Chương 27: Chapter 26: Fleshcrafting

Step back to avoid a claw, then a second time for the follow up, then bump Erynis — my study partner — in the chest with a short form jab. Gently, of course. He still loses his balance and stumbles. I make sure that my follow up sweep to his ribs isn't too fast. This time, he successfully puts his guard up and blocks the strike on a chitinous shoulder. His eyes grow intense. I notice slits bulging in his arms, the muscles contracting in a way that no mammal organ should. I pause time.

He's going to send something at me. Using that breath between breath, I prepare my reaction. Erynis screams in triumph. Two blades are spat out of the crafted slits. I dodge the first by angling my torso away. The second pings against my staff, but I miscalculate a little and the blade scratches my forearm. Erynis stands dumbstruck. I gently tap him on the forehead.

"Bonk."

"How?" He screams.

"How did you dodge that?"

"You still have much to learn, young apprentice," I drawl in my best dark lord impersonation.

"Empty words. Also Lumie sold you out and it turns out that I'm older than you, 'junior'."

"It was a really good attempt," I inform him.

"Look, you scratched me." He tsks. Given the average fleshcafter's drive for perfection, I might as well have insulted him.

"Those were supposed to land on your chest." We're wearing training gear so it wouldn't have killed me, but fleshcrafters can disappear their wounds in second year, therefore nobody cares if I get bruised.

"You could poison them," I suggest.

"Ah, yes. It would drastically improve their effect."

"And, if I may, Disciple Erynis, it would work better if you didn't freeze and then look really excited about something while your arms bulge like a rutting moonfish." My sparring partner looks rather put upon.

"Point taken, Disciple Prentiss. Any more general advice?" I sigh. Fleshcrafters always need a path forward. Well, I always need a path forward too but I'm different. For me, it's the stakes.

"First, don't stand there shocked if your master plan doesn't succeed. The fight ends when I have surrendered or I'm incapacitated, not when you think you achieved something impressive. Second, we're sparring more for a good physical exercise than to truly learn how to fight, so I would expend my efforts… elsewhere. At least until you're ready to commit to true training."

"I know that you're correct but I dislike hearing it." I need to shrug, mostly because I'm losing my patience. I have a recurring issue with sparring partners wanting to improve but without dedicating the time required to do so. War form training is part of the latest stages of teaching here, mostly because it requires the war form to exist in the first place. It helps, in a fight, to be taller, stronger and the like, but it's not nearly as important as knowing how to fight.

I still freeze in battle because I lack experience, but the trainees here are still at the fumbling stage of sparring long before they develop a style and strategy. Telling them they must practice never satisfies them. Might as well try something else.

"If you really want to work on your war form, how about trying those knife tosses a few more times so you can decide if you want to implement them in the permanent version?"

"You're right! I was considering a specialized organ for spare blade crafting anyway. I just need the credits for the correct gene samples. Oh, will you be playing your engineering tool later?" He finishes with an innocent smile.

"We have an exam coming up."

"The song key is a musical instrument," I correct.

"And I'm really unsure about my short essay on peristalsis. If only a charitable soul could have a look at it…" Erynis rolls his eyes.

"Fine, fine, I'll help with your shitty assignment." He smiles, the cur, the shameless bloviating arse monkey. Peristalsis is the wave-like movement of the intestines allowing their content to move forward. Terrible joke. I'm fuming.

"I should ask for blood money for that horrible pun." I tidy up while my distracted partner's gaze grows empty, fingers moving in intricate patterns. I've seen this before when Kimera prepares some casting or readjusts a model in her head. He's in his own head, lost to the world for now. I could pinch his nose and he might not react. I sort of gently pull him to a corner of the sparring room where he won't catch a random elastic fist or something, then make my way to the showers.

This isn't going to cut it for martial training. I would need to find a mentor to make more progress, but everyone here is specialized in fighting Frankenstein mode. I guess I will sacrifice the following loops on the altar of fleshcrafting, because I'm not going to make progress in the Garden. That's fine. I can just keep practicing forms to maintain my current level, I just hate stalling. The confrontation with Malice confirmed that I'm still far from useful.

Facing the students reminds me that even at the same awakening level, there is an abyss between someone who has fighting experience and someone who usually coasts on their innate strength. At some point, I'm going to have to get dirty. Xan's suggestion to join a mercenary group planetside for a loop or two is starting to sound more and more appealing.

To my pleasant surprise, Antea takes the threat of the abominations seriously, going so far as to send a squad of shadows to the middle of the station while she and Krane carefully prepare. I'm surprised when she summons me to her office, mostly because I told her everything I knew during our first meeting so there isn't much else to add. Just like last time, she has me sitting with tea before we begin.

"Greetings, disciple Prentiss. I see your master has not deigned to monitor her messages again. I might as well start with the private aspect of the meeting." Hmm, something is rotten in the Garden.

"I thought protocol dictates that we wait for her?" Antea smiles very thinly.

"I appreciate your candor and your loyalty, but it also falls under my purview to make sure disciples are not put under, how shall I put it, 'undue pressure'. Master Kimera is one of our most gifted researchers. At the young age of 38 cycles, she has already contributed several breakthroughs in two separate branches and is now working on a third. Such drive can lead her to apply the same standards to others that she applies to herself. Unfortunately, we are not all equal in every aspect of our craft.

It might be best to consider a more structured and meaningful training regimen. Be sure to keep that in mind." I shrug.

"So far so good, but I'll keep it in mind."

"Please do, this time and the next. Ah, I believe she's coming." Antea catches Kimera's approaching presence before I do. The master fleshcrafter barges into the room like a battering ram mounted on a race car. I don't envy the people who have to repair the hinges around here.

"I'm here! Did I miss anything?"

"We were waiting for you," Antea smoothly lies.

"This concerns the next crisis on this rather daunting list." Kimera sits down uninvited and it's a testament to Antea's maturity that not even a ripple of annoyance mars the surface of her soul.

"The scouts we sent have returned. As far as we can tell, the Outskirts are being slowly eaten and there is nothing that can be done to stop it."

"I know of the Outskirts," I reply.

"I assume the gang war makes things complicated? I remember there were three big groups?" The more I learn about the place and the more it sounds like some hellish cesspit people should never approach, like Birmingham. Antea then gives me a rather large data sheet showing the most demented profiling board I've ever witnessed, a mess of pictures and flags criss-crossed by colored lines to form an unholy mess even a particular unhinged conspiracy theorist would struggle to follow.

"Our current best estimate of the Outskirts' political structure," the matron explains.

"Was this built by a tripping spider?"

"Alas, no. It is, to the best of our understanding, accurate. Or it was two days ago. Please bear in mind that at least seven factions have already been wiped out to the last so you understand my position when I tell you that this battle is lost."

"Ok, so we can't stop them in the Outskirts. Any chance of figuring out where they come from? The abominations, I mean." I ask. Antea shakes her head.

"If we were aware of the loop much earlier, perhaps, but by now the area is saturated." Antea's mana shifts. A few more maps and reports appear faster than I can follow. Her expression darkens.

"You will be summoned here weekly so I can share the Avatar of Transformation's innovations and the counter-measures we come up with. If the loop is reset early, you will have what we can develop as we develop it."

"My research still has priority," Kimera protests, placing a hand on my arm. Possessive, are we?

"How you train your disciple is your responsibility," Antea says with a dismissive wave.

"I am entitled to a weekly meeting."

"I have two questions," I say. Antea tilts her head to the side, something that doesn't fit the matronly image.

"Do tell?"

"First, I assume you will speak with others in order to come up with countermeasures."

"Of course. This isn't my area of expertise."

"Then are you not concerned that we will be betrayed? You told me that fleshcrafters used to worship Transformation in the old times. Wouldn't there be people among our ranks who would betray us for the promise of power?" I know this is insulting her, somehow, so I try to soften the blow when she doesn't react.

"I'm only asking because this feels like a major security risk. I don't mean it as an insult."

"Steve, I understand your concerns, but there is a very obvious reason as to why our peers would never stoop this low. Everyone present in the Garden represents the best of the best practitioners of an extremely complex art. We are all extremely arrogant." Kimera nods emphatically, which is noticeable since she usually just glares at the older woman.

"We are artists and perfectionists. Who would allow their masterpiece to fall under the dominion of some destructive god who pursues change for its own sake? I would never."

"Disgraceful," Kimera adds.

"Masters would rather turn into their war form and devastate an entire lab than allow their rival to even touch a sample. Transformation is a brute. We want nothing to do with them. To call upon them would be a blatant admission of one's own inadequacy, an obvious display of incompetence! No fleshcrafter admitted to the Garden would humiliate themselves so."

"Alright…"

'Incorruptible because of hubristic ego and self-confidence' certainly isn't an argument I anticipated, however it makes sense.

"And you had another question?" Antea says in a polite reminder that I'm wasting her time.

"Yes. Look, I've had, hmm, bad experiences so far so I feel the need to ask: why are you helping me? Without asking for a reward? This strikes me as rather unusual according to Enderlithian standards."

"Not at all," she replies.

"I find the thought of surviving a preventable disaster quite appealing, rather."

"Kindly stop lying to my disciple," Kimera hisses. Antea's patience finally fractures with her next glare. I am not the recipient but it distinctly feels like having something very concussive pass by your head at close to the speed of sound.

"I was not lying," Antea tells a subdued Kimera.

"Survival and the safety of the guild and its members is my priority, believe it or not." Her attention returns to me.

"But as Kimera mentioned, there are other reasons. The main one is that we can immensely benefit from having one of our own members as archon. Obviously."

"Provided you maintain your current level of commitment, of course," Kimera adds with a threatening scowl.

"We will not accept a middling operator as our ruler. You will complete your education." Antea's withering glare lasts only for the fraction of a second it takes for her to realize that Kimera's correct. I could be an archon strong enough to blow up the local star and it wouldn't matter if I couldn't turn a goat into a mahogany desk in under three seconds.

"And the last reason I will mention is that you strike me as someone who appreciates loyalty and honesty," Antea concludes.

"I am under the impression you received precious little of either during your journey so far."

"It hasn't been the most pleasant of stays, I'll admit, and yet I've already received help from so many people… Saving the station is no longer just the 'right' thing to do. I don't want the people I appreciate to lose everything." Antea smiles. This time, it almost feels genuine.

"We will get there. Eventually."

Schooling continues, with Antea subtly guiding it more by the day while Kimera returns early from her research for more tests and in-depth dives on specific issues. Despite the insane privilege of getting the attention of some of the best teachers of the settled galaxy, it's clear that I won't be able to cast a single spell by the end of the year. The language skill can only take me so far. I'm just not that smart.

I do not help with holding the tide of flesh this year, yet between Krane's influence and Antea's organizational skills, their progress stalls until War's arrival. Sadly, my study group is disbanded when all the older students are mobilized to help the frontlines. This time again the assault on the spaceport is thwarted so the monstrous avatar annihilates Enderlith's tip before crushing his way through Transformation's domain.

Lilth Kerentis' arrival on the tenth month comes with a cleansing of incredible proportions. She defeats War in only a couple of weeks, leaving me a bit surprised.

"Didn't it take more time last time?" Weird. Well, the circumstances were different. I was with Xan, and I had a much more limited influence. Only a few days later, the Endernet is rife with rumors. Kerentis is searching for someone so ruthlessly, she has already ruffled quite a few feathers. I think I may know who that is. And he's extremely handsome. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

I can feel guards hidden behind the walls of the Garden, just a few meters away through what looks like thick roots. They feel dormant but they're there, especially in the lab section of the Garden. Sterile white, devoid of decorations and smelling faintly unpleasant, the corridor leads to a reinforced gate brimming with enchantments. Someone hidden opens the decontamination chamber.

Honestly this is my favorite part of the process because it makes me feel like I just had a shower and the most thorough tooth brushing I'd ever experienced. The path to Kimera's lab is filled with more armored doors I am unauthorized to cross, and for good reasons. The fleshcrafters don't have so many measures because they're afraid of corporate espionage. They do so because the horrors I saw in the depths mostly came from people fucking with genes.

It is said regulations are written in blood, but here they're written in mutated spiders' acidic spit. Kimera's research room is rather bare, mostly because she's still in the early stages of her next project. Without my arrangement with Antea, she would have been mobilized as well.

"Disciple!"

"Good morning, Master Kimera."

"Hand me sample 47-Ereb-Ereb! Quick!" Ah, yes, a test of my training. I tap the proper code in the sealed sample depository, carefully follow all the steps and am rewarded with a jar containing some dodgy purple squid legs.

"Do not touch it with your bare hands, disciple. I don't have the time to regrow them." Kimera snatches the sample container from my waiting hands, opens it, then drops the entire content into her mouth. She chews pensively as she throws the sample in a recycling bin. Her fingers dance.

"Hmmm. Perhaps a little too potent. Yes?"

"Don't yes me. You asked me to come."

"Oh yes! I didn't ask you, I ordered you — where was it? There! I made some notes for myself. For the next loop. Could you copy them down?" I take a look at the page she hands me. The 'notes' should be on the wiki page for schizophrenia.

"Are you sure they're sufficiently dense? I can still make out a few of the characters," I ask.

"Founder dammit disciple. It's not complicated! You just have to…" She gives the notes a quick glance.

"Hmm yes, on second thought, let me reorganize them." Out of curiosity, I inspect the metal table where a few bottles wait, filled with unknown liquids. The blue light reflects strangely off the white walls and steel surface to give the room a cold feeling. Kimera doesn't appear to care.

"I never asked you what project you were working on." She pauses in her mad scribblings. I know the look by now. Her dark eyes have lost themselves in memories, but she lacks her usual intensity.

"It's my true project, actually. The one I joined for. The worm-resistant lacquer and gene innovations I completed gave me the funds and reputation necessary for this grand undertaking. We… are going to cure Larim worm infestation!" Kimera turns to face me. She leans against a counter, posture too casual for a lab. But well, it's her lab.

"You have no idea what a Larim worm is, as do the overwhelming majority of my colleagues. Larim used to be a promising world at the edge of civilization, rich and fertile. A crossing for further expansion with decent mana and a rich biosphere. Unfortunately, one too many explorers brought back a curious curse from a jungle expedition."

"... the worm, I assume?"

"Worms. Tiny worms, almost invisible in their larval stage. You see, Larim's native fauna possess natural defenses against this parasite. They also tend not to live long enough for an infestation to fully develop, but humans and our variants are especially vulnerable. At first, the infestation manifests as an itch. It's a slow process. The worm isn't exactly virulent. Like some of the best predators, it likes to take it slow. By the time the disease is in full swing though, the worms are everywhere.

The second issue with the Larim worm is that while most standard drugs work against it, the parasite possesses a curious ability which manifests when it undergoes great duress. It is capable of reverting part of its anatomy to eggs, and while the main body is destroyed, eggs tend to escape because they're surprisingly resilient."

"So…"

"As long as treatment continues," Kimera says, "the infestation can be kept under control, but if someone forgets their meds, loses access, or can no longer afford them, then the infestation resurfaces, and each episode is worse than the last."

"Because there are more eggs."

"More eggs, yes. Every time. The thing is, disciple, that the disease is slow to kill but easy to propagate. In some circumstances, physical contact is enough. We found larvae on door handles. Larim's population has, of course, taken measures to fight this scourge." We? Kimera's voice slows down, which I'm not sure ever happened before.

"I remember walking to the school in a protective suit. My parents made me promise not to eat anything someone else gave me. I had to go through a makeshift decontaminator every time I came home. It worked, but many other children are not so lucky. People have to live with it their whole lives. It's extremely difficult to leave the planet so life goes on, day by day, fates forgotten by an uncaring galaxy.

Sometimes the worms grow resistant to certain drugs so the government has to pay hundreds of thousands of credits it doesn't have for updated formulas. It's a rather unfortunate way to live." She turns her attention to me, gauging my reaction.

"Are they a danger to fleshcrafter?" I ask.

"Not at all. I could clear someone from hair follicle to toe matrix in four seconds, maybe five if the infestation is very advanced. But there are 800 million people spread across the planet, and they can be infested again the next day."

"So you need a more permanent solution."

"Indeed, and now, I can find one. My first idea was to develop something that attacks the eggs themselves but, of course, it has already been attempted. I'm currently going through standard methods that might still work."

"I assume gene modding is impossible in a population so large?"

"Not exactly. It is possible, but I see several issues. One, it's no more likely to work than other methods. Two, deploying it would be cost-prohibitive. Three, it would take generations before the effects are fully felt. Four, it wouldn't solve the fact that the entire planet has been strictly quarantined for over two hundred years."

"Ok. So the research notes are…"

"For now they're a long list of methods that do not work, but I need to be thorough. It only costs months to check all standard methods available to us, and would spare us years of research if it ever were successful. And who knows? We might learn something new about the worm."

"Alright."

"I'm finished with the note. Here." It looks cleaner if nonsensical. It's lucky that I got the soul book or I would never have been able to memorize lists of seemingly random numbers and abbreviations. And to think this is just a fragment of what mnemonic nodules can achieve.

"You know, you can look at numbers and see that half of the population has been confirmed to be infested at any time, but those are just numbers. They mean nothing. The human mind cannot see so many subjects as individuals. For me, the infestation wasn't the news report, or the safety measures or the impossibility for the infested to date anyone clean…" I freeze because Kimera never opens up about her past. Even her soul's composure is cracking.

"For me the infestation is getting into the spaceport at the edge of the capital, next to the slums. It was a moment of triumph for me, but also a sadness because I knew I would never see my parents again. I was sixteen then, fresh off the final exam for the fleshcrafter admission. There was a boy. I… I shouldn't tell you this." I get faint images from her. Memories bleed from her soul and into my mind, fueled by intense emotions and a trauma so vivid I can taste the humidity in the air even through the rebreather.

"Show me, it's fine."

"It will do nothing good to you." Hesitantly, I grab her hand. She stiffens but doesn't pull back.

"I want to know as well. Show me," I insist.

"You might regret it." She shows me. Afternoon. The sky is gray, as it often is around Footfall. The city's center is at my back, the port being on the outskirts and falling apart except for the one final terminal hosting the very few shuttles allowed to land. I am a nervous wreck. I barely slept. I can still feel mom's arms holding me with enough strength to crack my ribs. It kills my parents to see me leave, but they never stop smiling through the tears and they would never let me stay. This world is a purgatory.

The ultimate act of love for someone is to make someone leave. I know it, and I know only we, the few who leave, can donate money so Larim gets to purchase drugs. I am different. I will find a cure. Everyone said I was gifted, an obvious statement that nevertheless comforts me in my conviction that I will be the one to save the planet. The shuttle is here, waiting with its bay fumigated by a soldier in isolating armor. And then I see him behind the barrier.

There is a window there, shutters mysteriously open onto the nearby shantytown though they should be closed. He's my age, but the red marks and necrotic tissue of a terminal infection already cover his face and naked chest. His left eye has gone blind, but the other one follows us with maddened intensity. With his right hand, he pushes tweezers into a lesion under the dead eye. The metal implement plunges into the wound like a questing bird, stabbing around in search of prey. Purulent blood drips onto his cheek.

Eventually, the tweezers slowly emerge with the white, wiggling length of a worm. It pulls, and pulls until the last of the creature is drawn from the revolting sore. The young man lets it fall on the ground and tramples it. His remaining eye still glued to the shuttle, he stabs his forearm next. I am pushed into the shuttle bay by impatient staff after slowing down. Necrotic lesions score extremely high on the pain scale, yet here he stands, screamless. I can't stop looking.

He's pulling again, then the hull blocks my view and there are seats, obscenely red and gold and disgustingly affluent. I can remove my rebreather now, because it's safe, but if anything even touches my mouth, I will throw up. I don't see him through the window when we take off. I can't eat for three days after that. Kimera waits for me to digest the memory. I don't think I ever saw someone rotting alive before, at least not outside of a movie.

An indescribable feeling of blasphemous horror claws at my chest, the belief that someone might be alive, or dead, or even dying, but that putrescent hybrid of half person and half corpse shouldn't exist. Because it might happen to me. And I really hate that thought. It takes me a little while to calm down. I don't want to pull that horror in. I don't want to let it go to waste. The temptation to spool soul energy and cast my first soul spell is strong but I refrain.

I think I would think less of myself for a long time if I turned Kimera's heartfelt offering into fuel for my progression. Eventually, I met her patient gaze. An unmoving Kimera shouldn't exist.

"You know, it might sound strange to you, but I actually know how it feels to see an entire people suffer so much and know you're in a position to help, but you can't do it just yet. I get it. So I'll tell you the same thing I told myself. Time is on our side."

"On your side," she corrects.

"On our side because I'm on your side. It may take dozens of attempts, and while we do so, people will suffer and die only to live again unaware, but we will succeed. We will make it happen. We will accept no other choice. In Enderlith and everywhere else." Kimera crosses her arms.

"Have I mentioned I liked a confident man?"

Horrible beeps.

"Hm?" What the hell is that noise? Who's calling me at arse o'clock?

"Disciple Prentiss?" An unknown voice. What I want to ask is who the fuck they are and where the fuck they are so I can send them an exothermic gift. Alas, the first step towards conquering a space station, is to conquer oneself.

"Yes?"

"Grandmaster Antea requests your presence immediately. It's extremely urgent." Dammit. I only slow down long enough to wear trousers. A guard is already rushing towards me. When he spots me, he guides me to the nearest concealed elevator which takes us to the office at a speed that leaves me reeling. The gate to Antea's office is already open, and this time, I'm not offered tea.

"Three hours ago," she starts without preamble, "Kerentis' empire turned on the Seven Suns Sect despite them being nominally allies. She demanded that they surrender anyone who joined them after the beginning of the Year of Judgment. The Elders refused, so she attacked them. Ruthlessly. The entire station is in turmoil. All the alliances she's prepared before the year have come crumbling down. I believe you know what is causing this." Antea looks tired, almost despondent. I feel the need to confirm.

"Kerentis is aware of the existence of the loop. The only time we crossed paths, she made it clear having her memory erased was a terrible offense."

"Therefore, she is sabotaging her future reign because she knows it will not matter," Antea confirms. I nod.

"This is the most likely explanation. As I said, we met once. She tried to destroy my soul."

"I gather that you are not eager to repeat the experience?"

"I would rather not, no."

"Then… I am sorry to inform you that Kerentis killed the last of the Elders. She then attacked the Sallurian delegation with the same intentions. Her pattern of movement, as well as the presence of Imperial scouts on the outskirts of the Garden indicates she will be here soon. Now, we have powerful defenses that could give even War pause, but against someone like Kerentis, we can only delay. I believe it is time to consider ending this loop. I… am sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" I ask.

"This isn't your fault."

"It might come as a surprise to you, avatar, but I take the protection of our people very, very seriously. And now I have failed you." I have to laugh a bit at that.

"It's fine. Next time, for sure." The matron's mask breaks for the length of an amused huff.

"I will give you the intimacy required to do what must be done. I will prepare our defenses now. Good luck and see you next time."

"How come I never get the monopoly on time jokes?" I complain. But she's gone, and in her stead I feel a rapidly approaching soul. Kimera crashes through the door with the strength of a rhinoceros and the grace of a rather panicked goose.

"Disciple!"

"I'm here."

"Disciple! She's coming. So, the end is upon us. Do you have my notes?"

"Yes yes, they're tied to my soul and permanent until I decide to delete them, as I previously mentioned."

"Do you have the detailed plans Antea gave you?"

"Yes. For the exact same reasons."

"Do you need anything for the road? Your song key? Snacks?" She rubs her hands.

"I fear I can only bring my soul and the memories it carries, Kimera. I'll be fine. It will be fine." I have never seen her so nervous, but then I imagine the situation from her angle and… yeah. She knows she's about to 'die'. The entire year of existence we just shared will be lost to her forever, its only witness my own imperfect memory. Those are the last few moments of her life as it is.

"I guess it's time for me to fulfill my part of the bargain. May I see your war form since it would make the task... Easier?"

"I told you, Disciple. Such a contract would have been illegal."

"I know. It's not about law. I will uphold my word as much as I can. Come on. I remember you telling me it will be funny."

"I… have changed my mind. I am sorry. I cannot do it. I cannot cut off your head and plunge my blades in your chest. The very thought revolts me. I… but I need to do it, or you may suffer more." The composure of her soul cracks. Distress erupts like a geyser. I wince.

"It's fine. I never mentioned it but I can restart the loop at will." She looks up, dark eyes liquid. Damn.

"So I don't need to hurt you?"

"No, Kimera. You do not have to hurt me."

"Oh good. Then…" She pushes me against the wall, her strength not so impressive in this form, but I'm so surprised it works. As my back slams against the wall, she reaches up to my neck, bends my back and kisses me. Her lips are warm, soft. They taste of Eryon berries. Spines brush against my shoulders, smelling faintly of caramel.

Then I am flooded, completely smothered by a torrent of emotions as her soul opens and crashes on mine: excitement, guilt, lust, terror at the possibility of rejection, pride at her own courage, Attraction. A longing so raw it squeezes my heart. I am stunned, but when she parts from me, my hands are on her shoulders, her face against my chest so I can only see the elaborate crown of her 'hair'. The hands are soft and deceptively strong and so very warm.

"But why didn't you say something?" I gasp.

"I-I-I didn't know how to do that. This isn't my area of expertise!"

"Kimera, dammit."

"But we ran out of time and this is my last chance and I knew it's now or never so it was going to be now and it was very nice. Was it very nice?"

"It was very nice. The nicest. Did you craft your lips for kissing?"

"I did not," she replies, looking up with a smile, and warmth that spreads to my chest.

"All natural skills. I… I wanted to say: you have my permission to court me in future loops." She nods to herself wisely.

"That way, when the time comes for you to be archon, you will remember my birthday and my favorite dessert." The tree shakes around us. This is bad.

"Go now. Oh! And don't let our fiery passion distract you from your studies, disciple!"

"I promise." And then I focus. Calling this ability comes naturally. It's like finding a rope and pulling on it.

"Don't forget me. Oh, your eyes! They're sil —" Death count: 10 Loss count: 2 Qualia points acquired: 73 Joined the fleshcrafters for the first time: 10 Learned basic flesh mana manipulation. 40 Made great progress in fleshcrafting's preparatory theory learning. 10 Used soul manipulation to receive a horrific core memory: 5 Met and allied with a grandmaster. 8 First romantic contact with a woman on Enderlith. At last. 0 New total available: 2804

"I survived again!" I say with some excitement.

"Oh, and a girl kissed me. Huzzah." Morag hands me a glass of some aggressively orange cocktail. I give it a sip.

"Sex on the beach?" I ask, a little lost.

"Oh, you made it virgin." The implication hits me at the same time as the goddess' snarky grin.

"Look I was too busy for romance until recently, what with all the calamities hitting the station. Just kissing is quite nice, thank you very much. And I think I'm ready to live a little while I prepare for the next serious attempt at making things better." I frown, sipping more of the mocktail. It tastes amazingly fresh.

"Ok. But I need rules for dating Kimera because I can see how things would get really unethical. So, I can't really do much about age difference and it's not that severe anyway."

"She's only more than twice your age," Chronos concedes.

"Or the power imbalance."

"Her being your mentor and physically stronger."

"Only in war form," I retort. Morag huffs. Ok so maybe… yeah she probably modded her body for maximum effect. She might be stronger.

"... but I would still be a dishonest and manipulative bastard if I didn't disclose that, you know, I know her on a personal level even if she's forgotten. Come to think of it, that should be a rule for all dating going forward if Kimera and I break up. The two gods exchange a glance.

"But casual sex is fine," I decide.

"Observe, friend," Chronos drawls.

"He has not yet begun to train his star affinity, and is already irrationally optimistic."

"Har har."