The dull pressure behind Caleb's eyes greeted him like an unwelcome friend, and a numbing calm blanketed his thoughts, burying yesterday's terror. He sat up on his cot, moving slowly.
The world was muted, every sight and sound muffled as if he were underwater.
His shoulders sagged forward, head tilted at an odd angle and jaw hanging slightly slack. His eyes were unfocused and staring at a point somewhere beyond the opposite wall. Even his breathing was shallow and irregular.
He fumbled with the laces of his trousers, missing loops he normally threaded without thought. But he made sure to get the coin pouch. Standing, his foot caught on a loose floorboard, the exact one he’d stepped over every morning for weeks. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall near the door.
Pressing his palm flat against the rough wood, he stared at it for several heartbeats. The clumsiness faintly registered somewhere in the back of his mind, but it was swallowed by a singular thought: get stronger. It was the only sentiment that truly pierced the fog.
The kitchen welcomed him with its usual complement of scents, sights, and sounds. He made his way to his station with leaden steps, eventually picking up his knife and honing steel. He guided his hands without a sense of ownership. The motions were disconnected and separate from intention.
The knife slipped.
It clattered against the floor, the harsh clang cracking the kitchen’s meditative quiet.
"Whoops!" His voice rang out artificially bright; cheerful and far too loud.
He bent to grab the blade, oblivious to the effect he'd created. Around him, the kitchen's tempo had ground to a halt. A cook's knife hovered mid-chop, its owner stock-still and staring. The sizzle of a pan on the hearth seemed unnaturally loud in the sudden hush. The staff exchanged worried glances, eyebrows raised, mouths pressed into thin lines.
Caleb straightened, knife in hand. He resumed honing in mechanical swipes, his wrist automated while his eyes fixed on nothing. After a long, uncertain moment, the other cooks slowly returned to their work.
The kitchen door swung open soon after and Gareth entered, then paused mid-stride. He swept the room with expert eyes, reading the disruption in his domain at a glance. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He lingered on Caleb a fraction longer than anyone else, giving him a slow, diagnostic blink.
The sight of his boss triggered something in Caleb's addled mind. Right!The mission! He set his knife down on the block with exaggerated care, abandoning vegetables half-prepped.
He walked across the kitchen in a straight line, forcing an older cook carrying a haunch of meat to sidestep him with a grunt of surprise. Caleb stopped directly in front of Gareth, violating the space propriety demanded.
"Good morning!" The greeting burst out chipper and friendly, completely at odds with kitchen protocol. His smile was too wide, showing too many teeth.
Gareth's glare could have stopped a charging bull. He squared his shoulders and leaned down over Caleb intently. Before he could speak, Caleb continued, his tone easy and languid. "I'm heading out for a bit. Going to the Adventurer's Hall to get my spirit stone and get Awakened. Wish me luck!"
The kitchen died.
Every single person stopped. Knives quit chopping. Wooden spoons hung suspended above stilled pans. Even the fire seemed to quiet its crackling. The silence filled the kitchen like a held breath.
Seeing their stunned, wide-eyed faces, Caleb felt a surge of camaraderie. He smiled even wider, crinkling the corners of his eyes. They were excited for him! And so he basked in their obvious enthusiasm. Rocking slightly on his heels, he waited a beat in the breathless lull, then chirped, "OK, see you later!" He gave a jaunty little wave and marched out beaming and at ease, certain his news had been well received.
The common room blurred past. Behind the bar, Corinne and Cassia were reviewing the morning's inventory, their heads bent over ledgers. He threw them a happy wave with both arms as he walked past.
Corinne stilled, the ledger slip dropping from her limp fingers. Her mouth opened slightly, confusion rippling across her face. Cassia's professional smile vanished as her lips tightened with concern, her brow pinching down as she watched him pass.
Caleb didn't notice, and the door drifted shut behind him.
Outside, morning light painted Deadfall Village in shades of gold. He strolled down the middle of the street, threading between purposeful merchants and guards like a man without a care in the world. A tune bubbled up from somewhere in his memory, and he began to whistle. A simple, high melody that seemed perfectly natural.
A horse-drawn cart swerved to avoid him, its driver yanking hard on the reins. "Watch where yer walking, ye daft—!" The curses bounced off his consciousness.
The smell of sizzling oil snagged his attention. A street vendor was frying battered mushrooms in a wide iron pan, their earthy aroma mixing with pungent spices. His stomach distantly reminded him that he'd skipped breakfast.
"One, please." He handed over a silver coin without waiting for the price.
The vendor's eyes widened. "That's... that's too much, lad."
"Keep it!" Caleb took the paper cone of fried mushrooms and continued on, munching contentedly. The vendor gaped after him, shaking his grizzled head.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Caleb kept whistling his tune around a mouthful of mushrooms, completely blind to the figures that had just stepped from a narrow alleyway to block his path.
An impact jarred Caleb backward, his shoulder colliding with someone green. A fried mushroom tumbled from his paper cone, bouncing off cobblestones before rolling into a puddle. He watched it sink with mild fascination, his head cocked to one side, the golden breading dissolving into muddy water.
"Watch where you're going, dull-ear!"
Narbok Blackbriar shoved him again, harder this time. The force sent Caleb stumbling into the rough timber wall of a shop. Finn materialized on his left, that eager grin splitting his face, all teeth. Durk loomed on the right, knuckles already cracking.
The alley. The blood. Cillian's knife sliding through flesh like—
No. That was yesterday. This was today. Today was different. Today, a pleasant numbness cushioned every thought.
Caleb smoothed his tunic carefully, brushing away a few breadcrumbs that had stained his shirt. His face arranged itself into a broad, vacant smile. "My sincerest apologies! Entirely my fault, I assure you."
He reverently held out the paper cone in offering. "Mushroom?"
Narbok narrowed his eyes to slits. His hand had been reaching for Caleb's collar, but it paused mid-air, fingers still curled like claws. "What?"
"They're quite good. From Velkin's stall." Caleb selected one carefully and popped it into his mouth, chewing with evident satisfaction. "The breading has this delightful hint of thyme."
Finn faltered, his grin collapsing into uncertainty. He glanced at Narbok, then back at Caleb, his watery yellow eyes searching for their familiar scenario. Caleb should cower. He should whimper and run.
Durk just looked confused.
"What's wrong with you?" Narbok stepped closer, his breath hot against Caleb's face. The scent of sour milk and old meat wafted between them. "Did your drunk father finally scramble your brains?"
Drunk father? The words should have stung, but Caleb realized Narbok was asking about Thal's father, not Grandpa Foster.
"Oh, Rufan's not dad." He pulled the mushrooms back with a gentle, playful motion when Narbok grabbed for them, like a parent keeping sweets from an overeager child. "Common misconception. We simply share accommodations. Well, shared. Past tense now."
The grooves on Durk's forehead seemed to carve themselves deeper into his skull. His massive paws flexed at his sides, opening and closing as if seeking something to crush.
"Are you—" Narbok's voice cracked, the threat suddenly hollow. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Are you mocking me?"
Caleb tilted his head to one side, considering this with detachment. "I don't think so? Though I suppose one can never be entirely certain of one's own motivations. The mind is such a fascinating thing, don't you think?"
Somewhere, a merchant hawked fresh bread. A cart rattled past in the street, wheels clattering over uneven stones. Ordinary sounds in Deadfall Village, indifferent to three boys standing stock-still in bewilderment around a fourth who made no sense.
Finn's nervous laugh broke the spell. His eyes darted between Narbok and Caleb, looking for a way out. "Maybe... maybe we should just—"
"Shut up." Narbok’s fist clenched, a weak imitation of its usual conviction. The bravado in his posture had deflated under the pressure of polite nonsense. He looked from Caleb to Finn, a flash of genuine embarrassment in his eyes, as if he didn't know how to proceed.
"Well!" Caleb clapped his palms together, the effect impeded by the bag of mushrooms he was holding. "This has been delightful, truly, but I have an appointment at the Adventurer's Hall. Mustn't be late."
He gave them all a friendly wave, entirely convinced the encounter had gone well. Then he stepped around Narbok with the easy coordination [Savant of the Body] provided, and was off.
Three steps. Four. Five.
"Hey!" Narbok called after him, frustration rising to an almost plaintive whine. "Get back here! I'm not done with—"
Caleb had already rounded the corner, that easy whistle floating back on the morning breeze. The melody bounced off stone walls, growing fainter with distance, leaving three stunned bullies standing on the side of the street like actors who'd forgotten their lines.
The mushrooms really were quite good. A bit woodsy, with a satisfying crunch. He popped another into his mouth, the simple pleasure anchoring him in a wonderfully uncomplicated moment.
He saw the Adventurer's Hall ahead, its weathered sign creaking in the light wind. He pushed through the large doors, still nibbling on a particularly crunchy mushroom.
The chaos of the hall washed over him: shouts echoing off the timbered ceiling, the clinking of mugs, and the scrape of chair legs. He spotted Felicity behind the counter, her half-elven features intent on tallying receipts, pointed ears twitching slightly as she concentrated.
He walked up and plopped his coin pouch on the scarred wood in front of her. "One spirit stone, Fel!"
Her concentration dissolved as a wry grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Thal? Are you all right?"
He waved off her worry with the hand still holding mushrooms, crumbs scattering across the counter. "Never better. One spirit stone, please."
"F tier, I'll assume. Red or blue?"
"They come in colors?"
Her grin faded, replaced by something harder. "This isn't a game, Thal. Didn't your parents explain this to you?"
"Your parents." Something about that line triggered a chain reaction in his mind, and the haze finally broke. Reality rushed back in, shattering the fragile peace he’d wrapped around himself. The world came back into focus. Sounds were too loud and lights too bright, every sensation overwhelming his unprepared senses.
[New Skill Gained: Mental Fortitude (F) - Novice]
A flood of embarrassing images assaulted him, each one a shard of mortification. The dropped knife clattering on the stone floor, impossible to ignore. Gareth's icy stare. The stupid, carefree wave to Cassia and Corinne. Oh crumb, what must they think? The silver wasted on mushrooms when every copper mattered. Narbok's confused frustration turning to something darker.
Then the final memory that trumped everything else. His own whistling.
Cillian's tune.I was whistling that murderer's song.
The half-eaten mushrooms turned to acid in his throat, a scalding heat that had nothing to do with spices. It was the memory, the sound of his own whistling that poisoned him from the inside out. A violent shudder wracked his frame as every muscle locked tight. His spine bowed, pulling his head down and his shoulders inward, his body physically trying to collapse on itself to escape the shame.
What… what was wrong with me? Aurelian's potion? Some kind of aftereffect?
He looked up at Felicity with the color drained from his face, his eyes wide. His voice came out shaky at first, then strengthened. "My… my mother is dead. My father's alcoholism is why I have to buy my own stone, months after my sixteenth birthday." He shook his head. "I'm sorry for being so informal. I was just really excited about finally earning enough coin to Awaken."
Felicity's features transformed in an instant. The exasperation eased, leaving only quiet understanding in her eyes. She studied him for a long moment, her expression a mixture of conflicting emotions until she finally nodded decisively.
"Jenna!" she called over her shoulder. "Take over for me!"
A young human woman hurried over, wiping her hands on her apron while Felicity led Caleb away from the busy counter. She guided him to a battered wooden booth tucked into a quiet corner, the noise of the Hall creating a bubble of privacy around them. She sat opposite him, arms folded on the table between them as she looked at him sympathetically.
"You need a drink."