I blinked at the wooden ceiling above my bunk, finally free from the exhaustion of Perfect State side effects. My limbs no longer tingled, and most importantly, my thoughts were mine again.

  Perfect State is anything but perfect after it ends. It left my body aching like I’d run a marathon while chugging three energy drinks and sleeping on a gravel road. Powerful, sure, but only for emergencies, unless I wanted to end every day crawling into bed for a day. it was not exactly ideal.

  With a grunt, I swung my legs over the edge of the bunk and caught sight of the chamber pot in the corner of the room. My face burned red with fresh embarrassment.

  “I cannot believe I used that thing,” I muttered. “Congratulations, Alice. You’ve officially regressed two centuries.”

  I wrapped a shawl around myself, picked up the wooden container with two fingers like it might bite, and made my way down the narrow hall toward the disposal trough behind the freelancer dorms. As I walked, I frowned.

  “This is what I get for leaving the temple,” I whispered. “They had plumbing. Warm water. Enclosed toilets. But no, I had to chase independence.”

  I dumped the pot with what little dignity I could muster, then made a beeline for the public bathhouse.

  The scent hit me before I even reached the main doors: steam, soaps, and sweat. The place was way busier than on my last visit. Freelancers of every kind crowded the space, mostly human-looking, but a few beastfolk women scrubbing tails, one tall girl with marbled skin color and a muscular frame laughing with her team, even a scaled naga woman humming while rinsing her hair. Naked conversations, literal and figurative, echoed from the stone walls.

  I found a corner, peeled off my clothes, and darted close to one of the hot water sources like a fugitive fleeing shame.

  As I poured hot water over my shoulders, I exhaled.

  “It’s not a real shower, but at least some luxuries survived the dimensional jump.”

  After my bath and a quick change into fresher clothes, I made my way to the main hall of the freelancer guild. The front reception desk was busier than usual, with adventurers passing through for contracts, pay, or gossip. Behind the desk sat Nada, squid-like curls tied back into a half-bun, ink-stained fingers tapping through a pile of contracts with inky precision.

  “Nada!” I called.

  She looked up, her face lighting up with a tired but real smile. “San Alice! You’re vertical again. I heard you tried the Perfect State for the first time.”

  “Barely,” I said, chuckling. “It left me more dead than alive. What about you? It looks like you haven’t slept in a decade.”

  Nada sighed and leaned on her elbows. “I’m covering one of my friends’ shifts. I heard Lady Marina may be visiting today. I don't want to miss her.”

  “That name keeps coming up. Who is she?”

  Her eyes lit up despite the bags under them. “One of the top five fighters in the freelancer guild. A commander. But unlike most of the meatheads running this place, she’s got an actual brain. She’s the only reason the city isn’t a total mess.”

  “I thought the guild leadership was supposed to be... You know, leading?”

  Nada snorted. “They do. Mostly by flexing. You wouldn’t believe how many policies in Hano start with ‘I was annoyed, so I punched it.’”

  “Seriously?”

  “There’s this Agame commander, same rank as Lady Marina. He got mad seeing people starving in the slums. So what does he do? Marches up to the top food merchant in the city and says, ‘Fix it. Now.”

  “Direct,” I said.

  “The merchant, naturally, makes a deal. He hands out free food, brown flatbread with peasant cheese, to the poor in exchange for tax exemptions.”

  “That doesn’t sound... terrible?” I offered, cautiously.

  “It’s stupid,” Nada groaned. “The cost of the food is less than ten percent of what that guy owed in taxes. So he gets richer, the city budget takes a hit, and the commander pats himself on the back because bellies are full now.”

  “Short-term fix. Long-term damage.”

  “Exactly. And no one dares challenge the commanders unless you’re another commander, which is why we desperately need people like Lady Marina. She actually understands systems and consequences. I’ve been trying to improve guild logistics just to get on her sightlines.”

  “Well, fingers crossed she sees your genius.” I smiled. “In the meantime, I need a favor. Do you know anyone experienced with lightning powers who’s also willing to teach?”

  Nada straightened, already in work mode. She pulled a half-scribbled parchment from the pile, eyes scanning rapidly. “Lightning casters aren’t common. Three active freelancers come to mind, two with innate lightning, and one with a Soulbook like yours, but I wouldn’t recommend any of them,” Nada sighed, flipping through another register. “Not unless you want your lessons delivered by someone drunk, or on the field... this girl never stays in Hano for long, or worst of all, someone very shady that may as well be a bandit.”

  “Do you have anyone not likely to get me killed?” I asked.

  “Actually, yes.” She tapped a name on the page. “Garo Agame. Semi-retired. Usually guards the West Gate. he is not too flashy, but he is solid and patient.”

  “Agame?” I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you just say that name?”

  “Same family. The strongest fire bloodline in Hano. Garo’s different, though. He’s got Fire and Sky affinities, just like you. His innate power’s smoke-based, but he’s used lightning Soulbooks before. Knows how to control it, even if he may not have it now.”

  “Huh. I didn’t know that blending affinities would result in different powers.”

  “They do work in strange ways. I am not an expert. I’m sure Lord Garo would know more about it.”

  I nodded slowly, committing it to memory. “West Gate. Semi-retired smoke mage with lightning experience. Got it.”

  Nada handed me a folded parchment. “Tell him I sent you. And bring a few bags of tea if you want him to like you.”

  With Nada’s directions in hand and a clearer sense of purpose, I made my way through the guild district, cutting toward the roundabout portal hub where I’d first arrived in this world. The place felt less overwhelming now, less chaotic, more like a central artery of the city.

  Three curved streets split off from the cobblestone circle, each one feeding into another part of Hano. I stepped through the portal leading back toward the market district near the temple’s building. I figured I’d bring a small gift, so I veered toward a Holy Faithful vendor Louis once raved about and picked up a small cloth pouch of fresh tea leaves, fragrant and slightly citrusy. It was an herbal blend rumored to be blessed for clarity of thought and restful sleep. Hopefully, Garo would like it.

  The city began to shift as I walked, subtly at first. A crack here, a crooked shutter there. But the deeper I went, the more obvious it became.

  The colors faded. The roads transitioned from well-maintained stone to uneven cobblestone. The familiar stalls gave way to more makeshift setups. The buildings slouched like they’d given up holding themselves up decades ago. I didn’t feel unsafe, but I could tell... I was brushing right up against the edge. One wrong turn down a shadowed alley, and I’d be in the slums.

  I passed a few adult beggars, tired eyes tracking every passerby. But no children.

  The temple. For all its rules and rituals, it really did try to help. The orphans I’d met weren’t just lucky, they were rescued. I made a silent note to find a way to support them again once I had more money to spare.

  Eventually, the stone under my feet leveled out again, flattening into a wide, clean-cut path that led straight to the West Gate.

  It was imposing: the outer wall of Hano loomed above me, wide enough for siege engines and guard patrols. A broad gatehouse arched in the center, flanked by square barracks, training grounds, and soldiers in functional armor going about their drills. A few watched me pass, but no one stopped me. I guessed I had the confident “I know where I’m going” walk down to an art by now.

  I asked one of the guards, a woman with a pockmarked face, if she knew where I could find Garo.

  She jerked her chin toward a squat tower built into the wall. “Side tower. Smells like incense. Can’t miss it.”

  Smells like incense?

  Sure enough, as I approached the stone archway, I caught a waft of warm, earthy sweetness. Ambergris, I thought. Or something like it.

  I knocked softly, then stepped inside.

  The light dimmed as I entered, but the warmth wrapped around me like a blanket. A single oil lamp flickered near the corner. The room was simple: a rolled-out rug, a stack of folded blankets, a low table with a teapot, and a small clay burner issuing gentle plumes of smoke. The scent was calming, grounding.

  And there he was.

  Garo Agame.

  He looked like he was part of the stone itself; broad-shouldered, skin weathered like sun-worn leather, gray curling at the edges of his neatly tied beard. He reclined on the rug, a cup of steaming tea cradled in his palm, eyes half-lidded in satisfaction. He wore a simple gambeson, long sleeves, and beside him sat a spear propped casually against the wall.

  When he saw me, he smiled in a worn-in welcome that came from a man who no longer had anything to prove.

  “Well now,” he said, voice rich and amused. “You’re not one of the guards, nor are you one of my family coming to pester me. Do you bring trouble,” with a look at my hand, he added, “or just tea?”

  I held up the cloth pouch. “Tea, actually. A gift. From a Holy vendor. I figured it might buy me five minutes of your time.”

  Garo chuckled, already reaching for a clean cup. “Tea buys you much more than five minutes, girl. Sit. Breathe. Tell me your name and what this old man can help you with?”

  “My name’s Alice,” I said, settling onto the woven rug and cupping an offered teacup between my palms. “I’m a new freelancer. I recently picked up a Lightning Soulbook, and I want to learn how to really use it. by that I mean not just to just make pretty sparks, but to master it.”

  Garo gave a low chuckle, steam curling from his teacup and the nearby incense burner alike. “Storm magic, huh? Do you have a sprite for it? Or are you a rich lady playing warrior?”

  I didn’t know how to reply, so I just smiled politely and took a sip.

  “Before we get to that,” I added, “can I ask something a little odd?”

  He raised an eyebrow and gestured for me to continue.

  “I heard something I don’t understand,” I said. “A guild scribe told me your power is smoke, but your affinities are Sky and Fire. I thought that it usually made lightning.”

  He gave a lazy shrug and reached toward the incense burner. Pinching a half-burnt stick, he held it for a moment… then, with no hesitation, slipped it between his lips like a cigar. He took a slow draw, and smoke didn’t rise from his mouth; it flowed into his nose, pouring from the nostrils in twin twisting columns. When he exhaled, the incense-scented smoke came not from his mouth, but from his skin, spiraling faintly from his arms, his neck, his very pores.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “You’re thinking too rigidly,” he said, eyes calm under drifting smoke. “Magic doesn’t follow recipes. Fire and Sky might usually give lightning, sure. Fire in the Sky and all that. But smoke is just fire that rises. It leaves the earth and tries to become sky.”

  He removed the incense stick and tapped it gently against the rim of the burner. “I’ve met folks with the same affinities who got solar power. If you could believe that.”

  “So… it’s more metaphor than math.”

  “Exactly. The language of the soul is meaning, not logic.”

  I sat with that, watching the smoke trace slow spirals around his head like a lazy halo.

  “And your power, smoke, could come from other affinities too?” I asked.

  “Could be,” he said. “Fire and Death. Fire and Dark. Doesn’t always matter where it could’ve come from. What matters is what it became when it touched you.”

  I nodded slowly, feeling the shape of something deeper starting to form in the back of my mind. This world… it was layered in ways I still barely understood.

  “Can people control what kind of magic they get from affinities?”

  His lips twitched upward, but this time the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Control, not really. Except for some rare cases, you get what you’re born with. That’s why they breed for it. Most noble houses do. You’ll see it all over the Bloodline Realm. Marriages are arranged like trade deals. Blood mixed like potions. Each family wants its perfect combinations to pass on to the next generation. Precision breeding.”

  I blinked, unsettled. “You mean… they’re trying to breed magic?”

  “Trying?” he echoed. “They’ve been doing it for centuries. My family, the Agame, wants a strong Fire and a weak Kinetic affinity. We have the strongest fire users in both this realm and the Bloodline Realm. It makes Fire-Controller, rather than Fire-Summoners.”

  I didn’t respond at first. My mind reeled with conflicting instincts. On one hand, it made a kind of cold sense; why wouldn’t people with power try to preserve and refine it? But on the other hand… choosing partners like livestock? Disregarding children who didn’t fit the mold?

  That felt wrong.

  I stared down into my tea, troubled. It’s eugenics, my academic brain whispered. Selective breeding. Efficient, yes, but dangerous. What happened when families stopped seeing people and only saw potential?

  I made a mental note right there and then: I needed to talk to Lady Sana. If no one here understood genetics, they might not understand the risks of incest either. Magic or not, history back home had plenty of warnings about what happened when family trees were left to loop in on themselves like a circle.

  “Let me guess,” I said carefully. “You didn’t end up with the family’s desired trait.”

  Garo smirked and gestured to himself, incense still curling lazily from his shoulders. “Smoke is not fire. My mother was a windcaller. I got her sky side instead of the kinetic.”

  “Does that make you... What, a failure in their eyes?”

  He chuckled. “Not quite. They call us Divergents. That’s the term. It means my power didn’t match the family mold. I wasn’t mistreated, but I didn’t inherit any secret technique or the ancestral training aid, either. Other than the basics, I was mostly left to my own devices.”

  “And if you do match what they want?”

  “Then you’re a Convergent. You get everything: training, secrets, the best teachers. But there’s a price.”

  I tilted my head. “Which is?”

  “Your enemies know you too well,” he said, taking another drag from the incense. “They’ve studied your power for generations. They’ve killed your kind before. Being Convergent means you get the family sword, and your enemies get the shield.”

  I let that sit with me for a moment. Divergents might be under-resourced, but they were wild cards.

  “What about you?” I asked softly. “Did you have to learn everything on your own?”

  “All of it,” he said. “No other smoke user in my generation. I tried to train with a cousin who used ash for a bit, but it didn't help at all. I only got this good because of years of practice, pain, and guesswork.”

  I sat upright, meeting his gaze. “Garo… will you take me as your student?”

  He arched an eyebrow, but his smile was real now. “You’re sure? I have only used lightning for a decade.”

  “Yes. I want to learn how to understand magic, not just my magic. I want you to put me on a path that allows me to learn everything there is to learn.”

  For a long breath, he said nothing.

  Then he nodded. “Alright then. I’ll teach you.”

  I exhaled, the tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying finally sliding out of my shoulders. “Thank you. So… when are you free to teach?”

  “Funny you should ask,” he said, stretching with a groan as he stood. “I’ve been meaning to sign someone up for reserve duty at the West Gate. Boring work, mostly. But it puts you close to me and gives us plenty of time for lessons.”

  “I’m not sure I’m strong enough to guard a city gate.”

  He gave me a look like I’d grown a second head. “Alice, we are freelancers. We let the military guard the city gate. We are here as a reserve in case of emergency, and if anything shows up that could actually hurt this wall, I’ll handle it. I’m still a lieutenant in the freelancer guild, after all.”

  With a hum, he wrote something on a parchment, then folded it and sealed it with some smoke-laced wax.

  “Three times a week,” he said, handing it to me. “One month. By the end of that, you won’t need me.”

  I took the parchment carefully, overwhelmed with gratitude.

  “Huh. Sounds... doable. How much would I owe you for training?”

  He laughed a real, deep laugh that filled the small tower chamber. “Girl, I’m too old and too rich to charge someone who actually wants to learn. I’m doing this because I’m bored. You bring tea and interesting questions. That’s enough payment.”

  “Thank you,” I said, rising to my feet. “Seriously.”

  He plucked the incense stick from his mouth, blew out a thick puff of sweet, amber-scented smoke, and grinned.

  “Don’t thank me yet. Wait ‘til you taste my training. See you tomorrow, Fireday, at dawn.”

  I returned to the freelancer guild with Garo’s signed paper tucked safely in my satchel and the scent of incense still clinging faintly to my clothes. As I passed one of the outer training yards, I slowed, curious despite myself.

  Sergeant Yon was drilling a group of at least twenty young men and women. He looked haggard, barking corrections while trying, and failing, to rein in the chaos. Sweat plastered his shirt to his back, and his voice cracked with frustration.

  Near the middle of the field, I spotted Vals, shirt half-unbuttoned, clearly more focused on flirting than form. He was laughing and trying to impress a tall, dark-skinned woman who did not seem remotely amused. A red-haired young man nearby let out a loud yawn, swinging his practice sword in the vaguest imitation of effort. He had cleverly positioned himself behind an absolute giant of a boy, over two and a half meters tall and built like a barrel, so that Yon’s furious glare wouldn’t catch him slacking.

  I frowned.

  I’d been told by multiple people that Yon was a solid teacher. But looking at this mess of a class, I had serious doubts. There were too many students and too many distractions. I think he was recommended because he keeps his proteges alive during missions, allowing them to gain experience with a lifeline.

  Even though Yon was a great fighter, how much could I actually learn here? I’d be just another face in a crowd, probably ignored unless I shouted the loudest or messed up the worst.

  No. If I wanted real improvement, I needed something more focused. Smaller group. Someone who would pay attention to how I moved, what I struggled with.

  Maybe Yon wasn’t the answer after all.

  As I entered the main hall, a group of freelancers near the mission board laughed a little too loudly. It was a mean laughter, the kind you hear often from high-schoolers, rather than warriors. One voice cut through the din.

  “She should’ve been kicked out ages ago,” said the sharp-eyed boy with a voice that dripped scorn. “Daughter of traitors walking around like she belongs.”

  “Bet she can’t even kill a sewer rat,” one of her hangers-on muttered.

  I looked past them. A single girl stood stiffly at the mission board, back ramrod straight. Dressed in blue and black body suit that contrast nicely with her bright yellow hair tied high in a half ponytail . She didn’t turn around, didn’t flinch. Just stared at the board like it might protect her.

  I kept walking but made a mental note. I will ask for her name later.

  Toward the back of the hall, in one of the quieter lounge areas, I spotted a familiar set of armor. For a cleric, Jaime really loved to dress like a paladin. I guess it’s like they say, dress for the job you want and all that. Sitting next to him was a man I’d never seen before. His armor was more worn-in, and a warpick leaned against his chair like an old friend.

  “Jaime!” I called, weaving through the tables.

  He smiled and waved me over. “Alice! Perfect timing. Come, sit.”

  The knight raised his chin in a nod. Close-cropped hair, broad shoulders, the kind of presence you expect to find on battlefields.

  “This is Edmund, Knight of Hano, sergeant in the freelancer guild, and bannerman for the guild’s 20-Man Army,” Jaime said.

  “A knight, just like Ami?” I asked, hoping for clarification; was it a Holy class or just a noble rank?

  “Similar, but not quite the same,” said Edmund. “Ami is a knight of the Holy. While we share the same Miracles, her pledge is to the temple. Mine is to this city.”

  “Edmund was born and raised here,” Jaime added. “While Ami and I came from the Holy Lands.”

  Then he turned to Edmund. “This is the girl I’ve been talking about. She brought new medicine to the temple. If she were Holy, she’d probably be the next saint.”

  I flushed. “Exaggeration does not become a cleric.”

  Jaime winked.

  “So, Jaime, what are you doing here?” I asked. “You’re not a member of the guild, are you?”

  “Nah, I was just here to heal this guy,” Jaime explained. “He had a training accident.”

  Edmund smirked. “One of my teammates in the 20-Man Army almost bashed my skull. Jaime patched me up.”

  “Wait,” I said, suddenly placing the name. “The 20-Man Army? I met Lanka, she said she was part of it too.”

  Edmund chuckled. “Ah, Sergeant Lanka. She’s the one who almost brained me.”

  I smiled at the thought.

  As I sat, the conversation shifted to a lively retelling of the training fight between Lanka and Edmund.

  “Are you done sweeping the slums?” I asked Jaime once the fight talk died down. “With the whole plague inspection, I mean.”

  He nodded. “We’ve finished for now. No signs of infection left, other than the usual cases of green fever among preteens. Which means...”

  “Vena’s finally free?” I guessed.

  “That’s the hope,” Jaime said. “She’s been working herself raw. I think she’s eager to meet you, though.”

  “How so?”

  “I think she wants to shake you up for more medical knowledge,” he smirked.

  I laughed and shook my head. “I’m not really an expert. I just know things from... far away. But I’d love to meet her again soon.”

  As the topic drifted, I glanced once more at the blonde girl by the mission board.

  “Hey,” I asked, “that girl, what’s the deal with her?”

  Jaime followed my gaze, and his smile faded. “Her name is Kan Karda.. She’s a newer freelancer. She has been here for about six months.”

  “Her father was involved in the uprising,” Edmund said plainly. “Fifteen years ago, when the city turned on the old ruling council.”

  “The one controlled by the Soul Realm elites and bloodline families,” Jaime clarified.

  I frowned. “They tried to replace them?”

  “They wanted a new council,” Edmund said. “More voices from the Mythic, Dreaming, and Kindred realms. For a while, it was a peaceful movement.”

  “But then,” Jaime continued, “they found ties to an Old Realm cult. Rituals. Possession magic. Sacrifices.”

  I winced. “So... whatever legitimacy they had… was gone?”

  “Exactly,” Edmund said. “The guild stepped in, crushed the rebellion, and executed the ringleaders. Since then, the freelancers have held control over Hano.”

  I didn’t speak. It’s just like Egypt, I thought, idealists starting something, extremists tainting it, and the military swooping in to ‘save’ everything and never leaving.

  “Kan was just a kid,” Jaime said quietly. “But in Hano, names last longer than crimes.”

  The silence that followed was awkward but honest. I shifted the topic.

  “I did get something done today,” I offered. “I’ve secured a magical trainer.”

  “Oh?” Edmund looked intrigued. “Who?”

  “Garo Agame.”

  Jaime looked at his friend. “Is he any good?”

  Edmund nodded approvingly. “Solid choice. He is always giving advice to the boys in the West Gate.”

  “He’s offering lightning instruction.”

  I hesitated. “Actually, I was thinking... I need physical training too. but not just that, I want weapon training, as well. Do either of you know anyone good?”

  Jaime looked at his friend. Edmund smiled. “I do know someone. Me.”

  “You?”

  “I train a few freelancers each season. I have even put a post on the boards, spear lessons, one silver a month. I’ve got space for one or two students.”

  “That’s tempting...”

  “Try one session,” he said. “No obligation. I’ll show you why a spear is more than just a long stick.”

  “Deal,” I said, smiling, “I have also wanted to pick up the spear; it has a longer range, lets me be further away from monsters.”

  We worked out a schedule; his sessions wouldn’t overlap with Garo’s. I’d be busy, but focused.

  I said goodbye to them both and headed toward the front desk.

  There I saw Nada, hunched behind her station like a wilted flower. Her eyes were red. Not fresh-crying, but the kind of puffy fatigue you get when the tears have already dried up.

  “Nada?” I asked softly.

  She didn’t look up. “She didn’t come.”

  “Marina?”

  She nodded. “I waited all day. Cleaned the guest office. Rewrote the manifests. She never came.”

  I hesitated. “Is she usually late?”

  “She’s the kind of woman who shows up early and judges your entrance.”

  “Who told you she was coming?”

  “One of the freelancers,” she said, pointing toward the same group of smug freelancers near the board; the ones who’d mocked Kan earlier. “My... friend. The one I swapped shifts with. He is her boyfriend… I thought I could trust him.”

  I frowned.

  “Nada,” I said gently, “they’re not your friends. They used you to pass on her work to you.”

  She didn’t answer, but her jaw tensed. Her fingers tightened over her knees.

  Maybe she wasn’t ready to push back.

  But maybe she was ready to start seeing their true color.

  And maybe that was enough for today.