Lynals milled about a courtyard which abutted a park. Wooden kiosks lined the streets in front of buildings. The kiosks were empty, and some had shut umbrellas standing upright. Of the buildings across the park, shops occupied the lowest level: a wine shop, a bindery, a bakery, and a foods emporium.

  Scott slowed as he walked by the foods emporium front doors. He darted a hand out, grasped a knob, and twisted. The brass cold knob moved perceptibly before it clicked to a halt. Scott figured it was locked. Still worth a try.

  Its building was the last on the street. Scott turned the corner, and in the building’s shadow he tried the windows. All were locked. After gazing up and down the empty street, Scott stowed his boots and socks and placed a hand upon the cold stone of the building. Though the wall was vertical, he scaled the stone up to the second floor. The first window was unlocked, and it slid open with a hush. Scott slipped inside, and he shut the window.

  Peering in the darkness, with only the ceiling lit from reflection of starlight and flickering firelight on the street, Scott found himself in a room full of shelves filled with wooden kitchenware.

  He tiptoed across the room, squinted into the dark of the corridor, and located stairs by the lambent light which came in from the first floor windows. He crept down the stairs; a few dry stair steps creaked—which to Scott was amplified.

  The first floor had counters topped with baskets full of food and stacked crates topped with crates filled with hay and food. Not a single item was familiar, but Scott couldn’t pass up the opportunity. He donned his copper ring and filled his inventory with 20 palentes, 20 ursops, 20 onets, 20 lonighs, 20 yerhs, and 20 purpletrus. At least his inventory divulged the names of the foods he swiped.

  “So I can only stack twenty of an item in each inventory slot,” Scott uttered.

  A few extra lonighs went into Scott’s pockets. He swiped up a few purpletruses, and he sank his teeth through the skin of one. Juice sprayed over his tongue; juice dribbled around the wound of the fruit. The flesh beneath the peel was purple, and he could only compare it to a pear and a magenta dragonfruit. He ate even the core before devouring another. Ah, he had gone so hungry!

  Scott devoured a handful more before he returned upstairs, crossed the room of wooden kitchen supplies, climbed out of the window, shut it, and shimmied down to the street. A lynan in the midst of a quick stride turned the corner and headed toward him. Scott crossed the street, and he took up a casual gait toward the library. The lynan paid him no mind and strolled on.

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  Scott’s heart hammered while he walked a few blocks. It eased after that, and by the time he reached the library, he had collected himself. He even returned a friendly wave.

  Yet, at the open doors to the library, he felt nervous. Lambent light glowed within, and he saw shelves of books whose bindings alternated in vibrant colors. He allocated one stat point to wisdom.

  Stat point has been allocated to wisdom.

  24 hours remaining to gather experience.

  23:59.

  Feeling no different, Scott strolled into the library. Inside, every few feet down rows of shelves, pedestals held bowls of lambent crystals. They gave off a soft hazy white.

  Cloth moved upon cloth. The strands of a feather whispered together. A drop of ink splattered upon paper. A quill clicked upon wood; a feather brushed upon wood. A male throat cleared.

  “Good night,” said the lynan who’d been sitting at a long table a few paces beside the entrance. “I am Argan, welcome back; if this is your first time then welcome in. Everything is in the noble language, when you increase your intelligence stat, you may discern the spines until you open a book, at which point only that book will you discern. Upon borrowing a volume, I’ll need your badge.”

  “Thank you,” said Scott.

  Argan plucked a scroll from a pot upon a pedestal by the desk. His robes hid his legs, and he glided across the floor. He proffered the scroll.

  “Everything is mapped in here. Do let me know if I may assist you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Argan was an older lynan. His crow’s feet spread around the round of his cheeks, and the corners of his eyebrows, eyelids, and eyes drooped. He seem to exude curiosity from the middle of his raised brows while his eyes seemed to see from a daze.

  Scott perceptibly bowed, and then he turned.

  “Excuse me,” said Argan.

  Scott halted. “Yes, sir?”

  “Where are you from? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Way north.” North, for there was nothing but sea in every other cardinal direction.

  “Where north?”

  “Everywhere. I’ve been all over wherever a wanderer is welcome.”

  “I see. Have you been to Eirdam before?”

  “First time.”

  “I cannot discern your dialect.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  “Very well, enjoy the library.”

  Scott perceptibly nodded, and unraveled his library map.

  “One more thing,” said Argan, and he glided closer. “When did you arrive?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Interesting. Have you had any run-ins with the new wave?”

  “Saw some humans, but they were captured and taken south.”

  “So it's true. The new minions are humans.”

  “Well, they’re not undead trolls this time.”

  Argan smiled. “Yes. I suppose not. These are a much more troublesome sort of minion, wouldn’t you say?”

  “They can be trouble, for sure.”

  It was Argan who bowed perceptibly. He turned, and he glided back to his table.

  The paper of his library map crinkled as he uncurled it. Sections were neatly labeled, everything was arranged alphabetically, and the rows of shelves stretched from one side of the map to the other.

  With only two mind fortification potions, if they were fortification potions to begin with, Scott’s options were limited. Ah, what two books would he study? What would help him survive?