Chương 159: 73. Have You Tried?

In life, I wasn't much of a thaumaturgist. I had a skill for it, but it was as basic as they come, and I seldom practiced with it. I haven't used it much in this new life either, but I've at least played with it enough to know more or less what I'm doing. Of the two spells I've made, one was original and the other was simply a revision of one of Violet's spells. Revising a spell is much easier—which is good, because I hope I can do what I'm attempting through Violet's [Oneiric Mirage] spell.

If not—well, I have another idea, but it's rather intimidating. I can worry about that later—first, I have to visualize the magic. This is the part that I was most uncertain about. Being in a dream doesn't change my ability to interface with the [World Engine], but as River demonstrated earlier by reading my thoughts, there's a much thinner boundary between thought and experience here. How am I supposed to close my eyes and imagine something when I'm already asleep in bed?

Rather than overthink it, I just think about the usual cooking pot with shelves of ingredients. I'm not surprised when the garden transforms into a small kitchen, but I'm still taken aback by how vivid and real it feels. I can feel the warmth of the fire, hear the click of my hooves on the stone floor, and smell the pleasant aroma of vegetables and spices surrounding me. The steaming cauldron bubbles atop the fire, patiently awaiting my ingredients.

River wanders in a circuit around the kitchen, inspecting the shelves curiously.

"So is this really my magical visualization, or are my attempts just turning into a dream?" I wonder.

"Why not both?" River suggests.

"These are interesting ingredients. Look." She hands me a—I have to blink and shake my head, but my mind refuses to actually resolve it into any kind of solid image.

"Is... is this love?" I ask incredulously, still trying to figure out how to make my eyes understand what they are looking at.

"Mhm. An essential ingredient to any good cooking," she replies.

"Stop trying to give it shape—you'll spoil it." I briefly contemplate adding it to the pot, but even if I wanted to use it, my intuition tells me that it needs to come later in the process, not yet. It goes back on the shelf for now, but River's message is received—there's more to this than just the spells I can mix together. The potential here is a bit concerning. Couldn't I craft a spell entirely from scratch like this, using only those abstract ingredients? How would that be any different from chaos magic?

Now I'm starting to get nervous about using those ingredients at all.

"Don't overthink it," River sighs.

"As long as you use the pot, it's part of the skill." Which still implies that I could not use the pot. River doesn't reply to that thought, except to glance back at me over her shoulder and shrug. Right, well the first thing I need is Violet's spell. Last time she had to actively help me, by passing me the... final ingredient? That doesn't really sound right. It's how I imagined it at the time, but putting a puzzle cube into the pot doesn't make sense.

I wasn't considering her perspective or how to translate it into my own. She gave me a puzzle—no, a solution!

"A recipe," I realize.

"Of course." And then, in the way of dreams, I have it right here in my hands. Meticulous step-by-step directions with precise measurements, timings, and methods. Very much like Violet, but that's not cooking. A recipe is good—it should be followed—but not with the goal of mechanically replicating the exact same thing. Taste and feeling are important.

I realize, naturally, that this is magic, not cooking, but I can't change how I envision it now, and being here, in this dream, with the kitchen around me—it feels like so much more than just a way to understand an abstract concept. So, the recipe is a good start, but I need to make it mine. The [Daydream] skill goes in as a base, of course. The recipe calls for some creativity and imagination, but in oddly low quantities.

This, I suspect, is an issue of supply—Violet's kitchen just doesn't have much of those to spare. I've got plenty, and even if I didn't, I'll bet River's got an entire warehouse she could lend me. She watches with rapt fascination as I sprinkle it into the pot.

"So that's what it is," I mutter.

"These are just like spices, for now. If I looked, I could probably find a new base, but one thing at a time." Besides, as intriguing as this whole thing is, I'm not going to be attempting any chaos magic. At this point, there's not much left to do but bring it all up to temperature, but I'm not trying to perfectly replicate Violet's spell. Hers was meant to bring a piece of our dream into reality, using the power of flame to give it shape and substance.

Mostly just shape—fire doesn't have very much substance to begin with. I don't need shape or substance—we're already in a dream—but maybe motion? Activity? I lower the cauldron a bit to raise the heat. What else? Allie wants to speak to River, but nothing in either [Pyrothaumaturgy] or [Daydream] really tastes like communication. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Tastes like communication?" I mutter under my breath. What am I talking about?

"You're thinking like a [Dreamer]," River encourages me.

"Keep going." Alright. So then how do I add that flavor to the recipe without drowning out what's already there? The pot isn't large enough for another skill, even if we had one that fit, so I reach for something on the shelves without really looking. Loneliness? You'd think I wouldn't have much of that, being stuck in an alien body shared with four other women, but it's practically overflowing. Not the time to think about that, and I don't need very much. Just a light dusting.

I dip a wooden spoon into the mixture and give it a taste, but it's still missing something.

"Salt?" River suggests. I snort. It's such an uncharacteristically mundane thing, coming from her, but she's always good at betraying expectations.

"I don't think so," I muse.

"This isn't that kind of cooking." Something similar, though. A common and essential ingredient to any good meal. I glance back at the shelf that River first inspected, frowning. It's one thing to joke about "cooking with love" but the prospect of actually using it makes me nervous. Should I, really? Do I even have any to give? I do, of course, but for them? Some, maybe—like River. I look across the pot and narrow my eyes at her.

"You did that on purpose didn't you?" I accuse.

"To make me think about this." She just cocks her head innocently and blinks—the sneaky little [Instigator]. Fine. I do like Allison, for all that she can be overbearing and manipulative. She has a good heart. Violet is more passionate than her cold demeanor lets on, and though I don't always agree with her ideals, I respect the conviction she has in them. Magdalena—ugh. I don't like her. But I struggle to hate her as much as I feel I should. She's clever—in her way—and insufferable about it, and a shameless liar.

Yet her greatest and most consistent lie is that she doesn't care. Out of all of them, Maggie is the one who has tried the hardest to make me feel welcome and included—and that's in spite of our mutual animosity. So yes, even she has redeeming qualities that I like about her. Not enough to outweigh all her demerits—not nearly. But I cannot honestly say that I hold no love for her. And this spell could benefit from the power of connections. Uuugh.

Reluctantly, I add just the tiniest dash of love to the pot and give it a taste.

"I think this is done." River nods.

"Then there's only one thing left." I suppose so. I've never actually visualized this part before. By now—long before now, actually—the spell would be finished. But I gamely produce a bowl and ladle—helpfully provided by the dream—and serve it up.

"Right. Now what?" I ask.

"Am I supposed to eat—" [Oneiric Vision] Call forth a hazy image of reality into your dream. Oh. Is that it?

"A little underwhelming for all the effort I put in," I mutter.

"It's just a dream," River reminds me.

"No matter how elaborate, it doesn't change reality. Your skill can only do what it can do." Then what was the point of all that? I can't bring myself to actually ask the question out loud. I know it still has meaning. Even if I didn't accomplish exactly what I wanted, I accomplished something. Dreams, even lucid ones, don't usually go exactly the way we want.

"Exactly," River agrees.

"Better to go with the flow than to try to force your way."

"Is that why you came up with 'River' as a nickname?" I ask. She blinks.

"No, but I should pretend it is. I just thought it sounded pretty." I chuckle and shake my head. That sounds about right. It fits her, really. She's reactive—opportunistic. It's not that Reverie doesn't have her own wants and goals, just that her way of pursuing them is more like holding her arms open and waiting for them to find her. River giggles and does a small twirl in the air, letting her gown flare out beneath her.

"This is fun! I've never been understood before, but I like it. Thank you for being my friend, E'ava'al'n." She says it so earnestly that I have to look away and scratch my horns.

"I'm the one who should thank you, River. And—you can shorten my name however you like, if it's easier to say."

"Okay, Ev!" I sigh, of course it's a new one. Why do they all use different nicknames? Is it intentional?

"You should ask them," River says.

"Try the spell!" With a shrug, I do just that. As I channel the magic, the first thing that happens is our surroundings vanishing, then quickly getting replaced by an image of our room. Instead of the cauldron, River and I sit across from each other at the table. Every detail is a perfect match, complete with our body sprawled out beneath the covers and snoring loudly.

"We have atrocious sleeping posture," I comment.

"Maybe it's different based on who falls asleep," River muses.

"I bet Violet sleeps peacefully." I could see that. Then again, maybe she would surprise us. Not like it's possible to tell who is in front while we're sleeping. Normally I'd assume that it's me, but—I definitely don't sleep like that. Definitely not.

"Is this real?" I ask, looking around.

"Or are we creating this from memory?" River tries knocking over the stack of papers, but her hand passes through them. A couple of them flutter in what I assume is an unrelated breeze, but she stares down at her hand and frowns.

"It doesn't feel real, but maybe that's because we aren't." I want to argue that we are perfectly real thank you very much, but I take her meaning. What we're seeing is reality, but we're just dreams. We're the phantoms here.

"No sign of the others," I sigh.

"I guess the spell is a failure."

"Hmm, but they're right there," River says, pointing to our sleeping body.

"Sure, but that's no more helpful than conjuring your image while we're awake," I reply.

"We can't talk to them like this." She cocks her head, frowning.

"Have you tried?"... I suppose I haven't. Maybe I can—I don't know, wake them up? Or would that just wake us all up. If it's even possible. The least I can do is try. Without any better ideas, I trot over to the bed and tentatively reach for a shoulder. I fully expect my hand to just pass through, but her shoulder is solid and even warm to the touch.

"Allie?" I call out softly, giving her shoulder a small shake. I don't expect anything, so it's particularly startling when she surges out of bed and tackles me to the ground, holding a knife to my throat with wide, panicked eyes. For a moment, the world around us becomes fuzzy and indistinct, and I feel as if I might wake up, but then her breathing calms and she looks around the room, brows furrowed in confusion.

"What—Eva?" she asks.

"Um, hello Violet," I manage to squeak.

"Could you please move your knife?"