As we strike out into the Drifting Isles, I examine the new stats I earned from my latest level up. Between this and all the glass magic I’ve been doing with Caecius, I’m actually starting to feel like a contributing member of the team.

  [Name: Kanin]

  [Class: Arcane Attendant]

  [Level: 24]

  [HP: 10/10]

  [Temp HP: 362]

  [Mana: 450/450]

  [Role: Homunculus]

  Zyneth is at level 35, according to Echo, and Noli is 31. At my current rate of growth, I’m not far from catching up to those guys now. But Rezira is only 24, and Attiru is 23. I wonder if that’s because they’re not fighters. They both have magic, though, which should level them up no differently from physical combat. Maybe since they’re not part of Echo’s System, their stats are evaluated differently. It’s all so strange.

  The Drifting Isles, however, are beautiful. More bird-sized wyverns swirl in colorful flocks through the air, and small mouse-like creatures that shimmer like precious stones scatter through the grass before us as we walk. Sometimes we hike up rocky paths. Other times we have to climb vines to summit floating boulders. We forge through tall grass, and walk through the empty remains of marble buildings. The path itself is a vertical maze, and more than once we have to turn back when the path of floating rocks unexpectedly doesn’t connect to the next isle we’re trying to reach. At least we don’t run into any predators, ignoring the initial encounter with the amphiptere, (and, okay, the one stuck to my soul). Zyneth assures me, however, they’re around.

  Between casual chats are spans of pleasant silence, everyone within their own thoughts and likely focused on saving their breath. At this altitude, even Zyneth needs to pause and catch his breath every once in a while.

  I use these quiet moments to speak with the predator.

  I can’t keep arguing with you every time we need to separate, I tell it.

  The predator doesn’t know what I mean. We don’t argue every time. It relinquishes control back to me each dawn without dispute.

  Okay, let me be more precise, I think. Any time we fuse during the day, when it’s unexpected. I don’t want to have to fight you at the end of those sessions. You should just hand control back over as soon as I ask.

  The predator grumbles about this. Why? I don’t object when it takes control in the first place.

  Well you usually don’t give me much of a warning or opportunity to object, I point out.

  The predator disagrees. I could still fight it if I wanted to. But since I don’t, I must be okay with it.

  Okay, no. I have a sudden impulse to massage my temples. That’s awful reasoning. We need to work on your concept of ‘consent.’

  But if it needs to ask before a fight, it might be too late. It won’t stand by and let us be attacked.

  Then let’s hash out the details now, I think. Agree to everything in advance. Like the agreement we made with splitting time.

  This intrigues the predator. That means it will have more opportunities to share control?

  Probably, I admit.

  And then, I stop. Out of nowhere, it’s hitting me that I’m agreeing to work with this creature. Not out of compromise or desperation, but because somehow, somewhere along the way, I’ve developed a modicum of trust in it. Perhaps even an understanding. Not that it doesn’t still make me nervous—it certainly does. And I also don’t think it’s developed any semblance of morality. But I can trust it to act consistently, and between that and puzzling out what it’s motivated by, it’s become easier to steer its actions.

  When did this shift take place? And was it a shift in my perspective, or the predator’s actions?

  Maybe both.

  The predator nudges me, noticing I’m distracted. Even that gesture shows how far it’s come. No malice. It’s not yanking my attention back. It’s just waiting to see what my offer is.

  You can jump in if I’m in trouble, I tell it, turning back to the conversation at hand. You’ve already been doing that anyway. But now I’m giving you permission. See the difference?

  No, not particularly.

  Well. So much for the progress I was just giving it credit for.

  But once we’re out of danger, if I want control back, you have to hand it over, I tell it. No arguments. No holding back. I will fight you for it, if I have to, but I’d rather not. Especially considering that might tear more of my memories away.

  The predator mulls this over. What if we are out of danger and I do not ask for control back? Then can we stay merged longer?

  I pause to think this over before responding. There might be cases where just because we’re out of immediate danger doesn’t mean I won’t need the predator’s help. Or if danger is likely to resurface, it could be to our benefit to stay merged.

  Fine, I agree. If I don’t ask for control back then we can continue to share it, whether or not we’re in danger. But as soon as I change my mind, you need to comply.

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  Unlike me, the predator doesn’t need time to think this over before responding. It happily agrees.

  Suspicious that it agreed a little too quickly, I go prodding to figure out why. It wasn’t being deceitful, however; it’s just pleased it will be getting more opportunities to fuse. It believes that this agreement means I will be willing to work with it more frequently. It might not be wrong about that, either.

  Only a few more hours pass before Zyneth calls for us to stop for the day and set up a camp.

  “I think there’s a cave up ahead,” he says, nodding to a rocky hillside. The level we’re on now, (still dishearteningly close to the level we came in on due to all the backtracking), is shaped like a bowl that’s been cut in half. I wonder if this, too, had been part of some ancient structure, now buried beneath greenery and time.

  “No,” Noli signs. “We should avoid caves. It could be another amphiptere lair. We should give it a wide berth and sleep out here—perhaps in one of the building remains.”

  “Won’t that be more exposed?” Attiru asks, nervous.

  “We can take watches,” Noli suggests.

  “That won’t be necessary,” I sign. “I can keep watch the whole night.”

  The predator actually seems to prefer work like this anyway. It had delighted in protecting the Prismatic when we were back in the Emerald Sea, taking great pleasure in attacking anything that threatened its territory. It had also enjoyed prowling around the lodge outside of Peakshadow when the others had camped there, keeping an eye out for any sign of undead. I’m not sure I’d describe its behavior as protective, but it was at least… possessive. Which, again, not great, but at least it’s a motivation I can channel into something productive.

  Meanwhile, it found its nightly outings when we were in Harrowood boring by comparison. There was no goal. No objective. Nothing to defend from another predator. No stakes.

  “Well,” Noli signs. “Only if you’re sure.”

  “Quite sure.” Even aside from the predator enjoying it, giving it a task makes me feel better, too. I’d rather it be preoccupied with something than left to create entertainment of its own.

  Zyneth tips his head to Noli. “Then I defer to your expertise.”

  Noli leads us through a cluster of stone buildings where little more than foundation remains. She picks one that has two walls still standing. Well, they’re waist-high walls, anyway. Inside, everyone begins setting their packs down, stretching, and laying out food for dinner. I set my bag down as well, then go gather sticks for their fire.

  I try to help with camp where I can. Even if none of it is for me. Not the beds, not the food, not the warmth.

  But the company could be worse.

  As dinner is cooking and the Drifting Isles grow dim, Attiru takes out some paper and begins to work.

  “Is that for your tracking spell?” I ask.

  “Just a general map, actually.” Attiru touches the page, a green ripple passing over the paper, then starts sketching out shapes. “It would be a missed opportunity to not document the layout while I’m here.”

  “When will you set up your tracker?” I ask. “To link it to your other map.”

  “Not sure,” Attiru says, still focused on their drawing. “If it gets destroyed, then I’ll be back to square one, so I’d like to find somewhere I can set it up that will be fairly secure or secluded.” They touch another finger to the parchment, it flashes green again, and their drawing vanishes. Then they start a new one.

  “How about Raven,” Noli suggests. “They’re black and spooky.”

  I groan, dropping my head back against Zyneth’s arm. He rumbles with quiet laughter. “I’m not naming the predator Raven, Noli.”

  “Well you must name it something,” she says. “This has gone on quite long enough.”

  “It’s got so many limbs, like an octopus,” Attiru absently adds, still not looking up from their work. “Could call it something along those lines.”

  “Like Squid!” Noli signs.

  Zyneth snorts. “I don’t know, I’m somewhat partial to the ones that harken back to its shadowy appearance. Like Dusk.”

  “Oh, not you, too,” I grumble.

  He grins. Firelight catches on the gold freckles that dot his cheeks.

  “You’ve been rather silent on the subject,” I note, gesturing to Rezira. “What are your thoughts?”

  “I don’t like the idea of naming it at all,” she says, pausing to stir the pot of stew that’s warming on the fire. “It’s not a person.”

  I don’t disagree with her. Zyneth even had to talk me into considering a name, and even then, only because of Noli. But the idea has grown on me. Noli’s right that the current way we talk about it is clunky.

  “You’re right, it’s not a person,” I say. “But it does think. And feel. And eat things, even.”

  “So, an animal,” Rezira grunts.

  I shrug. “People give animals names, too. Though, I’d say likening it to an animal is underestimating its intelligence.”

  Rezira frowns, clearly disliking this conversation. “Fine. Whatever. Why don’t you ask it what it wants to be called, then?”

  The question was thrown out in an intentionally dismissive way, but it gives me pause. Noli and Zyneth look thoughtful, too.

  “Have you ever asked it that?” Zyneth wonders.

  “I haven’t,” I admit. It had actually never even occurred to me.

  Rezira gives me a skeptical look. “You’re really considering it?”

  “There’s no harm in asking,” I say.

  She just shakes her head, returning to tending to the stew. “It would probably pick something like Killer.”

  Well, as I said, couldn’t hurt to ask.

  The predator rouses when I poke at it. Oh, good. It’s almost night. Will we start early?

  Not quite, I say. I try to share with it the gist of the conversation we’d been having. I’ve talked with it about names before. The way we’re able to communicate is more abstract than words. The predator understands concepts; memories are the easiest for it to parse. Names still feel somewhat elusive to it, though it does understand at least it’s a short descriptor used to refer to an individual.

  So, what about you? I venture. Is there a way you want to be referred to?

  The predator thinks about this. It comes back with a concept: Killer.

  Okay, well, I’m not telling Rezira about that.

  Vetoed, I think. Try again.

  It offers several more equally murderous alternatives. Alright, maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all.

  Anything that doesn’t involve death and evisceration? I ask.

  An accurate way to refer to itself that doesn’t involve hunting or fighting? That does not leave it many options.

  But it snags on something Zyneth had suggested earlier: a visual association. It roots through my mind, which is not a particularly pleasant sensation. I don’t rebuff it, though. It’s looking for something.

  It emerges with two brief memories.

  The first is from half a year ago, not long after I arrived on this world. It’s a view of myself, of my small glass vial half filled with void.

  The second is a more recent memory: the predator watching Attiru work on their map, uncorking a bottle of ink to scrawl over the page. I’m saying to it, That’s what Noli and I thought you were, originally.

  Ink? I ask, surprised. That’s what you want to be called?

  It responds with mild indifference. It is an accurate short descriptor, isn’t it?

  “Huh. Well,” I say to the others. Noli leans in. “It’s suggesting Ink as a name.”

  “Ink?” Zyneth repeats, surprised.

  Attiru doesn’t look up from their drawing, though they do pause, rolling their quill between their fingers. “Like an inkwell?”

  “Or like squid ink,” Noli signs, delighted. “See! I said Squid was a good idea.”

  “It seems there’s a variety of fitting interpretations.” Zyneth chuckles. “Obsidian, too.”

  I tip my head. “What do you mean?”

  “Ink glass.” Zyneth leans to the side to unsheathe his knife. The firelight glints off the blade like there’s a fire within it, too. “It’s another name for obsidian.”

  Right, Echo had mentioned that, too. Even I have to admit it’s rather fitting. I share these comparisons with the predator as well. It enjoys the squid association. It can respect a creature with so many powerful limbs.

  “Is that what we’re calling it, then?” I ask. “Ink?”

  Attiru shrugs, getting back to work. “I like it.”

  “I do, too!” Noli signs.

  Rezira rolls her eyes.

  “I don’t think that decision is up to us,” Zyneth says.

  Ink. I try to think of the predator that way, and it’s hard. It’s been nameless for a long time.

  “It’s going to take some getting used to,” I admit.

  Then again, I’m no stranger to change.

  Loose Kanin launches on TUESDAY! Wooooo! As a reminder, if we can get Glass Kanin's ratings up to 50, you all get a bonus chapter release. For the next 7 days, Book 1 will be $0.99 and Book 2 will be $2.99. Tell your friends! If they're into these weird kind of books lol