Chapter 3: Chapter 3 — We Use Couriers

The two boys walked in silence, boots crunching over brittle grass and soft-packed soil. Liam kept a steady pace, letting the stillness settle over them like a blanket, but Peter fidgeted at his side, eyes flicking between every distant shape on the horizon.

The land rolled gently in all directions. Hills and rises veiled in green, patches of moss and low shrubs breaking up the endless stretches of grass. Birds chirped overhead, but not from trees. There were no trees. Just stalks of strange, fibrous reeds that cast long shadows in the afternoon sun.

A herd of something grazed far off to the east. Their backs were hunched, their necks long and twitchy, like giant insects pretending to be deer. Peter stared at them a little too long, visibly unnerved.

“So, uh,” he ventured, “is it just me, or do the deer here look like rejected poh-kay-mohn designs?”

Liam grunted.

“Right,” Peter muttered. “Fantasy world. No poh-kay-mohn.”

He caught Liam’s sideways glance and tried to smile. “They’re like… magical animals from stories. Kar-tunes… Never mind.”

Liam didn’t respond, but his frown deepened slightly. He couldn’t decide whether the strange boy’s references were jokes, lies, or signs of brain damage. Maybe all three.

No words followed as the two picked up the pace, the silence broken by the occasional buzz of insects, animals in the distance, and the gasp for breath as the two walked quickly. Peter looked like he had more to ask, more to say, but held his silence, Liam setting the pace so they could return to the safety of the city as soon as possible.

By mid-afternoon, they’d left the shadow of the hills and entered a wide basin of open green, its expanse marred by occasional boulders strewn about. The only thing overhead were clouds and moons. There were two tonight, pale and waxy in the still-blue sky. Their light would grow stronger after dusk. A lucky night. Not the darkest.

Liam gestured toward a cluster of stones near the edge of a dried streambed. “We’ll rest there. Too open otherwise.”

Peter nodded, though his steps had grown heavier. His shirt clung to his back with sweat, and he winced each time his boots sank a little into the soft earth. He hadn’t complained yet, but Liam could feel the questions bubbling behind his silence.

Once they reached the stones, Liam dropped his pack and began clearing a spot. He handed Peter a flask of water and took stock of what little he had. No fuel, of course. The coal he had would be needed for his steamgraft. Just some jerky, a handful of dried fruit, and a bit of flatbread wrapped in wax cloth.

Peter gulped water and flopped onto the grass. “So. Where’s the bathroom?”

Liam stared at him.

Peter pointed vaguely off to one side. “You know, like… toilet? Outhouse? Portal to the poop dimension?”

“That way,” Liam said, deadpan, pointing in the opposite direction.

“Got it.” Peter held up two fingers in salute and leaned back against a rock. He didn’t get up. “I was mostly joking. Kind of. Ugh, I miss toilets.”

Liam pulled out the single bedroll from his pack. He unrolled it without ceremony, then looked at Peter.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Sharing?”

Liam said nothing.

“...Right.” Peter tugged his jacket tighter. “Good thing I like camping.”

As Liam prepared the meal, Peter leaned over slightly, his tone less flippant now. “Hey. I’ve been meaning to ask... your arm. The mechanical one. Did that… happen in a fight?”

Liam didn’t look up. “Sort of.”

“Oh.”

The silence stretched uncomfortably. Peter cleared his throat. “It’s just kind of badass. In a gritty kind of way.”

Liam said nothing.

“I mean, not that it’s cool that it happened. I just meant it looks—”

“I was born with two arms,” Liam said quietly. “That’s all.”

Peter blinked. “Right. Got it. Sorry.”

Dinner resumed in silence.

Liam tore the flatbread in half and passed a piece to Peter, along with a strip of jerky and a handful of dried blackberries. They chewed in silence, passing a canteen filled with water that tasted as though it had been sitting in rusted pipes.

“Okay, seriously,” Peter said between bites, “is this… it? You guys don’t have like… soup? Seasoning? Something not made out of old shoe leather?”

Liam blinked slowly. A moment passed as he took in Peter’s words. “That is seasoned.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at the jerky. “I think I tasted regret and despair. Maybe a hint of roadkill.”

Liam gave him a flat look.

Peter sat up, rubbing his arms. “Anyway. I’ve been trying to get this magic stuff to work since I got here. I thought that thing back in the cave was a fluke, but if I do have a class, shouldn’t I be able to, you know… do something cool?”

Liam chewed his last piece of bread and swallowed. “Depends.”

“On what?”

He sighed. “Magic takes focus. Time. Most spells take ten seconds or less, but they need something to anchor them. Words, gestures, sometimes an object. You said you’re a minstrel?”

“Yeah. Music’s kind of my thing.”

“Then try playing. That might be your focus.”

Peter blinked, then reached for his lute. “Seriously? That’s it?”

Liam shrugged. “It’s what they taught at the Academy.”

Peter looked thoughtful. “Okay, well, guess it’s worth a shot.”

He adjusted his grip on the instrument and took a deep breath. His fingers hovered over the strings. The silence stretched.

Liam raised an eyebrow. “What are you waiting for?”

"...I’ve never actually played before. The goddess said that it would come with my class. But what if it doesn’t work?” Peter answered hesitantly before adding, “Plus, I don’t even know what song to play. What song makes what sort of magic? What if I start playing and summon a dragon or something?”

Liam stared at him flatly. “What level did you say you were?”

“Right,” Peter responded, muttering a quick “status" beneath his breath and studying the empty air before him. “Well, at this low level I probably won’t be summoning any dragons.” A sigh escaped him before he concentrated on the lute once more before letting his hands glide across its strings to conjure a slow, meandering melody.

It was unfamiliar. Nothing Liam had ever heard before. The notes were light, almost wistful, with a sadness buried beneath their warmth.

Five seconds passed.

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Then six.

Peter’s brow furrowed. His eyes closed. He didn’t falter.

On the eighth second, a breeze rose from nowhere, curling through the grass. A faint shimmer sparked in the air around Peter’s hands. Light. Gentle, golden.

Liam’s breath caught.

By the tenth second, the light had gathered into a soft halo, pulsing with the rhythm of the song. Then, just as quickly, it faded.

Peter lowered his hands, blinking. “Did that… happen?”

Liam said nothing.

Peter looked at him. “Was that real?”

Still silence.

The envy hit like a punch. Liam managed not to flinch. Not to look away. But inside, something old and raw twisted deep in his gut.

Peter looked down at his fingers. “Holy crap. I did magic.”

Liam made a noise in his throat. “Barely.”

Peter beamed. “Still counts.” he said before slumping back on the grass, grinning up at the twilight sky. “I’m a wizard, Harry.”

Liam shook his head, more tired than annoyed.

But in the corner of his vision, the boy’s glow lingered. Even with the light gone, he radiated something strange. Presence, maybe. A sense of belonging. Of purpose. Of a place within the world, even if he didn’t know what it was yet. Something deep and purposeful, beyond the glowing tattoos that radiated a faint light from his skin.

Liam didn’t have that. Any of it. Not the magical tattoos of a godborn. Not the magic of someone who had a class. Not the aura that protected the classed from minor injuries. And, perhaps most importantly, not the intent of action nor the sense of belonging.

And he didn’t know if he ever would.

Peter had been staring into space for several minutes now—eyes glazed, lips occasionally moving as if he were reading from a page only he could see.

Liam sat nearby, leaning against one of the broad stones that ringed their camp. The fireless night settled over them in shades of cold green and silver, the glow of only two moons flickering against the short grass. One was nearly full with a pale green luster. The other a curled sliver, bright enough to cast a second ghost of Peter’s form against the rock.

The pain was back. Liam could feel it crawling through his shoulder, down into the meat of his upper arm. The plasm had dulled it before, but that was gone. Every movement now sent fire beneath his skin. He tried to ignore it. That was the only option.

Peter suddenly sat up straighter. “Okay. This is wild.”

Liam kept his voice low. “What is?”

“My stats. They're all listed—Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Intelligence, Wisdom, Charisma. Whole interface. Looks clean, kind of old school.”

Liam didn’t know what “old school” meant, but he didn’t ask.

Peter continued, oblivious. “I can break them down too. Strength, for example—there’s separate readouts for muscle groups. Upper body, grip strength, leg drive, core torque.”

Liam pressed his hand to the edge of his bandage and winced. The wound was weeping, just a little. Not infected yet, but it would need a proper cleaning once they got back to the city.

He said nothing.

Peter leaned back, arms behind his head. “No idea what half of it means, but it’s kind of awesome.”

“You said ten was average?” Liam asked after a pause.

“Yeah. Seems to be the baseline for humans.”

Liam shifted. “Why ten?”

Peter furrowed his brow, refocused on whatever invisible display he was reading. “Hold on... let me check.”

Liam closed his eyes for a moment, trying to breathe through the ache. His shoulder throbbed in waves now, pulsing with his heartbeat. He flexed his fingers and felt the muscles twitch wrong under the strain.

“Here we go,” Peter said. “It says ten is the median value for each species. Not across all species—just relative. So a ten in Strength for a human is human-average. A ten for a dwarf is dwarf-average, which might be stronger.”

Liam blinked at him. “You know about dwarves?”

Peter hesitated. “I mean… they’re a pretty classic fantasy race. Kind of guessed.”

Liam stared at him a second longer than necessary. “I thought you didn’t know anything about the world.” It wasn’t exactly an accusation.

“I didn’t. I mean, I don’t. But it seemed to fit? I dunno,” Peter ended lamely with a shrug as his eyes continued to scan the text only he could read.

Perhaps a minute passed before Peter spoke again. “Oh—and decimals. There’s a toggle. I can see values to two decimal places if I want.”

“Why would that matter?”

“Because I now know I’m not just fifteen in Charisma. I’m fifteen point eight seven.” He grinned. “Practically irresistible.”

Liam shifted his weight, suppressing a grunt. The motion made the wound pull. He could feel the gauze beginning to soak.

“Let me try—oh. Huh. I… I can’t believe that worked!” he looked at Liam expectantly, trying to bait the other boy to ask the obvious question.

Liam winced at the pain as he shifted against the bedroll which only marginally cushioned him against the hard ground. A beat passed, then another before he relented, and asked the obvious question. “What worked?” he ask in a flat tone.

“Well, why did it pick these ability scores? It doesn’t make sense, right? Since there are so many possible ones. Apparently, it’s because I expected for those to be the default. But I was able to change it! Now it’s Strength, Perception, Endurance, Charisma, Intelligence, Agility and Luck. SPECIAL! Get it? And…" his eyes flickered rapidly, “Now it’s a three by three list! Physical, mental, social, split first into Intelligence, Wits, and Resolve, then Strength, Dexterity, and Stamina, and finally Presence, Manipulation, and Composure!”

Liam felt his eyes roll unconsciously at Peter’s enthusiasm, feeling anger and resentment bubble within him. “Does that mean that you’re not a minstrel anymore? Maybe all those replaced your class too?” he asked, a snide tone in his voice.

“Nope! Just means I can customize how my stats are represented. Looks like the original way makes most sense though, so I’ll keep it that way,” he announced, entirely unfazed by Liam’s remark.

A few minutes passed as Peter continued to investigate the depths of his system before he spoke up again.

“Try the system again,” his voice suggested, softer now.

Liam didn’t answer.

“I’m serious,” Peter continued. “The party invite worked. That has to mean something. Maybe it just needs a second ping.”

“I’ve tried,” Liam said quietly, his mind returning to the hours of walking. “More times than I care to count.”

Peter frowned. “But—”

“It still says the same thing,” Liam cut in. “That it lacks a … power source. Or something.” he ended lamely, glowering into the dark.

The silence that followed stretched too long. Peter opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Eventually, he shifted topics. “So… we should take turns on watch or something, right?”

Liam looked up at the moons. “Not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“We’re close enough to the city. Daventry. It’s big enough that few things get close without being detected and subjugated by the Guild. This basin was probably warded and cleared by a guild sweep months ago. There’s nothing big left out here.”

Peter didn’t look convinced. “You sure?”

“No.” Liam adjusted the steam pressure in his arm, just enough to keep the boiler primed. “But a harmonic typhoon passed through this region two months back. Most wildlife would’ve scattered or died. Nothing’s resettled yet.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “A what kind of typhoon?”

“Harmonic. Wild magic storm. Anything with magic in it, just takes it and scrambles it. Too much noise and power for just about anything to survive in its path. Best to run if you don’t have shelter. That’s what animals do.”

Peter rubbed his arms and looked at the open sky. “And we’re sleeping here?”

Liam shrugged. “Better odds than most nights.”

Peter exhaled, then adjusted the coat he’d been using as a blanket. “It’s still weird. All of it.”

“Which part?”

“Everything. This place. You. Me. Giant rats and strength breakdowns by muscle group. I haven’t seen a single tree since we left the cave.” He chuckled softly. “You know what I miss?”

“No.”

“Hot showers. Electric blankets. Burgers. Sleepovers. Phones.”

“What’s that?”

“A phone?”

“Yeah. What is it?”

Peter smiled faintly. “It lets you talk to someone far away. Hear their voice. See their face. Send them a picture of your cat.”

Liam considered that. “We use couriers.”

“Right. But those take time.”

“They work.” Liam didn’t know if he was arguing simply to be contrarian, or if he felt like he had to defend his country from Peter’s criticism.

Peter didn’t argue, remaining silent and letting the argument go.

The cold crawled closer. Liam adjusted the pressure valve on his boiler, setting it to a low idle. Just enough to keep the pump from locking, not enough to waste fuel. The warmth that usually spread down his shoulder was barely noticeable now.

His left side pulsed with low, steady pain.

“Thanks,” Peter said, his voice small under the open sky.

“For what?”

“For not leaving me back there. In the tunnel.”

“I couldn’t just leave you after you gave me such a wonderful gift. A whole system to see my stats and track my progression. Sounds like a dream, right?” Liam asked rhetorically, the sardonic edge in his voice unmistakable.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I thought it would work.”

Peter lay back and stared at the moons. “Still. Thanks.”

Liam didn’t respond.

Peter turned to his side, curling around the lute. He didn’t say anything else. Eventually his breathing slowed.

Liam remained awake long after. His fingers throbbed where skin had split earlier. His arm ached like the bone inside was rotting. But he didn’t shift. Didn’t groan.

Didn’t complain.

Pain was temporary. It had always been.

So was everything else.

In the distance, something moved beneath the earth.