Survivor: Directive Zero

[GorMartsen]

Location: Hope, A-class planet, D-zone (green)
Date: April 7 2728 — Standard Earth Calendar (SEC)


Standing nude at the pointed end of the island, with the ice-tipped claw knife in my hand, I marvelled at the lake before me.

With no wind in the afternoon air, it was still as a mirror, reflecting scattered clouds from above.

But now and again, I saw dark shadows moving slowly beneath the surface.

Whether it was water beasts or just some play of light, I didn't know. They didn't leave a ripple on the surface, and that kept me on the edge.

As if I needed any extra reason for that.

With the claw knife cold in my hand, I was already busy suppressing a chill born of fear, created by my own mind.

I remembered the cost I paid for the hex-field. I remembered the pain on the edge of insanity, the hunger that all but turned me into a beast.

The loss of communication with Lola.

Raising my arm, I looked at the ice-tipped claw knife in my hand, and as its tip glinted in the sunlight, I tried to guess the price I would pay this time.

And sure, I could just put it away, never to use again, but that was the path of a coward.

And coward I was not.

But neither was I a stupid one, refusing to learn my own lessons.

With a heavy sigh, I crouched down and scooped up a handful of water from the lake.

As it began slipping through my fingers, running down my left palm, I hurried to splash it on the stone beside me.

For the test.

Bringing the claw knife above the small paddle, I touched the surface with the ice-tip.

It didn't freeze.

Furrowing my brows, I pushed the claw knife down—against the stone—and it sank in with a little resistance. As before.

At least that hadn't changed.

Slashing the stone diagonally, I pulled it up and brought it before my eyes.

The ice-tip was still there, clean as glass, distorting the light. And still ice-cold against my fingertip.

But it didn't freeze the water, nor did it affect the cut in stone.

Whatever I felt… it wasn't real—as if not rooted in the normal senses.

Right.

Closing my eyes, I focused on my inner vision.

The core pulsed, the pathways bloomed with the flow of energy, and the active stars of the inertia constellation shone before me.

And for the first time, I questioned what I saw. I never had the ability to see anything with my imagination. But somehow, I had just accepted it, seeing nothing wrong.

It was just another instance when I saw changes to myself, but they slipped past my mind.

Was it how others saw the ARC interface?

Shaking off the thoughts, I traced along the pathway to my right hand, looking for the claw knife in it.

I felt its weight and a slight cold emanating from within, but no image appeared in my inner vision.

It wasn't there.

Opening my eyes again, I blindly looked before me, biting my lip.

If I were right, the ice-tip was a knot, somehow merged with the claw knife. But it was inert, as if it had not been activated.

And I had one ability that might do just that.

Extending my arm before me, I activated the hex-field, and as it stretched over my body, I felt resistance in the flow at my palm.

Frowning, I pushed a bit more—

Whoosh-Splash

—and the icicle, the size of my finger, shot from the tip of the knife, splashing against the lake's surface.

It swelled for a moment, and the ice floe burst up from the water as large as my cooking pot.

As it began to drift away, swaying side to side, I listened to myself, looking for any changes, searching for anything that might feel wrong.

But I felt fine.

Glancing at the ice claw knife—carefully not pointing it at myself—and noting no changes either, I settled my gaze on the ice floe.

How much energy did it absorb? Two megajoules, maybe more?

Twenty needler shots, standard-issue ammo.

It was a lot. A fucking lot.

Standing up, I walked back to where I had left my needler and the pot of the last batch of lard—my emergency kit if anything went wrong with testing.

Switching hands, I picked up the needler and, turning right, looked at the forestline on the other side.

It was a good fifteen metres away, a baby distance for a shooting range.

Raising the needler, I shot at one of the trees. With a loud, wet crack, it blew off a chunk of the trunk in a spray of splinters, and the tree swayed dangerously.

That was loud.

Switching hands again, I levelled the ice knife at the tree next to the previous one and, feeling the same resistance in my palm, I pushed against it. Then a bit more—

Whoosh

—and as the icicle shot from the claw knife, I collapsed on the ground.

Somewhere in the background, I heard a loud crack as if through cotton in my ears, but it barely mattered to me. I was overwhelmed by the sucking emptiness inside my core, a hundred times stronger than any I felt before.

The coldness gripped my spine, twisting my heart, and with a ragged breath, I once again began to draw on the energy around me, counting seconds to not lose my mind.

Fucking shit.

—

With my teeth chattering, I scooped the lard from the pot with my bare hands and hungrily gulped it down.

A deep growl escaped my throat as I felt an urge to sink my teeth into living flesh. I pushed it down by another gulp.

Fucking shit.

Whatever had happened didn't just draw energy from my core, no. It felt as if it had pulled it out of my body—scraping the bottom—and I began to feel the Anomaly's pressure again, along with a rising fever.

At least this time, I didn't burn my clothes.

Chuckling nervously, I scooped the lard running down my chest and licked my fingers.

And didn't lose my mind to the frenzy of the hunger.

Scraping the last lard from the pot's bottom, I gulped it in one go. It was barely enough to sate me, to get back the missing warmth beneath my skin. I needed more.

Setting the pot aside, I looked back at the spot where I had dropped the ice knife, licking my fingers.

If not for the badger's regeneration, I was sure it would have killed me.

It almost did, shutting down all my anomaly systems and draining any energy from my body that I didn't know I had before.

So one shot, huh?

My gaze drifted to the tree I had targeted with it, and I saw the trunk split all the way up, still covered in frost.

That was one hell of a shot, and perhaps it was worth it. All of it was.

Rising to my feet, I picked up the needler and the pot, and—ignoring the claw knife—went back to the hideout for some lard I had prepared for the road to Outpost.

I wasn't going to touch it before I felt like myself again.

—

Sitting on the stone with my back to the sun, I was lazily chewing on some boar meat.

It tasted plain, with no salt or spices, but each piece gave me back the energy I had lost.

The necklace was back on my neck, somewhat shielding me from the Anomaly fever, and I kept the needler by my side.

Just in case.

But most of my focus was on the crystals before me, carefully sorted by type and held away from the orbs.

Two "river-rocks"—one new from the boar—and the white seed were in the centre of the assembly, as they were the only ones whose effects I knew.

The spiky roots and the icicle discharge.

Carefully picking up the white seed, I felt cold biting at my fingers in the same way the ice-tip on the claw knife did.

Closing my eyes, I focused on the feelings without trying to use my inner vision. I already knew it was no help.

The cold. It had a rhythm in it, one I didn't notice in the ice-tip. It was a slow pulse that expanded the cold outward and then collapsed it back into the seed in my hand.

It was like breathing, and I didn't even notice when I matched mine to it.

And for the second time in my life, I saw something without using my eyes or dreaming.

I saw a wolf. I was the wolf running between the trees on snow-covered ground.

Hunting doe.

I felt a constellation inside me, the rush of energy separating into an icicle, the sucking emptiness left behind.

I jolted awake, eyes wide open, and the white seed fell to the ground from my hand.

The fuck.

The feelings were gone, like a dream. No emptiness in my core, nor the icicle lying anywhere around me.

And only a slowly fading memory of the constellation I never had, with stars I never developed.

Imprint. It was a memory imprint, similar to the one I had from eating the moose.

Just less severe.

Was it why those men were carrying the crystals in pouches on their chests? Was it how locals learned new abilities?

Did I need to hold it against my chest, too?

Carefully pocketing the white seed away to its place, I picked up the "river-rock".

I had another plan for it—an idea born of the disaster in the hideout—but now I was curious.

The "river-rock" felt slightly rough against my skin, almost normal. If I didn't know what I was looking for, I would surely miss it.

It wasn't so prominent as a cold sensation. Just a spiky, sharp tingling in my skin, coming out in waves.

Pressing it to my chest, I closed my eyes and began to breathe in the new rhythm, heavier than the one before.

This time, it took me longer.

But eventually, I had a sharp, vivid vision of the boar eating roots.

And again, I was the boar, crunching into a dark root.

I recognised the memory. I knew what would happen before it did.

It was a moment I killed a boar not so long ago.

I tried to jolt, to get away, but it held me.

I heard something shuffle behind me; I saw the shadow falling from above, and I was the one dying in agonising pain with my neck torn open, lashing out with spiky roots.

As the light of life faded from my eyes, I came to my senses, breathing hard and clutching my pulsing neck, the pain already fading.

For ever-flying fuck.

Shivering, I left the "river-rock" lying on the ground where it had fallen.

Even looking at it made my neck pulse in pain.

Glancing at the other crystals, I shivered again.

No, not again.

Perhaps it was enough testing for the day. I needed a break from all this fuckery. I still needed to—

The danger sense flared, twisting, and without thinking I wrapped myself in the hex-field, raising my right arm over my face.

The sharp pain pierced my wrist, and something pointy froze an inch away before my eyes.

It was a beak—long and narrow like a nail—that had slipped through the hex-field on my arm. The weight of the beast bore down on it, dragging my arm with it.

The tearing of the hex-field energy ripped through my senses, and I lashed out at the aerial beast with thundering lightning—charring it in an instant.

It crumbled into a heap of ash and bones, leaving the beak still lodged in my bleeding wrist.

The fucking day…

—

My new pants weren't the best. Neither were they new.

Held together by the laces, they clung to me like a second skin, tightly wrapping my thighs and shins in thick leather.

I felt uncomfortable wearing them.

Clearly, I had no future in making clothes, but I needed some, and it was the best I could do with what I had on hand.

Picking up the vest, I slipped it on and began fastening the laces at my left side. But no matter how hard I tried, I could still feel trapped air between my skin and the leather.

A feeling I had never known before.

Wrinkling my nose, I tied the last lace and looked at the setting sun, once more considering staying in the hideout for the night.

And once more deciding against it.

This day already felt too long, and I didn't want to see what the night could bring to it.

Drifting downstream felt like a better option.

Hiding Lola's necklace under my jacket-turned-vest, I slung the bag onto my back and tugged on the straps resting on my shoulders.

It wasn't my backpack, but the local version I had lifted from the clearing.

Still, it sat tightly when I secured it with a waist belt.

Good.

Putting the needler in the pocket on the vest and the ice knife into the loop attached to the belt, I activated invisibility.

Ready.

Glancing one last time over my shoulder at the masked hideout entrance, where I had left most of my possessions, I turned away and walked to the water, to my fancy modern boat.

I was leaving a lot of things behind, mostly those that could give me away—like a thermal blanket—or were too heavy to carry—like the axe or the hammer from the clearing.

But I had both polearm heads with me. They didn't take up much space, but they might have good trade value. Or at least I hoped so.

Stopping by the boat, I reached for the map once more and unfolded it before me.

I was here, at the end of the lake. I needed to go southwest by west to reach Outpost Eleven, which was over there.

Looking up from the map, I oriented myself properly, towards the forest before me.

It was that way.

But first, I planned to cut some distance by going downriver.

Looking at the map again, I mentally repeated the landmarks along my first leg before leaving the river and only then hid it in my chest pocket.

It was time.

 

[GorMartsen]

Notification about changes to chapters 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 9.

Nothing major, don't fret. Just changed a few scenes' locations and did a bit of editing, with the main goal to of strengthening the stakes.

Let me know what you think about this new edit, if you will.

♥ Much love.

PS: chapter 20 is coming later today.

 

[GorMartsen]

Location: Hope, A-class planet, D-zone (green)
Date: April 7 2728 — Standard Earth Calendar (SEC)

Going downriver again felt just right.

It wasn't until I boarded my boat and began to paddle that I realised I had been stuck in one place for too long.

How it had weighed on me.

Once again, I found myself talking to Lola in my mind, sending glyphs into that throbbing black hole.

I knew how pointless—and dangerous to my mind—it was, but I wasn't able to stop myself.

I talked about crystals, about the imprints they had. And my plans to use them.

I theorised about their role in forming artefacts, like my claw knife or the beak that pierced through the hex-field.

I shared plans to make a piercing weapon from it and complained about the clothes I had made. How I didn't like them, fruitlessly waiting to be berated for my exhibition tendencies.

I just missed her. Dearly.

And when the sky above me turned orange, colouring river and forest around me in the warmth of the evening, I took it as a good sign.

She wasn't lost. She was just waiting for me to sort it out.

To find my way.

—

The tall cliff, shining white in the light of the Milky Way, was towering over me.

It was my turning point.

But before committing to abandoning the river—and my boat—I was just slowly drifting downriver, eating the boar meat, well coated in its own lard.

And watching the cliff.

I saw each crack, every cornice. And so many holes.

Something was nesting there, and I wasn't sure if I ever wanted to find out who or what it was.

The fall of a stone—rolling and striking against the cliff face—was loud.

It came unexpectedly, as many things did in this place, and I zoomed in on the source, tracing the stone back to its origin.

A few more stones followed the first one down the cliff, helping me to narrow down the place, and I then saw it.

Snake.

It was a huge snake, slowly making its way down from the top of the cliff.

Hundreds of black dots, as if by some unheard command, burst from the nesting holes, taking to the air as the invader flared with a flash of green-bright light.

It covered itself in the familiar hex-field as the black dots darted down on it, and I forgot about anything I was doing, catching every moment.

I recognised the birds too, when one stuck into the snake's body, piercing the protective field.

It was—no, all of them were—the same kind of beast that had pierced my wrist not long ago.

More of the flock followed the first one, diving down on the snake. Two, three—dozens—pierced through the hex-field, and more were coming.

Absentmindedly massaging my healed wrist, I couldn't help but see myself in the snake's place—I would have been dead already.

But the snake wasn't.

It flared in a web of lightning, deafening me with a thunderclap, and all the birds stuck in its scales, or close enough to be caught in it, crumbled to ash.

In ringing silence, I watched the snake dive into each nest, perhaps feasting on the eggs or nestlings, while the surviving birds were scattered around.

They were regrouping, forming another massive flock right above me, and I checked on my invisibility—it was still on.

But before they repeated their assault, the snake was already gone, disappearing over the cliff's edge with the angry flock on its tail.

A few more times, the sky got bright with green afterlight from the lightning, and thunderclaps reached me as I slowly drifted away.

Realising something obvious.

The cliff, it was a good landmark on the map, but the drawn birds and nests were not stylistic.

No, if anything, it was a warning sign.

—

Shifting a stone back in place, I stepped back and looked at the nondescript stone outcrop, covered in moss.

The place where I hid my boat, beneath the rocks.

It was also the place where I left the river behind me, a few hours away from the cliff.

Glancing back at the glimmering starlit water, I hauled my bag onto my shoulders and, after securing the waist belt, jumped a few times.

Nothing clattered.

Patting the needler in the right vest pocket and the ice knife at my belt, I reached for the map tucked into my chest pocket, beside the coin.

I diverted from my original plans for the obvious reasons, and now I needed to adjust them.

Tracing my future path with a finger, I couldn't help but wonder about the danger that was behind each landmark.

Like these well-outlined trees.

Before, I thought about them as perhaps towering sequoias, but now I had no clue why they were so deliberately marked on the map.

Hopefully, I would just skim along the line.

Folding the map back, I hid it and looked in the direction I would have to go.

Before me was a forest stretching for miles, hiding the hills. And beasts. A ton of them.

It was not a safe place to be, and travel on its floor was fraught with danger.

Fortunately, there was the other way.

Tree-hopping.

Forcing down the flashes of the moose's life—and the memory of the wind in my fur—I looked back at the trees before me.

I had already somewhat tested it on my last hunt, but once more I found myself underprepared.

Nothing was stopping me from testing it fully before leaving, but I… got distracted.

Right.

Learning on my feet, then.

No time like the present.

A short run-up, a quick jump at the tree to push against its trunk, and I was soaring to the canopy of the next one.

Don't rush.

Bleeding the speed off, I landed gently among its branches and listened to myself.

I didn't feel any effect from Lola's necklace, or from aetherium in the needler and my backpack.

At least not yet.

Something to watch for. And perhaps to stop often for a snack or two to keep energy balance positive.

Glancing back at the river for the last time, I looked at the next tree farther in the forest, already mapping my way between the branches.

No time like the present.

—

The air whistled in my ears, pressing hard against my face as I pushed off each tree.

Fewrr… Fewrr… Fewrr.

And while my eyes were scanning for a path above the ground and my mind was plotting it, I was enjoying every second.

Ping-ponging between trees across the forest, I was all but flying at the speed of a recon droid.

A slow one.

The smile kept tugging at my lip as I picked up speed, getting higher and higher between the trees, reaching the top of the canopy.

And then I pushed for more.

Breaking free, I rose above the forest, spreading arms to catch the air.

It was just me, stars above and wind against my face.

I was fucking flying.

The moment stretched, tilting slightly, following the pull of gravity.

I didn't fight it, no.

Grinning like a fool, I pushed more, riding it all the way down.

This inertia system really made me feel like I was a spaceship myself—just a small one—with thrusters inside my gut.

And like any spaceship, I, too, needed a refill.

Silently chuckling, I bled off my speed, landing gently on a tree I found fitting for a break.

Spaceship indeed.

But before I touched down, I felt something stretching over my body, and my invisibility changed.

No broken patterns, no shifting colours scattered over my form.

Just a normal one, without glitches.

The patterns flared to life again, and I lost control.

Reality twisted, warped around me, pulling me in all directions, and something popped behind my eyes.

I was falling, surrounded by the twisted grey of nowhere, when blackness claimed me.

—

Throbbing at the back of my head was the first thing I felt.

It echoed in my temples with a loud, heavy pulse in my ears, drilling into my brain.

I felt dizzy with bile rising in my throat.

The heavy scent of the forest—corrupted by sweat and rotting teeth—blew into my face, and I almost choked on my vomit.

"I told ya it'll do," said a cracked voice with laughter that echoed around me.

Cracking one eye open, I found myself curled on the forest floor, the grass stained with my bile. I added more.

Before me, I saw someone else's feet in leather shoes and leather pants. They looked familiar.

"Hey, boy, how ya doin'?" said another voice, worried.

I didn't understand a word, and puked more.

"He ain't kickin' the bucket," said a third one, and more laughter rang in my ears.

Fighting vertigo, I closed my eyes again and pushed energy into regeneration. It took me long enough to remember that I had one.

My head cleared almost instantly, and something clicked in my ears. Loudly.


[ d̶̢͖̮̬̲̿͛̓̈́̎ở̶̢̟͚̝̱̀̓̇ ̶̙͕͙̙͇̂̿͑̊̕y̴͚̖̦̙̬̑̈́́̌͝ö̷̢͎̠͇̘́̄̿̀̀ų̸̛̼͉͍̯̔́̎͝ ̶̞͉͕̟̃̄̉̚͝ͅć̸̳̮̬͉͌̊͐͆͜o̵͚̰͓̰̣͗́̂̒̕p̴̡̳̜̦̭̈́̿̅̅͘ỷ̶̜͍̣̣̌̇͆͝ͅ ]


It came to mind in that familiar pattern of glyphs and floated before my eyes in yellow.

I froze.


[ d̶̢͖̮̬̲̿͛̓̈́̎ở̶̢̟͚̝̱̀̓̇ ̶̙͕͙̙͇̂̿͑̊̕y̴͚̖̦̙̬̑̈́́̌͝ö̷̢͎̠͇̘́̄̿̀̀ų̸̛̼͉͍̯̔́̎͝ ̶̞͉͕̟̃̄̉̚͝ͅć̸̳̮̬͉͌̊͐͆͜o̵͚̰͓̰̣͗́̂̒̕p̴̡̳̜̦̭̈́̿̅̅͘ỷ̶̜͍̣̣̌̇͆͝ͅ ]


My hand twitched in a familiar pattern as I formed a reply, sending it into the place that didn't feel hollow anymore.

K: [ Copy. State designation. ]

"Has he lost his marbles?" said someone behind me. I ignored it, looking into the darkness inside my mind, waiting without breathing.


[ D̵͍̦̫͖̦̈́̌̅̉̔e̶̯̠͚̣͚̿̊̔̔͆s̸̨̼̞̮̩̈́͐̄̌́í̵̡͖͖̞͇͋͌͊̔g̴̨̹͎͇͕͗̏̂̔̀n̵̰̞͔͕̳̓͌̆͌͝ä̷̢̞͓͈̩́͐̂́̔t̴̨͕̙̳̝͆̐͛͆̀í̸͎̱̥̰͈͒̈́̀̕o̸̬̫͕͙̪͊̂̿́̍ņ̶̪̝͚̺̈̆͋̚̕:̷̪͕̤̪͕̊͛̈́̈͒ AI Lola ]


I sucked in my breath, feeling tingling in my eyes.

"Seems like to me"

Something bloomed in my chest, erasing any thought I had, leaving only ringing silence.

Lola.

Someone touched my shoulder, and before I knew it, I grabbed them by the wrist and rolled forward. Flipping them onto the forest floor, I came up on top with the needler pressed to their neck, ready to pull the trigger.

The laughter I heard before died around me, and I saw the face of the man who had dared to touch me.

It was twisted in pain, as he gaped for breath.

I had used the inertia system to flip him—I realised—knocking his breath out and pressing him down onto the forest floor with extra force.

"Mi'lord," said someone, and I looked up, for the first time paying attention to the people around me.

Four men, all dressed for the forest, armed with polearms—fleetingly reminding me of the dead party I had found not long ago.

They all stepped back as if my gaze forced them back, and I noticed whitening knuckles on fists gripping weapons.

Behind them, there was a fire pit, crackling with burning logs, casting shadows my way, surrounded by weird chairs.

It looked like a camp.

"Mi'lord," said the largest one again, and I shifted my gaze to him.

He was the only one with a dagger on his belt, in an ornate sheath. And there was no fear on his face, only worry.

"Branco meant well," he added, nodding towards the man under me.

He also spoke in English I was able to understand. It still sounded wrong to my ear.

I nodded slightly and rose to my feet without breaking eye contact, carrying myself backwards, almost floating.

He broke it first, looking down at his man, and I followed his gaze.

The man was catching his breath, clutching his chest, but otherwise looked fine. His eyes, however, were locked on my needler.

It was too late to hide it.

Switching hands, I leaned forward slightly, extending my right arm. A gesture of goodwill.

Doubt marred the man's face, but only for a moment. He gripped my wrist, and I pulled him to his feet with an ease my body shouldn't have allowed—all thanks to the same powers.

He was taller than me—they all were—and perhaps twice as heavy, but I didn't feel as small as I had expected.

He awkwardly bowed to me before retreating to his peer without turning his back on me. But there was no challenge in his posture.

The men accepted him back into their line, silently making space. It looked like a well-practised formation, with the ornate-sheathed man leading.

"Much obliged, mi'lord," the ornate-sheathed man said, bowing, though less deeply than the other man did. Branco was it?

"Sir Ivor Duncan, mi'lord," he introduced himself.

"At your service," he added a moment later, as if he forgot it.

Perhaps he did.

Knight or baronet?

"Well met, Sir Ivor of Duncan House," I replied with a nod, copying my father.

As soon as my words left my lips, I realised how different I sounded. We both spoke English, but I lacked the accent with which Ivor spoke.

The silence stretched, with our eyes locked on each other.

He called me my lord, and not my lady.

Why?

His eyes blinked to my needler, and I decided.

"Call me Cat. As long as we share the warmth of the fire," I said, doubling down and glancing towards the fire pit.

His face bloomed with a smile, a welcome one.

"Branco, check formation, Silvester, make a place at the fire. On my right—" he began to bark at his men, turning slightly.

And again, I didn't understand a word.

But it didn't matter.

Lola was more important.

I silently sent a message.

K: [ do you copy ]

As controlled chaos erupted around me—one I knew well—I waited patiently for a reply.

One man went to the fire pit, moving logs and chairs, while others scattered around as if doing something important—checking gear, moving bags—yet doing nothing.

I followed Branco with my gaze, the man I had flipped over. He was the only one who walked with a real purpose, and away from the centre of the camp.

But not that far.

He stopped by the banner, planted at the end of the clearing under the tree. It stood about my height, with the red fabric unnaturally suspended and slightly flapping.

Branco did something, and the fabric fell limp, as if whatever held it before was gone.

But not for long. I once again felt something stretching over me, the way my invisibility did, and the banner returned to its previous state, no longer flapping.

"Don't you worry, mi'lord—

"Cat," I interrupted.

—"Cat," Ivor corrected himself with a heavy slap on my shoulder. "Branco knows the craft. A few more years and I am afraid I will be looking for a replacement."

"Why so?" I asked, still watching Branco. He was already checking on the third banner. There were four.

"Why? Because he is going to get a Journeyman belt, of course!" Ivor replied gladly, as if it were his own achievement.

"Mark my words, Cat. A few more years and my homestead will be doing a fair share of the craft," he added.

And perhaps it was.

"A worthy goal," I replied, and Ivor beamed, satisfied with praise.

K: [ do you copy ]

I was getting worried.

"Come, Cat, let's sit by the fire, share food," said Ivor, gesturing to the fire pit.

There was a new sitting chair and I followed Ivor to the seat by his right hand.

A place of honour.

Taking the bag off my shoulder, I froze for a moment, thinking pros and cons, but decided to do it anyway.

Opening my bag, I reached for the boar meat, wrapped in a piece of leather.

"Boar, freshly hunted. My share to the pot," I said, passing it to Ivor.

I was walking on the edge of a knife.

There was a different look in Ivor's eyes, one belonging to the officer responsible for the well-being of his men.

"Shimmered in its own lard, without salt or spice," I added, dropping another weight on scales.

That did it. He beamed before asking, "How big was it?"

"I had to come at it from above to reach its neck," I said, taking my claw knife from the belt of my bag.

"It turned the clearing into a forest when I spilt its blood," I added, taking my place at the fire. "Fair prey."

"And how many hits did it take?" Ivor asked, leaning forward with shining eyes.

"Just one," I added with a slight smile, casually flipping the claw knife.

"And sparks, y'all got any of them?" said a thin one, with a croaked voice I recognised.

But not the words.

"Perhaps I hit my head too hard, Ivor. I didn't catch a word of what your man said," I said, turning to him.

I expected anything—suspicion, distrust, even escalation—but not the chuckle.

"No fault of yours, mi'lord. Lathy," he nodded towards the bad-breath man, "got hit by the formation the other time. Forgot his mother's name. Still forgets his place, sometimes."

I nodded and chuckled too, but mentally filed it for later.

The formation?

"So, Sparks, did you have time to cut them out?" Ivor asked, slightly leaning forward, but poorly hiding his interest.

Sparks. Sparks. Maybe knots?

Under watchful eyes, I reached for my bag again and began to look for the pouch with knot crystals.

I kept them together when I realised they didn't react to each other without the orb.

In the silence that fell on the camp, the cracking of logs in the fire pit was loud, and I felt the weight of everyone's gaze on me.

Here.

I pulled the pouch out, and it clicked loudly in my hands.

Noting Ivor's impatient shifting in his chair, I slowly opened the pouch and began to shift the crystals inside, focusing on the feeling in my fingertips.

Until I found that one blaster "river-rock" by the familiar sharp tingling in my skin.

"Here, this one," I said, taking it out and passing it to Ivor, curious to see if my guess was right.

Wordlessly passing the boar meat to the man beside him, he nervously wiped his hands and carefully took the "river-rock".

Everyone watched him, most holding their breath, and it became clear what Ivor was planning to do next.

He brought the "river-rock" to his chest and, proving me right, closed his eyes.

I leaned back in my chair and found myself somewhat enjoying it. The fire, the storytelling… and a good scare that was about to happen. It warmly reminded me of Mastodon—in a weird way.

K: [ do you copy ]

Ivor jolted awake, and I caught his chair with the dead chuckle in my throat.

"Ouuuf," he breathed out, fighting his body's reaction, before exclaiming, "Cat, you almost cut its head off!"

"Anyone else?" I asked, accepting the "river-rock" back.

But no one dared.

I was getting along just fine.

K: [ do you copy ]