(Charles)

  Twelve hours ter…

  Charles had plotted several ways to hahe strange man, all simple but, unfortunately, lethal. Lag the information needed for a nohal approach, he made do with what he had, as always.

  Most people talked when sharing a meal; one reason he avoided eating with others. Forced social iions were an invenience most of the time, but he’d make an exception if he beed. Relying on the lengthy nighttime walk and daytime rest to stimute the man’s appetite, he would use the opportunity to get answers and adapt accly.

  He remained cautious on the road, keeping enough distaween himself and the Ebonscale riders to ehey stayed ahead. Running into them again in Dartmouth was still a risk, but by theeo have more information—and a pn.

  No other travelers had crossed his path today, which suited him perfectly. Arriving after the festivals and before the harvest meant avoiding the usual crowds—just as pnned. With only one more turn of the clock before darkness fell, the ces of entering anyone else were slim.

  Few dared to travel after dark, but Charles was an exception. Darkness roubled him; with Proprioception, he could sense his surroundings as clearly with or without daylight. The bramble spawn, like him, thrived in the night.

  For another quarter turn of the clock, Charles immersed himself in the sounds of the wilderness. Tiny, feathered raptors exged sharp chirps and whistles, their calls a lonely bid for partnership. From somewhere near, a chorus of croaks rose up, likely from a pond. But it was the rhythmic trill of is—syng perfectly with the temperature drop—that most captured his attention.

  Charles guided the arborhearth off to the side of the road. As the bramble spawn sehe creeping darkness, their hooves responded by sprouting roots that burrowed deep into the bare ground, seg them in pce.

  He mentally unlocked the door before hopping down from the driver’s box and walking to the right side of the carriage. Pulling open the oval door, he stepped into the pitch-bck —a natural effect of all dark magic abilities. It never bothered him; Proprioception allowed him to navigate as easily as sight would.

  The 's yout currently featured a hallway dividing two rooms—one for ste and the other serving as both his bedroom and workshop. He could ge the yout whenever hough with only a quarter of the ste room filled, he saw no reason to separate his sleeping quarters from his workspace.

  If he ever needed more ste, a simple mental and would shift the walls, rooms, and all their tents to make space. The ’s interior was fihough; expanding one area always required shrinking another.

  Charles stood in the bedroom doorway. He frowned, sensing that Dyn y sprawled on the floor, just an arm’s length away from the bed. He’d missed it entirely, sleeping soundly in his boots and all his clothes, utterly unaware of the disfort.

  “Dyn,” Charles called out. He waited a beat, but the man only snored in response, pletely oblivious.

  “Dyn,” he called again, but still got no response. Charles sighed, taking a deep breath before finally shouting, “Dyn!”

  Dyn’s head jerked up, his sudden gasp cutting off his snores.

  “Present,” Dyn muttered, his voice thick with fusio up abruptly, wiping a hand down his face before stretg, arms thrown high above his head. Both elbows cracked loudly. “Sorry,” he added with a groggy chuckle. “Had that high school dream again.”

  Charles watched as Dyn’s head swiveled in the dark, clearly disoriented and searg for some sense of dire.

  “I couldn’t find any lights,” Dyn grumbled, rubbing his eyes with both hands.

  “There aren’t any,” Charles said, ft as ever.

  Dyn turoward Charles’ voice; his fusion evident. “How do you see in here?”

  “I manage,” Charles replied coolly, not feeling the o expin further.

  Dyn blinked rapidly, clearly struggling to adjust to the pitch-bck . “Is it safe now?” he asked, his voicertain.

  “Safe enough,” Charles replied curtly, before switg topics. “Are you hungry?” His curiosity about Dyn’s adventure simmered beh the surface, but he knew better than to push too soon.

  “I’m starving,” Dyn said, as if on cue, his stomach growling loudly in agreement.

  “That’s…” Charles hesitated, w if starvi something different where Dyn came from. “Highly unlikely.”

  “That’s fair,” Dyn said, pg a hand on his stomad sighiedly. He then began the arocess to push himself off the floor.

  “Do you need help?” Charles asked, though he already suspected the answer.

  “Probably. you give me a hand?” Dyn asked, reag up like a child. Charles pulled him to his feet but paused when Dyn didn’t let go. After a brief, awkward moment, Dyn whispered, still holding onto Charles’ hand, “Which way is the door?”

  ‘He’s blind in the dark,’ Charles noted, ‘That’s... unfortunate.’ Having lived with Proprioception for decades, he had fotten how helpless others were without it. With a firm grip, he led Dyn out of the bedroom, down the hall, and through the oval door.

  ‘I’ll o get a portable light source,’ Charles mused. He’d never needed one before, but circumstances had ged. Dartmouth would have something. He disliked being unprepared even more than he disliked having guests.

  “Sacred excrement,” Dyn muttered, ing his neck as he stepped through the door. He blinked in awe. “I thought it art of the dream… You’ve got a stable box—it’s actually bigger on the inside!"

  It was obvious this was Dyn’s first time entering an arborhearth. Charles couldn’t help but feel a faint, fleeting satisfa at the man’s awe.

  “It’s not a municipality vehicle; it’s an arborhearth,” Charles corrected, though he didn’t bme Dyn for his ignorance—arborhearths were exceptionally rare.

  “I’m sorry,” Dyn said, pausing to process. “Did you say this is a treehouse?” His eyes darted betweeerior shell and the hallway inside, as if struggling to recile the two.

  “No, it’s not a treehouse,” Charles repeated with patience. “It’s an arborhearth.”

  “That’s what I said,” Dyn insisted, his brow furrowing in fusion. Then he paused, suddenly realizing something. “Hey, you old me your name.” He poi Charles, as if just remembering.

  That was iional, of course. Charles saw the value in being cordial with Dyn—there lenty of information he needed from the man. In his experience, freely given information teo be far more accurate. Interrogation and force too ofteo skewed facts, with people telling him only what they thought he wao hear. Still, there were times when properly applied persuasion had its uses.

  “My name is Charles,” he said simply, nothing more.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Charles,” Dyn said with aig smile, stepping closer aending his hand for Charles to take.

  Charles stared at the offered proposal. Unsure what to do, his mind briefly scrambling to determihe proper response. He settled on a polite, “No thank you.”

  ‘We just met…’ Charles erplexed by Dyn’s abrupt forwardness.

  Charles prided himself on being a meticulous pnner, but even he hadn’t ated for the possibility of being hit on. Dyn’s sudden shift from formal to familiar, bined with his ued fidence, uled him. Not to mention, the elven form wasn’t to his taste—he found the drai far more intriguing.

  “Okay…” Dyn awkwardly pulled his hand back after a brief, unfortable pause. He gnced down at his hand, unsure what to do with it now.

  Thinking of his kettle, False Emperor’s teapot, two mugs, and tws of fk, Charles swung open the et. Everythied ly otom shelf, just as he’d expected. He retrieved the items ahem on top of the closed chest lid, just below.

  After closing the et, Charles pictured his box of peppermint tea—his favorite—and the small vial of clear liquid he’d picked up long ago. He reopehe et, and both items appeared otom shelf.

  Charles set the box of peppermint tea beside the tea set and opehe tin. The copper infuser y inside, exactly where it should be. With practiced precision, he filled the infuser and draped it into the teapot.

  “Gather some wood for a campfire,” Charles ordered, gng at Dyn. “And stop scratg—it only makes it worse.

  Dyn stopped scratg and instead rubbed his palms up and down his thighs, trying to soothe the irritation.

  “I uh…” Dyated, standing up slowly and gng around. “Yeah, okay. Sticks. I’ll find some sticks.”

  Dyn spun around and headed off, pig a random dire. Charles listened as he tromped through the dry underbrush, snapping sticks underfoot with every clumsy step.

  ‘Easily distracted,’ Charles noted, watg Dyn disappear into the underbrush. Once he was alone, Charles turned his attention to the task at hand. He poured the vial into the lower chamber of the teapot, then positiohe kettle uhe arborhearth’s spigot and filled it with fresh water. The bramble spawn’s roots ehe reservoir was always full.

  Charles retrieved two short stools. Though rough and unfihey were sturdy—products of his own hands, fashioned during his attempts at carpentry. Lag the skills to craft a folding table himself, he set up the store-bought one beside the stools.

  Dyn came back, lugging a single freshly fallen log. It was damp, oversized, and pletely unsuitable for the small campfire Charles had in mind.

  “Where do you want it?” Dyn asked early, holding the log as if he hadn’t realized its absurdity. Charles k wasn’t a prank—Dyn looked far too proud for that.

  ‘Utterly helpless,’ Charles thought with a silent sigh.

  “Put that back,” Charles instructed firmly. “I’ll hahe fire.”

  Dyed visibly, tossing the log behind him with a heavy thump. Meanwhile, Charles crouched low, gathering an armful of the small, dry sticks scattered around them.

  ‘Techtropolian?’ Charles mused as he arrahe sticks. ‘Pusible. But any local would know how to build a basic campfire and take care of themselves when traveliween towns.’ Off-worlder seemed more likely.

  Charles tried to imagine a world without normal to overrun by industry, markets, and automation, where basic survival skills were unnecessary. It sounded like a horrible, unsustainable p.

  “Ever had fk before?” Charles asked, fully aware it was unlikely. He wasn’t one for small talk, but he made the effort, however clumsy it felt.

  Fog on the ter of the stacked sticks, Charles swallowed, loosening the iron grip he usually kept on his emotions. He unlocked the cage around his heart and allowed himself to mentally step bato his time at Ebonscale. Those memories were locked away for a reason, only released when they served him—and only for a short time. It was easy for the anger, pain of betrayal, or even guilt to overwhelm him.

  Rage fred within him, quickly esg his trol. Wisps of smoke appeared first, followed by a sudden burst of fme that ed the tinder in an instant. The sticks ignited just as Charles regained trol, log the fire—and his emotions—bato pce. The fmes settled into a steady dance as he cut off their fuel.

  To Dyn, the pile of sticks had spontaneously erupted into fmes, causing him to stumble ba surprise.

  “Sacred excrement!” Dyn excimed, pointing to the fire. “Did you see that?”

  Charles’ [Hot-blooded] was the passive from his Fire framework; mundane fire reacted to his emotions— it also provided a minor resistao fire. Initially, he’d worried that dles and campfires might expose him, but over time, he learo trol his emotions. Now, Hot-blooded had bee a tool, and tools were always useful.

  Charles ignored Dyn’s outburst, quietly driving the pot hanger into the ground beside the fire. With practiced ease, he twisted the arm so the hook hovered over the fmes and hung the kettle on it. Settling onto his stool, he watched the fire’s gentle flicker against the bottom of the metal pot.

  Dyn’s gaze shifted to the square loaves ed in white kraft paper oable. “Is that fk?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

  “Yes.”

  “Never heard of it,” Dyn admitted with a shrug. “But I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.”

  Charles wasn’t sure what a horse was, but that didn’t matter—fk was all he had, and in his mind, it was superior to all other food. Magically infused, it fulfilled every dietary requirement and was universally digestible by all races, transmuting calories into the precise nutrients each body needed.

  Fk could be eaten alone or alongside other food, supplementing any deficies and burning off excess. But Charles found it hard to uand the need for inferior, unnecessary meals. The idea of stopping to eat multiple times a day seemed ineffit—a single serving of fk sustained him until the day.

  Charles found it unbelievable how much time people wasted on food—preparing meals, setting the table, eating, and then washing up—only to repeat the whole process a few hours ter.

  Though fk required a kit for preparation, Charles had his own mana-sieve—the only non-standard tool he needed. A couple of days spent making a rge batch would st him for years, a perfectly effit system.

  Fk was the only remnant of Charles’ family—a recipe passed down and the sole thing he was allowed to keep from before his time at Ebonscale. Though the scrap of paper was tattered and inplete, he’d mao piece together enough of the recipe to bake fk for himself, preserving that small part of his past.