Enoch had been received by Coulter soon after waking, where he was guided to the same room he’d had breakfast and dinner in yesterday. He and Ripley idly chatted about things. Enoch didn’t learn much, instead sharing many details of his world. Ripley found it especially odd that Earth had only one sun. That, of all the things, was his hangup.

  Enoch debated whether he should have told Ripley about the night’s events asap, but he decided it could wait until they started actually interfacing about things of that nature.

  After breakfast, Ripley and Enoch went to a previously unseen area of the manor: Ripley’s study. Study, though, was a bit diminutive of its scale. The room was nearly the size of a library, with at least 500 books staged neatly on shelves. “How long did it take you to build a collection like this?” Enoch asked, examining a smaller shelf, set separate from all the others. The books on it were garishly ornate, half as thick as a man, and the paper of the book around the edge looked to be made of gold.

  “A few years, though most of them I took with me from home. This is one of the perks of excelling in my family’s heritage: teaching.” Ripley noticed Enoch looking at the books on the smaller shelf. “Ah, those? Those are skill guides.”

  Enoch looked away from them, “What’s written in them? I can’t open them.”

  Ripley grabbed the book from Enoch, “You don’t read a skill guide. They’re consumables. You set up a ritual and the guide does the rest.”

  Enoch blinked, “Wait, these things just, what, directly implant the knowledge that’s inside them? How does that even work?” He grabbed another one from the shelf, noticing common features. In fact, most of the books were identical except for the colors. Looking closer at the thing, it kind of looked a bit like a small section of a ritual circle.

  “If you want to know exactly how they work, I am unfortunately not the man to ask. However, I do know that it’s more like a graft. Your soul is inviolable, even by methods you want to happen and initiate. These guides just basically stick the information inside to the outside of your soul, and effectively make it your knowledge. Though I have hang ups about it. If you don’t try and learn the knowledge you absorbed, then you never copy it inside of your soul. And if you don’t do that, the “graft” basically fades from your soul, leaving gaps in your knowledge and possible damage to your memory.”

  “I think I get it. You’re saying that the knowledge of the book is, no matter how much it seems like it, outside information. If you don’t make an effort to actually copy the knowledge, then it kind of just disappears. That actually sounds pretty realistic, in spite of all this soul stuff. What kind of stuff do these things teach?”

  “These ones here are for combat methodology as well as monster information. If you aren’t a merc though, this stuff isn’t for you. So many new mercs are trained everyday that it's irresponsible to use them on someone who’s job isn’t culling monsters.”

  Enoch nodded, “Sounds fair. Anyways, I have something to talk to you about, before we go ahead with whatever lesson you had planned.”

  “Oh? Do tell.” Ripley fell into the seat behind his desk, a mix of old style lounge chair and modern office chair.

  “When I went to my room last night, I stepped outside to see the surroundings. It was beautiful, but then a glowing dot appeared in the star facet.”

  “Oh? Can I see it?” Ripley asked, looking curious.

  “Well, that dot flew out of the facet and actually turned out to be a book, which called itself one of my inherent powers. Which you never mentioned…” Enoch trailed off as Ripley’s expression turned to grim realization. “What?”

  “... I don’t know anything exactly, but that sounds like someone sent that to you. That isn’t really how inherent powers work, and I didn’t explain them to you because they’re intuitive to each individual. However, they almost never show up before someone is fully faceted, because inherent powers act like a sort of bridge between the personality of someone and the nature of their powers. It must be a versatile or very powerful ability.”

  Enoch nodded, conjuring the book from thin air. It popped into existence with a flash of gold light and a few sparkles floating for a moment. It was a cream-colored cover, with golden filigree forming sweeping patterns and centralizing around an emblem embroidered into the center. The emblem was in the shape of a squinty eye, but sideways. The sclera was almost like a glossy vantablack, but there were faint notes of silver forming impossibly thin cracks all over it.

  Opening it up, Enoch showed Ripley the page with the abilities on it. Ripley got up from his seat, bewildered as he read. “You have two?... Hmm.” Ripley checked the book over a few more times, then closed it and gazed absently ahead, thinking.

  Enoch had the book vanish, startling Ripley from his thoughts. Enoch summoned it to his hand and opened it to the back page, where there were all sorts of boxes filled with ritual diagrams. “This is how I absorbed the star facet. It let me deploy a ritual circle.”

  Ripley sighed as he sat back down. “I need to approach this differently. You don’t have any comprehension of how powerful and versatile this is, do you? I mean, the mere aspect of cataloging and describing powers is something prized worldwide, as a scant few people have had that power in the past. That’s why not many powers have names. The fact that it lets you deploy rituals the way it does is, frankly, ludicrous. It has limitations on rank, I can sense that much. But still. Does it have a ritual size limit?”

  Enoch thoughtfully looked through the rituals he had available. None of them were combative, and all of them were versatile and useful. He noticed none of them really got bigger than twenty yards across. “Maybe. It’s hard to tell.” Enoch vanished the book, taking a seat at a chair opposite Ripley.

  “That power stands out the most, but that second one is extraordinary in its own right. To be immune to mind-altering effects? There is no limitation to it. That’s rare.” Ripley said, then he acted like he’d just remembered something. “Ah! Just so you know, don’t go around sharing that book with just anyone. Knowing someone’s powers is a pretty big sign of trust in another person. I won’t do anything bad with the information, but others aren’t so nice. They’ll make your weaknesses public knowledge, and then any enemies you might have will probably take advantage of it.”

  “Good, because I don’t plan on oversharing or making enemies.” Enoch said.

  Ripley laughed heartily, “Naivety at its purest. You’ll learn that enemies are an inevitability in this world, no matter the profession. It's just that some enemies don’t try to kill you. They’ll get you fired, make you lose business, or alienate you from your family.”

  “I have a hard time believing that. Like, why would they bother? I just want to make some money, hire someone to help me get home, and maybe bring some stuff back to help people out. What kind of enemy am I?” Enoch asked. It was difficult to just take the man’s words at face value, even with all the magic. Human nature was human nature, no matter how many fancy tools and gizmos you gave it. Extortion, selfishness, and prejudice were rampant among humanity, but only on the top. Underneath, where the people were stepped on, they all just tried to be as fair as was convenient and not make unnecessary conflict.

  Ripley shook his head again, “If you don’t believe me now, you will when you leave. It can only really be learned by being exposed to it, I suppose. Just don’t show this to people without a large amount of trust in them, got it?”

  Enoch nodded, “Fair enough. Alright, what’s on the agenda for today?”

  Ripley grinned, “A fair bit. Before we go on, though, I have to ask again: You’re sure you aren’t interested in mercenary work? Inherent powers say a lot about a person, and yours so far detail a mentally sound man with a conviction to catalog the world. That might be reaching, but still.”

  Shaking his head, Enoch looked to his hands, “Nope. Conflict isn’t my forte. And even if it was, I wouldn’t pursue it.”

  “Fine. In that case, you have a fair bit to learn about the job market in Velocity.”

  “Are there no smaller villages around the city? I’d have thought satellite farming communities would be common there, especially after seeing its size. I know that magic exists and all, but I doubt this world has got mass-production down like my world does.”

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

  “There are some smaller cities,” Ripley agreed, though he still looked reluctant. “I would steer clear of them, though.”

  “Why? I’d imagine it would be easier for me to acclimate, as well as learn jobs with lower stakes. What’s the hitch?” Enoch asked.

  “Well, you said your world doesn’t have monsters, right? Well, there are phenomena known as monster waves here. Random, large, and deadly to anyone who isn’t versed in survival and combat. If you were a merc, that’s where I’d start you, but the security of a place like Velocity is unmatched. Satellite villages are a thing of the long distant past, as it was too costly to keep rebuilding them every time they were razed by stampeding monster waves.”

  Enoch sighed and hung his head, “Well, I started a career in a big city once, I can do it again. Say, how do I even get down to Velocity?” Enoch asked, noting that he probably should have thought of it sooner.

  “I’ll take you down there. Something to know, by the way, is that once you get your full suite of facets it is highly encouraged to get a flight power. There are a few others as well, but if you plan to work out of Aordia that is probably the most important.”

  “Okay. Well, let's get into the potatoes of the final lesson, shall we?” Enoch asked, settling into his chair as Ripley did the same. He nodded.

  …

  On a small island floating over the sea, three people moved with snake-like consistency as they pursued an unaware target. Two of them looked younger, in their late teens, and the other looked older, like they were in their mid-twenties.

  The three were each dark-skinned, with tribal clothing and spears. Barefooted, they dashed through thickets, over roots, and on rocks. They lost sight of their quarry many times, though that never meant they were failing to track them. Their ears picked up the slack. Grey fur coated the wolfish ears that perked from their heads, as well as their tails that kept them balanced.

  One of them, a woman, hung behind the other two, keeping an eye on them. She was exerting less effort than them, keeping up with their juvenile pace. Eventually their prey found the edge of the island, turning and confronting its pursuers. The two younger people, two young men, gave a war-cry and formed into a pincer maneuver. The older woman hung back, but her face showed her disappointment in the youths decision. Their opponent was a two-headed Jackal Mamba. It was a rare creature, thus why the two “most promising” warriors of the younger generation were sent to gain experience by fighting it.

  But, a particularly helpful thing to know when facing a two-headed monster is that you never try to pincer it. They evolved to combat that one specific tactic, as the warriors were about to find out. As they closed the final distance, the two dog-like snake heads twisted over each other, confusing the warriors' targets. In that brief hesitation, each head swung low like a hammer, trying to sweep them to their backs. On the young man, it worked, though the woman hurdled it.

  The older woman grunted as she dashed forward with blinding speed, planting her spear through the snake head that was about to kill the downed man. “Thank you, Storm. I am ashamed of my-”

  “Silence, Blitz. Pay attention to Flow.” Surge of the Storm glared briefly at Blitz, focusing back on the young woman and her fight. Flow was in a dance with the lone snake-head, dodging its sweeps and snaps, then trying and failing to pierce its scales with her spear. Flow had always been weaker than most, making up for it in skill and technique. This brought that weakness into great focus, and Surge of the Storm could tell Flow was getting frustrated.

  Another minute of progressively more tired and desperate actions from Flow, Surge of the Storm snorted, doing the same thing she’d done to the last head. “Flow, where did you go wrong?” she barked at the woman who collapsed onto the ground.

  Flow waited a moment to catch her breath, “... I was not strong enough.” Surge snarled.

  “Foolish. No, you were not enough. You could have lured it to the edge and knocked it off, stabbed its eyes and mouth, used the blunt end of the spear, and many other things. Your technical prowess has put blinders on you. Your skill set does not include creativity.”

  Flow sat up and pointed accusingly at Blitz, “Why are you on me so hard when he got taken out from the very beginning?! At least I could fight it!”

  Surge’s eyes darkened and she glowered, lowering her face to Flow’s. Fear took Flow’s expression. “Because his was a fault of skill. An easily fixable problem. Yours’ is a problem of mindset and method. And if I hear you disparage a fellow clansman again, I’ll see you hang by your belt over the edge of Skyplunge. Do you understand?”

  Flow nodded, and Surge snorted, turning to look at Blitz, who was ashamedly sitting down, looking at his feet accusingly. Surge whistled, getting his attention. “You’ll participate in three extra training sessions every day. Also, both of you will attend my tactics and assessment lecture in a week. Your decision to pincer a two-headed snake is a baffling failure of our current curriculum of tactical theory.”

  Blitz looked motivated when he nodded. “I didn’t really know the best tactic, so I just wanted to go with something lauded as one of the best tactics for single-monster hunting.”

  Surge of the Storm nodded, “Pincer Attack is indeed highly effective in many scenarios. However, it is equally terrible in other, more niche circumstances. This was one of the more tame failures of this tactic. I’ve seen entire team-wipes from a poorly-decided pincer.”

  When they made it back to the village, Surge left the younglings to go do some more training. She went to the largest hut in the center of their current dwelling. Pushing through the curtain of beads, Surge noticed she had intruded on a meeting of all the elders. Without stopping she found a seat and silently took part in the meeting. They discussed plans to move on to a new island, as the prey was growing wise to their hunting parties. Surge didn’t ever take part in these decisions as her forte was very narrow. When someone wanted to move to a new topic, Surge halted the council.

  “I’ve just returned from a foray with a small group of the young “elites.” I am sorely disappointed. One is a bumbling mess and the other is self-centered and narrow-minded. The curriculum needs to be changed. Drastically.”

  An older man slammed a fist down on the table in front of him. “Surge of the Storm! Have you no sense of decency?! Should you have come to me with these concerns first, I would have explained these shortcomings. They are noted, and my curriculum is covering these things later!”

  Surge bared her teeth, standing and glaring at the man, “You insult me? Be silent, soft codger. If your curriculum fails to teach proper tactical planning and creative combat measures in the first year, then it is a . We are at peace now, after reconciling with the main Lunaris house, but should more conflict arise, these younger warriors will be the first to step out and meet the enemy. If this is the level of training the front will have, then we will have a lot of dead warriors.” She walked up to the man, leaning over the table and staring him down, “Or do you believe me unqualified to correct you?”

  The older man, now sweating, spoke tightly, “No one can question your capability…” Surge stepped back, relaxing, when the old fool spoke up, “But we can question your decision to retain only one facet. You are not strong enough to dictate how I do my job.”

  Most of the room stilled, the whispered conversations stalling. For the first time in a long time, Surge of the Storm smiled. It wasn’t cute or pleasant. It was feral and bloodthirsty. “Need I prove myself again? Fine. Bite of the Flame, you have sullied my name and spit on my capability. I have a right to a deathmatch with you.”

  Bite of the Flame looked around, noticing the pitying looks sent his way. He regretted his words. He’d forgotten how merciless and bloodthirsty Surge of the Storm was. But Bite of the Flame had all four facets, even if he only had a few powers. He didn’t think Surge could beat him with only one facet and one power.

  “Fine. Your arrogance will be your end. Lets take this to the dueling gro-”

  Surge grabbed Bite by the collar, faster than he could react, and threw him through the beads, landing in the circular center of the village used for gatherings. He shouted angrily, standing up. A spear smacked him in the chest, and he saw Surge already at the spear racks, grabbing her own. Bite bit back his words: this was a deathmatch. He didn’t want to take it that far, but Surge definitely would.

  Bite was about to enter a defensive stance when he suddenly felt deflated. Gasping, he blinked, wondering where Surge had gone. She was no longer at the spear rack, and Bite looked down at his chest. It didn’t really make sense to him. Something was poking out, pulsating and dripping blood. Dropping his spear, Bite started to gain feeling again. A hand was lodged though his back and out his chest, holding his still-beating heart. Looking over his shoulder, Surge was looking at him with pure apathy. “H- how?...” Bite croaked.

  “I never took more facets or powers so that I could better use the one I have. But, the more relevant question I have for you: Do you resign?”

  Bite blinked, “Wha-”

  “I’ve not yet killed you. My condition for letting you live is that you resign as director of youth development. You’ll get them all killed.”

  Bite nodded, and felt a cold sucking, the hand receding back into his chest. He fell to his knees, passing out. Surge walked over to the spear rack, grabbing a towel meant for cleaning weapons and using it to clean her arm of the blood. Turning around, she saw the many looks people were giving her. “He’s alive. It will take him a few weeks to recover. This is what happens to people who threaten our future by neutering our warrior youth. His curriculum would make us a paltry force to be reckoned with. How many here know that we would be wiped from existence if we weren’t so hard to kill? If we show weakness, the pirate groups will come down on us. . I will not let that happen as long as I live.”

  She walked back into the tent, taking Bite’s old seat. None of the others had moved. The chief shook his head, “I understand your concern, Surge. But if you’d simply informed us all of your discovery, we would have removed Bite of the Flame from the council, letting him retain his dignity and not scare the people.”

  Surge nodded, “Perhaps, but I feel they need to be reminded that our way of life is hard and requires strength. Our lack of official conflict has already been noticed by the pirates, and they are just waiting for our older generation to exit our prime, so that they only have to face soft, young warriors who are untested.”

  The chief sighed and shrugged, “Fine. Try next time, though. Your direct methods are handy most of the time, but some matters require finesse. Okay?”

  “Mm.”

  “Good. Also, you need to name a replacement for your position. We kind of need a scout leader.”