In the mid 1890's, Madam C. J. Walker, a black woman born to former slaves, had a dream. She had been struggling with hair loss and wished for a way to regrow some of the patches that had fallen out. In her dream, a tall African man came to her and recited a formula for just such a product. She woke up, did as the man said, and to her surprise it worked! She began selling it and became the first self-made female millionaire in the United States; a classic 'murican rags-to-riches story.

While the exact circumstances of Walker's invention may have been embellished for branding, there's a nugget of truth to her story. The human brain is more relaxed and intuitive just before falling asleep and just after waking up. You ask questions and make connections that would never have occurred to you during the day. Are there any doormen named Matt? Policemen named Rob? Do women actually like sex, or are they just pretending? Between Ass and Titties, which is the superiour? Plato and Aristotle arm wrestle in your head until the epiphany strikes. There are two types of guys: Titty boys, and Ass Men. Quod Erat Demonstrandum.

That said, inspirations that occur within a dream are pretty rare. And yet, I'm proud to say that, like Madam C. J. Walker and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. before me, I too have had a dream.

In the dream, I was picking a sandwich at Jack-In-The-Box. There was a whole platter of sandwiches all wrapped and ready to go in front of me, I just had to choose one. But as I browsed the options, I noticed something off: None of the options in front of me were sandwiches that existed in real life! I was in a dream! And incredibly, despite being completely original, the flavor combinations just made sense. I came to the heartbreaking realization that I might not remember any of these amazing innovations when I woke up, so I concentrated all of my willpower on one sandwich, praying that I would be able to take it with me back to real life. I succeeded. The sandwich that I manifested from the ether was this: A fried chicken sandwich topped with french fries, a bit of mayonnaise, and apple pie filling. It was called the Apple Jack. Sadly, I never got around to assembling my own Apple Jack while I was still on Earth.

If a psychoanalyst evaluated my dream, they would probably tell me that I should eat less take-out. Fair. It's kinda fucked up that Americans don't have to go through any kind of inconvenience or hardship to get a meal. An animal died to make that burger, but all you have to do to get it is waddle ten steps into your air-conditioned car? In the wild, when you want to eat meat you need to find another living, breathing being and tear it, screaming, limb from limb. Meanwhile in burgerland, some people can't even be fucked to order take-out; they need their stuffed-crust delivered straight to their doorstep because ten steps is apparently a fucking chore.

Apis was much more in tune with nature. The people there grew grains and raise cattle, so they understood the work that goes into a good meal. They also needed to schlep on down to the stream or a well whenever they needed water.

As I strolled along the dirt road, I felt the dagger inside my pocket, still weirdly cold. I could tell that the bucket was going to be pretty heavy when it was full.

Do I have the skill to balance it on my head, or would I fuck up and snap my neck?

I reached the stream and waded in towards the middle. As I dipped the bucket into the stream, a massive bolt of pain shot up my leg! I shouted and whipped around, startled, to see a large bobcat-looking creature chomping on me! I fell into the stream, clutching at my leg, while the thing unlatched itself and pounced. It clearly knew where the weak points were on a human, because it went straight for my crotch... and got a painful mouthful of metal instead.

Maggie's words came floating back to me:

...If you have a knife or something, take it just in case...

What the fuck kind of death trap did you send me into, Maggie!?

I drew my dagger and flailed like a deranged fish. After a few swings one of my wrist shackles connected with the beast's head and it retreated. Anticipating another pounce, I thrust my dagger forward and... something inexplicable happened.

I felt a massive weight arresting the forward motion of the dagger. My gymbro instincts kicked in and I pushed against it, weakly at first, then harder as adrenaline coursed through my shrimpy body. Finally, as I shoved with all my might, the dagger grew even colder and glowed with a pale blue light. An icicle formed just beyond the tip of the blade and shot forward like a bullet, cracking the kitty in its blood-streaked face. The resistance immediately subsided, leaving me free to move the dagger. The creature was dazed, and without hesitation I leapt forward and stabbed it in the neck. Blood gushed everywhere. It let out a pitiful, garbled deathrattle and went limp.

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE ARE THE CHAMPIONS, MY FRIIIEEEEENNNDD

I shit my pants. Nothing happened, of course, but that's what it felt like.

AND WEEEEEEEEEEEE'LL KEEP ON FIIIIIGHTING 'TILL THE END

After all that exertion, a miraculous feeling began to spread through my body, one I knew very well. A true-blue, thoroughbred gymnasium connoisseur never forgets his first pump. Blood leaves the brain and courses through the body. You no longer have the mental capacity to worry about the future or ruminate in the past. You are laminar, fully present, in the here and now, concentrated solely on the singular task of picking shit up and putting it back down. It's the moment a boy becomes a man, as he realizes that there may be more to life than food and pussy. He understands that his body is designed to meet adversity with determination, and wonders what else in his live could be improved. Perhaps dick length...

Yet somehow, this new feeling exceeded even that. It was like I had discovered muscles to pump that I didn't even know existed, somewhere hidden between the biceps and the triceps, but including both. I was Magellan discovering a new continent in between north and south America, or Casanova discovering a new hole between the pussy and the ass. The world was my clam.

I filled the bucket like a boss, like nothing remarkable had even happened. Because nothing remarkable did happen. It tried to, but I FUCKING MURDERED IT. The filled bucket wasn't even that heavy. I slung the furry corpse over my shoulder.

Now I'm gonna eat this damn kitkat and absorb its powers. And by powers I mean protein.

As I approached the orphanage, my adrenaline was petering out, and I was forced to admit that lugging the bucket and the corpse back had been a bit ambitious. I limped through the door, blood still oozing from my wounded leg, startling Stella and Maggie.

"Oh, wow Bradley! Looks like someone learned how to hunt! Stella, carve this thing up, we can make a stew out of it." Maggie gushed.

"Yes, ma'am." Stella replied evenly.

"Y-yeah." I huffed, dumping my cargo and growing suddenly dizzy. "Excuse me... I need to... lay down."

Maggie noticed my injury and took charge. "Head back to your room at once. I'll contact the doctor."

"kay..."

---

 

After a pleasant while of writhing pathetically on my mattress against an increasingly painful injury, the doctor finally showed up.

"Good morning, Bradley, my name is Greg Briswell, how are you doing?"

"Well, I'm in a bit of pain here, Doc..."

He chuckled. "I'm not an actual Doctor, Bradley. More of a... hobbyist. But I do help out around here whenever there's an emergency. This is my daughter, Allison. She'll be helping out."

I nodded at the pretty, slender redhead who had followed him in.

"Nice to meet you, Bradley!" she chirped. "I heard there was a shackled Calderan in town, but I had no idea we'd meet so soon."

"Y-yeah... so... about the pain..."

The doctor shook his head somberly as he inspected my leg. "That's a deep gash, Mr. Bradley, I'm afraid we'll have to amputate. Ally, get the hacksaw. The rusty one, Mr. Tibbitz said that one was less painful, god rest his soul."

My blood froze as I tried to process everything wrong with that statement.

Allison giggled. "Sorry daddy, the hacksaw is still broken. Guess we'll just have to clean him up and give him some stitches."

Mr. Briswell looked away in mock despair. "Poor child, but if we merely give him stitches he'll only have a... 99% chance of ever recovering. Is that a risk you're willing to live with?"

"Yes." I answered with more certainty than I have ever had in my life.

"Lovely, I'll leave you with Ally then. As I always say..."

"...sewing is women's work." finished Allison, rolling her eyes.

"I'll be back tomorrow, Bradley, to make sure everything looks alright." concluded Mr. Briswell. As he walked out, he turned back. "Oh, and try not to make any moves on my daughter, I'm giving her to the Harvestar boy."

"Yes sir." I responded as the door shut.

Ally set to work, pulling out a needle and thread, along with a bowl of water.

"What did your dad mean about 'giving you to the Harvestar boy'?" I asked.

"It means we're gonna get married!" she answered cheerfully. "My dad and his have been friends for a long time, so they got together and decided that we'd start a family as soon as we got back from our year of study."

"Oh... and you're (ouch) okay with that?"

"Yep! Burt is tall and strong and handsome, just like is dad, who is actually the leader of Apis."

"You mean John?"

"Oh, you've met him!"

"Yeah, I did. He showed me and (ouch) Stella to the orphanage. Seemed like a really nice guy." I smiled.

"He is! He's also really smart and he's gonna teach Burt how to lead the village. All the girls in town want to be with him." she said proudly. "Is Stella your Crateran friend?"

"Calling her a 'friend' is a bit of a (ouch) stretch... acquaintance, maybe. But we did arrive together yesterday."

"Oh, nice! I'll see if I can find her before I leave."

"She isn't difficult to find." I smirked. "Look for the blue hair and horns, you can't miss her."

"She sounds very pretty." said Allison firmly. "Horns aren't as rare as you might think, there's plenty of beast people living in Castella. I'll probably see some when I go."

"For that year of study thing, right? What is that (ouch) anyway?"

"Oh, that? It's been a tradition ever since the kingdom was founded. When a person turns sixteen, after the next harvest season they go to live in the capital for a year. You learn, and study, and train, and at the end you get your official totem and become recognized as an adult!"

Beast People? Training? Totems?

Getting information from this chick was like fighting a hydra: every answer spawned at least two questions, and I was feeling less like Hercules every passing moment. Unfortunately, Allison didn't sense my weakness and prattled on relentlessly.

"You look like you're about sixteen, I wonder if they'll let you come this year?" she shrugged. "They'd better decide soon, the harvest will be over in a few days... I can't wait for Shaman Feast!"

I felt my will to live fading rapidly.

"And after that, there's the Great Bee Hunt! We might even get a few adventurers coming to help us out!"

Mother… I’m coming home.

"Finally, when the bees are all taken care of, there's our town's signature Forewinter Festival! The ice wielders get together and..."

Stop... Please....

But it was too much plot. Blood rushed to my head, and I passed out.