“Where are the life signs?” Aqua whispered, and soon enough an image implanted itself into her mind. Black surrounding—the dinner room, and two red figures, one sitting and one sprawled on the ground. No more. A part of her was relieved, even though it most likely meant one of her team-mates was dead. Even though they could be a distraction meant to keep her from seeing a myriad of other hidden foes. Even though if the foes numbered only one, and not an entire fabrication, was a probable loss for the Vyrosmith before she’d even entered the ring. If someone was willing to pester her like this, and they didn’t feel the need to come with company in order to do it…

  Korring Core-Wraith in a basket.

  Already, the tips of her fingers and toes grew soar. A Younger Aqua would have been rubbing at them already, to the friendly mockery of a fellow student she’d once considered a close confidant. Now, she stretched her hands and feet before leaving the forming bruises alone, moving across the warm, mahogany floor past the undone bed.

  She and a silent, dull orb reached the door to the spacious room, ears growing more sensitive by the second trying to pick out anyone waiting on the other side.

  “What’s the word on Nethema, Red-Stuff?” She whispered, and sensing no threat beyond, gripped the door post, turned and pulled.

  No response. Either you cried jaguar too many times over the past hour, let alone the year, and he’s simply chosen to ignore you, or…

  Or the signals weren’t going out. Core-Wraith. Any chance you can break-through.

  Depends. Someone called Red-Stuff definitely can’t. Wouldn’t trust them with a task this important. But Vyra Systemborne, someone with a name that deserves to be used: maybe they can do it.

  The hall’s floor was colder than the room’s. Cold enough to irritate Aqua’s bare-feet, even as they grew thicker. “Are we really doing this now?” she hissed.

  Depends, the Pocket-System said through their mind-link.

  They reached the spiral stair-case leading from the second-floor. She gazed down past the wooden railing. A light as dull as the orb’s but golden reached out across the part of the ground-floor visible to them. She turned to look at her companion. “They’re just nicknames.”

  “Not to me,” She pulsed.

  Where Aqua touched the railing, fingernails threatened to slough off. More painful than mere soreness. She remembered her childhood, before and after the Vyrosmith Primus took her in. The mean names. Friends gave each other nicknames, that was the way of things. Even if they made you cry. Even if they hurt you without the added benefit of Jaguar strength and senses. You gave each other nicknames, because you were friends. No. People had died in the past because they’d insulted her. What were those names if not a pseudo-purified form of insults. What were those friends if not glorified bullies. Only one had ever felt appropriate. From a friend she’d loved enough to marry one day, even though their life together had ultimately fallen through. It had been a name she’d considered beautiful. A name she’d carried into adult-hood, till another friend had shown up at the edge of her bed one morning, a reward for graduating from her studies, and she had seen it fit to give over the name to a person just as grand. And now, she was abusing it. Abusing her.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Being a bully.

  “I’m sorry, Vyra. I was being disrespectful. A name shouldn’t make you feel like a dying-core, and even if it didn’t, shouldn’t make a difference if you still don’t want to be called by it. I’ll behave, promise.”

  The red faded away, succeeded by an all-consuming purple. Aqua’s normal skin wouldn’t have reacted to the light, but her morphed one did, feeling the warmth, the threat of ensuing heat. She moved a step toward the right, away from the beam. The railing bent. Three of her fingernails fell off as it did, one falling all the way down to the mahogany two floors below.

  Claws began to take their place, pushing off the nails that had so far managed to barely stay put. One aspect of the [Jaguar.Eyes] skill she didn’t like: how much her pain was amplified as well. A balancing act. Couldn’t have the benefits without their growing weeds. The wood beneath her scratched, glowing red claws coming into contact. Deep ridges formed on the ground as she backed away from the railing, all the way onto the white wall behind her. She leaned against it and allowed herself to breathe.

  Everything’s alright. Everything is al-right. She thought about the ruined floor she stood on. About the laugh she heard from down below. About her dark-purple skin. About the friend hovering further away from her, bright glow already turned back down to a manageable one. She thought about all of them, and all the senses which allowed her to see and feel and hear them more clearly, and tuned herself down. Everything was alright. Would be alright. All she had to do was breathe.

  “Sorry for startling you… again,” Vyra said after a few minutes.

  She nodded. “Guess we both have some behaving to do after this little... reunion.”

  “You recognized the laugh?” The Systemborne asked.

  A part of Aqua had known who it was before the little hint had been given out. The person who had occupied most of her dreams and nightmares both since the unification.

  “A message from Nethema. He’s on his way.”

  “What about the purple glow?”

  “We can do it after.”

  “She’s not here to kill me,” Aqua said, a little doubt in her voice. “Best to do it now before it takes more from us.”

  A wait. A short one, but for one such as Vyra, it could’ve been classified as long. She was considering, maybe stalling just a bit to expend all the opportunity she had to make the Vyrosmith change her decision, but considering all the same. She considered and then the purple pulsed a little bit brighter.

  “Aquatica Fabre Njere’Masali, Lvl 41 Vyrosmith. Your Skill, [Jaguar.Eyes] Lvl 37 has been depleted down two levels. 43/44 uses remaining. Do you Accept or will you lose the skill forever?” the Pocket System proclaimed.

  Two years. She’d lost two years of growth. Of careful progression. The right things to say, the wrong-enough mission to do, all so her skill could go up. And she’d now fallen back down some steps. Not as bad as some people had had it in the past. Losing the skill in some cases, or worse, the entire class or their life in the process. She had been warned when she’d began this path. The Class of the Vyrosmith was a dark class. Do bad deeds, and it could reward you. Do good, by apologizing to your friend for instance… and you lost two years. She was glad to find that she didn’t regret it. It sucked, and it would continue to suck, but it had been the price for a growing bond with someone she cared about. A price she would have paid ten-fold. Everything was alright, would continue to be alright.

  “I accept, Vyra. I accept,” Aqua said, and at once felt her chest tighten and her senses dull. With no where to go, a sliver of the Energy Artifica that her body could’ve housed an instant ago flitted into the air, expunged, and a Weaker, less-skilled Vyrosmith let out a groan.