You know? I find that favors are the greatest currency ever created by humanity as a whole. It’s the quintessential show of trust between two (or more) individuals, a way for both parties to say ‘I trust you, I trust that you’ll repay me when the time comes’.

  It is, in a way, beautiful.

  Why?

  Because, for some reason or other, people have an inner desire – some intrinsic component not unlike the matrix of commands that lead the existence of a golem – telling them to repay all favors owed.

  Some people could say that this is, in fact, false, that humanity and the other races of the world do not have this oh so noble desire.

  I’d like for you, my dear readers, listeners and observers of this tale of wonder and woe, to take a good look at those who state such things: bankers, criminals, owners of casinos or other such places, debt collectors, generals (or tacticians) and their ilk, politicians and even some of the most crooked priests; basically, some of the worst people performing some of the worst jobs to ever come out of the darkest pits of humanity’s minds.

  No, seriously, only humans could ever come up with the need for currency and, together with that, the need for someone else to keep that currency and do things with it that, supposedly, are meant to get you more of it. I suppose my opinion may be biased as someone who no longer has a need for money… or food… or air… but I can still sleep!

  …

  Stars this existence is so empty.

  Anyways! Let us not dwell on such dark thoughts, there has been enough of that in this story, am I right?

  Instead: Promises.

  What do they mean? What do they represent? And, most important of all: why do we give their concept such depth?

  The answer… is simple. Indeed, this time it is quite direct: a rare occurrence, I’m very much aware of it, especially considering how varied the nature of a promise can be. And yet it is oh so simple to find an answer to this question.

  To put it simply: it’s because we need hope.

  Humanity, as a rule of thumb, is always, constantly, desperate.

  Desperate for a better life, for a better future for themselves and the generations to come, desperate for change and desperate for things to stay the same. We are always, constantly, consistently, desperate.

  It is because of that desperation that we never stop moving forward.

  It is also because of that desperation that, probably, we will never achieve that distant dream of true happiness, for how can a being that has known nothing but despair their whole lives even comprehend what contentment truly feels like. Oh, we can imagine it. That simple idea of a sunlit field of green grass, the stalks ruffled by a gentle wind caressing your face while little white clouds move in a sky of a perfect shade of blue, their strange forms turning into cute little animals or other beautiful things… that idea, it is hope.

  Hope.

  Our fuel. Our drive. Our chains.

  So what are promises other than a way to garner more hope out of a world that we turned into our personal Airm where we are the demons that stoke the flames meant to torture us?

  We make promises to each other and hope that we and the person on the other side of the handshake will keep our word, for if the promise is broken then that ray of hope we held upon so hard will crumble apart, plunging us deeper into our despair.

  It may be a grim view of life, I know… but it is what I witnessed.

  Hopefully, I will be proven wrong.

  When Liam woke up the next day it was to find himself in Amarie’s arms.

  Well, rather, locked in place by one of her arms: the other was currently supporting her head underneath the extra pillow she’d brought from her room.

  For a moment in his sleep addled mind surfaced the memory of Sigmund jokingly proposing to buy them a bigger bed to put in Liam’s room so that they could have more space. He also distinctly remembered Amarie saying that they had no need for a bigger bed: the small one made cuddling much easier.

  He was pretty sure both he and Sigmund had done a spit take, but then he just turned off his brain again – something that was made quite simple by the presence of the enchanted pendant around his neck – and simply shuffled closer to Amarie, her arm moving on his back, turning their position into something more reminiscent of a hug.

  And like that they stayed for… probably a long time. Thinking was difficult and time was meaningless, especially because Amarie was drooling slightly from the corner of her mouth and that was extremely cute and not for the first time Liam lamented not being brought to this world with his phone, e????v???e????n????? ????t?????h???????o????u?????g?????h???t????? ?????i??????t???? ????h?????a??????d????? ????b???e??????e???????n????? ?????i????n????? ?????h??????i????s????? ????p???o????c?????k???e??????t?????.

  He blinked his eyes, then went back to looking at the love of his life, a little dumb smile forming on his lips as sleep began claiming him again.

  Eventually, sadly, Amarie woke up, absentmindedly wiping the drool on the back of her sleeping gown’s sleeve.

  “G’morning,” she said through a yawn.

  “Good morning,” he said back as he took off the pendant, the fog covering his thoughts immediately beginning to dissipate.

  And then they started their day.

  Liam had expected many things that day upon waking up, as he always did: he’d expected Sigmund to work him to the bone after yesterday’s pause (he hadn’t), he’d expected the [King] to come visit them again – the man really liked coming to talk to Sigmund in disguise – or that Giulia would appear at the shop and find some new fire related magical item that she’d nab and use to burn down the nearby forest.

  What he hadn’t expected was for Neville to arrive and ask to meet him.

  When he found the young [Knight] he was fiddling with a Wand of Water Arrow by the shop’s counter, looking extremely nervous.

  “Hey Neville! How are you doing?” he asked him, raising an arm in greeting, “Did that wand find you or was it just on the counter there?”

  The young [Knight]’s eyes rose from the apparently simple wooden wand – which was the result of hours of careful work that could’ve resulted, if anything had gone wrong, in the entire laboratory below being flooded and them drowning painfully – and he waved back, a hint of a smile crossing his face before it disappeared, killed on the spot by a wave of anxiety. Liam couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the boy so nervous.

  “Ah, hello Liam. I’m fine, I’m… I’m quite fine, thank you.”

  He moved the wand around in a gesture Liam imagined would’ve caused many a people from Earth to try and recreate the ‘It’s LeviOsa not LeviosA’ scene and he had to force himself from doing it himself, because ‘For the Memes’ didn’t seem like a good enough explanation for his actions.

  “And no, I just found the wand here on the desk. I wasn’t looking for anything, so the shop didn’t make me go ‘round and ‘round for hours like last time.”

  Liam raised an eyebrow, attempting to steer the conversation towards something that would likely help Nevile destress: “Hours?”

  “Oh yeah,” he said as a smile graced his face, this time unbidden, “The first time I came to this shop I was trapped inside for three and a half hours because I kept missing the item I ‘needed’. I’m surprised Sigmund never told you the story, it was only last year and he found it extremely amusing.”

  The young [Crafter] shrugged noncommittally, a smile of his own appearing as he said: “Sigmund doesn’t really talk about the customers. He’s really not the gossipy type, to my utter amazement.”

  This managed to get a slightly strained chuckle out of Neville: “I’m pretty sure he’d tell you to fuck off if he heard you say that.”

  “Meh, it’s a fifty-fifty chance of him doing that or just laughing and saying some cryptic bullshit.”

  Another chuckle, this one free of the previous one’s nervous shaking, escaped the [Knight]’s lips, before he put the wand down delicately on the counter, right beside the bell that would instantly summon Sigmund like some kind of second rate genie.

  Silence filled the dark, possibly non-Euclidean, definitely labyrinthine, room.

  Anyone would’ve thought it to feel oppressive but, in truth, the shop was always permeated by a strange aura of calm that seeped right into your being, making anyone walking through the seemingly endless corridors of items for sale feel at ease, no, at home. A welcome guest who would find what they needed, who would always, always, leave through the main door satisfied.

  It was, in a way, a promise, from Sigmund to all who walked through the entrance.

  In the end, though, it was Liam who had to break the silence: “Neville, why are you here? And why did you tell Sigmund that you needed to see me?”

  The [Knight] looked away from him, towards the corridors of shelves.

  Only, now, there no longer was a direct way that led towards the exit: it had been blocked off by a shelf covered in random knick knacks, illuminated by no candles or other sources of light. The shop seemed to close in around them, isolating the duo of young men in their personal bubble of privacy, the building itself seemingly coming to life in that moment, whispering at them sweetly that, at any moment, they could leave, turn back and walk out… but it would be better for everyone involved if an accord was reached, if something was traded, as was tradition – if not Tradition – in front of that simple, wooden, desk.

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  Liam’s eyes, for but a brief moment, stopped on the surface of the counter, observing the many small scratches and scuff marks left behind by nervous scratching done by small and once-sharp nails, the falling and moving of coins of all types. Here and there he could see old stains that, had he not known better, he would’ve said had been caused by coffee, but the beverage had been discovered only last year and the marks seemed so much older.

  Finally, Neville spoke, breaking him out of his reverie: “I know of the contracts, Liam. I’d like to sign one.”

  The boy’s voice felt piercing as it broke the silence, entering in one ear and feeling unpleasant for a few moments, like a child’s sudden cry on a train.

  Then the actual words registered and Liam’s heart skipped a beat in surprise mixed with fear: “What? How?”

  The only time he and Amarie had talked about the contracts other than in his bedroom had been on that first week of his new life, riding on horses towards the capital and he clearly remembered her activating a ring enchanted with a [Bubble of Silence].

  “I… I don’t know. Or rather, I have a theory… of sorts.”

  He took a deep breath, before nodding to himself and proceeding: “You know how the First Dealmaker stayed with us that evening, right?”

  Liam nodded: “Yeah, I know. She was the one who gave me the contracts, although she didn’t tell me she was the First Dealmaker.”

  “Yes, well, you know what Amarie said: if we made any sort of promise in front of her, we’d better keep it. People say not keeping a promise given in her presence is a good way to call Consequences upon themselves.”

  “Neville, please, I don’t need a folklore lesson right now. How do you know about the contracts? And why in the world would you want to sign one?”

  Neville nodded his head nervously: “Right, right. So… when we were talking with her that evening, while you’d gone to sleep, I… I may have boasted that I’d see every corner of the world. The First Dealmaker, she… she asked me if I was willing to put my word on it. And I… I did it. I promised to the skies I’d see every corner of the world.

  “The next day, well, while you were talking to Amarie, I saw her activate the enchantment on the ring, but… it didn’t work on me. I could hear everything, Liam. I heard her read the contract, I heard you two talk about what they meant. And… and I’m afraid, Liam. I’m afraid, because we’ll be going back to the battlefields in little over a week. What… what if she found a way to help me? What if I heard you just because the promise I made her would be impossible to fulfill unless I knew about the contracts, Liam? What if I had to find out, so that I could keep my word, because there was no other way?”

  Liam looked at Neville, his eyes wide open in surprise, not wanting to understand but comprehending the reasoning behind the young [Knight]’s words perfectly. And, with that, getting the strange feeling that he was right.

  “I… I’m afraid, Liam. So, so afraid. Afraid that I’m right, afraid of the wars to come, and I don’t even know why I’m so afraid now. When I signed up to become a squire I wasn’t this fearful. I just thought about the glory and about wanting to help my country but now… now I can’t do it. I just can’t. But I know I can’t leave, because I’d be hunted down, and I don’t want that. So please, Liam, please!”

  The young [Crafter] didn’t want this.

  He didn’t want that kind of responsibility. Didn’t want this… whatever this was.

  The only reason why he’d allowed Amarie to sign that contract weeks ago had been…

  Oh.

  Because she’d been afraid.

  Just like Neville.

  Because she’d said that the war wouldn’t be going well for much longer, or that she feared it wouldn’t.

  Fear.

  It comes down to that so often.

  When humans are filled with fear they grab for any ray of hope, no matter how distant, how cruel, or how risky.

  And Liam… he was too soft hearted for his own good.

  On another continent, no more than two weeks before Liam’s second contract was signed, Isse was curled around her eggs, sleeping fitfully. She was so used to sleeping in a hammock nowadays that doing it on the ground was nearly uncomfortable. She liked the sensation of floatiness that came with being up in the air, the way the silk hugged her body as her weight moved her downwards, how she didn’t have to move a single muscle to be in total comfort.

  In comparison, even with the strata upon strata of silk she’d put underneath herself to make the ground softer, she still felt like she was sleeping on hard rocks. Still, she didn’t trust herself with building a nest high in the air to keep her eggs with her – it hadn’t crossed her mind to leave them alone for even a moment after she’d laid them.

  Because what if she messed up? What if she put some string or other in the wrong place, causing everything to collapse and, worst of all, making the eggs fall, killing her children, her legacy, her chance at not being the last one anymore.

  It didn’t make sense, it was irrational beyond anything she’d ever done since coming to this world: she knew she was a great weaver, Siidi had told her as much. The mechanisms of the criss-crossing silken threads came to her as naturally as breathing, her mind seemingly always knowing where and how to weave her creations to make them stronger, more resistant, more beautiful. Maybe it was because of her Skill, [Magic School: Thread], which helped in her spell weaving, or maybe it was something that came from her nature as an arachne, or maybe even it was just the way this body, which had not been meant to be hers originally, worked.

  She was good.

  No, great even.

  And yet her mind screamed incoherently at her every time she even so much as thought about moving upwards, maternal instincts going into overdrive and practically forcing her to stay put on the ground below.

  Had any of the older arachne from the forest been there with her, be they Makira, Pochi, Aru or even Grandmother, they would’ve chuckled – well, except for Grandmother, chuckling wasn’t something she did… ever – and told her that it was normal, that all of them had experienced that very same sensation when they’d laid their eggs.

  Makira had stayed curled around her trio of not-yet-born spiderlings for four days straight, hissing at anyone daring to even so much as step too close to her, and even after she’d calmed down she’d been extremely reluctant about the [Carers] shuffling her eggs around as was tradition among their people.

  So there she laid, sleeping lightly and uncomfortably.

  Until she heard her window open with a gentle creak.

  Immediately she shot to her feet, her hand rising to cast her [Colorful Water Arrow] at whatever may come through – not any of her more… destructive spells though. She feared she’d hurt the eggs.

  She calmed down only slightly when her eyes alighted upon the being that… probably shouldn’t have been the cause of the window opening, considering its lack of hands.

  For on the stone floor, right on the edge between her room and the balcony that overlooked the city outside, stood a proud, big, crow, most of its feathers a pale white reminiscent of the moon’s milky surface, turning ashen gray as they neared the articulation between wing and body. Its eyes, though, were as black as the darkest, moonless, night, where clouds promising rain and lightning hung in the sky hiding the stars, and sharper than a soldier’s sword to boot.

  The crow jumped into the room, looking at her tense form all the while.

  Then it opened its mouth and… spoke: “I want a CRACKER!”

  The words, for all that they came from a crow’s mouth, were perfectly articulated, the voice piercing and, at the same time, somewhat melodious.

  In short, it almost felt like a very old androgynous person had just spoken to her, asking for snacks.

  As one can easily imagine, Isse was… surprised, to say the least.

  And then the general apathy she had recently developed for most things in life that weren’t her unborn children and beautiful landscapes reared its ugly head up. Her face turned neutral, the tiredness that seemed to pervade her every movement in the last few days causing her to fall back to the ground, curling around her eggs once more, the legs of her spider half cradling them while she bent her human half down to give them a strange sort of hug.

  She found the sensation of their exterior somewhat strange: she could clearly remember floating inside her own egg, the sliminess of the birthing fluids that had housed her unborn body as they clung to her form for a short while after hatching, drying up and falling off of her in the open air… the sensation still felt vivid when she recalled it – when she recalled Makira smiling down on her, Anda slamming against her – and so it was strange to feel how… dry her eggs felt from the outside.

  They also didn’t look particularly special. Actually, in a way, they looked exactly like chicken eggs, only, for now at least, they weren’t firm. They were, in fact, very malleable and, sometimes, when she hugged them tight, she thought she could feel movement from the inside.

  That always brought a smile to her face.

  Not long now…

  Then the crow spoke again: “Oh, so you think I’m too good for crackers? Why, I know us crows are superior to parrots and their ilk, but betimes that even mine own kind enjoys the crunchiness of a simple cracker!”

  …

  Did I just go insane, Siidi, or did that crow just speak like a normal human?

  She could feel the presence of her soul half outside her body as she used one of her Skills to look at the flying beast [Through Eyes Of Her Own], before she answered:

  A rather verbose human, I’d say. Either we’ve both gone insane, or the crow actually spoke.

  Seeing that they probably hadn’t gone insane, Isse decided to go with the safest approach: “I don’t have any crackers.”

  The crow titled its head one way, then the other, observing her with both eyes, before seemingly becoming quite certain that she did not, in fact, have any crackers in her possession, and said: “Why that is an extremely dire circumstance indeed, young woman! We must fix it posthaste, lest you become unable to properly feed me and my spawn! Come, rise from your decidedly barbaric bedding, and let me accompany you to the kitchens!”

  …

  Siidi, are you sure we’re not insane?

  Isse, my dear sister, these days I’m not certain about anything.

  “I’d rather stay here,” said Isse, attempting to turn the other way and then remembering that doing so would require her to actually rise from her hug and skitter around her eggs, which would require her to use energy she lacked the will to find in herself.

  “Poppycock! Come, rise! The day is young and I may even allow thee to snack upon some of the crackers reserved for me! I can assure you, they are delightfully crunchy and tasty! You would regret not having tasted them when I gave you this rare possibility for the rest of your impermanent existence!”

  Isse groaned and closed her eyes, attempting to isolate the bird’s incessant chatter.

  “Alternatively I could easily stay here and keep talking about inconsequential things for hours upon hours.”

  Wow, that bird is a real shit, said Siidi with a grumble.

  As for Isse – who completely agreed with her sister – she weighed the hassle of having to hear this bird prattling on about whatever came to its tiny mind for stars knew how long and just rising up to follow it and get those damned crackers. In the end the latter won.

  Slowly, tiredly, she rose from her improvised nest on the ground, glaring daggers at the damnable bird.

  “Excellent! Come, I shall show you the way!”

  The crow flew off the ground, landing on her shoulder and settling on it as if it were second nature. Its talons didn’t even manage to pierce through her dress, while its feathers felt soft against her head.

  “Oh, what a momentous occasion! It has been millennia since one of my kind has been able to be in the presence of an arachne! You, my dear spiderling, may refer to mine illustrious personage as Huginn!”

  With a sigh she started skittering towards the door, stopping but a few steps later, turning towards her eggs.

  “Worry not about your unborn offspring: they shall be safe here. I can swear this upon my old companion, whose name I shall not state for it would bring trouble upon this city.”

  Isse turned her head slightly, her eyes alighting on one of the crow’s blacker than night ones: “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  The bird didn’t have a face but, in that moment, she was certain, deep down, that, had it had one, it would’ve been smiling kindly, the sort of old, worn smile that makes one wonder what the person making it must’ve gone through.

  Its answer was surprisingly calm and measured compared to how it had spoken so far: “For a favor, young one. To repay a favor that allowed this place to exist. And for an ancient friendship.”

  Silence fell on the two as she reached the door to her room, the one she hadn’t left for two days now.

  “Now let us go to the kitchens! You are far too thin for your age!”

  deep lore behind many of these things.