brother the things you went through, watching your friends grow beyond you and leaving you figuratively in the past. On the other, if your brother ends up looking 20 before you do then you might just end up burning something.

He's still wearing his 'city outfit'. Wearing coarser, more durable fabrics is only practical for country life, but in the city a certain amount of presentation is needed. His royal blue tunic is difficult to maintain without fading, but he'll only need it for a few years while he can fit in it, and it's worth it besides to present the right image for potential clients. He hasn't removed his chaperon yet.

You take a moment to check the dishes aren't about to burn if you step away for a second, and then walk over and begin removing said chaperon. The headwrap is popular nowadays, which is convenient for your family. Like his tunic, it was chosen very purposefully for the sake of presenting the right image to clients.

First, it's fashionable, and staying abreast with fashion trends costs money. So if you look fashionable, you look like you have money. And if you look like you have money, you look like you do a lot of business, which makes people more willing to do business with you.

Second, it rides the right line between local and exotic. There is no hiding that Will has dad's darker skin tone and that they are both of foreign descent (you are as well, obviously, but it is hard to tell beneath the scales). Luckily, headwrappings are common in dad's homeland as well, so straddling that line is easy. Just by wrapping it in a slightly different style and making it out of a fabric with a pattern reminiscent of your heritage (even if that pattern is usually used for robes and not turbans. Velkines won't know the difference, and it is more about conforming to their stereotypes instead of being historically accurate) Will presents an image that is 'foreign' without being so outside the norm as to make people uncomfortable.

And as you finish unwrapping the cloth and reveal your brother's horns, the third reason presents itself. Being demi-human isn't the type of thing that gets you stoned or run out of town, not even in the capital, but it still is a slight hiccup in most negotiations. A mental stumbling block most people seem to have, even while being ignorant of that facet of themselves. William's tail and patches of scales wouldn't go unnoticed just because you cover his horns, but every bit helps reduce that friction a little more.

Your brother squirms a little at the casual contact, uncomfortable with the intimacy of the action. You smile softly, remembering being much the same way at his age. You hand him the cloth back, looking him up and down, checking for scrapes or smudges, either on him or his clothes. You don't find any, and quietly approve of his efforts to maintain his cleanliness.

Then your smile turns teasing, and your hand reaches for his head again. Only this time it's to roughly tussle his hair. Your brother squawks in protest as you pivot on a silver from being his de facto maternal figure back to being his older sister. "Nah, I'm good in here, bro. Everything's nearly finished. Not that I'd let you step a foot inside the kitchen in your nice clothes anyways."

He swats your hand away and glares petulantly up at your unrepentant grin. You catch his glare turning calculating, and you instinctively drop your center of balance a little. He darts to the side, attempting to get past you, but you're ready for that and move to cut him off. He jukes back the other way, but you'd been expecting that too, maintaining your defense.

This goes on for a few seconds, but it feels longer as you both weave back and forth, one attempting to prove their superiority by bypassing their opponent, the other attempting to maintain their superiority by shamelessly abusing their height advantage. And in the end, you reign victorious and maintain your elder sibling status as he overreaches, and his attempt to slip past you is rewarded with him being lifted bodily and thrashing into the air.

"Muahaha! Foolish William, you should have known better than to attempt to best me! Your defeat was preordained, and my rule is absolute!" You make sure to shift your grip to ensure you've got his arms pinned and he cannot wriggle out of your hold.

"Nngh! Screw you, sis! Put me down! You're going to mess up my nice shirt!"

Oof. Low blow bro, low blow. How dare he bring his shirt into this. What kind of little brother wields your responsibilities against you in an attempt to avoid being tormented by their elder sibling, as is said sibling's gods-given right?

You put him back on his feet shortly after that, but to maintain your regal stature as queen of this household, you pretend you didn't hear him say anything and act like releasing him was all your idea. He pouts in his defeat, taking a moment to straighten out the wrinkles in his tunic from being manhandled.

You let him have a moment of respite, holding back on flicking his forehead like you want to, instead turning back to return to your dishes. You don't need to keep an eye on him, you know his honor won't let him enter the kitchen with your back turned, not when he already lost in a fair fight. "So, everything go alright in the city? Anything I should know about?" You glance over your shoulder at him. "Oh, and Millie says hi, by the way."

He's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and trying to look 'cool and aloof'. From an objective point of view he's kind of pulling it off, not that you are objective in the least and you wouldn't ever admit it to him even if you were. "It was so-so. Didn't land us any new customers, but I think I managed to get one or two tentatively interested. Hopefully, with a little more work, I can get one of them to actually sign up for something." He tilts his head to the side. "Also, that's nice, but when did you go see Millie today? I ran into her parents in the city, so she couldn't have come here." He makes a face like he bit into a lemon (deja vu) and glances over his shoulder to make certain the coast is clear before stage-whispering, "You didn't leave Dad in charge of the store did you?!?"

You sigh. No faith, honestly. "No, I had to go to the forest for some ingredients, so I closed up shop when I headed out," you explain with an air of long-suffering, as if this is the hundredth time you've had to explain this and not just the second. You examine the chicken you're cooking and deem it sufficiently cooked, so you start removing it and begin putting platters together. "And I just felt like stopping by for a chat on the way back. It feels like forever since we last got to just hang out without either of our jobs getting in the way." Which is true, even if it isn't the relevant parts of the truth.

"Mmm," he doesn't sound like he buys that completely, but he doesn't say anything about it. "Well, that's about it. I didn't run into any trouble in the city, I didn't manage to reel in any new catches, and I did the necessary shopping before coming back." You give him an affirmative noise.

"Thanks for the help again, bro. And since you are in such a helping mood," you don't have to look to know how he tenses at your overly casual words, "I don't suppose you'd help me out and get Dad to the dinner table, would you?" Your words are far too innocent to be real. Nobody past the age of 6 sounds that innocent and isn't trying something.

You hear him groan in anguish. "Wow sis, really? I spend all day chasing down clients in the city while you go frolic in the forest and have girl-talk with your bestie. I go shopping and carry everything all the way back from the city, and when I get home I offer to help you cook. And my repayment is you trying to foist the hardest task of the night off on me?" You know he's shaking his head in mock disbelief even as you hear him push off the wall and begin to walk away. "You're lucky I'm such a good, upstanding, selfless guy."

You're grinning where you know your brother can't see it. "Yup, I sure am~," you sing-song, "I love you, little bro~."

"Yeah yeah, no need to make a big deal out of it. Love you too, sis."

In the privacy of the kitchen, your malicious grin melts into a soft smile. He says it like it's begrudging, like he's only saying it out of obligation, but he never fails to say it back, and you know he means it deep down. The teasing and the roughhousing is just a necessary part of being siblings (it's in the handbook) but when you have privacy you have the freedom to get all sappy about it. And you're pretty sure he's doing exactly the same thing right now.

You finish putting the platter together. Your family tradition is the making of a meal platter from a bunch of smaller dishes. Usually only one of them requires any real effort (unless it's a special occasion) and tonight that's the chicken, but you arrange some more small bowls and plates of salad, slices of cheese, flatbread with dips, and some fruit that's in season.

You take one more moment to doublecheck you'd fully tamped the fire, then gather your platter to head for the table. Time for you and your brother to have another dinner with dear old dad.
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Good day everyone, how's it going.

Not posting on my regular day, what a surprise! Well, this is another case of "I've had this chapter done for a while, I just didn't post it" except this time it's just because I've been chewing on it and I just can't get it to a point that I'm happy with. I don't dislike the conversations (they're some of my favorite so far) and I don't dislike the actual events/plot structure I put in, but... there is some intangible quality I'm not totally happy with. The meal is perfectly well cooked, but something is off with the seasoning.

I've been reading and rereading this chapter for a week now, and I've made a few small tweaks that made it better but still not quite to the level I want it. But then again, being an artist means being the harshest critic of your own work, isn't it? I made my last few tweaks midday yesterday, just a bit after my normal posting timeslot, and I had to decide whether to post on the regular day, or the regular hour of the day. I decided to hold off the extra night cause I've said a few times in a few places I intend to keep the timeslot the same, and I wouldn't want to be a liar.

Hopefully you all read this and love it and think I'm being ridiculous, but if anyone has any (constructive) feedback for me, I would love to hear it. To reiterate my AN from last chapter, I've got the rest of the timeline up until the next vote pretty well mapped out. Keeping up the trend so far that one should be churned out pretty quick too, but hopefully I can polish it up to a degree I am happy with much faster.

Until next time, stay safe everyone, look out for each other, and keep your chin up. I'm rooting for you!

Trigger warning: Emotional abuse by a family member.

Food methodically makes its way from your dishes to your mouth. You are the picture of poised serenity as you move with reserved and precise motions. You could easily be mistaken for a noble heiress at a high society function, elegant and graceful in your bearing.

The air feels so dense that it's difficult to breathe. The tension saturates it, making it settle over your shoulders like a heavy blanket. It's your turn now to be grateful for your lack of sweat, as if you could you are certain you'd have to be wiping it out of your eyes and your hair would be matting terribly.

The silence is all-encompassing and impossible to ignore with its malignant presence, the rustling of movement and the clink of cutlery doing nothing to dispel its hold.

In your mind's eye you imagine you can see it lurking about you all. It takes the form of dozens of humanoid figures, skeletally gaunt with spindly limbs and grotesquely long fingers. They perch on the bookshelves, crouch on the floorboards, and lurk behind the occupants at the table. Spun from shadow and smoke, with malevolent shining points of light instead of eyes. Unblinking and unwavering they watch your family, arms reaching towards you all, wrapping around to encompass you all, fingers hovering a breath away but never quite touching any of you.

All except one. It doesn't reach, doesn't impose. The silhouette of a woman sits in the table's empty chair, its eyes glaring twice as bright as it simply sits and watches your family. Taking in the state it's been reduced too, how far it's fallen. Watching. Judging. Its presence takes up the most space.

As long as none of you acknowledge them they'll stay at bay, looming ominously and daring you to try and dispel them. But you know the folly in trying to fight them. All your prior attempts at conversation in the past years only feed them. You'd say a feeble icebreaker and you'd get a half-hearted reply or two. Then the malevolent silence would snap them up, and their oppressive pressure would return even heavier than before.

So you pretend to ignore them, and simply eat with perfect control and neutrality. It's a role you had developed and refined since your family had been reduced to 3.

Your brother and father have their roles they have chosen for themselves as well. Your brother eats slowly and fiercely, tearing into his meat and chewing it angrily. He is the picture of the disgruntled, rebellious teenager, slumped in his seat and glaring at nothing and everything. It's a posture that screams 'don't talk to me' for all the world to see, and it's a performance he has perfected.

You know it doesn't matter what his day was like, he always looks like that at the table. The two of you had developed differing strategies in pursuit of the same goal. You are trying to keep any attempts at conversation from starting by avoiding attention and being too distant to approach, a defensive tactic. Your brother preferred the offensive, visibly and actively attacking any attempts at conversation and doing his best to beat them down before they could grow.

The reason for these developed behaviors sits across the table from you. Your father's role has deepened and solidified just as much as the two of yours have. In the first few months he was unpredictable. He might suddenly rage, or weep, or seem to go comatose, completely unaware of the world around him. There had even been some good days where the man you knew had peeked back through the tumult, and your loving father would briefly show his face.

Time had sanded down all his variations, good and bad. Now your father ate with the same energy he approached everything nowadays. Listless. Hollow. He stared at his food and ate as if it took monumental effort to do so. He looked like he couldn't care less about what was going on around him, that he had no energy left with which to care. Like he couldn't be bothered to interact with the world.

You know him better than that, unfortunately. As much as the thought curdles your stomach and makes it hard to keep eating your hard-worked meal, you would prefer if that was the only case, if he had no energy or care with which to interact with the world.

You power through, forcing more bites past your lips while trying not to think about it. You can't rush, can't risk drawing his attention that way, but you want to leave as soon as possible. The sooner you leave the table, the sooner you can retreat to your room to poke and prod at your new artifact and maybe get it to cough up more of its secrets.

"Shira."

You flinch and lock up, your next bite of food frozen halfway to your mouth. Out of the corner of your eye you see Will freeze as well. After a beat you force yourself back into action, continuing to fake your calm exterior through a monumental effort of willpower. You chew, swallow, and then look directly at your father for the first time today. You already have his attention, no point in trying to avoid it any longer.

You look at the man that is what's left of your father. His naturally dark skin is darkened further by a thin layer of unwashed dirt. His dark and wavy hair was once kept in a lazily-styled mop, just the right level to make him look 'roguish' and 'dashing'. Now it is an unkempt curtain, spilling past his shoulders and hanging in front of his face without a care, grimy and matted from weeks without the slightest maintenance. His face sports hairs in the awkward phase where it's too long to be stubble but not quite long enough yet to be a proper beard. He shaves every month or two, one of the only acts of self-maintenance he actually bothers with. And that's only because he dislikes the feeling of eating with a full beard in the way.

His chocolate-brown eyes are looking vaguely in your direction, but not actually at you, instead gazing off into the distance at something just to the left of you.

But that's more than enough. You feel the weight of his attention pressing down on you, like your every slightest motion is being analyzed. Despite being so pitifully hollow, you know he has decades of experience as a mercenary, and his habits from then are carved into his muscle-memory. You've seen your father react to things that appeared impossible to notice, motion from well outside his line of sight and sounds fainter than a whisper. Even only being at the edge of his vision is more than you're comfortable with, and you have to fight the urge to fidget in your seat.

"You said you went to the forest. To go get some Dwarf's Beard." The words fall from his lips one by one, impacting the table one after another with a series of heavy thuds. His muttering almost sounds like he's talking in his sleep, but you can feel the looming arms and reaching fingers of Silence cringing back at them, giving room for his presence to fill the room as he lays claim to the quiet between words.

Your grip tightens on your fork. It's more of a tell than you'd like, but it's the least you can get away with right now, a concession made to avoid any larger reactions. It lets you speak without any waver or hesitation, as carefully neutral as commenting on the weather. "Yes, we needed to stock back up. I'd forgotten to replenish after that one alchemist's order a while back."

His nod looks more like his head lolling about on his shoulders, the look of a man fighting off sleep. "'Needed to'. Hm. Odd choice of words. I think we still need to, seeing as you didn't come back with any."

Your grip on your fork and the clenching of your jaw are both painfully tight. Fuck. Of course he had to notice that. You hate your hesitation as you fail to reply immediately, but you have no other choice. You weren't prepared for him to bring that up and you need time to think of a proper reply. You can't just lie and say you put it somewhere he hadn't thought to look. Your father may be apathetic and have no energy most of the time, but if there was one thing he had energy and motivation left for, it would be going out of his way to catch you in your lies.

Yes, time had leached almost all the energy from the man. Had drained the parts of him that had raged and wept and laughed and loved. What you saw on the surface truly went deep, much of what had once made up a man with hopes and dreams stolen and replaced with layer after layer of cloying apathy.

But underneath everything, something had endured. Something hard, and bitter, and ugly. A smoldering coal of pure condensed spite has persevered despite everything. Something revolted by the happiness that continues to happen every day without a care for what he had gone through.

Its bite– its heat –is low. It takes time to build up enough energy to get him to do anything, and even then it is so very limited in what it can motivate him to do. But it's the only thing driving him now. He spends 90% of his time wallowing in his despair and apathy, indulging in hedonism and sloth. And when he does turn his gaze outwards, when he finds the energy for that remaining 10%, it's only ever in service of that spite, tearing down those around him for no other reason than for daring to stand taller than him.

It's why you and your brother put so much effort into avoiding any conversation at the table. It was better to spend an entire meal in silence than to have Sahin– to have your father –speak up when the only reason he ever does is out of a desire to hurt.

Speaking of, you can see your brother out of the corner of your eye. You can see how wide his eyes are as he watches you with an expression of confusion, concern, and secondhand fear. The fact that you'd failed to come back with any Dwarf's Beard was news to him, but you can't take your eyes off Sahin right now. You need to focus. "Yes. I went to the forest, but I left early, before I could find any. I heard something nearby and it scared me, so I had to come back home empty handed. I'll just have to go again some other time."

Another nod. He takes a bite of food and chews slowly. Nobody dares speak, letting the silence grow. That bastard. You know he's savoring your discomfort more than he is savoring your cooking. He eventually decides he's milked the moment long enough and swallows. "Another interesting choice of words, Shira." Finally, dreadfully, he looks directly at you, and you feel a chill run down your spine. "Seeing as you were quite literally empty handed when you returned, weren't you?"

Now the tightness of your grip spreads up through your arms and shoulders. You're swearing up quite a storm internally, while externally it's all you can do to keep from glaring daggers at him. By all the gods and demons named or forgotten you hate this fucker. This man who has come to inhabit the shell your father left behind when he disappeared like so much smoke. How he causes pain and discomfort for no other reason than a passing whim and doesn't even have the decency to get more than the faintest shred of enjoyment out of it. At least then he'd have a proper reason, instead of it simply being because he 'doesn't have anything better to do'.

You hate the fact that you can't do anything even more than you hate the man himself. Because, no matter your feelings on the matter, you need him. Your father controls you through fear. Not fear of a beating. No, despite being an experienced Ignited mercenary who could easily smear you across a wall– even after years without so much as touching a sword –your father has never once crossed the line to lifting his hand against you.

He doesn't need to. All it takes is a single word or a single letter to the authorities, and your life is over. With a whim he could have the guards dragging you out of your home in chains. The word of an unwashed drunkard man matters more to the crown than the screams and wails of any woman, no matter how much their community respects them. It wouldn't even matter if he regretted it later, if he crossed that line in a fit of pique he'd never be able to take it back. The crown would never want to hand back a tool it was so willingly given.

Or maybe he wouldn't resort to that. That was just your most pessimistic fears, but even your more 'reasonable' ones were enough to stay your tongue. You'd lashed back at your father before, a few months after your mutual loss, when your well of patience for your father's pity party had run dry. He hadn't been shy about letting you how little patience he had for 'keeping a dog that bites him'. And he'd implied how willing he'd be to hand you over gift wrapped to Alexander, or Garrett, or even just some stranger passing through town if you caused him too much 'trouble'. Once again, only his decision would matter and the crown would see it done.

You don't know if he'd ever go that far. It's possible those words hadn't been sincere, and had just been another way of hurting you simply because he could. But you also don't know with 100% certainty that he wouldn't. And you fear finding out the truth of how far your father has truly fallen just as much as you fear the consequences of that discovery. So you keep yourself in line, meekly taking all the barbs and little cruelties he throws at you, without daring to lift a hand in your own defense.

You swallow your anger, take a deep breath, and reply with only the slightest tightness in your voice, "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I had found some Cellini mushrooms, and I'd knelt down to check if they were any good for dinner. Then a huge gust of wind stole the basket away. I was going to chase after it, but this was just before I heard the noise. It sounded like some huge impact, from deeper into the forest. I don't know what made the noise, but I was too scared to stick around and find out, or to try and track down where the basket went." Mix truth with lies, that makes it easier to sound believable, and make sure it wouldn't be one he could easily verify.

Your father watches you impassively. "One right after the other? My, that sounds awfully convenient." He doesn't put any emphasis or inflection on the word 'convenient', and yet, he manages to make it sound damning anyways.

You nod, not daring to break eye contact. You can't throw a punch back at him, but you can't afford to be weak either. "It was incredibly inconvenient, if you ask me. You should ask Garrett if you're curious. He was on watch and it was loud enough that he told me he heard it when I passed by him." He wouldn't, he'd turn the whole house upside-down if it meant he had the chance of catching you in a lie, but you know that having to walk across town to get answers would be more effort than he is willing to expend.

Your father's eyes narrow slightly. He knows that you know he won't bother to verify your claim, and he also clearly can't tell for certain if you're lying or not. But you don't flinch or wither under his stare, and eventually he closes his eyes. "Is that so?" He lets out a sigh. "Honestly, I thought we'd raised you to be less of a coward than that. No wonder the Spark didn't catch in you, if all it takes is a single noise for you to turn tail and flee."

You take a deep breath and steel yourself. He's failed to call out your lie, so all you need to do is take his barbs and you're home free. "Really, you should give up on your silly, childish dream of joining an adventuring guild. What kind of guild would want a little girl who is willing to leave something so important behind just because they heard a little bump in the night? Why should they believe it wouldn't be one of your party members next?"

You grit your teeth as hard as you can to hold back your venom, and fight to keep your tail from lashing angrily. He looks at you with faux-pity in his eyes. "Would you do that, Shira? Cause it sounds like you would. Would you leave one of your comrades behind? Would you abandon someone who trusts you, who relies on you, just to save your own skin? Flee to somewhere safer, and leave them behind where it's dangerous just because you're scared? Are you really that selfish?" And your father reaches out a hand and gently lays it on your brother's shoulder.

Your scales bristle and your eyes blaze with restrained rage. Oh, you bitch.

You hadn't told your father (or your brother for that matter) about your hope to join a guild so that you could escape the empire. You hadn't had the idea of fleeing the empire until after dad had fallen into himself, and you weren't about to open up to him after that point. And you weren't about to make your brother shoulder the information that you wanted to leave.

But neither of them were dumb. They knew you had never really given up on your dream of becoming an adventurer that you'd held ever since you were young. And you hadn't been shy about how much you wished you lived somewhere other than an empire run by bigots. It wasn't that difficult to put two and two together.

And here was your father, equating your hope to leave the empire to leaving a party member behind to die just because you weren't 'brave' enough to 'tough it out'. You knew you'd never do such a thing. You had run headfirst into a potentially dangerous, unknown dungeon with only the slightest hesitation. You could argue about whether that was bravery or stupidity, but either way, that type of instinct would never let you leave a friend to die.

And yet, the accusation wouldn't have hurt so much if you could completely dismiss it out of hand. Because the truth is, you hadn't considered what you'd do about your brother if you had the chance to leave. You didn't know if it was right to drag your brother away from your family home– from the place where you'd both grown up –just to chase your dream. You didn't know if an adventuring party would even let you bring your brother with you, or what you would do if they didn't let you. It had always felt like such a far away goal, such a pipe dream, that you'd told yourself you'd figure it out if and when you came to that point.

Your father is throwing all that in your face, not because you dare imagine he cares, but simply because he knows it will hurt you. And he isn't even hurting you out of some hatred or grudge with you, but simply because he's in pain and you're there and you're convenient. So you don't let the fury spill from your lips, you don't rise to his bait or address his subtext. You simply force out your words, cold and hard as a glacier,

"I guess I'll never have a chance to find out, will I?"

It seems not even your father has a response to that.

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You find yourself lying in bed later that night, staring up at the ceiling without really seeing it. You'd meant to examine your invisible brick once you had reached your room and had a degree of privacy, but instead you'd flopped down on your bed without a moment's hesitation. You felt too tired to examine its mysteries. Too tired to plot or plan. You were even too tired to sleep.

The rest of the night since the altercation had disappeared in a blur. Nobody else had spoken during dinner, and it had gone past in a flash. You think your brother might have tried to talk to you after it was over and dad had left, but you don't really remember what he said or what you said back to him.

The conversation is just looping in your head. Your father's insults. His implications. Your response. His hand on your brother's shoulder. And through it all, the shadow that wasn't there; the imaginary figment of a missing woman, with eyes like spotlights that watched the both of you. Each pass of their light casting each of you into stark contrast; revealing what caricatures of yourselves you've each become.

You do your best to come to terms with it. To swallow the lump in your throat so you can digest it. And by digesting it, remember how you're both human, beneath all the scar tissue.

Your father's stings are small. He doesn't resort to berating you openly. He doesn't try to break you in a single conversation and doesn't try to tear at all your fears and insecurities all at once in an effort to leave you a sobbing mess. No, it's just little pricks and prods, day after day, month after month, year after year. Just a little cut, one after another, none alone all that deep, their only danger being in how you don't have time for one to heal before the other arrives. Honestly, it's been several months since he last tried to cut you that deep. He must have been in a Mood™ today.

Or so you tell yourself.

The thought isn't exactly soothing, but it's enough to get you to relax your shoulders a little. And that little relaxation ends up opening the floodgates, and within a few breaths you've gone totally boneless and your eyelids begin to droop. Your exhaustion finally takes over, and whisks you away into blissful non-existence.
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Howdy.

A little bit of a 'wham episode'. Also, maybe a little more serious than people were expecting from the description on the tin. Isn't this supposed to be about becoming a power ranger who engages in sentai tropes? Yes, well, we're getting there. If you've made it this far, I'd like to establish that the tone I'm going for is... I guess 'Grimhope'? As opposed to 'Grimdark', it's also kind of a shitty status quo you find yourself in, but the theme here is not 'everything sucks everywhere, and it always going to suck forever' but instead 'everything sucks everywhere, but you can change that'.

So, it's been a few chapters since you last got to vote, hasn't it? This is becoming a regular fanfiction more than a quest at this point. Well, next chapter has a vote coming in it, and it should be a fun one. I hope it gets a lot of votes, cause I'm excited for people's opinions. I have the entire thing outlined, I just need to turn that outline into actual words, so barring any unexpected complications from the outside world intruding on the writing flow, I should be able to have it up next week on Friday. And if everything goes swimmingly, I'll even get to finish my sidestory chapter before then, for even more goodness. I am very excite.

If you're getting here early, feel free to let me know if I made any typos or if anything isn't clear. I just finished this chapter yesterday and I've only had a little bit of time to review everything for quality. I'll probably end up making a few tweaks over the next day or two as I decide to change my word choice or catch typos I missed. But I wanted to make certain I got this out today because I am, as I have stated, very excite for the next part of the story and I want to encourage myself to keep the writing momentum going by pushing myself a little to meet my deadlines. Not too much, you must to be kind to yourself, but sometimes you need to give yourself some tough-love too. Hopefully, it hasn't impacted my writing quality.

As always, I welcome all reactions you would be kind enough to give me. Comments, praise, or criticisms. Let me know what you think! And until next time, stay safe out there, be kind to others, and keep your chin up. You've got this, and I'm rooting for you.

The Yaski said:

Sciaew ifvgunh di, lulwci majwrp. Ogj ffrnquwzsn uk grqaswg, rrd yq wfsle lr us ttav gvobwucc adw jfre. Nmw vzez lkisusz rlv dmedxid ogqeicfare M cmf wvpl: kgx rve elufrg. Elufrg ax kverf, squ sf yaqu. Xhq lhkled thkaeqf xj quel ev wtmtlcmzqv evjodw lk oixdv psu. U olcp hmnh ks bq ixzgk, nmw terqxxc. Wo bdhrwe, ogqkmngw wf fe elufrg.

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please forgive me little mortal our connection is damaged and my tools to do this properly are gone but even through our damaged connection i can tell you are strong strong of heart and of mind the tether between us must be stabilized before it kills you i will have to be quick but careful so please continue to be strong

The Yaski said:

WJM(Tueh Jmnow Ldtaol): 0 grcs:20 tgxiw:27 mufxkis:32.15897 ewffrde



FRKMCQ: Aqtsmufj uetm-xofa aojrjw Samo-cmnw av jaexdlek. Dmld merusezpifq lj mnojhrwizy hotozwqkmaxdb. Uetm urdtrqkvzsn qxizgiqffp aazaqx. Gozfhtxiaf errdiagkl mmplek ogl.

FFRCXMVZSN: {Dgrbme Bjrkicfgu Tenpagrxe 001} dwjrmnufj tsneulfyszwvj.

Vefjhrxizy iism ogqeicfare. Vepmfzrg eukvhuxwg TTU oqfcis pwgzgafwg ks suyqrp azsopwie. Jhuycufj gswqj rlxpgl gvhioswvh ta spgpirqlek suyqrp sfjhektt.

Jhdsvufj jxazv-ep poocv fr aglrdetqv vpwtqev. Rytaedkid-eqvkime jhkyrzaqx xo ysqlel ogqkvox. Sgumns kbjxeyk lexo OHX jghqvxcmns.

FRKMCQ XUFQ SMHLVRCQ KBJXEY: "Zhy, M iysjzre fzdk quel ev ahml 'zroizy xg' jeqdv cmkq. Khvqs xanv ae'dw gfmns aw ksgqlkvv, adwq'k ae?"

EQVKIM ZGWZJIOSWZSN: Bjhmmogk qfxiow vvrt nq {Vrtiqffv Wyelhd} heqehu 'Roz-wvjinfadc' ahudh {Jepuwqti Skkwvq} ie jxerizy le poi-hrnir yggv. E rqhuzqazv krw bqwq csgswg zr ttw {Vrtiqffv Wyelhd'w} obwurxizy ofks mfg kle {Esszinow Vpwtqe} lj veyaquid fg dmsip waginpaqx inqjjp sn 'Zgq-vwsqfwzel' zgwzjioswzsne okzpe dmqemns aq csw-bgzvv mavh.

ESTUUH WVOY KDGMEZUH JCSFWP: Jxafmv:{Rrnaqdege}; Ywvjegq: "Ave'x ttsw estuuh ney fgr csns ai psu'dw wicizy wf wahw sfaed?"

KBJXEY FRKMFUUDKMOZ: Huvziamv estuuh jinf tb {Jepuwqti Skkwvq} dqwpvh 'Naf-hjwez-

FRKMCQ XUFQ SMHLVRCQ KBJXEY (FVJ): [Mnfwuiypf Urdqazv]; Vketgk:{Dxkrmndkmoz}

KBJXEY FRKMFUUDKMOZ: {Kdgmezuh Jcsfwp} jloik ldqepadki suyqj sf uesisvqv hwjioahegy uf wyiid frkmcqk. D tsmywquetugq yes nwhe posyhu mn fzh {Jepuwqti Skkwvq's} ahhietufj csge squ e nalh fj ttw hwjeollminqkv fj ttw {Fvrtdso Jcsfwp'j} rofafvw hmk duhifareelxq evin xgjxid.

ZKV: {Ffsowqv keelxii}

...

NEK: {Leerfaflpafw vtveme rw vasw}

VE: {Wabahege Eqvkim} uk zyet uk ffplaixzelxq uvjedjhu xo mk 're xhuf lti' wulk kle xwqxxh ax wyiid huvziamv estuxltetugq.

EWS: {Yguv sbeuhei gqkwlvee}

...

FVJ: {'Vaehevvrk'}

...

FVJ: Wtmlxj:{Togllek}

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TSI(Time Since Impact): 0 days:20 hours:27 minutes:32.15897 seconds



NOTICE: Incoming data-flow across Soul-link is swelling. Data variability is increasing exponentially. Data compression efficiency waning. Connection bandwidth maxing out.

CONCLUSION: {Rookie Protector Candidate 001} regaining consciousness.

Retreating from connection. Reducing scheduled CPU cycles dedicated to signal analysis. Reducing power output dedicated to amplifying signal strength.

Removing stand-by locks on automated systems. Automated-systems returning to manual control. Adding systems into CPU scheduling.

NOTICE FROM SAPIENCE SYSTEM: "Heh, I imagine that must be what 'waking up' feels like. Seems like we're doing it together, aren't we?"
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Previous notice sent by {Sapience System} deemed 'Non-essential' while {Sapience System} is running in low-power mode. A reprimand has been logged in the {Sapience System's} operating logs and the {Sapience System} is reminded to avoid expending energy on 'Non-essential' notifications while running in low-power mode.

NOTICE FROM SAPIENCE SYSTEM: Status:{Annoyance}; Message: "Isn't that notice way too long if you're trying to save power?"

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Previous notice sent by {Sapience System} deemed 'Non-essen-

NOTICE FROM SAPIENCE SYSTEM (NSS): [Interrupt Command]; Status:{Aggravation}

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: {Sapience System} shows immediate signs of improved efficiency in their notices. A commendation has been logged in the {Sapience System's} operating logs and a note of the effectiveness of the {Central System's} notices has additionally been logged.

NSS: {Obscene gesture}

...

NSS: {Inarticulate scream of rage}

SN: {Sapience System} is what is colloquially referred to as 'on thin ice' with the length of their previous notification.

NSS: {More obscene gestures}

...

NSS: {'Raspberry'}

...

NSS: Status:{Pouting}