Claire crossed her legs and rested her face in her hands as she contemplated the goddess’ identity. She was not entirely unfamiliar with the concept of the eternal flow. Her tutor had often mentioned it in some capacity or other, but she recalled few specifics, and the goddess’ name was not among them. She was certainly to blame, given the little attention she paid to Allegra’s lectures, but the fault was not entirely her own. Her countrymen cared little for the concept and its lord.

Even obscenely powerful gods were often ignored in regions beyond the scope of their influence. The god of the abyssal depths, for example, was scarcely named in most landlocked countries, his blessings and condemnations forgotten by all but bards, clergymen, and scholars.

Only a small handful of deities reigned over concepts that were universally acknowledged and most more notorious than widely worshipped. Vella, the goddess of war, was hated by wives from all corners of society. She was often mocked for being a lustful harlot who stole dutiful husbands from their families. Flitzegarde, the goddess of order, was decried as a prude stickler for the rules that would readily offer up her own kin if the laws demanded. And Builledracht, the god of curses, was labelled an eccentric degenerate that drew pleasure from the suffering of others. None were particularly liked, but they were certainly widely known, even more reputable than the goddess of the harvest and the divine collective of art and song.

On the opposite side of the spectrum were gods that presided over specific topics, areas, or groups. The god of the inner flame, for one, was a well-documented case that revealed himself only to those already in tune with his ideals.

Claire suspected that her patron belonged to the second subset, but it was difficult to say, given her knowledge of the concept. Whatever the case, she was left with a single pressing question. Why?

Her mother had never mentioned the flow or its goddess—she likely was just as unknown in Sthenia as it was in Cadria. It didn’t make much sense. Claire should have, by all means, been born under Vella’s star, like her father, or Krebb’s, like her mother.

Congratulations. You have been blessed by the ever-lovely goddess of the eternal flow. This is a rare privilege that few will ever experience. Frankly, you are undeserving.

A sudden voice cut her contemplation short. The goddess spoke directly into her head as a box popped up in front of her. The text was condescending, but the voice was flat, completely devoid of emotion.

This blessing’s effect is so very simple that even you may be capable of understanding it. Your log is now fitted with a voice module. You will no longer need to read any entries. All of them will be spoken to you in my voice. Please be aware that this feature cannot be disabled. May you never forget to whom it is that you belong.

“Thanks, Box. I hate it already,” muttered Claire. She breathed a tired sigh as she pressed a hand to her pulsing head. “One curse was bad enough. Now I have to deal with two?”

She continued to groan as she opened her status and assigned out her points. A solution had come to her in the middle of the night; conjuring was her first priority. Her new mage class had already proven itself useful, and the stat was nearing a breakpoint—reaching 100, 250, 500, and other similar values would increase the efficiency of the associated ability score—and the bonuses provided by her Llysteltein rewiring had brought her incredibly close.

By bringing her conjuring from 243 to 250, she raised her mana capacity from 938 to 1329. The remaining points were thrown into vitality. She didn’t like how close the bird had come to killing her in one hit.

A sense of malaise spread throughout the pit of her stomach as she eyed the spirit guardian spell, but she cast it nonetheless. Passing the magic formula through her body, she summoned her so-called protector.

To her dismay, the entity formed was long and thin. Its body was coiled around her shoulder, with its face poking out from the pit of her arm.

“Hey.”

The snake spoke to her even though it was supposed to be nothing more than a figment of her imagination. She could feel its weight and its rage in equal proportions. The urge to kill welled up within her body, growing until she cancelled the spell and returned the spirit to the void.

“Why would you dismiss me!? Summon me again! Summon me right now!” The make-believe predator poofed back into existence, right where it had vanished. But its form was incorporeal, devoid of the undeniable physicality that had accompanied its previous advent.

“Shut up,” said Claire. “You’re not allowed to be real.” She waved the danger noodle away and clutched her head in her hands. “Shoulder snakes aren't real. Shoulder snakes are not real. Shoulder snakes named Shouldersnake are definitely not real.”

Still repeating the mantra, the halfbreed grabbed a random cloak and began cutting away at the cloth. She punched a few holes in the hood to ensure its breathability before trimming it down to a more suitable size.

Her ears caught signs of movement right as she picked up a second cloak. Rapid light footsteps approached the den, culminating in the form of a fox sticking its head through the entrance.

“Wow! You’re up early,” said Sylvia.

“Not particularly,” said Claire. She couldn’t discern the exact time from within the tunnel, but the sunlight lacked the colour that would have accompanied an early morning awakening. “Are we leaving soon?”

“Huh?” The fox blinked exactly three times. “If we weren’t going to make it by nightfall earlier, then there’s no way we’re gonna make it if we leave now.”

There was a moment of silence as the halfbreeds exchanged confused stares.

“I slept,” said Claire. “And the world flipped. That means it’s time to go.”

“You only slept for like three hours!” said Sylvia.

The half-snake flicked her tongue. “I thought it flipped at dawn and dusk.”

“It does! But then it flips again at second dusk.”

“Second dusk?”

“Oh, crap! I totally forgot to tell you how days around here work.” The vixen drew three lines in the dirt and pointed at the first with her paw. “So flips happen like every twelve hours. If it’s night, then it’s always gonna turn to day.” She shifted her paw from the first line to the second. “But it doesn’t go back to night again right after. The sun always rises again after it sets the first time. And then it finally goes back to night when it sets again.”

Claire blinked. “That’s stupid.”

“Really?” Sylvia tilted her head. “It seems pretty normal to me.”

“There’s no reason for it to be set up like that.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s so people aren’t always on the same side at night,” said Sylvia. “Anyway! We just started the second day part, so we’re gonna have to wait until night again and then wake up the morning after.”

“Fine.” Claire frowned. “Then I’ll stay put until it’s morning.”

“You sure you don’t wanna go exploring or something?”

The bluescale shook her head. It wasn’t the worst suggestion. A brief exploration of the environment made for an excellent way to leverage her newfound freedom, but she wasn’t in the mood.

“Well, uh, mmkay, I guess,” said Sylvia. “I’m not gonna stay down here, but I’ll still be around, so just shout if you need me for anything, okay?”

Nodding, Claire returned her eyes to the object in her hands and continued her scissor work. The second cloak, like the first, was quickly trimmed down to size, but the third, a large leather mantle, proved far less cooperative. It mended itself when she cut into it, reverting to a perfectly undamaged state.

The phenomenon was repeated when she gave it another cut, accompanied by a faint blue glow; the previously invisible symbols sewn into its hem lit up as it was restored, revealing the object’s nature. It was a runecloak, a relic of the past that modern technologies could no longer produce. Every such cloak had exactly two abilities. The first was always self-mending, the ability to fully repair itself from even the smallest of scraps. The second varied from item to item and doubled as the effective measure of its worth.

Her father—a connoisseur of such items—had almost ten of them in his collection, more than most nations possessed in all. Having snuck into his armoury, she vividly recalled each of their effects. There was one that granted flight, another equipped with invisibility, and even one that could generate shockwaves powerful enough to accidentally obliterate the manor.

Excitedly, she threw the magical mantle over her shoulders and channelled her magic through its circuits. She could tell that it was working. The cloak lit up. Its bottom half fluttered, as it would in a gentle breeze. But nothing happened. She tried it again, but the result was always the same.

She begrudgingly admitted her loss after a third, similarly failed attempt. The runecloak she had discovered was a rare dud. Its unique function was to flutter its hem, and its self-healing property ensured that it would never fit without a tailor’s aid.

“Sylvia.” Claire crawled out of the burrow, prompting the fox to pop out of a nearby bush,

“Mhm?” asked the fox, before swallowing the pear in her mouth. “Did you change your mind already?”

“No.” Claire presented the cloak. “Do you know any tailors?”

“Huh? A tailor? Of course not,” she said, with a trio of blinks. “I’m a fox, silly. Foxes don’t wear clothes.”

“That’s indecent,” said Claire, as she begrudgingly threw the cloak back into the burrow.

“No, it’s not! Our fur covers everything!”

“I’m sure it does.” The larger halfbreed returned to the burrow with a sigh. “That’s all I wanted to ask. You can leave now.”

“Mmk. See y—hey, wait a second! I’m not indecent!”

“Whatever you say.”

Determined to put the cloak to some use or other, the grumbling halfbreed rolled it into a pillow, placed her head on top of it, and waited for morning to come.

* * *

The pair set out early the next day. For once, Claire had managed a full night’s sleep devoid of strange dreams and visions. Better yet, she had awoken naturally, roughly an hour before the so-called whisper bombarded her ears. All signs seemed to say that she was on track to being well-rested, but she wasn’t. Her neck hurt whenever she bent it too far, and a dull, aching pain plagued the back of her skull. She had, of course, stabbed the cloak at fault, but its ability to mend only furthered her frustration.

In light of her discomfort, Claire was travelling with minimal luggage. Her club was strapped to her back, and she had scrounged up a few usable antlers, but that was all she had on hand. Everything else had been placed in Sylvia’s burrow, where it would remain safe from the dungeon’s sanitizing systems.

“Hey, Claire?” asked Sylvia, as they departed her home. “Are you sure you wanna go today? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Not looking convinced, the fox walked up to a tall mushroom and plucked one of the smaller caps growing from its stem. “I think you should probably eat one of these. It’s gonna make you feel better.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” Claire reached for the blue-spotted toadstool despite the claim, but she stopped short of grabbing it. “This is another stupid prank, isn’t it?”

“Huh!? O-of course not!” Sylvia shattered as she took half a step back. “W-why would I ever do anything like that!?”

There was a brief moment of silence. Claire raised her hand under her cloak, but Sylvia refused to be captured. She tossed the mushroom at the half-snake’s face and giggled as it exploded into a watery mess.

“Gotcha!” Shouting gleefully, the fox darted off into the forest at top speed. For a moment, it looked like she would run straight into a tree, but there was no impact. Her body phased right through the wood and emerged from the other side.

“Get back here!” A less-than-thrilled, thoroughly-soaked Claire ripped an entire large mushroom out of the ground and lobbed it at the prankster. It exploded against a tree and transformed into a tidal torrent, but the fox remained just as dry as she had in the lake.

“Hey! Watch it!” giggled Sylvia.

“I told you to get back here!”

“No way!”

And so began a game of tag.

The forest changed as they travelled. There was a particularly muddy area with bare trees and large rats, an evergreen thicket packed with bears, and even an awkward hill zone with bumps and valleys on both sides. While the two opposing worlds never met, they often came close. Some of the forest’s hills were so tall that Claire had to duck to keep her head out of the marsh. Likewise, many of the meadow’s extended so far that she had to crawl to evade their soil. In such places, the forest’s trees had no choice but to grow straight through the swamp. Their canopies were buried in the muddy lakes, driven through the marshy soil, but somehow, they were unaffected. They continued to grow and blossom unperturbed. It was almost like they didn’t care that they were more than half submerged.

At the end of the undulating land was a calmer district with a forest of pine. It was not just from the wooded patch that the conifers grew. They came from the mirewood as well, but those rooted in the marsh were largely dried and blackened, shrivelled-up old husks few and far between. And it was there, right where the dungeon changed, that Sylvia finally ground to a halt.

“We’re here! This is one of the places where Mirewood Meadow ends and the best place to find everything and anything related to borroks.” Sylvia turned to face her pursuer. “But before we go into any of that, what’d you think of tag? Fun, right?”

“Not particularly.”

“Oh, come on! I know you loved it just as much as I did!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Claire crossed her arms and turned to face the other direction.

“And you’re probably feeling a lot better now, right? It looked like you weren’t feeling all that great at the start, but you’re not looking nearly as pale anymore.”

The rogue rolled her eyes as she sat down next to the fox. “Yes, I am feeling better, but it has nothing to do with chasing you.”

“Uh huh, I bet,” said Sylvia, with a light giggle. “Now look up there, at the swamp. You see where it drops off?”

It was hard to tell, but there were certainly a few places where the world simply stopped existing. It wasn’t a logical cliff, guided by some landform or other, but a sudden and abrupt stop to the geometry that shaped the world. All that lay beyond was a splotch of empty space, an infinite sky that extended as far as the eye could see.

“Why isn’t any of the water flowing off the edge?”

“I’m not really sure, but it’s kinda neat, huh?”

“A bit.” Claire frowned and furrowed her brow. “Are you sure this is supposed to be Borrok Peak? It doesn’t exactly look like a peak.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re too far back, silly! You’ll see it if you move up a little.”

It was a dubious claim, but stepping forward, Claire found that it was not entirely untrue. A rocky structure appeared where there had been nothing before and extended the barren path. Two massive sloping ramps, made of dark grey stone. Each was curved inwards to form a towering spiral shaped like the horn of a ram. The ends were bent in, with the tips twisted so far that they faced opposite their roots. Only at their pointed tips did the two nearly parallel slabs finally meet.

Taking another step led the structure to move further toward completion. Two additional walls suddenly appeared to its left and right, closing it off from the outside. A third step caused the world around her to turn a shade of grey, while the previously monochrome structure took on a rusted, iron hue.

“This is as far as I can take you,” said Sylvia. “But uhmmm… can I ask you something before I go?”

“What?”

“What do you plan to do when you leave Llystletein?”

The question stopped Claire in her tracks. Her hands dropped to her sides and she closed her eyes, only to slowly open them again as she shook her head. “I don’t know. At least not yet.”

“Huh? Then why’d you come to the library? Aren't you here for power or something?”

Again, the half-lamia shook her head. “It was the only way for me to get away from my father.” She took a deep breath. “He wanted to use me. As a sacrifice.”

“Oh…” The fox’s ears bent forward. “Well, um… I have to go now. I’ll be around when you’re done.”

“How will you know?”

“Trust me, I just will!” The fox, whose orange fur had been dyed a shade of grey, vanished as she took a step back, leaving nothing but her voice behind. “Don’t die!”

“Of course. The only time she actually shuts up is when I want her to keep talking.” A huff escaped her lips as she looked towards the colossal horn, her lips twisted into a frown.

The colossal structure continued warping with her advance. Every step was accompanied by an alteration, a major change that almost seemed to shift the realm itself. The subspace’s primary feature didn’t fully stabilize until she was just a few hundred meters shy of its entrance. The edifice’s size was nothing short of absurd. It towered at something over twenty times the marsh’s height, a feat only made possible by the wetlands’ sudden end. Not even craning her neck as far as it would go allowed her to behold it in all its majesty. No matter how she looked, half the horn remained hidden behind the world.

It was not just her destination that changed with her steps. Flocks of birds, swarms of insects, and packs of wolves phased into existence as the realm behind her turned to dust. It was not in a single space that they resided. They wandered the grasslands and guarded the marsh, with some even daring to brave the infinite skies that lay beyond.

The distortions continued for roughly a hundred steps, ending right as she neared a group of non-avian monsters. Four shelled creatures were crowded around a piece of metal left in the mud overhead.

Looking at them raised a thousand questions in the back of the halfbreed’s mind. Their human-sized skulls seemed to declare them as primates. They had messy hair, chimp-like lips, wrinkly faces, flat noses, and prickly white beards. At the same time, they also had disproportionate cat-like ears, whiskers, and long feline tails. If those were the monsters’ only features, she would have assumed them to be failed catgirls, byproducts of whatever process the head librarian had used to fulfill his fantasies. But they weren’t. The rest of their bodies were beetle-like. They had segmented carapaces, insectoid legs, and bat-like wings hidden beneath their thick chitin shells. Mammalian features aside, their bodies—their thoraxes and abdomens—measured in at roughly half a meter long.

“Their ears are even bigger than mine,” she muttered, with a curious stare.

“Is it finally murder time?” A snake appeared on her shoulder. The silver noodle’s tongue danced gleefully through the air as it raised its body towards the marsh.

“You again.”

“Yes, me again.” The serpent turned around to face her. “Set me loose, Claire. Let me show you what a thousand points of mana can do.”

The half-snake shook her head. “There’s no point with no frame of reference.”

Claire leapt into action as the words left her mouth. She rose from the undergrowth and flung a nearby rock at the closest creature’s face. The perfectly aimed attack left a horrifying dent in the bug-monkey’s skull and sent the poor critter face-first into the mud. The bloody distortion was blatant; its brain was on open display, but the abomination got back to its feet without so much as a moment’s delay.

Hooting angrily like a choir of freakish owls, the foul creatures took to the air and rose to meet her. Their wings buzzed as they whizzed about like a group of bees, hovering at times while rapidly darting around at others. Their evasive maneuvers were impressive but irrelevant; they were frozen in place as soon as she glared.

Log Entry 793
Paralyzing Gaze has reached level 2.

The goddess's voice rang through her mind as the paralyzed monsters plummeted toward the swamp. They recovered after a second, with the injured flockmate the only one that needed extra time. Considering the two-hundred-and-fifty points of mana invested, she almost felt the effect too brief; she would need to draw closer to put it to good use.

The three recovered bugs dove at her with no delay, hissing with their mouths agape and their fangs laid bare. Claire swatted the first out of the sky with an antler and parried the second with a punch, but the third impacted her shoulder and sank its fangs through her cloak.

She grabbed it with a wince, tore it from her flesh, and stabbed it five times before throwing it into a tree. Her attacks were not ineffective. With her strength having passed the three-digit breakpoint, every blow ran the creature through, but it righted itself before it hit the ground and rushed her down again.

One of the uninjured simians dove at her from behind and drove its forehead straight into her spine. It was an impressive tackle, backed by all the speed the bug could muster, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as the halfbreed had expected. The insect was no heavier than a large leather ball; she hadn’t even been knocked off her feet.

Spinning around, Claire drew her mace and smashed it into her assailant’s skull. She chased it before it could fall away and continued with an extended assault; she landed thirteen hits into its torso, swatted its partners away, and whacked it another twenty-five times before finally backing off and observing her handiwork. All but one of its legs was broken, its wings were dismembered, and its skull was caved in. Not even its tail had escaped her wrath. It was unmoving, bent three different ways in three different places. But somehow, it was still alive. The monkey was still using its one good leg to slowly push itself toward her.

Its allies, on the other hand, had finally disengaged. All three of them were hovering at a distance, hooting with more caution than rage. For a moment, she thought herself the cause of their alarm, but she changed her tune when she strained her ears. There was a quiet whirring sound, a high-pitched shrill tone, stemming from the beetle whose body had fused with the ground.

She realized, as she continued to stare, that its form was changing. It was growing rapidly, but not in any reasonable proportion. Every part of its body was simply getting wider and taller without any concern for its intended shape. By the fifth second, the once-squashed bug was already as round as a balloon. A flame appeared at the tip of its tail once the swelling was complete. Fueled by the flesh, the conflagration moved its way down the appendage with gusto.

A sense of impending doom ran through the back of Claire’s mind as she magically lifted the creature off the ground and flung it as far as she could.

Its inflated, insectoid body detonated in midair. A bright yellow fluid violently burst from within its body and ate away at everything in its vicinity. The trees sizzled as their trunks were burned through. The grasses were outright obliterated, with their flowers turned to ash. Even the water seemed to suffer some sort of damage. It bubbled uncontrollably in every affected area and released a noxious steam.

Log Entry 794
You have slain a level 20 borrok.

You have been awarded the following first-kill bonus:
- 1 point of dexterity

Log Entry 795
You have leveled up. Your health and mana have been restored and all harmful status effects have been cleansed.

Your secondary class, Llystletein Vector Mage, has reached level 2.

You have gained 4 ability points.

Only then, after the explosion, did she receive the notification, read to her in a resounding but monotone voice.

It was a curious course of events, but the deceased borrok’s companions gave her no time to mull it over. They resumed attacking shortly after the explosion, even as she warded them off. Vector magic trivialized the encounter—it wasn’t powerful enough to completely change their paths, but she was able to draw them into her swings and delay their attacks by pushing when they charged. Her lack of coordination was the only barrier to their demise. Swinging her club with one hand while pulling a bug towards her with the other was awkward, and she nearly tripped over her own feet both times she tried.

It didn’t take long for a second borrok to swell. Like the first, it didn’t begin the detonation process until she completely destroyed its body. No longer unfamiliar with the outcome, Claire was ready. She waited until the last second before sending it straight into one of its friends. The detonation melted the third monkey’s flesh, completely destroying its head and half its body.

Log Entry 796
You have slain a level 22 borrok.

Log Entry 797
Dagger Mastery has reached level 6.

But even then, what remained of it ballooned. It somehow took on the same round shape as all the others as its tail caught fire. Its final ally scrambled to escape the blast radius, but Claire paralyzed it and yanked it within the explosion’s range.

Log Entry 798
You have slain a level 17 borrok.

Log Entry 799
You have slain a level 24 borrok.

Log Entry 800
You have leveled up. Your health and mana have been restored and all harmful status effects have been cleansed.

Your secondary class, Llystletein Vector Mage, has reached level 3.

You have gained 4 ability points.

“For the love of the gods, Box. Can you please just shut up!?” The halfbreed groaned aloud as she massaged the bridge of her nose.

Log Entry 801
Basic Vector Manipulation has reached level 5.

She held her ears to her head, but the voice was unrelenting, echoing even with all the other sounds blotted out.

Sighing, she continued towards the horn, which quickly revealed that it was not quite as solid as it appeared from afar. It was not a ramp. There was an entrance between its four walls, a massive cave with its lightless interior guarded by an active patrol.