The staff served lavish, seemingly creative dishes plate after plate, and August found himself one among the twelve who waited excitedly around the long table.

  It never dawned to him that he would dine this fashion, and August wanted to relish every minute of it.

  Next to him was Seven, followed by Quann, and Judas, and some other climbers. To his other side, the swordsman Mischell sat down. The man was about to talk to him when a finger tapped his shoulder.

  They both turned around to find the red-haired girl. It was Yura. "Do you mind if I sit here?"

  Mischell was befuddled at first, then he grinned, put a hand on August's shoulder, and stood up. "You've done an excellent performance in the 3rd trial," he said. "You may have dirtied yourself, but that is an effort I can respect now that you've survived. We are part of Meneesh's troupe now, I hope. The other climbers from the other lords will take notice since from now on, we'll be teammates."

  With that, Mischell Khun tried to find another seat.

  Yura sat down next to August, and stared at him. He cleared his throat and started filling his plate with food like this thing called rice, roasted pork, and half of Seven's honey garlic chicken, which he loved. He also dipped his chicken into more honey, and when the staff noticed that, they didn't hesitate giving him a cup full of it. He could've died right there.

  Seven didn't eat. Instead, she stared at the people who were eating her food, ending at him. "Ish tashty," he commented, taking a bite. She nodded.

  "That is expected. I have perfected the taste. And yet Lord Meneesh...."

  August nodded. "Can't satisfy everyone. I loved it. There. At least one person did."

  She didn't answer.

  Next to him, Yura cleared her throat. "How do you do it?" she asked him. He wiped the honey off his mouth with his free hand and took a swig from this thing they call a honeymead. It popped like bubbles in his throat.

  "Do what?"

  Yura stared at his hand, then took a napkin and placed it at his plate. "Use this napkin to wipe your food. Manners, please." She sighed. "I've seen you control your arcane. I haven't seen anyone have that degree of control before."

  He gave a nod. "My master taught me," he said, taking a sip from of wine this time. The staff cleared away the honeymead and gave him another beverage. He was about to use his hand to eat a chicken leg when he caught a glare from Yura, and decided that the napkin was the better choice. That was apparently not enough, so he moved his fingers, gauging her reaction, until he settled on a fork and knife.

  It annoyed him.

  Quann chimed in. "There are unspoken etiquette when it comes to dining, but August here has been living in the forest, Yura. Take it easy on him."

  Etiquette? August had never heard of that. If there was food in the table, he'd eat it. Why should rules exist for this anyway? He wouldn't be able to enjoy his meal!

  But his curiosity to learn other people's culture overriden that, and he decided to just go along with it despite his silent grumblings.

  Yura ignored Quann. "Can you tell me more about how your master taught you?"

  August thought about it. It wasn't a secret. He told her it wasn't like he was taught, but ordered to maintain the stability of the household. There were times when his master would tell him to use an arcane shield to block rain water from seeping through, or use a thread to hang clothes to dry out in the sun.

  "Master Visentii always told me to manipulate the spoon and fork using arcane. When I got better at it, we switched to chopsticks. But until then, I was forced to tie my hands behind my back, metaphorically and literally. he said it builds discipline and flexibility."

  August realized other people were staring at him now, and it had gotten a little quiet. Quann was leaning on the table, and on the other side, Nilvar was tapping his notes while looking at August.

  Mischell Khun whistled. "That's hardcore."

  August frowned. "How?"

  Mischell illustrated using a spoon and knife to cut a steak. "Holding the knife down doesn't take a lot of arcane, but generally speaking, arcane doesn't have fingers. It's like learning to grow another pair of hands to control the tools with precision."

  He fumbled when he started cutting the steak with the knife, and clicked his tongue. "That's why mages uses a staff and a shield and dozens of different variations that accompany it. They're the medium, the crutch. One, because an anima is easier to control than a static, non-living object, and two, because it increases a mage's proficiency. Why punch the enemy when you can use a sword? Our fingers will never be as sharp."

  August tried to reach inside his arcane and ask its permission to use it. No, it said, though it was less of the word no, but the concept of pain, paired along with an image of a dying, blue flame.

  Instead of pushing himself to use it, he instead stated what he wanted to show, mainly, to use a fork and knife, and not anything serious. After a moment, it gave him a reluctant yes, but only if he would stop his inecessant requests.

  August lifted the fork and knife using arcane, and started cutting the chicken into smaller pieces. "It was difficult in the beginning," he said. "I think it took me a couple of months to get the hang of it."

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Well, shit," Mischell said. "How old were you? Ten?"

  August shrugged. "Five."

  The swordsman's eyes widened. August looked around to find them quiet all of a sudden. He felt embarassed. He'd never been the center of attention before, and he didn't know if he liked the idea of staying in one for long.

  "Whose House tortured you?" Mischell asked.

  "Torture?" Quann scoffed. "I was taught when I was four."

  "You're a Gladis."

  Quann opened his mouth, closed it, and then gave a nod. "Point taken."

  "Why?" August asked.

  "We're quite--" he made several gestures. "Famous. For our special interests. Among ourselves and others."

  "You've mispelled brutality," Mischell said.

  Yura spoke. "It's not that uncommon," she said. "When I first learned how to walk, my father gave me a staff." To August, "You said you live in the forest trained by your master. That's a rather eccentric way of teaching someone. You never told us whose House you belonged to."

  "I never belonged to a House," August said, which surprised them. He scratched his head. "I'm not, well. I don't have any parents. It was just me and my master. I've never gone outside the forest either."

  Mischell Khun gaped at him. "I've been talking to a plebian this entire time?"

  "Never heard of your House, swordsman," Quann shot back. "You pick a fight with my underlings, you pick a fight with me."

  The swordsman put a hand on the hilt of his sword.

  August was about to say he wasn't anyone's underling, but Yura pulled her chair closer, catching his attention. "Can you teach me what your master taught you?" She looked around. "Not here. In the 2nd floor, preferrably away from the noise."

  Quann whistled. "That implies you wish to have him all to yourself in private."

  Yura's friend wrapped her arms around Yura, and with a mouth full of food, she spoke. "Don't tease her!" Though the words that came out was dhonneaser.

  Yura blushed. "I don't mean it like that," she whispered.

  August was confused. "Like what?" The conversation here started slipping out of his reach. He had never taught anyone, and he didn't even know if he could.

  Quann hollered to Mischell, "Like what, he says!"

  The two laughed and suddenly they were friendly with each other again. August decided to ignore them and turn to Yura, who was flushed. "I've never really taught anyone."

  She schooled a serious expression. "'ll help you. You'll be properly compensated. So think about it. This won't be the last time we see each other."

  After that, she stood up, taking her plate and moving away from him to the farthest table. Her friends followed after her.

  August only noticed it now, but Seven wasn't here. She must've left earlier. They would still have to address the damages she sustained since she doesn't heal at all. After taking a few more bites of the food, he decided to leave the group to look for her.

  He expected to find her in her room, but no one responded from the other side of the door. So he messaged her and received a reply stating that she was on the 1st Trial Room. As he walked over to the enormous disk, the first thing that caught his eye was the light.

  Everything was illuminated, making the entire trial room more bearable. Underneath him, he saw the horror, painted on the floor. Red and blood and silver mixed the bottom, and when he peered closer, he realized those were the dead bodies of the climbers. They weren't removed. He might have seen a skull there too. It rattled him to realize that they didn't bury the bodies, and it irked him how wrong it felt, and how comfortable Lord Meneesh was with it.

  He spotted Seven in the distance, talking to someone. That figure flew back, disappearing in one of the doors. It was Lord Meneesh.

  When he approached Seven, she was looking down at the mass graveyard below. "Seven," he called.

  She looked back, gave a nod, and stared back down.

  "You were talking to Lord Meneesh," he pointed out.

  "He told me there are automaton parts that will drastically increase my chances of survival," she pointed at the bottom. "Down there."

  "Are you planning to jump?" he asked. He didn't want to hear her answer.

  "I cannot repair myself," she said. "However, he said there have been many automatons that were able to repair themselves and jumped down in an attempt to acquire better parts. So far, none of them have survived. He said I was lucky this time. My directive, an attempt to expire me, has unironically saved me, he said."

  August shrugged. "It might be a trap to make automatons jump to their death."

  He sat down, then, realizing he was still very tired and very full, and he laid down against the platform, feeling the cold spread across his back. Seven approached him. "It is an acceptable reason," she said. "I have a minimal chance of surviving the fall, but should I survive, I will be able to acquire parts that will help me survive signficantly."

  "Sounds like suicide to me," he said, absentmindedly. "It's like Lord Meneesh was giving the automatons a chance to kill themselves without disobeying their orders at the same time. Jump, he says, because it's a risk, but it's worth the risk. Do you--" he hesitated. "Do you want to jump?"

  "I cannot repair myself," she said.

  "You didn't answer my question."

  She paused. "I have a primary directive but no master. My goal is to climb the tower but I don't possess the intelligence nor creativity of the human mind to survive. I am a domestic model, and my existence centers around following the orders given to me by the letter."

  August shut his eyes. "When my master left," he said, slowly. "I didn't know what to do. He's been teaching me arcane my entire life. I listened to him. I relied on him for his guidance. And when he abruptly left, it felt like half of me died."

  He didn't want his master to leave, he realized now. He didn't want his father to abandon him. He didn't want to be alone in that forest, no matter how beautiful it may be, when there was no one to share it with.

  August sniffed. "I miss him. I want him to tell me what to do." He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I think I was scared of thinking for myself. I didn't want to grow up." He looked at her. "I don't like this kind of freedom either, Seven. Not then in the forest, and not now, being all alone without anyone to tell me to do this or do that."

  "I don't understand the concept of freedom," she said.

  August stood up and laughed. "Neither do I. But we're here for each other and we can figure it out together. Isn't that what friends are for?"

  She tilted her head. "Friendship is still a foreign concept to me."

  He clapped her back. "Me too. Want to go pester Quann? He's been referring to us as his underlings."

  She nodded, and together, they started walking back to the dining hall.

  "We are not his underlings."

  "Exactly." August snatched her hand started leading her forward. "Don't jump," he said.

  " I have yet to improve my dish that is sufficient enough to defeat Quann and reclaim my spot as the domestic automaton. For now, I shall give him the title of the domestic servant, since he is so deserving of it."

  August laughed, and his echoes resounded across the entire room.

  The next day, all climbers were gathered before a portal. One by one, August watched them step through that spherical bundle of energy. And when it was his turn to step through, he expected to be transported directly to the second floor.

  But something went... awry. It was as if time slowed to a crawl, and he split off from the clusters of stars around him. One more star diverted from the group. And then another. Two of them gathered around him, and they spun across the void and they heard the god scream as it lay dead, bleeding to death, turning its blood into a sea floor.

  And then the world winked out.