Chương 25: The Man with a White Glove

Lio sat very still, watching the amber morning light arrive. Around him, Floor 1 slowly woke up, the fungi around them pulling themselves out of their dormant states. The canopy brightened significantly as the last of the night fog retreated back into the ground, seeping away between the moss and roots until the air was clear and warm. He watched the other two sleep, his head cocked to the side.

William had slid sideways during the night, his head now resting at an unfortunate angle that was definitely going to cause him problems when he woke up. Ophila hadn't moved at all, comfortably waddled deep inside her makeshift cocoon. After a couple of minutes, William opened his eyes with a small moan. He laid stock-still, staring at the canopy above with a blank expression. Then he let out a loud yawn, sitting up.

His hands went to his injured ribs at the sudden movement, his expression shifting into a small wince. A few seconds later, Ophila's shelter also began to rustle. A small hand emerged, pushing the bark panel aside, revealing her sleepy face. Her braid had come undone overnight, resulting in a wavy mass of strawberry blonde hair spreading across her shoulders loosely. She frowned, blinking slowly up at the canopy. Then she languidly stretched, arching her spine like a cat.

She held the position for a long moment, her face scrunched, before collapsing back down with a long sigh. She laid there for a second more, blinking. Then she reached up, picked up a loose strand of hair hanging across her face, and tucked it behind her ear.

"Morning," she said, sitting up. William looked over at her.

"Morning. How did you sleep?"

"Not good," she replied drowsily.

"I was waiting for you to stop snoring."

"I don't snore," William protested immediately.

"Mhm," Ophila mumbled, her eyes still not even fully open. William looked at her. Then he sighed and reached for his pack. Lio said nothing, watching as William pulled out his ration kit. With careful movements as to not bother his wound, he pried the tin open and looked at the contents without much enthusiasm. Ophila soon too retrieved her own food and began nibbling on a piece of dried meat. She had also, somewhere in the first minute of being awake, produced her marbles.

She sorted them without looking, her attention apparently on her food. But her thumb moved with clear practice, sorting the rough balls with ease, rolling them around with impressive coordination. William watched over the edge of his tin, chewing thoughtfully.

"Those are what you used in there, right?" he asked.

"I heard them being thrown around when you went in. What do they do?" Ophila glanced up at him, raising her brow.

"You could hear that from outside?"

"I have enhanced hearing," William said, tapping his ear. Then his expression changed, as he gave a deep frown.

"Sorry, you don't have to answer that question. I mean, your rune is your own business, I didn't mean to—""It's fine," Ophila said simply, cutting him off. She held up one of the marbles between two fingers, turning it so the amber light caught the rough surface.

"My rune lets me swap my position with objects." She set it back in her palm with the others, rolling them across her palm. William's mouth hung slightly open.

"So you were, like, teleporting? That's so—""Swapping," she corrected mildly.

"Isn't that teleporting?"

"It's completely different," Ophila said, her tone suddenly brisk and alert. She set down her dried meat, her face deadly serious.

"Teleporting means you're just moving yourself from one place to another. What I do is an exchange. Something goes where I was, I go where it was." She jabbed a finger accusatorily at William.

"Teleporting is just a lazy umbrella term." William's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Okay, but you still end up somewhere you weren't before."

"That's not the—""Like that's literally the definition of teleporting?"

"The outcome isn't the point," Ophila said, tossing her hands in exasperation.

"Right, right." William held up both hands in surrender.

"So it's basically teleporting but with some extra steps?" Ophila looked back at him with a sour look.

"Swapping," he corrected himself immediately.

"It's swapping. Completely different, right?" The silence relapsed as Ophila picked her dried meat back up and continued chewing on it, though she made a point to give the other boy a scolding look once in a while. William avoided her eyes, looking sheepishly at his ration tin. Then he reached for his water. And as he shifted his position slightly right, he immediately recoiled violently, nearly upending his entire pack. Lio looked at him with a bored look.

William had scrambled back a full foot, breathing hard as a cold sweat broke out on his face.

"Where," he gasped, pointing at Lio with one finger.

"Where did you come from?"

"I've been here the whole time?" Lio cooly replied. William's finger shook.

"How… You were just. I thought you were—" He took deep breaths, trying to calm down.

"A ghost!" Across from them, Ophila had her hand pressed firmly over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with exertion.

"It isn't funny," William told her. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. Her shoulders just shook even harder.

"I'm serious, that isn't—" He pointed at Lio again.

"He was just sitting there! In complete silence! Not moving! For how long?"

"Since before you woke up," Lio said. William turned to stare at him.

"That's— why would you do that? Why wouldn't you say something?"

"You seemed busy," Lio said, shrugging.

"What…?" William said. He shivered.

"You were just watching! Do you have a fetish for watching people sleep and eat?"

"I wasn't watching," Lio said, shaking his head once.

"I was just sitting."

"With your eyes open and staring at me! That's watching!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lio said, slapping a confused expression on his face. Ophila finally lost it, a bright and sudden laugh escaping her, and she immediately ducked her head, shoulders shaking, one hand still over her mouth. William shot her a look of profound betrayal.

"Did you know he was there?" he asked accusingly.

"I'm literally across from you," she managed, her voice strangled.

"So?"

"So of course I saw him!" She paused, another wave of giggling wrecking her.

"You just never looked left!" William flushed bright red.

"I was focused on my food," he muttered, looking down at the ground.

"He was right next to you," Ophila said, chuckling.

"The… the food was just that good!" He protested loudly, and turned his whole body away, clearly communicating to them that this conversation was over and done. Ophila wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, still grinning, and reached for her water. Meanwhile, William had—grumbling under his breath—produced his healing salve—the one Lio had initially gone for—from his pack and uncapped it, applying a careful amount to his ribs.

He winced at the contact, carefully massaging the ointment into his bruised and cut-up skin. After he finished, he seemed to be deep in thought, turning the vial over in his hand. He looked across at Ophila, who had gone back to rolling her marbles. His eyes dropped to her injured shoulder, and a guilty look flashed across his face. With a sigh, he stood up and walked over to her.

"Here," he said, holding the vial out. Ophila looked up, tilting her head.

"What's that?"

"It's a healing salve," William said.

"For your shoulder." Ophila looked at the vial, then up at him.

"But that's yours."

"You got hit because of me," William said, with a small shrug.

"I brought the Skinwalker over. If I hadn't, then you wouldn't have had to fight it alone."

"I wasn't alone," Ophila protested.

"Lio was there."

"Lio was—" William glanced over at Lio, his expression briefly shifting into one of annoyance. He turned back, the look fading away.

"That's besides the point. The point is, you got hurt, and I have a salve, so." He pushed the vial slightly further toward her. Ophila frowned uncomfortably.

"That salve looks expensive."

"It is," William said, gritting his teeth slightly at the reminder. Ophila gave an awkward smile.

"You don't have to—""I know," William said, closing his eyes tightly.

"Just… just take it."

"... Okay?" She took it carefully. William watched her uncap it with an expression of pure grievance, like he was at a funeral for his beloved. His eyes tracked every small movement of her fingers with a pained look, and when she pressed the first small amount onto her shoulder he made a small sound. Ophila glanced up at him.

"Are you… alright?"

"Fine," William squeaked, watching the salve disappear into her skin with a terribly focused expression. She applied a second small amount. William's left eye twitched.

"That's probably enough," he yelped, his voice coming out in a higher pitch. Ophila looked at her shoulder, frowning.

"I think I need a bit more."

"It's very concentrated," William said immediately.

"Very, very potent stuff. A little goes a long way, honestly, probably already working, you'd be surprised—" Ophila pressed one final small amount onto the worst of the bruising. William closed his eyes briefly, as a vein on his chin bulged out. She recapped the vial and held it out.

"Thank you," she said with a sincere smile. He took it back silently, looked at how much remained, and tucked it back into his pack.

"You're welcome," he said, in a hollow voice. Across from them, the corner of Lio's lips slightly twitched, curling up into a small smile. Nobody said much of anything for a while after that. Instead, they silently watched the amber light deepen around them, the morning light of the fungi reaching its peak. Then, without anyone needing to suggest it, they began packing up. William folded his shelter materials while Ophila dismantled hers with quick efficiency, tucking each piece away carefully.

She then noticed the fraying strap on William's pack as he shouldered it.

"Wait," she said, and produced her sewing kit before he could protest. William stood there with a resigned patience as Ophila began working quickly, her needle moving through the frayed section until soon, tight green threads pulled everything back together in clean lines.

"There," she said, clipping the thread and tucking the kit away. William rotated the strap, examining the stitching.

"This is really good. You must do this a lot," he said, nodding appreciatingly.

"Probably," Ophila said simply, shouldering her own pack. Lio looked at the two of them, having already been ready for several minutes. Seeing them finish up, he glanced at the corridor in front of them where Walker was waiting in the dark. Then he started walking. ◈◈◈◈ In a small tavern located inside the Third Ring, a young man was biting into a piece of toast.

It was a very unhurried breakfast, a simple assortment consisting of two slices of bread, toasted to an even brown, a small ceramic dish of dark preserves, and a cup of steaming hot tea. He ate without any sort of rush, his warm, forest green eyes gazing out the window at the rising amber sun with a pleasant quality. He was perhaps around twenty, with close-cropped dark hair and a face that was difficult to place. The white glove on his left hand was the only remarkable thing about his appearance.

The silk was extraordinarily fine, fitted in such a precise manner to his hand that it was like a second skin. He was reaching for the ceramic dish when the air suddenly crackled sharply of static, an overwhelming smell of pine flooded the room, and then a creature materialized out of thin air, seated right on top of the ceramic plate of jam. It was a toad, roughly the size of a large cat. Its skin was a deep and mottled grey, its eyes two enormous amber lamps that blinked with an almost noble patience.

But this wasn't any normal amphibian. And the feature that stood out the most was the four tiny wings that sprouted from its back, beating in a lazy rhythm. Additionally, around it, three ghostly balls of pale light drifted in a slow orbit, rotating around the toad unhurriedly. It regarded the young man with its enormous amber eyes. Then it bowed, opening its mouth.

And from somewhere deep within its throat, a long grey tongue unspooled, extending across the table until the canister attached to its end came to rest directly beside his hand. The brass cylinder was small, sealed at both ends, and coated in a glistening layer of toad saliva. The young man looked at it. Then he picked up his napkin, carefully unfolded it with one hand, and gently wiped the canister down.

He cracked the canister open, removed the small roll of paper inside, and spread it flat on the table with his bare hand. For a moment, he read silently. Finally, a couple of minutes later, he set it down gently. He folded the letter carefully, tucked it into his breast pocket, and picked up his toast.

"Ahead of schedule," he murmured pleasantly, and took a bite.