Turns out, fae doesn’t taste very good. Everyone eats, though. Even as it feels weird and disgusting and more than a little like cannibalism. The white-blue flesh turns translucent under heat, and it feels chewy, almost like gum. I hate it. It’s horrible.

  For a moment, I consider starving instead, but decide against it. We need food, simple as that. So, we eat. To distract myself from the awful sensation, I [Suppress] everything coming from my mouth, and instead focus on the new spell structures in my mind.

  Deconstructing the fogfae has apparently brought multiple benefits. A construct for freezing touch, one for illusions, for manipulation, for etherealness… they used a lot of abilities only to have them countered and torn apart and devoured by my apathy.

  My memory is now the limiting factor. I saw them properly when taking it apart, but there is no perfect record anymore, and due to the fact that I was both freezing and starving and resisting mental manipulation at the time, it’s a little blurry. Which annoys me. I want more magic to study, so I can see about implementing any lessons into my healing skill.

  How can I record it? The first idea I have is creating solid mana crystals stored somewhere on my body, maybe like tattoos? But those could be worn away. I consider inscribing it into my brain, somehow. That seems like a horrible idea, though. Crystalline mana interfacing with the primary place my consciousness is hosted sounds like one of my worst ideas. I should be at least on the third floor before trying that.

  Oh, who am I kidding.

  Without further hesitation, I start solidifying some mana inside my skull. [Observation] does some heavy lifting there, letting me see inside it. I try to keep the inscription small, a tiny little rune that describes the pattern I remember for Kuro’s shadow abilities.

  Instantly, pain blossoms in my skull. It hurts so bad that the mana falls apart, and my vision goes black for a moment. I hiss out a breath of air, then take another bite of the horrid food we’ve made. At least I’m not throwing up.

  Frowning, I drag my hand through my hair.

  Then I try again.

  - - -

  Thatch sits in front of me with a handkerchief he pulled from his backpack, wiping the blood from my eyes, mouth, and nose. “You really should stop doing that,” he chides, calmly. He doesn’t look into my eyes.

  I may have made a tiny cut in my brain with the mana. Just a little thing, really, when I lost focus. It healed right back up with [Biological Restoration] - which I’m really glad about. This was something I needed to test anyway, so I don’t have to feel too bad. Surely. Maybe.

  At that, Thatch pokes my cheek to get my attention. “I know that look,” he says, meeting my eyes this time. “Don’t cut your brain again.”

  “Ah but you see, this leaves the loophole of bludgeoning-”

  “Snow,” he says, seriously. “I get that you wanna push yourself. But please, no bleeding from your eyes?” he pleads.

  I blink. Damn it. Now I have to take it seriously. “What about my mouth?”

  “No.”

  “Nose?”

  “No.”

  Slowly, my frown deepens. “What if we die because I’m not strong enough?”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Thatch smiles, thinly. “Then we die,” he says, quietly. “We say we gave it our best shot, and fall over. We can struggle and try as hard as possible when we need to.” The smile grows wider. “Plus,” he adds, “no one can beat us.”

  I tilt my head. “No one?”

  He nods. “No one. I’ll smash in the face of anyone who tries. You can take it a bit easier. Can I ruffle your hair?” he asks.

  “Okay,” I agree.

  Thatch reaches out and does just that. I see that it makes his smile more genuine, even as I give him my typical deadpan stare. That makes it worth it. “Ask for help if you need it, dummy,” he chides without any heat. “You’re not the only one here.”

  Finally, he is entirely right about something. I want them to have an easy time, but that’ll never happen. I understand that. The tower won’t let it. Even in the trial, when I cut my own arm off, it seemed to hurt Sylves more than me. Both because she was anxious, and because she knew what even the best case was for her. She wanted me to cut off my arm, and that thought probably terrified her.

  Now, Thatch sits in front of me, wiping my blood off my face because I messed up. Inu almost died in her trial. Sylves lost an arm. I won’t be able to protect them all the time.

  I look at Thatch. “Okay,” I say. “I’m trying to create a skill that allows me to store patterns in some place on my body. I want to be able to store inert versions of the mana signatures of any skills I break apart so I can learn them myself. Any ideas?”

  He tilts his head, then smiles. “Sounds a lot like Inu’s [Reservoir]. Maybe mix in some of Amelie’s threads, or Sylves’ tailoring. Even Opal’s [Echo] might hold a hint.”

  At that, I blink. Because he’s entirely right. I literally have the ability to analyse people’s skills, have been working with Bay for days to get a grasp on [Pulse], and yet, I didn’t think to ask. Slowly, I smile. “I am a bit silly, huh?”

  Thatch laughs at me. Out loud, full on laugh, and I can’t help but share his amusement. “Yeah, you are,” he says. “And that’s alright. Go on. Ask Inu. Silly Snow.”

  I rise from the soft grass, feeling my stomach rumble in protest, but ignoring it. I’ve had enough of the fae flesh, even though I’m still hungry. Even with sensation cut off and chewing on autopilot, eating it is nightmarish. Nothing worse than food with bad texture. Maybe I really should just cut off a leg, even if I can’t regrow it, just so I don’t have to eat the fae anymore.

  “Hey Inu,” I say.

  “Hey Snow,” she says, then takes another bite of the food I got us. She’s so focused on the meal, not letting it leave her eyes as if it might evaporate if she looked away.

  “I need help,” I say, slowly.

  “I heard,” she says. “Ask.”

  My lips press together. “You’re making this awkward,” I say.

  “Mhm,” she nods. “I sure am. That’s what you get for falling unconscious for five minutes in the middle of my meal.”

  Okay, I see how she may have a point. “If you would show me your [Reservoir] it would help me to not fall unconscious the next time,” I supply hopefully.

  “That’s a statement, not a request,” she says. By now, though, all the cold has melted away from her voice, and she smiles a little as she speaks.

  I sigh, faintly. “Fine. Thine ladyship, dearest Ms. Brook-Chavez, would’st thou be so kind as to grace this unworthy one with a display of thine great and incredible skill of storing things?” I ask.

  Her smile brightens until she bursts out into a laugh. “Your ladyship?” she asks.

  Shrugging, I tilt my head. “Is it inaccurate? If you’d like different pronouns, that’s no trouble either. I can call you lord, monarch maybe if that’s too gendered, squire, page, knight… Ah, but Opal has more knightly vibes, y’know?”

  “Opal must be the most un-knightly knight out there,” she teases.

  The enby shoots us a look, then grins. “Oh really? Well, I s’pose my manners must be too rowdy for the esteemed lady. From this point forward, I shall thusly be the wayward knight, Opal. Or perhaps I would do better as a ronin?”

  Inu grins. “A samurai without a lord! Now that suits you.”

  Dar huffs. “I would take my blood sibling over any lord,” he says.

  “Now, now, let’s not limit us to lords,” Sylves adds. “Ladies make fine rulers too”

  “Of course,” Opal says, bowing. “A dastardly trickster like yourself would make a monarch like none other.”

  In response, our haughty fairy flicks her hair behind her back. “And you’d do well to recognize such, ronin! Perhaps we may find a place for you at my court yet.”

  “What an honour,” Opal replies with a bright smile.

  We all laugh. By the end of the conversation, Inu has already reactivated her skill on me and let me take it apart a dozen times. Bit by bit, I’m learning.