Aetherfall (40-41-42)

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AN: And NOW we are properly entering into "not published" chapters, enjoy!

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[040]

Before the conversation truly began, Aisha pulled out a tiny bead of aether, rubbing it between her gloved fingers, and weaving it into a spell. “Worry not, this is only an appraisal spell.” She explained, drawing the azure spell-knot with the same amount of dexterity and poise as a dancer.

Liam paid close attention to the way she prepared it, the many twists and turns, and how she’d continuously poke here and there to keep the weave stable as she kept adding twists and turns. Though the spell contained barely any aether, its complexity was greater than even the fire-spell Umira had used to melt a hole in the aqueduct. The way she moved her hands into and around the weave also had a softness to it, as if she were caressing the aether into shape.

“You are very skilled.” He commented as she tucked the final strands into place and the spell began to collapse into itself.

“Are you a mage by any chance?” She inquired, gaze never leaving her work.

“Not really.” Liam gave a wry smile, trying to pretend he wasn’t carrying aether concealed between the things he’d brought. “But the mark of an expert is making something complicated appear easy.”

Aisha’s gaze didn’t turn his way, keeping her focus on the pile of gold and precious items, regarding them ever so carefully as the blue light uncoiled itself like a snake and danced directly towards her forehead. At her gesture and prompting, servants came in to pick up items from the pile one by one, parading them in front of her before gingerly placing them back down on a second pile. Each item that she looked at, she wrote something down on her parchment, ink flowing freely as she made a list of some sort.

Glancing over at the text, Liam’s blessing of translation took a moment to kick in, and he confirmed it was an inventory of everything he’d brought, weighed to the gram, and detailing exactly what was enchanted and what wasn’t, as well as the likely magic that was on the item. Apparently the translation skill was working overtime, because he knew that the locals used different measuring units. So the blessing had to be doing some sort of interaction with his own knowledge to convert the measurements to ones he could make sense of.

“This is a considerable find.” Aisha finally proclaimed, reviewing the list with a deep scowl. “You got this while exploring the Twilight Jungle?”

“I stumbled on a few treasures, and brought what I could carry.” He carefully chose his words to stick to the technical truths, just as he’d practiced with Maridah.

“So there’s more?” She was writing small notes next to some of the items, some were comments detailing a need for a more thorough appraisal to confirm the enchantments.

“Yes, but I don’t really want to go back there.” Picking up a piece of dried meat, he gave it a bite, savoring it. “I missed the taste of good food.”

“And after you left the jungle?” Her tone was aloof, distant, clearly thinking about something other than their current conversation, eyes never having left the parchment.

“Excuse me?” Frowning a little, he took a sip of the beverage he’d been served. It was juice of some kind, though he couldn’t place it exactly.

“Ignore my question, it’s not relevant.” She quickly waved it off, reaching for her cup and downing it in a single gulp. She presented the itemized list while she began writing down a copy. “Would this suffice?”

Liam almost choked on his drink, this was half-over what they’d been expecting out of the transaction. “Is… this correct?” He nervously asked.

“Yes, though due to the upcoming festivities we are short on spare coinage.” She took out a third piece of parchment, quickly jotting down the same amount, and then glancing at the servant. “Bring me the seal.” As she said this, her focus fell on the pile of items, there was a distant look on her face, one of complicated emotions.

The elf woman quickly ran out, returning a moment later with a featureless copper box just large enough that one might fit a shoe inside. The box was devoid of seams or gaps, and Liam would’ve believed it to be a solid block of copper, but the way the servant carried it betrayed it to be far lighter than that.

Aisha took the box and pressed her thumb against one of the sides, watching silently as a panel slid open, revealing just enough to expose a gemstone within. The gemstone was shaped like a chess piece, tall and cylindrical, with a flat bottom that she pressed against both pieces of parchment.

“This is a promissory note, I should have enough to pay you what you are owed once the festivities are over. But if not, anyone in the Caliphate should respect its authenticity.”

There was a faint burning sound, and the gemstone left an intricate pattern of squiggles and knots that looked entirely random noise.

“Oh, I know about these!” He excitedly took the promissory note. “The enchantment creates a pattern based off of the contents on the parchment when you press the seal into place, so when put into an enchanted box, it will take the pattern and verify the parchment’s contents are valid as well as indicate who stamped it.” Catching up with himself, he winced. “...right?”

“That… is indeed how it works.” Aisha gingerly placed the gemstone back into the metal box, the copper panel locking back into place. “You are not of the Caliphate, are you? I can’t place your accent, and you are…” She turned to look at him for the first time since starting her work, and froze, her glowing eyes going wide as her gaze trailed over him, mouth agape. “Bitajr!”

“Is something wrong?” He asked, leaning away, unsure of what was going on. The translation spell had attempted to kick in, but with it being just one word, he hadn’t reacted in time.

“No, excuse me.” She’d closed the gape, reaching out to grasp his right hand, staring at his arm and all the way back up to his face with intensity. “I am currently with too many things to do and far too little time.” Tightening her grasp, he noticed she wasn’t wearing her gloves. “Would you find amenable to continuing at a later time?”

“Uh… sure?” Put on the spot, he wasn’t even sure what else to say.

The woman pulled away hastily, giving him a polite if hurried smile. “Then please be at home, and do not hesitate to ask the servants for anything you might need.”

She left, closely followed by the elf servant.

Liam found himself staring at the curtain she’d used to exit the room, staring down at his hand and then at the other servant in the room, an ochre scaled draxani. They simply bowed at him. “Once you are finished here, I will take you to the guest room if you so choose.” If not for their deeper voice, Liam would’ve had a hard time guessing whether it was a male or female, the clothes were a bit too baggy and airy to properly distinguish anything.

“Wait, really?” He startled, giving another long look at the curtain. “Did I do something wrong or…?” Liam wanted to contact Wolf, ask what was going on, but he couldn’t risk someone detecting the telepathic communication somehow. She needed to be the one to initiate, and she’d only do it once certain the coast was clear.

The servant hesitated. “I would dare claim it was the opposite, sir. If I may be so bold, it seems you impressed the Amil.”

How? For the life of him, he couldn’t fathom why she’d offer hospitality. The whole conversation had not unfolded as he’d anticipated, and now he was left mostly confused. “Uhm…” Liam scratched his cheek. “I am currently traveling with a leonid companion, and we’d sort of planned to book a couple rooms at an inn…”

There was a slight bow. “The Amil’s generosity extends to your companion, they are equally invited to be guests within this household.” He paused, giving him a meaningful look. “I must warn you that vacancy in the city ran out a few days ago. As we speak, the number of camp areas are being increased, but even then, many will be forced to sleep outside the city walls.”

Even if there was vacancy, Liam was absolutely certain they would find a great deal of problems if he turned down the offer. Within the Caliphate to be a host was seen as a very important duty, and to have the offer rebuffed an equally great insult. And it wasn’t like it was just one-sided either, most of the deities that had a foothold within the empire viewed breaking hospitality harshly.

It had been part of the reason why the collector murdering guests would’ve caused a massive ruckus were it to occur anywhere other than a forgettable tiny hamlet of a place.

“I… will openly admit I am unfamiliar with some of the finer details of customs in this land.” Liam gave a slight smile, trying to keep it friendly. “If I slip up, please correct me. I’d much rather learn here than make a mistake in front of the Amil.”

The servant straightened, tail flicking in a sign of what could only mean approval. “Certainly.” Another slight bow as he returned to the corner he’d previously occupied.

Now free to think, he tried to put together how to move forward. He was… the Amil’s guest, right? For how long? As far as he remembered, there were people infamous for abusing hospitality and overstaying. But what about the other way around? Was there such a thing as people being seen as overly rude for staying as guests for too little?

The question was quite legitimate, in this world traveling was hard and time-consuming. It could take several months to cross the Caliphate on an airship, and though teleportation was a thing, the cost-to-range ratio was abysmal. Travel in general was just a slow process, people weren’t expected to depart the very night after they came to a city unless they had something severely urgent going on.

Still, his first instinct had been to suspect something being off, even if not in a nefarious kind of way. It was a change of pace Liam was probably going to need a while to adjust to.

Even if it still left him wondering why she’d extend the invitation. Maybe she was more curious about the gold’s origin than she’d let on?

Taking his time to properly enjoy the snacks and juice he’d been provided, he was led out of the building and towards the main structure. The architecture inside was just as well-kept, if perhaps a bit less lavish, than the “trade” room. There were high arches and geometric patterns on every ceiling, with water being one of the stronger themes of the abode as you would find either a fountain or a tiny open aqueduct in every room and corridor. The place felt lived in, with tiny scratches and worn out places, yet holding an air of quiet sophistication to it.

The guest quarters were no less interesting.

Liam had to guess that, viewed from up top, the guest quarters looked like a circle with eight boxes attached to it. In the middle there was a large garden with enough foliage to give a semblance of privacy to the other rooms, the sound of running water betraying the presence of fountains further in. The room had the wall leading to the garden missing, covered instead by two layers of semi-transparent curtains, these being the only way in or out of the room.

“We do not wear shoes within the private quarters.” The servant pointed at a small square hole in the stone steps leading up to the room. It had a small hole from which water flowed, and a discreet drain through which it left, leaving the illusion of being a basin that had been freshly filled. “I could wash your feet if you wish, though I’ve heard some human cultures are squeamish about such things.”

“I… definitely am of the squeamish variety.” Liam acknowledged. “Anything else I should know? Just… assume I’m not from here.”

“Certainly, sir.” He pulled the curtains back, revealing an open-plan room the size of a small apartment. At a glance, the whole thing was covered in thick rugs. There was a pile of cushions and blankets marking the bed area, with a low table and a hookah near the garden, alongside what he could only guess was a tea-making set. “We brought your belongings.” He pointed at the pile next to the curtain. “And there will always be a servant within ear-shot, if you need for anything, just speak and we will do our best to satisfy it.”

“That’s very generous.” The whole thing felt equal parts grand, impressive, and uncomfortable. This was not the sort of lifestyle he was used to. “Would there be a problem if I left for the time being?” It was also important to ask, just in case this whole thing was, potentially, leading into some bizarre form of kidnapping.

“Of course not. You are a guest, you may come and go as you please.” The servant hastily bowed. “The Amil has also invited you to share the morning meal with her tomorrow.”

“When did she…?” He paused when he noted the servant pointing at the jade pendant hanging around his neck. “Ah, I guess there’s some sort of communication enchantment?”

“Indeed.”

“Then I guess I appreciate the offer, and I’d enjoy the meal.”

“The Amil has been informed and she thanks you for your patience.” The servant let go of the curtain, stepping away from the room. “Do you wish to head out now, or would you rather freshen up first? The central area is a shared bath pool, though if you wish for a proper hammam, I will lead you to it.”

“Hammam? You mean the hot-baths?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated glancing at the room and then at the garden, it was as if he could feel every bit of grime, sweat, dirt, and muck he’d gone through over the past several months clinging to him like an oil-soaked cloth. The thought of the bath being shared wasn’t exactly appealing, but the apprehension was severely outclassed by his desire to feel properly clean for the first time since coming into this world.

The hammam on the other hand were hot baths, which were typically more public, though he figured that the Amil had her own private one.

“You know what? I think I will quickly try out the pool.”

-

[041]

Liam was in Nirvana.

You don’t really understand how much tension there is in your body until you finally relax.

Bathing was a bit of a ritual to it. The bathing-cleaning area was split into one large pool and a dozen smaller satellite ones. Each of the satellite pools was meant for cleaning different parts of the body, and though each guest was meant to bring their own soaps and scrubs, Liam was given ones by the servant as he explained what each feature was meant for.

The draxani asked whether he wished to have someone accompany and aid him in washing his back, as it was customary for bathing to be done in groups, but Liam still felt a bit overwhelmed by everything and opted for some privacy instead. Once he was properly scrubbed and rinsed, it was pool time. Liam floated in the cool water, teetering at the edge of drifting off into some contented coma. Every ounce of stress just oozed out of his body, and some part of him was vaguely aware of just how much he’d been pushing himself ever since he’d entered this world.

This was, truly, the first opportunity he’d gotten to just do nothing and think of nothing.

“I should probably get a haircut and a shave,” he made vague promises to himself. His hair had been a mess of knots for weeks, barely long enough to reach his shoulders, and definitely not comfortable. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on perspective, the beard genes hadn’t been generous on his side of the family, so he only had a slight stubble. “I guess I should shave too.”

There were many races capable of growing beards, and though volars aren’t one of them, he’d spotted a few while walking around the city. But between getting a shave and having a patchy lawn of follicles, Liam preferred the shave.

Another thing for later.

Now that he had the chance to just relax and check himself over, he’d noticed some changes. The first of which being his right arm.

There were patterns emerging under his skin. Like worn-off tattoos, barely visible pale blue lines swirled and twisted, forming a sleeve that reached into his palm and all the way up to his shoulder. It was a little surprising since he’d thought it would take longer for them to start forming shapes like that; it was a sign that the process was coming along smoothly.

Right now, he could only give someone a painful jolt through touch, but given another month or two, it could probably become dangerous in its own right.

Another change was that his body felt more compact. He hadn’t shrunk, he’d already been lean and thin before, but now his body felt like it was less squishy wherever he poked.

It was a novel experience.

Non-celiac gluten sensitivity was the main culprit out of a list of suspects for a frail childhood. Liam had spent a lot of time indoors, trapped by a lack of energy and constant knee pain. By the time the condition had been diagnosed, its effects had already begun to fade out, even when the consequences of twenty years of constant random migraines, exhaustion, and pains lingered. It had robbed him of the chance of an active lifestyle, and even years after it ended, he’d never truly been able to approach normalcy when it came to his health.

Now his guests were empowering his body bit by bit. It was barely a nudge right now, a little shove in the right direction, and eventually, their actions would kill his body if nothing was done about it. Yet he felt healthier than he’d ever been.

All in all, it was good progress, and having visual confirmation of that made him happy.

Properly refreshed and squeaky clean, Liam left the pool, finding a pair of slippers and a bundle of clean clothes right next to his road-worn ones. A slight moment of panic and apprehension steeled his buzz when he realized he’d left the knife and knot-rope unattended, but it was a needless concern; a quick check confirmed everything was where he’d left it, the servants hadn’t touched anything.

Donning the pale green tunic and pants, they proved to be a little wide and baggy, but in a comfortable kind of way. It was far smoother and softer (and less scratchy) than the wool underclothes he’d been wearing since he had been part of the Barb’s crew.

Looking over the road-worn armor, Liam realized that you don’t really understand how filthy you were until you clean yourself and smell your sweaty grimy clothes.

“We will have them washed and in your quarters by your return, sir.” The draxani servant happily took the dirty clothes from him. “Is there anything else you might need?”

“Nothing much, just going to head out.” He’d put his boots back on, those would need to be cleaned some other time, but they remained the best option to walk around the city. Especially since he kept the knife hidden in them.

“Certainly, would you wish for a guard escort?”

That did not feel like a good idea. As much as he appreciated the Amil’s generosity, there was no way Liam would feel comfortable walking around with soldiers shadowing him. “No need, though I am thankful for the offer.”

“Of course.” The draxani led him towards the estate’s entrance, then handed him a silver plaque the size of a credit-card folded in half lengthwise. The polished piece of metal had the image of a beak chomping on a geometrical flower, with a ruby at its center. “This is proof of hospitality of the Amil. Anything you might need in the city from local commerce, you may use this as a form of payment instead. You can also show this to the guards to ask for aid if trouble arises.”

“This feels like it might be too much?” He hesitated, looking at the piece and wondering how much it was worth.

“It is customary for guests to have one, and you are meant to return it once you no longer have a use for it, or when the Amil asks for its return.” The servant paused, caressing his necklace for a moment. “But if you do feel uncomfortable, then we can just tally your expenses to discount them from the sum you are to receive from the Amil.”

“Ok, yeah, that’s more reasonable.” Liam chuckled a little as he took the token. “By the way, what’s your name?”

“I am called Grauch, sir.”

He chewed on the word for a moment. “Is that a Trovan name? It’s a long way from home.” They were characterized for being far more guttural in nature, as it was a nation mostly made up of draxanis, and they didn’t have lips that were as flexible as human’s.

Grauch’s whip-like tail gave a slight wag. “It is, a customary Trovan name, sir. But I am not from that queendom as my matron crossed the Three Deserts before my hatching.”

“That sounds like a story worth hearing.”

“Perhaps another time?” Grauch’s voice held a cordial tone, as if leaving the promise to hang in the air in perpetuity.

With everything in order, and having said his goodbyes, Liam set off back to the city. Though without any specific destination in mind, he was rather confident he wouldn’t be able to find either Bunny or Imani on his own anyway. But he did have an important pit-stop to make along the way; he just needed to find a secluded enough spot.

There was no rush in his step as he took in the sights and smells. The main streets were packed with busy people working on stands, wagons, and decorations. It held an expectant festive tone. The majority of the population were volar, with near-fish appearances, though without the smell, while dwarves, elves, and dark elves made up most of the rest (the main difference between an elf and a dark elf being that the latter had black sclera and differently shaped ears. There had been a whole Age worth of racial wars over it, most of it now long forgotten).

Though he knew it wasn’t the case, a tiny part of him couldn’t help but feel like he was in a very immersive renaissance fair with an astronomically high budget for the costumes.

It was an odd sight, but one he found himself enjoying. The last time he’d been in a crowded place he’d been—

Liam tapped his pockets, just to make sure he hadn’t been robbed while he wasn’t paying attention. Everything was where it should be, so he proceeded through the city with his hands a little more protective than before, grasping the few items of importance that weren’t tucked away safely into his boots.

Doeta had a peculiarity about it in that the fancier part was on the western side, hugging the wall that was the taller half of the beak. Seeing how the main road twisted to go through that area rather than towards the geographical center of the city, Liam had to assume there was some history involved. Whatever the case, it made his job easier, as he easily identified three temples on that side of the city (one for the Weaver, another for the Warrior, and the third for the Sentinel), meaning that it was an area he should steer clear of.

Walking through ever more convoluted streets and feeling like he would’ve been lost more than once if not for the geographical markers literally hanging overhead, he eventually found a nice and quiet corner tucked away from any activity or attention.

“Wolf,” he whispered the word in English since he couldn’t establish a telepathic link from his end.

The whole situation with the Amil had left him confused and off balance, and he wanted to confirm if things were as they ought to be.

A moment of quiet, and there was the faint prickle in his thoughts, like he’d tried imagining how spicy food would taste if he sprinkled it directly into his brain. It wasn’t uncomfortable directly, but it made its presence hard to ignore.

“You were followed by a few thieves here and there,” Wolf said into his mind. Their plan had been for the hunter aspect to shadow him closely while keeping radio silence. With the certainty that Thalgrim was keeping track of them, they wanted to minimize risks. “They didn’t push, there were easier marks, which you should not take as a compliment.”

“Gee, thanks.” With a sigh, he glanced around, if just to confirm he was still alone. “This thing with the Amil…”

“Bunny has received instructions to find the leonid and inform her to wait for you at the main plaza.” She took a brief pause. “You are doing well. Even if being the Amil’s guest was not part of the plan, Origin thinks it is a good development. Also, Bunny will not be approaching the Amil’s abode.”

“What?” He wanted to complain; their goal had been to leave the leonid with plausible deniability. A rabbit-shaped-monster was one thing, but if Bunny went and talked? That meant Imani would become more of a liability. Did that mean Maridah thought the mercenary could be trusted?

“She is not made for stealth; she can hide well enough, but it is too risky. She could be found out by either the Amil herself or—”

“Not that.” He paced back and forth in the empty alleyway. “Are we fully trusting Imani now? What do you mean that Origin thinks this is a good development? I’m going to be under some severe scrutiny.”

“Plans change, and Origin deems the developments on your end more important. To take advantage of it, the leonid needs to be trusted a bit more than originally intended.” She sent the mental equivalent of a shrug his way. “Just keep her in the dark about details outside the scope of her tasks. If she demonstrates that the trust is earned, we can adjust and reward her accordingly.”

“And the Amil? She’s the tax collector in a small fortress city. Why does Origin think she’s an important contact?”

“The human woman is a fourth-circle mage and has clear sympathy for divination magic; befriending her could prove fruitful for our cause.”

That gave Liam pause for thought.

A first-circle mage was the basic package, the “I graduated” freshly baked spell-slinger. If Liam were to translate it to the education system of his world, a first-circle mage would be a bit below getting a doctorate, while a second-circle mage would be someone who’d been a doctor for a couple of years already. Just being a mage at all was an impressive feat in its own right, hence why the title was one that held such a level of prestige. If a mage didn’t double down in the field, then they could be expected to end up living most of their lives as a second-circle mage, maybe even reaching third circle by the time they were old enough to retire.

There was one concerning aspect, however. Fourth-circle mages were the equivalent of getting five doctorates under your belt, each in a completely different field. Even with how large the Caliphate was, there shouldn’t be more than a hundred fourth-circle mages within its borders. Each one of them was important in their own right.

“You’re absolutely certain she’s a fourth circle?” He frowned, gnawing on his thumb.

“The level of fine control she showed was equivalent to what had been considered to be fourth-circle when Origin was part of the pantheon.”

Maybe it was just that the metrics had changed over the various Ages? But even if it meant Aisha was actually a third-circle mage, the name should have rung a bell. Umira was a third-circle mage and he’d been able to pick out her name out of the long list of characters within this Age, within this very specific time period. Had Aisha been just a one-off name thrown out the window for the sake of bloating the list? He didn’t like to think that it was the case, but it didn’t feel like there was a reasonable alternative aside from just not being able to remember.

Maybe the reason why he didn’t remember her was that she wouldn’t survive for long once shit hit the fan. Or maybe he was starting to forget now that he’d spent over a month away from all the documentation.

Liam was not going to enjoy gnawing on that uncertainty. Maybe his first goal once things settled should be to seek out ways to get a perfect memory. Until then, better safe than sorry. “Could you ask Bunny to gather some intelligence on the Amil and the Emir?”

“She will deal with that... however, she can. Is something wrong?”

“Not unless you detected ill intent from her?”

Wolf chuckled, a rumbling snarl of a laugh that bounced inside his head. “I would say that what I picked up had no violent intentions.”

He bristled a little. “What do you mean?”

“Origin wants to inform you that she is making good progress on that project you’re not supposed to know anything about.” Wolf dodged the question and made no attempt to hide it.

Liam growled but didn’t push it, certain Wolf would sooner cut off than give him answers. Well, whatever, he’d just have to figure things out on his own. “Does this mean we’ve tossed out the part of the plan involving the Emir? Am I just left with the hiring part?”

“Liam, you know Origin’s goals, she trusts you can improvise something if an opportunity arises, but doesn’t consider risks for you pushing things to be worth the potential gains.” Her tone softened a little, the conversational equivalent of a pat on the back. “Just consider you have some more free time now. You said you’re not Origin’s follower, right? Then as her tiny mortal friend, you can enjoy yourself.”

She had a point, but he’d promised he’d lend a hand, and he didn’t enjoy leaving things half-assed. “Does she at least have anything about the Amil aside from just ‘befriending her’?”

“Actually, yes,” she said. “She insists that you should be yourself, but that you should be careful not to end up being the one hunted.” She added with an amused chuckle.

The link cut off, and he glared at empty space for several minutes, trying to piece together what she’d meant.

A hunt, but with no violence?

Maybe Maridah was aiming to incorporate an aspect so she could turn into the Goddess of Riddles.

-

[042]

With the enlightened realization that Maridah was playing some sort of prank on him, Liam took the executive decision to take Wolf’s advice and enjoy his stay in Doeta a little more than originally intended. Granted, there was a Goddess on the loose who may or may not be plotting to kill him without alerting her brethren in the pantheon, but all things considered, it wasn’t like he could actively do anything about it right now.

Once the meteor fell, though... But that was not going to happen until mid to late autumn.

Thus, he chose to focus on what really mattered: getting a good grasp of the lingering festive spirit. Lunch hour had passed not that long ago, and people were starting to get back to work, hurrying along the final odds and ends of preparation for the celebration that was to start tomorrow (and last for several days).

It was easy to tell which among the stall owners had chosen to wait until the last minute, as regardless of what language they spoke or what species they were, they would always be the ones buzzing around like caffeinated ants.

Guards and citizens wore little beak-like insignias and traipsed about the place, hanging banners and colorful cloth around the main streets. Winged races helped raise ropes to rooftops and high beams, where those of smaller races would help tie things up, while centaur-like or larger ones would find heavy-looking things to move around. Most called out to one another by name, working in small groups, but there was a happy atmosphere about the place, with a fair share of strangers offering a hand when otherwise unoccupied.

By the looks of it, the main road would become the center of the chaos, with the various plazas along its path heavily guarded as some merchants and craftsmen brought in fully loaded wagons. There were too many scents for him to pick up or recognize, and too many tastes teasing his palate.

Here and there he would stumble upon small groups that had secluded themselves into some corner or another away from the hubbub, with mantles or wood planks set down for dancers and musicians to practice their performances. Each of these secret little spaces would draw in children and exhausted parents, finding amusement and cheer in the miniaturized acts, doubly so if someone stumbled and fell.

Maridah’s translation blessing was working overtime.

Everyone shared that Bellemian-adjacent tongue, yet Liam had stumbled onto no less than a dozen others within a few hours. The people here liked to speak in their mother tongue with their fellows, turning to the shared one whenever a stranger showed up. It was easy to recognize the groups this way, and easier still for them to spot newcomers.

A peaceful rhythm had quickly fallen over the city, one that covered a barely contained excitement. The sense of community was obvious, and the way they were collectively looking forward to the events of this year was impossible to miss. Liam’s ears were abuzz with gossip about who might invite whom to dance, or who they thought would win the claw-climb (Liam mentally corrected it to “beak-climb” and refused to bend on that), some shared opinions about politics, but most arguments were over whether this year the Emir would make as grand of a finale as the last.

Although Liam could have just let the blessing rest, he kept rubbing little bits of aether against the back of his neck to supercharge it instead (with his left hand, if he used his right, then his guests would gobble the mana up). There was a bit of a downside in that he was getting a mild headache that was steadily getting worse, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

And not a drunk in sight, which was a mixed blessing in Liam’s book.

As much as he had created the Caliphate’s culture as a translation and adaptation of something plucked out of “Arabian Nights”, he did feel a little bit of regret at not being able to get some wine or beer to loosen his nerves once he got back to the Amil’s estate. Earth’s religions didn’t exist here, what with the literal pantheon of Gods hanging overhead, but throughout the Caliphate’s history, alcohol never took root like in other parts of the world. The drugs of choice were of other varieties, mostly the sort you could use through a hookah or a pipe, and he was sure he could find that variety easily enough if he looked for it, but he’d never been one for smoking.

On the plus side, the juices were freaking amazing.

Liam homed in on one specific fruit, one shaped between an avocado and a banana, with the coloration of a watermelon. It was called the falovar, and he’d sought out the nearest vendor. The result was something that, despite not having milk, had a creamy texture, with a taste that was made in heaven by melding bacon and maple syrup.

The vendor, a very wise dwarf woman with a scruffy long black beard, had charged him more for the juice as she’d also sold him a very convenient wooden cup. According to the lady, it was customary for people to carry their own cups when buying juices, ones they could quickly wash at the nearest available fountain if necessary. But she’d happily given him the cup when he’d shown the Amil’s token.

Liam suspected she’d likely bloat the receipt, but frankly, he was too happy with his falovar juice to care. Even if she’d charged a whole damn gold coin, he would’ve found it to be a fair trade.

It was just that good.

In this and this alone did Liam think himself God of this world; it was the one thing that he would proudly claim to be his creation no matter what Maridah might have claimed.

The juice was not just a mere sweet beverage but an experience contained within a cup.

Nay, a revelation that transcended time and space.

It was the answer, the very reason why animators in his world would portray the most divine-looking food to have ever existed. Because it is only when you are starving that you can create the most wickedly mouth-watering creations.

And Liam, trapped as a starving college student, had spent months’ worth of daydreaming and furious typing to create countless menus for the world of Crystal Skylight. Because why limit the cuisine to only a couple of thousand fruits when you had millions of years of selective breeding and literal divine intervention to play around with?

The sky was the limit and by all the Gods, he had soared.

“I think I’m at risk of exploding tomorrow,” he muttered upon drinking his fourth cup.

Mentally, he was already building a catalog of spots of interest, specifically vendors stocking up on fruits, veggies, and meats he couldn’t recognize. He wanted to taste it all, even if it might mean his own demise.

It would be a glorious battle.

“Why would that be?” The voice had whispered right into his ear, and Liam jumped with a shriek, spinning around to face a stranger. A woman, perhaps human, who immediately took a step back, dazzling with an impish smile and a mean grin. “Sorry, I overheard your muttering and couldn’t resist.”

In the moment Liam took to compose himself, he took the chance to glance at the stranger. She looked like something you’d pluck out of a Middle-Eastern fantasy market, with a large black turban that covered the sides of her head and hid her hair, adorned with tiny amber jewelry that tinkled under the moss-light. The rest of her clothes were a strange mix between turban and tunic, with a cinnamon-colored vest adorned in thin silver chains, and white harem pants. But it was her face that caught his attention; it was a mix of features that made it impossible to properly pin down an ethnicity, with skin almost as black as the turban itself and thick brows that might have fit right in with Sub-Saharan Africa, yet creased eyelids that made her eyes appear slanted in an almost Korean-like fashion, and a sharp Greek profile for a nose.

The very first thought that came to mind was that he was looking at a face made up from a composite of faces, smoothed out to fit together. The second one was that her amber eyes likely meant she wasn’t actually human.

“I am Tabrin Ybnu,” she said, clapping her slim hands together and dipping her head slightly in a greeting not customary for the Caliphate but common further south, the smile returning. “You don’t seem to be from around here. I could be your guide if you’d like.”

He tried to form words, but his gaze had fixed on those amber eyes, a sense of familiarity that- “Bunny!?”

The woman’s smile froze in place, immediately turning into a pout. “Just thirty-two words? Really? That’s all it took? This is just not fair, Wolf’s going to hold this one over my head for the next millennium,” she whined, switching to plain English, one with a marginal southern accent.

Bunny didn’t wait an instant to snatch his hand and begin marching down the road, yanking him with far more strength than a human her size had any right to have.

“A bet… wait. Tabrin Ybnu… Bunny rabbit?” He stared at the back of her turban, the shape she’d taken that of a woman almost a full foot shorter than him. “You know you’re still missing a-” He blinked again. “You know English!?”

“Origin knows it; she just stuffed the dumb language into my head, now I know it.”

“How did she…?”

“Ageless old deity with countless years of experience, Goddess of secrets, perfect memory, yada yada.” Bunny spoke in a droll tone, waving her hand around. “Origin was really super smart and took the few hundred words and grammar you taught her for your ‘coded messages’ and worked most of it out.” She grumbled. “There’s also some component that involves psychic intent and mild telepathy to fill in the gaps, but whatever, it’s dumb, because English is dumb, and I will not apologize for botching a few letters in an anagram.”

Liam just blinked. “I’m surprised you even know what an anagram is.”

“I’m older than you! By a lot! I’m old enough I could’ve been the ancestor that spawned your whole species! Of course, I know things.” Bunny let out an irritated squeak.

“Yeah, well, growing older is unavoidable, but maturing and learning is not.”

“I will forgive you for blaspheming against a divine aspect, just this once.” She grumbled, increasing her pace, sandals slapping angrily against the road. “Let’s go get a snack, I found a good place.” She immediately added with a happy bird-like chirping sound.

“But-”

“It’s work-related; otherwise, I wouldn’t be allowed to be anything other than a mug-sized ball of fur. Because Origin says I’m not allowed to have fun during this trip, because it’s all work work work.” She stuck her tongue out at him as she sped up, a spring in her step as she coerced him to either follow or lose his arm. “Spend a few million years in a jungle doing nothing and suddenly now I’m not even allowed to pretend I need sleep.” She tugged him along. “Come on, I got a surprise!”

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