Fel groaned as he woke. His chest ached, and his leg was stiff as a board. Shifting himself, he swung his legs to hang off the bed's side. Sunlight streamed through the shutters of his window, a warm morning glow that pressed against his back.

Gods, he hurt. What had happened? He'd been out working on the pump with Isabelle, they'd killed some beetles, and then...

Ah, right. Beetles. The beetle; a monster.

He shuddered and patted himself down. Arms, hands, fingers, face, legs...

Legs.

Fel glanced down at his left leg and grimaced. The hole that had pierced it through was gone; it'd been healed — by Isabelle's potion, he remembered — but the area was scarred. Two pale, pinkish starbursts of toughened skin, their locations opposite of each other on the flesh his calf.

The scars were strange, unappealing. They seemed like something he should complain about, be distressed over.

The thought led Fel to laugh, a dark chuff of amusement that came and left just as quickly. He grimaced again as the action caused his chest to compress. He'd nearly gotten himself killed, but no, by all means, let his concern be focused on how his leg looked beneath his robes.

It'd been a terrifying experience; something that likely would've left him reeling if his life wasn't already so royally screwed.

The monster had scared him. It still scared him, with how badly it'd beaten him down, made him bleed. He wasn't a fighter; it'd never been a point of focus for him. Teaching was more attractive than training. Rituals were more interesting than spells. He lived in the city— a capital city; he wasn't prepared for conflict, not against something like that.

But even so, with all that was going on, with this being just one more event among all that had occurred?

Frowning and shaking his head, Fel reached for his glasses. There was so much that had gone wrong, it almost didn't seem real. He could only be so afraid— could only be so upset. He was terrified, but what did that even mean?

His hand fumbled against the bedstand. Eyes flickering upward, Fel muttered a light curse and swept his gaze across the tabletop. His glasses weren't there.

And not a moment's rest— gods damn it, please don't have lost them.

He crossed his fingers at his side. He didn't think he could've lost them, given that he remembered still having them on when Isabelle had dragged him to the side, but...

"Ah!"

They were atop the writing desk, on the opposite side of the room. Fel pushed himself forward, off of the bed. Hobbling his way across the intervening space, he grabbed the glasses and put them on top of his head.

An anchor, something mundane. Broken, but more necessary than ever.

Pushing a smile onto his face and making his way to the door, Fel exited his room. He passed through the hallway, then the parlor room, and poked his head into the kitchen.

Empty; no one there.

Fel's smile flickered and he walked back toward's Isabelle's room. Her door had been closed; maybe she was still sleeping?

He knocked.

A pause.

He knocked again.

No answer.

His hand reached for the doorknob, but he stopped as he heard voices from outside. Going back to the parlor room, Fel took a step out the front door.

"Fel! You're awake!" Isabelle swung around and beamed at him as he came out of the house. She was standing with Charles off to one side of the door, the two of them leaned over a pair of stones. Charles was fiddling with them, seeming to grow increasingly frustrated as one refused to glow like the other. "How's your leg doing?"

"Hey, not too bad" Fel rubbed at his eyes as he peered past the sun's morning glare, leaning forward to see the two. His mind flashed with the image of Isabelle getting slammed by the beetle.

He shook himself.

"I'm doing fine, actually. Thank you— for the healing potion. And for dragging me out of the way of that thing. I'll uh, try to pay you back for it when we get to the town."

Isabelle snorted, rolling her eyes. "Pfft! No."

"Pardon?"

She ignored him, digging into the pouch at her waist. A second later, she'd pulled out another healing potion— no, the same one as from the field. She extended it to Fel.

"I don't need you to pay me back, it's fine. Here— we didn't want to give you any more while you were unconscious, but if your mana's high enough, a sip or two should fix up whatever injuries you had left."

Fel looked at the proffered bottle and hesitated; he did hurt, but... Shaking his head, he tried to wave her off. "No— no, I couldn't; I'm fine. Just a bit of bruising and soreness around my chest. Nothing a few days won't fix."

Healing potions weren't cheap; gold coins for just a bottle— it wouldn't be right of him.

"I insist." Stuffing the potion into his hands, Isabelle crossed her arms. "Since you're awake, we'll be heading out just as soon as Charles finishes setting up the house's ward-stones and gets his backpack ready. I'd rather have you drink some of that than be late to the guild-house because you're walking slowly."

Fel looked at the bottle in his hands, then back up to Isabelle.

"We're walking to the town?"

Her head tilted to the side. "Yes."

"Walking, not—" Fel glanced at Charles as the man stood, brushing the dirt from his knees. "—not riding a cart? Or a wagon?"

"Have you seen a wagon around here?" Charles interrupted, turning to Fel and sweeping out an arm to the surrounding area, his eyebrow raised. The man broke into a grin. "Or horses, for that matter?"

"Well, I'd just assumed, being a farm and all..." Fel blinked and broke off, looking back down at the potion. "Huh. How do you get all this to town then? The grain, I mean, for the harvest season."

"Professional [Harvesters]. We, well I, hire a group of them to gather and transport it all."

Fel scratched at his chin in passive curiosity.

"Is that a normal thing around here? I'd always heard that— ah! Hey!"

Isabelle poked him and he jumped.

"Drink. You two can talk while we walk."

Glaring at her, Fel rubbed at his side.

She was probably right— about the potion, not the talking— he'd slow them down as he was now. Heck— It'd be a relief to feel better, and she was insisting.

Fel pushed his thoughts to the contrary aside. It didn't hurt that he felt considerably less guilty about the idea of drinking her potion after she'd jabbed him. Bit of a jerk move, that.

Mind made up, Fel sat and uncorked the flask.

Sipping from it, he brought the potion down to half full. Fel could feel his mana dropping as the potion worked its way through his body. Numbness followed the chill, and had he been standing, Fel likely would've fallen.

Still, feeling returned to him soon after. The aches, pains, bruises, and stiffness he'd woken with had disappeared over the course of seconds. Sighing in relief, Fel's shoulders drooped with lost tension, and he handed the remainder of the potion back to Isabelle.

"Thank you, again."

She smirked and nodded. Placing the bottle back into her bag, Isabelle turned back to Charles.

"Alright then! You good here? I'm going to go get my gear ready."

"Yeah, it should be set. The backpack's already packed, by the way— just the lunches left."

Tossing Charles a thumbs up as she moved, Isabelle ran back inside. Heading to her room, presumably.

Charles and Fel followed behind her a minute later, making their way to the kitchen. While Charles packed their lunches for the road, Fel munched on a bit of leftover breakfast— cold eggs and toast.

Belatedly, he checked his mana.

16%.

He thumped his head against the table. Two steps forward, one step back. His mana level had already been edging towards being an issue, but the healing potion had expedited the process.

Fantastic, life-saving concoctions, healing potions. They accelerated the healing process of an individual, working best when ingested or applied directly to an open wound. The downside of course —because there always was one— was that the potions used a person's mana to do so. A double-edged sword for Fel.

They left the farmhouse not long after, with Isabelle, rather than Charles, being the last one ready to go. She continued to fiddle with her buckles, rings, hip pack, and pouch until they reached the boundaries of the field, at which point she rolled her shoulders and let her gear settle into place.

It was a sharp, clearly defined end to the farm, the expanse of grain stopping abruptly to either side. Both Isabelle and Fel stepped past with no issue, but Charles made a face and shuddered as he crossed.

"Ugh. Hate that feeling— it's like losing an eye and a hand, all at once."

Fel frowned, waiting for Charles to catch up.

"What do you mean?"

The man shrugged as he began to walk alongside. "I'm sure I mentioned it, didn't I? My class gives me [Field Sense]; lets me get a feel for what's happening in the area my farm covers. One of the most useful Skills I've ever gotten. The issue is though, it stops working when I leave— makes traveling unpleasant."

"No, I got the eye part, but you mentioned a hand?"

"Mmm." Charles hummed, his tone non-committal. "That too."

Isabelle drew up alongside them as Charles distanced himself from the question with a new branch of conversation. They chatted for a while as a group, but as they entered a lull, Isabelle nudged Fel and gestured for the two of them to slow.

Casting Charles a furtive glance, she stopped them a short distance further back and leaned in, whispering. "That hand thing you asked? He doesn't like to bring it up, but it's another one of his Skills. You saw it when the field came alive. You know, when it took out the beetle?"

Fel jerked, standing a bit straighter. "That was him? But he wasn't even there— I thought it was you!

"Me? For that? I don't have a farmer's class." Isabelle drew back and snorted. "I'm not even level forty."

Fel rolled his eyes at the last statement. Of course she wasn't level forty, she couldn't be older than twenty-five herself. The fact that she even thought to bring it up was exceedingly—

Fel choked. Grabbing hold of Isabelle's shoulder, Fel pulled, turning her to face him.

"He's level forty?"

She smacked his hand, frowning.

"it's not that big a deal."

Grabbing hold of his arm, Isabelle pulled him forward, increasing their pace until they'd caught back up to Charles.

Fel shook his head in surprised disbelief. 'Not that big a deal', she said. With a level that high, Charles would have to be one of the higher leveled farmers in the region. It wasn't as impressive as say, a [General], or a [Swords-Master], of the same, but still!

I wonder what his Class is? Can't just be a [Farmer], not at that level.

He rolled the matter over in his mind as he walked, coming to terms with the idea. It was strange, sometimes, the people you could meet just by chance. Really, Isabelle was right, it didn't matter— but the fact that Charles was level forty? It was surprising, nonetheless.

Catching up again from where he'd fallen behind, Fel peered off into the distance. They were traveling southward, towards the Messengers' Road.

The region leading up to it was flat, for the most part. A long stretch of grass, with a few short, scraggly trees dotting the landscape. Featureless really, up until a person turned their head east. A chain of mountains rose off in the distance— an abrupt divergence from the plains which proceeded them.

Even that though, wasn't what caught the eye. Through the middle of the mountains was a gorge; a straight-edged cleave through to the other side. The messengers' road ran through that gap. It was a pathway— not nature-made, but blasted open for the sake of a kingdom's efficiency.

Fel stared at it, off in the distance. It was impressive. A little blurry, maybe, but still very—

A poke in the side. Fel jumped, snapping his head to the right. Isabelle was walking alongside him, staring curiously.

"Huh. You really zone out a lot, don't you?"

Fel wasn't sure how he was supposed to take that. "Well, there's not all that much else to do, is there?" He rubbed at his side. "Did you need something?"

Isabelle shrugged. "Not really. Just a bit bored, I guess; walking isn't really my speed. Figured we could entertain each other." She tapped a finger against her chin.

There was a pause, and then she brightened. "Oh, I know! I never got to ask— what Class do you have? You said you weren't actually a [Mage] when we met, but I cut you off."

"Did Charles not tell you?"

"No...? I didn't know he'd asked."

"Huh." Fel eyed Charles' back as he walked ahead of them. That was awfully.... considerate of the man. Unnecessary, but considerate.

Pushing his glasses backward on his head, Fel squared his shoulders, bracing himself as best he could.

"I'm a [Ritualist]."

Eyes widening, Isabelle nodded. "Ohhh, that's neat." She looked him over, a quick scan up and down. "Yeah, I can see it."

Fel felt himself loosen as the moment of possible conflict passed. He let out the breath he'd been holding and smiled. It was nice to interact with someone who didn't hold a wholly dismal view of his chosen profession.

"You've met other [Ritualists] then?"

Giving Fel a queer look, Isabelle pointed to the bag at her side. "Well, yeah. I don't know of any other Classes that produce these." She paused, as if concerned. "There aren't any, are there?"

"No." He gave a short laugh. "I don't think there are."

"Good, good..." She bounced around to his other side. "Hey— have you specialized?"

The change in topic caught Fel off-guard, and he stumbled. Re-catching his stride, he shook his head, his expression changing to give Isabelle a pained smile. Specializations, that was a loaded subject. For a brief moment, he considered shutting her down, but— well, it hardly mattered now, did it?

"Not yet. Probably not for a while. I uh— I leveled to twenty-nine a few months back, but I've hit some snags recently. A few delays that make level thirty seem a long way off."

He shrugged helplessly, his mood deflating, just a bit.

Isabelle grimaced sympathetically. "Sorry— I shouldn't have asked. I'm uh, just a bit excited, I guess. Got mine a few weeks ago and I—" She cut off and groaned. "—annndd I'm rubbing it in, aren't I? Gods, okay, I'm gonna' shut up now."

She did so, and they walked on, both caught up in their thoughts.

Fel looked up at the sky, then down to the path they followed. They had still yet to reach the Messengers' Road.

The grass around them flickered gently in the wind, an intermittent wave of brown and green; it was nothing much of interest.

He looked to Charles, who was muttering to himself up ahead, then to Isabelle, who walked with a frown plastered across her face.

The sun was high, the distance was long, and Fel didn't have much else to do.

He nudged Isabelle in the side.

"So what did you get? Your specialization?"