Chapter 112 – The Return

There are many small joys in life.

A light novel you read three years ago suddenly receiving an anime adaptation. Discovering an entire vein of eight diamonds while aimlessly mining. Pulling a five-star on the very first ten-pull.

But, in this particular moment…

Nothing could possibly compare to the indescribable satisfaction of looking upon a field of ripe berries and knowing, instinctively, that a statistically significant portion of them would soon belong to you.

The party and I stroll through the sprawling orchards surrounding my beginner village, simply enjoying the unfamiliar luxury of peace as the distant walls gradually grow larger.

Well…

Peaceful apart from the occasional earth, plant, or, somewhat concerningly, berry slime announcing its presence as an unstoppable force of nature.

They are generally introduced to one of my vines.

The ensuing interaction is brief.

A hole appears. A core is extracted. The slime ceases contributing to society.

Honestly…

I had rather missed them.

Now that I have grown accustomed to it, the constant, faint warbling drifting through the orchards from slimes conducting whatever deeply suspicious business occupies the average slime's day is strangely comforting.

Certainly preferable to the endless rustling and incessant wingbeats inside the moth forest.

In fact, the atmosphere is sufficiently pleasant that we've unconsciously slowed to a leisurely pace.

Leisurely, in this context, meaning a speed that would likely encourage an Olympic sprinter to submit a formal complaint regarding the integrity of reality.

Even Marek appears relaxed.

Considering every member of our party possesses at least two hundred Dexterity and Perception…

This scarcely qualifies as exercise.

Stats truly are remarkable.

I glance sideways.

Avelyn walks beside me, as she has for most of the journey.

A gentle smile rests on her face as her ears pivot independently toward distant birdsong, rustling leaves, and the occasional unfortunate slime.

Her tail sways lazily behind her.

Without breaking stride…

She plucks a blueberry from a nearby bush and pops it into her mouth.

A moment later, she notices me watching. Her smile somehow becomes even brighter.

Interesting.

Avelyn is, by every observable metric, an exceptionally kind person. The sort of individual who would happily inconvenience herself to avoid inconveniencing someone else.

Therefore…

I believe I have just gathered compelling evidence that Foxkin possess an instinctive tendency toward opportunistic berry acquisition.

Mildly concerning.

I glance down.

At some point during my investigation…

A strawberry has manifested in my hand. I choose to interpret this as compelling evidence supporting my hypothesis.

I take a bite.

Delicious.

Foxes are, by nature, opportunistic foragers. It would appear reality has elected to preserve that particular behavioral quirk.

I finish the strawberry.

Then my gaze drifts toward an exceptionally plump blackberry hanging temptingly from a nearby vine.

…

After an admirable display of self-discipline I continue walking.

The blackberry remains exactly where it is.

A victory for restraint. A rather narrow one.

We continue on for several minutes before finally reaching the village gate, where a modest line has formed.

The reason becomes apparent almost immediately.

Thane and an unfamiliar Dogkin are wrestling on the ground instead of checking anyone through.

A sizable crowd of other Dogkin has gathered around them, cheering for their chosen combatant with the intensity normally reserved for matters of national importance. Several Catkin wait nearby with significantly less enthusiasm, tapping their feet while the tips of their tails lash back and forth.

Sera is… nowhere to be seen.

My ears droop slightly.

This is not sadness.

I would never experience emotional distress merely because I cannot see a Catkin I knew for approximately a day and a half. Such a reaction would be profoundly unreasonable.

Besides, I am certain I will encounter her when I inevitably visit the bathhouse.

The party and I exchange a glance before reaching the same silent conclusion.

We take our places at the back of the line.

Avelyn and I immediately employ one of the oldest and most prestigious Foxkin disciplines: standing perfectly still while internally vibrating with impatience.

Marek and Zeke remain nearby. Zeke launches into an animated explanation of a particularly good venison restaurant in his hometown, and something about Marek’s suddenly sharpened attention suggests the recommendation has found its intended audience.

I am beginning to suspect that Bearkin and Wolfkin reserve a special place in their hearts for venison, much as Foxkin appear to possess a deep-rooted and mildly chaotic devotion to berries.

Sylrae lowers herself onto the ground and idly drags her toes through the dirt, occasionally brushing her fingers across the grass and small plants around her.

Rin also sits.

Naturally, he chooses to do so in the most unnecessarily elaborate manner available.

He drives his two sheathed sabers into the ground, crosses his legs atop their pommels, and balances there with effortless precision.

I study him for a moment.

A vine slips soundlessly from my shadow.

It begins creeping toward him at a pace best described as strategically glacial.

As the vine continues its slow and dignified journey toward destiny, Avelyn’s tail brushes gently against my leg.

I glance toward her with a slight tilt of my head.

She points skyward.

“Lyn, look!” she says, almost breathless. “A floating island is drifting this way. I think its shadow might pass over us!”

I follow her finger and quickly spot it.

A moderately sized island, perhaps half the width of the village, glides lazily through the sky several dozen kilometers above the surface. After watching its path for a few seconds, I determine that Avelyn is correct. Unless its path changes significantly, it should pass almost directly overhead within the next several minutes.

By the standards of the other floating islands I have observed, it is relatively ordinary.

A narrow waterfall spills from one edge, dissolving into a long trail of silver mist before the water can reach the ground. Several thick vines hang from the uneven stone beneath it, swaying gently in the high-altitude winds.

I still do not understand how floating-island waterfalls function.

Any enclosed water source should eventually deplete itself. Rainfall might replenish some of the loss, but it seems unlikely that ordinary precipitation could sustain a continuous waterfall of that size.

There are several possible explanations.

An underground spring connected to some kind of highly suspicious spatial phenomenon. A water-aspected creature. A localized weather cycle.

Or perhaps reality simply grew bored of hydrology and elected to improvise.

I make a mental note to convince the others to visit one eventually. A direct investigation would be far more reliable than distant observation, and climbing onto a floating island would almost certainly qualify as responsible academic research.

At a later date, however.

For now, I settle beside Avelyn and follow her gaze as the island drifts steadily closer.

“Slowly” is somewhat relative.

It is likely moving at several hundred kilometers per hour, but once one becomes capable of approaching Mach three, ordinary high-speed travel begins to look rather unambitious.

For the next several minutes, we simply relax in companionable silence.

Or something resembling silence, at least.

The cheering around Thane’s ongoing wrestling match continues near the gate, although it is gradually being overtaken by the increasingly animated discussion between Zeke and Marek.

Zeke has apparently moved beyond recommending a single venison restaurant and is now delivering a comprehensive lecture on the preparation of several regional dishes. Marek listens with the grave attention of a military commander receiving intelligence of strategic importance.

At one point, Zeke mentions a smoked venison shoulder seasoned with some variety of mountain pepper.

Marek’s ears visibly swivel.

A powerful alliance is forming.

Beyond them, the village appears peaceful.

That impression lasts until I make the questionable decision to focus.

The world expands around me at once.

Conversations drift from beyond the walls, overlapping in dozens of indistinct layers. I hear footsteps moving along packed streets, wooden wheels creaking beneath loaded carts, shutters opening, doors closing, and someone several hundred meters away loudly insisting that a missing pie has absolutely nothing to do with them.

Their heartbeat is elevated.

Suspicious.

Closer still, Sylrae’s feathers rustle faintly whenever the breeze moves through her wings. Grass bends beneath shifting boots. Slimes burble in the orchard with the vague confidence of creatures that have never once questioned their place in the world.

Beside me, Avelyn’s heart is beating noticeably faster than usual.

I briefly consider the possible causes.

Excitement regarding the island seems most likely.

I decide not to investigate further, largely because my ears are already processing enough information to qualify as a hostile working environment.

If I continue concentrating, I can distinguish scents just as easily. Fruit, soil, sweat, distant cooking fires, crushed grass, metal, leather, and several Dogkin who appear to have rolled in the dirt with admirable commitment.

Light is no less excessive. I can identify individual leaves on distant trees, tiny flaws in the stone walls, and the shimmer of mist trailing behind the approaching island.

It is enough information that my former human brain should have collapsed beneath the administrative burden.

Thankfully, the Perception stat appears to include some form of automatic filtering. Most sensations remain present without forcing themselves into my conscious awareness, while anything unusual or immediately relevant rises naturally to the surface.

This is highly convenient.

It is also profoundly suspicious.

The System has effectively installed sensory-management software directly into my skull, apparently without requiring consent, an update log, or even the courtesy of a restart notification.

A questionable precedent.

Particularly considering I remain uncertain whether the interface includes customer support.

Eventually, the floating island draws close enough that its shadow becomes visible sweeping across the orchards.

It advances over the fields like a moving dusk.

Sunlit rows of trees darken one after another as the enormous shape passes between them and the sky. The color drains subtly from the fruit, leaves turning from vibrant green to muted shades beneath the cool gray light. Slimes pause in place as the darkness reaches them, their translucent bodies briefly dimming before they resume whatever essential agricultural misconduct occupies their time.

The wind strengthens as the island passes overhead.

A cool current slips through my hair and fur, carrying the damp scent of the waterfall’s distant mist. The temperature falls noticeably, and the warmth of the sun vanishes until the entire line rests beneath the island’s immense silhouette.

For once, the surrounding world goes quiet.

The insects still.

The slimes cease warbling.

Even the Dogkin near the gate suspend their cheering, although Thane and his opponent remain entangled on the ground in what has become a surprisingly respectful moment of mutual strangulation.

The sudden hush reminds me of the total solar eclipse I witnessed on Earth.

I had been fortunate enough to stand within its path, watching daylight fade as the moon crossed in front of the sun.

At the time, I found the entire phenomenon somewhat objectionable.

The moon had displayed an unreasonable amount of confidence by placing itself between me and a star.

Now, however, I have no such grievance.

This sun is not a star.

It is merely an enormous, suspiciously bright mana object that has yet to demonstrate sapience or address me as family.

Therefore, I can appreciate the island’s shadow without feeling that some celestial body is committing an act of personal disrespect.

Beside me, Avelyn watches with open wonder. Her face is tilted toward the island, eyes wide as its trailing mist catches what little light remains along the edge of the shadow. Her tail has gone almost completely still, save for the faintest sway at the tip.

I allow myself to enjoy the moment with her.

Tragically, serenity has natural predators.

Our local Catkin whistles.

“Damn. Been a while since I’ve stood in an island shad—”

The vine that has spent the last several minutes advancing toward him finally reaches its destination.

With flawless timing, it loops around one of his sheathed sabers and yanks it free from the ground.

Rin’s improvised seat abruptly loses half of its structural integrity.

Gravity, having waited patiently for the opportunity, responds with great enthusiasm.

He drops sideways in an awkward tangle of limbs, one arm windmilling uselessly before he hits the ground with a surprised squawk and a muffled thump.

The remaining saber stays upright for nearly a second.

Then it topples onto him.

I watch with quiet satisfaction as the island’s shadow continues its dignified passage overhead.

A measured restoration of atmospheric balance.

Avelyn loses her composure immediately.

The moment Rin hits the ground, she breaks into a fit of light, helpless giggling, one hand rising toward her mouth in a doomed attempt to preserve some measure of dignity.

Sylrae fares even worse. She slaps a palm against the dirt while laughing, wings trembling behind her with each breath.

Marek and Zeke pause their critically important discussion of venison preparation long enough to chuckle at Rin’s misfortune, though Marek’s attention drifts back toward Zeke almost immediately.

Apparently, even the downfall of a Catkin cannot compete with smoked meat.

A quiet, dignified laugh escapes me as my tail swishes with wholly appropriate amusement.

For several seconds, Rin simply remains where he fell, spread-eagle beneath the fading shadow of the island. He stares upward with the empty expression of someone reconsidering every decision that led him to this exact patch of dirt.

Then he starts laughing as well.

It takes the group a short while to collectively recover. Rin eventually pushes himself upright, retrieves his fallen sabers, and lets out one final chuckle as he brushes grass from his clothes.

“Got me good there, Little Miss.” His grin widens. “You do know this means war, though, right?”

I smile at him. Elegantly, of course.

His confidence falters by a barely perceptible degree.

How peculiar. My most gentle and courteous smiles appear to possess the vaguely useful secondary property of making people question their immediate safety.

“I welcome your attempts.”

Rin studies me for another moment before his grin returns, now carrying considerably more caution.

Good.

A worthy opponent should understand the risks involved before beginning hostilities.

After that, we settle into silence again while the island continues drifting overhead. Cool darkness gradually slides beyond the village, sunlight returning across the orchards in broad golden bands until warmth settles over us once more.

I release a slow breath.

That had been rather enjoyable.

My tail gives another contented swish and brushes lightly against Avelyn’s leg.

I consider stepping aside.

The thought lasts only a moment.

Moving away would likely make her a little sad, and for reasons that remain scientifically unexplained, I find the possibility unpleasant.

I therefore remain where I am.

A practical decision.

It is only then that the two Dogkin guards seem to realize their wrestling match has resulted in several dozen people waiting outside the village.

They freeze.

Both glance toward the line, then towards one another.

Their ears lower in almost perfect synchronization.

The pair scramble upright and begin apologizing with impressive volume, brushing dirt, grass, and what appears to be a crushed berry from their leather armor. Several Dogkin in the crowd cheer anyway, apparently viewing the entire administrative failure as a successful public event.

The Catkin are less forgiving.

One of them points emphatically toward the gate and says something that causes both guards to stand straighter.

The line finally begins moving.

During my previous visit, Arlo had escorted me inside without requiring payment, so I pay close attention to the process. Understanding local entry procedures seems like the sort of knowledge that could prevent future embarrassment, accidental trespassing, or an unnecessarily dramatic confrontation with municipal authority.

The guards ask each person a handful of questions.

Why they left. Why they are returning. Whether they encountered anything dangerous, unusual, or suspicious beyond the walls.

The questioning rarely remains formal for long. Both guards appear to know nearly everyone in line, so official security checks repeatedly dissolve into conversations about work, family, missing tools, and one Dogkin’s ongoing dispute with a neighbor over ownership of a particularly productive nice tree.

Those entering for the first time that day hand over a single copper coin.

Everyone else walks through freely.

I file the information away.

The village appears to use a simple day-pass system. One copper grants access until the end of the day, after which the fee resets.

Efficient.

What remains unclear is how the guards remember who has already paid.

The simplest explanation is exceptional memory, though identifying several hundred people across a full day would still require considerable attention. A general skill seems more likely, perhaps something designed for gatekeeping, recordkeeping, or identifying repeat visitors.

There may also be some form of System assistance operating in the background.

That possibility is, as usual, both convenient and mildly invasive.

Further questioning will be required.

My ears twitch toward a distant, faintly familiar sound.

Two people are approaching from within the village, their footfalls separating themselves from the slower shuffle of the surrounding residents through sheer speed.

Ah.

It would appear Thane and his fellow guard were not quite fast enough in recognizing the administrative consequences of abandoning the gate to wrestle in the dirt.

Tragic.

This sort of thing would never happen if Sera were on duty.

A few dozen seconds later, Arlo strides through the gate with Korr following only a short distance behind him.

The two Dogkin guards freeze.

Arlo takes one look at the half-cleared line, the dirt covering their armor, and the crowd still discussing the outcome of their match before beginning a lecture delivered in the same tone I imagine people use when addressing a golden retriever that has liberated an entire rotisserie chicken from the top of a counter and consumed it with absolute moral certainty.

The unfamiliar guard’s ears flatten.

Thane looks deeply repentant for approximately three seconds.

Arlo continues anyway.

Eventually, he releases a weary sigh, gives the unfamiliar Dogkin a firm pat on the head, and turns his attention toward the waiting crowd.

His gaze finds me almost immediately.

He blinks.

Korr notices the direction he is looking and blinks as well.

Naturally, I raise one hand and wave with appropriate grace.

Both men stare for another moment, apparently undergoing a modest existential crisis, before returning the gesture and making their way toward us.

“Well, didn’t expect to see ya around here again,” Arlo says. “Guess I owe Sera an apology.”

I step forward and explain.

The teleportation talismans. The dungeon. The potential stampede. The roaming bosses and the Crystal Reaper’s mutation.

Arlo and Korr listen carefully, though disbelief begins threading through their expressions once the explanation progresses beyond what most people would consider a reasonable dungeon excursion.

Korr’s ears rise when I mention the stampede.

Arlo goes very still at the description of the final boss.

Neither interrupts me, which is fortunate, as simplifying the events without becoming misleading would require a distressing amount of editorial effort.

When I finally reach the end, I ask the question that has occupied a disproportionate amount of my attention since arriving.

“If I may inquire, where is Sera?”

Arlo scratches the back of his head.

“Well, thing about that, Lyn...” His expression turns faintly apologetic. “Think ya might’ve inspired her. She quit the job and headed out on her own. Went to a nearby unexplored dungeon and wanted to level up properly.”

My ears droop before I can prevent them.

“I see.”

Avelyn shifts subtly closer beside me. Her tail brushes against my leg, brief and gentle, without drawing attention to itself.

I straighten my posture.

There is no reason to be disappointed.

Sera chose to leave because she wanted to grow stronger. Nothing about that decision prevents us from meeting again. As for the dungeon…

She will be fine.

Naturally.

Our paths will cross again eventually.

Arlo looks between Avelyn and me, his expression gradually softening into a warm smile.

“Seems ya found yourself a good friend, Lyn.”

My thoughts stop.

…A friend.

I glance sideways.

Avelyn is watching me with quiet concern, still standing close enough that the warmth of her shoulder nearly touches mine. Her ears are angled toward me rather than the conversation around us, and her tail remains near my leg in case I require another reassurance I have not requested.

Suddenly, several previously confusing observations arrange themselves into something approaching coherence.

The comfort I feel around her. The ease with which silence becomes pleasant rather than awkward. The strange awareness of how my actions might affect her, accompanied by the equally strange desire to avoid causing her pain.

It is different from what I feel toward Elizabeth, yet the underlying shape is familiar.

With Elizabeth, I feel competitive and unguarded. I can argue with her, challenge her, and trust that neither of us will interpret it as anything other than friendship conducted through increasingly irresponsible escalation.

With Avelyn, the feeling is softer. Warmer.

She makes it easier to lower my guard without noticing I have done so.

Perhaps friendship is not a single emotion at all. Perhaps different people create entirely different forms of it, each recognizable only by the space they occupy once present.

The hypothesis requires further observation.

For once, I am in no hurry to test it.

My chest feels warm as I look back toward Arlo.

“I have.”

Avelyn’s smile brightens beside me.

I find myself smiling as well.

I cannot wait to introduce her to Elizabeth.