Mara stepped out from the side kitchen, apron dusted with flour, and handed him two cloth-wrapped bundles without ceremony.
“Next batches,” she said. “Still warm.”
Ethan took them gratefully. “Thanks. I know that’s a lot of work.”
She shrugged. “I’m keeping track. Still owe you plenty more.”
Ethan didn’t seem concerned. “They’re worth it.”
“Save one for Moose. He stared down the oven earlier.”
“Noted,” Ethan said, already tucking the bundles into his bag.
From the common room came a bark, a shout, and something that sounded suspiciously like a broom colliding with a table leg.
Pixie was mid-zoomie across the polished floor, Kip in pursuit with a sock tied around his head like a bandana. Amelia sat calmly in one of the armchairs while Tessa tied a ribbon around a tuft of fur near her tail—an honorary badge, apparently. Buster lay on his side, eyes half-closed while Tomlin crouched next to him with a piece of chalk, making broad, messy loops across his shoulder.
“Dih fuh pwotekk,” Tomlin declared, proudly tapping the mark.
“He says it’s for protection,” Tessa added, nodding like this was very official.
Ethan paused just long enough to take it all in.
Then the system prompt flickered again at the edge of his vision, dim and quiet but still there.
“Pack,” Ethan said, already moving toward the hallway. “Room. Now.”
The Pack just stared.
He sighed. “Please.”
There was a beat of hesitation—Pixie whined, Kip pouted, Tomlin tried to smuggle the chalk—but the dogs followed without hesitation. Tessa waved as they disappeared down the hall.
Lyra was already in the room, legs stretched out across the foot of the bed, casually flipping through the worn Tamer manual Ethan had left on the nightstand. She didn’t look up when the door opened—just turned a page and kept reading.
“You left your training book out,” she said. “Technically, that means I get to read it.”
Ethan stepped inside, dropping his satchel in the corner. “Didn’t think you’d be that bored.”
“I wasn’t. I just like knowing what the Guild thinks Tamers are supposed to be.” She tapped a page with one finger. “Did you know you’re supposed to specialize in animal husbandry and foraging techniques by level twelve?”
“No,” Ethan said flatly. “And don’t tell the dogs that.”
Moose was already settling near the foot of the bed. Buster flopped down next to the dresser. Pixie paced twice along the wall, then jumped onto the bed like she’d claimed it.
“I need to talk to all of you,” Ethan said, not loud—but firm enough to stop the movement in the room. “About a trade class offer.”
Lyra looked up at that. “A second class? Already?”
Ethan nodded. “Yeah. It came up during an enchanting exercise with Ed. I wasn’t trying to get anything, but… the system offered it. Enchanter.”
Pixie’s ears perked up. “You get another class? That’s cheating! I want two!”
“You’re not even done understanding your first one,” Buster muttered from the floor.
Ethan ignored the back-and-forth and turned to Lyra. “You didn’t seem surprised earlier when trade classes came up. I had no idea that was even a thing until today.”
“I figured,” she said, closing the book. “You’ve been stumbling over things most people learn before they’re twelve. The class slot thing just fits.”
“There’s a lot I don’t know.” Ethan admitted.
Lyra shifted upright, her tone turning more serious. “Most people get their first class sometime between ten and fifteen. Second one happens later—usually after the system thinks you're stable enough to handle a more specialized role in something. Not everyone gets both. Some people only ever unlock one. It’s incredibly rare to see three-class individuals, but it has been known to happen.”
She paused for a moment, like she was weighing something.
“There’s another edge case,” she said. “Rare, but real. Fusion.”
Ethan looked up. “Fusion?”
Lyra nodded. “That’s rarer. I’ve seen it happen twice—one of them was me.”
Moose’s ears flicked. “That sounds... dangerous.”
“It can be,” she said. “If the two paths don’t align, it creates conflict. Skills interfere. Progress slows. Some people get locked out of both tracks.”
Buster made a low sound in his throat. “So it’s permanent?”
“In most cases, yeah. Once it stabilizes, it becomes your primary class. You can’t split it back.”
Ethan frowned. “What happened to you?”
Lyra leaned back slightly. “I started as a Scout. Picked up Seer a few years later. One morning, it said ‘Fortune’s Hand’ instead.”
Pixie tilted her head. “That’s a cool name. What does it do?”
Lyra gave a small shrug. “Probability manipulation. Pathfinding. Odd little things. Some of it I’ve figured out. Some of it just... happens. It’s really just a fancy Scout.”
Ethan was quiet for a moment, turning it over.
“It’s weird,” he said finally. “I didn’t think I’d be choosing anything yet. I wasn’t even trying to trigger it. I was just... doing the work.”
“That’s how most trade classes show up,” Lyra said. “They don’t come from system prompts or big choices. They come from patterns. The system sees what you’re leaning toward and locks it in.”
“So if I hadn’t done anything, it might’ve just passed me by?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Or it would’ve waited until you did something else that counted.”
Pixie leaned forward. “But wait—what if it fuses with Tamer? Does that mean we all get shiny combo upgrades?”
“That’s not how it works,” Moose said. “Probably.”
Ethan rubbed the side of his face. “I don’t even know if it would fuse. Or if it should. But I like how it feels. Enchanting, I mean. It makes sense. Like it’s something I can actually... follow.”
He didn’t say code. He didn’t have to. The Pack felt it through the bond—how his thoughts aligned with the flow of glyphs and mana lines. How it all clicked.
Lyra nodded once. “If it fits, take it. Don’t let fear of fusion stop you. The system only merges things that already want to fit.”
Ethan took a breath, then brought up the prompt again. It was still there, patient and silent.
[Confirm Class Selection: Enchanter?]
“Confirm.” Ethan said.
The moment he confirmed, the prompt vanished. There was no reaction from the system beyond a quiet update sliding into place—subtle, functional, and already integrated.
[Class Confirmed: Enchanter]
[Trade Interface Unlocked]
Ethan let out a slow breath.
“Anything feel different?” Moose asked.
Ethan shook his head. “Not really. It’s like something slotted into place behind the scenes. Just... cleaner. More organized.”
Pixie sniffed him. “You smell the same.”
“I didn’t think that was how it worked,” Buster said.
“It’s not,” Lyra replied. “The system doesn’t change your scent.”
Pixie squinted. “It might.”
Ethan tried to feel if he noticed the difference. It was there—not physically, but in how he thought about enchanting patterns now. It was like the system had accepted him as an Enchanter... or maybe it helped him with his thoughts about enchantments. It was subtle, but he could tell it was there.
“So,” Buster said, rolling slightly onto his back and smearing a bit of chalk across the floor, “what does that mean now? Are we going to enchant stuff? Like armor? Or snacks?”
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Ethan blinked. “I don’t think snacks are enchantable.”
“Disappointment,” Pixie muttered, flopping across the bed.
Moose tilted his head. “Do you know what you want to do with it yet?”
“Not really,” Ethan admitted. “But Ed said I could come back and keep working. Use the tools. Practice.”
Lyra nodded. “Then that’s your next step. Find out what it actually does—for you. The system might offer the same class to ten people, but how it behaves depends on who’s using it.”
“So it’s custom?” Ethan asked.
“Not exactly,” she said. “But it adapts. It leans into what you already do. What you’re good at. What you care about.”
Ethan said, “I want this to give us stability and a way to take care of everyone.”
Lyra looked up from the Tamer manual again. “Those are solid goals.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Ethan said. “What it means to take care of everyone here—not just in fights, but for real. Food. Gear. Future. All of it.”
His hand drifted to the flap of his non-magical field bag, the one he used for everyday gear and surface storage.
Ethan looked at Lyra. “I got something for you.”
She blinked. “For me?”
Ethan pulled out the cloth-wrapped bundle and handed it over. “Saw your old pack. It was falling apart.”
She unwrapped it slowly. Inside was the dimensional satchel from Veltrin & Sons—clean-lined, reinforced, and built to last.
Lyra froze. “Ethan. These are expensive.”
He didn’t answer.
She narrowed her eyes. “How much did this cost?”
“Not important,” Ethan said, not meeting her gaze.
“You’re trying to build income, and you’re throwing it at me?”
“I’m trying to build trust,” he said. “And it’s a tool. We all need gear that holds up.”
She turned the satchel over in her hands, testing the straps. “You can’t just burn Bits on convenience.”
“I didn’t burn anything.”
Ethan reached into the same canvas bag and pulled out a copper bit, resting it in his palm. Then he focused.
A slow trickle of mana pushed into the system. The Bit pulsed and condensed—upgrading from copper to structured copper to silver in his hand.
Lyra stared. “You just made that?”
“Kind of,” Ethan said. “I’ve been testing it. Not every night, but I’m learning where the safe threshold is.”
“How did you do that? I don’t think that has ever been done before… Is it from your mana?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m not sure how I do this either.”
“And how much mana do you usually go to bed with?”
“Umm… My mana pool is almost full when I go to bed.”
“You’ve been wasting regen time,” Lyra said flatly.
Ethan started to object, but Buster spoke first. “If you drop your mana to around thirty percent before sleep, you’ll regenerate a full pool by morning. Maybe thirty-five percent. If you get a full two and a half to three hours of sleep”
Ethan squinted. “I sleep at least eight hours.”
“In Earth time,” Buster said. “This world’s hours are longer. So you’re oversleeping your recovery window and leaving free regen on the table.”
Ethan smacked his forehead. “Right. Ten-hour days. I keep doing Earth math.”
“Then stop,” Buster said. “You’ve got about a three-hour recovery cycle. Treat your mana like it matters—like stamina and gold combined. You burn it, you get something. You waste it, it’s gone.”
Ethan exhaled. “So how much could I actually generate?”
Buster tilted his head. “With clean output and control? Seven gold Bits per night. Not now—but you’re on track.”
Buster shifted slightly. “Improved control. Probably the class. From the silver bit that you just made.”
“Definitely the class,” Moose said.
“Last time he tried this, it dropped him hard. This time? More stable. Lower drain. System’s helping.” Buster retorted.
Lyra crossed her arms. “Then from now on, this is routine. You burn what’s left before sleep. Every time.”
Ethan hesitated. “Okay Buster, you watch the numbers and let me know when to stop tonight.I may need your help for a while”
“Yes Sir.” Buster tried to give a human-like salute.
Lyra said, “Now that you have a trade class, I heard that some people get a system-assisted interface to go with it.”
Ethan opened his status screen and looked around. “I don’t see it," he said.
“Concentrate,” Lyra said. “Do you see your Enchanter class listed?”
Yes. It is right under my Tamer class.
Okay, Now focus on that class. Lyra insisted.
He did and the system popped up with a slightly different interface. “Yes. It’s right under my Tamer class.”
“Okay. Now focus on that,” Lyra said.
Ethan narrowed his eyes and brought his attention to the line. The moment he did, something shifted. A second interface unfolded beneath it—cleaner than his main status page, more functional. Less about numbers. More about process.
The system responded.
[Trade Class Interface – Enchanter]
Status: Active
Primary Channel: Mana Shaping / Glyph Logic
Function Group: Enchantment Support / Resource Conversion
- [Mana Condensation: ENABLED]
- [Enchantment Pattern Memory: 3 Slots Active]
- [Passive Efficiency Modifier: +4.5% Flow Stability]
- [Trace Accuracy Tolerance: 92.1%]
- [Mana-to-Value Conversion Efficiency: Tier 1]
Available Actions:
- Condense Mana into Bits and Pieces
- View Pattern Map
- Input Pattern [Draw / Logic]
- Bind Pattern to Anchor Material
Ethan blinked. “Huh.”
“What do you see?” Lyra asked.
“It’s... a whole separate interface. It’s not like my Tamer class—it’s more focused. More mechanical.”
Lyra nodded. “Trade classes are structured differently. They don’t run on instincts like combat does. They expect you to plan.”
He kept reading. Pattern memory. Conversion efficiency. Tolerance thresholds.
“This thing’s tracking how clean my mana flow is,” Ethan said. “It’s measuring my precision.”
“As it should,” Moose said quietly. “That’s how enchantments hold.”
Ethan didn’t look away from the display. “It’s rating me on logic structure. There’s a line here that says ‘Input Method: External Syntax – Recognized.’”
“What does that mean?” Buster asked.
“I think it means... it understands what I’m doing. The logic. The code.” He didn’t smile, but there was a shift in his voice. “It’s adapting.”
Lyra leaned forward slightly. “Just remember—leveling this class won’t give you stat points. Or if it does, it’s rare.”
Ethan looked up. “So it doesn’t affect my Intelligence or anything?”
“Not directly,” she said. “That’s the difference with trade classes. They don’t feed your stat tree the way combat paths do. Instead, they give system bonuses. Slot expansions. Conversion efficiency. Stuff that helps with the actual work.”
He looked back at the interface. Pattern memory. Tolerance thresholds. Conversion tier.
“That explains this,” Ethan said.
Lyra nodded. “You might get more pattern slots. Or better flow control. But you won’t hit level ten and suddenly cast faster.”
“How do you know all this?” Buster asked.
“I don’t,” Lyra admitted. “The only trade class I ever had was Seer. And that one’s... different. More passive. More interpretive. It doesn’t have interfaces like this.”
Ethan glanced down at his pack. “Hang on.”
He reached into his Bits and Pieces pouch, clipped inside the pack, and pulled out a gold Bit—bright, warm, and faintly weighted in his palm.
He opened the interface and focused on the Enchanter panel. The numbers shifted automatically.
Then he pushed mana into the Bit.
Not much—just enough to nudge it forward. The gold Bit shimmered, cracked once along the inner edge, then folded inward and reformed as a compact gold Piece.
The interface pulsed.
[Conversion Logged]
Efficiency: 87.2%
Recovery Penalty: 2.4%
Flow Rating: Tier 1 Stability Achieved
[Experimental Note: Dimensional Compression Pattern Stabilized]
Buster leaned forward, ears high. “What just happened?”
Ethan blinked. “System logged the conversion. It gave me efficiency numbers. The Enchanter interface seems to track this too.”
Buster’s tail thumped. “Can I see it?”
“I can try,” Ethan said.
He concentrated and pushed the access outward through the bond.
Buster’s eyes unfocused for a second—then locked in. His whole body straightened.
“It works. I can see it. Percentage, rate, overflow margin... this is amazing.”
Ethan tilted his head. “That’s good?”
“That’s incredible,” Buster said. “This is way more than guessing. You’ve got real data now.”
He grinned wide, but it looked more like a snarl on his face. “You want to make money with this? I’ll run the numbers.”
Ethan laughed at the expression.
Buster didn’t notice—he was already focused on the screens hovering in his vision. “I saw how much mana that used, along with the percentages from your new interface. We can definitely optimize your money-making potential.”
“You are a human—erm, I mean, doggy calculator.” Ethan gave Buster a wide smile and a big thumbs up. “A K-9 calculator, if you will.”
Buster rolled his eyes, but one lip curled up, showing a fang in a half-smile.
Ethan burst out laughing again, really enjoying the range of emotions he was still getting used to on his dogs’ faces.
“I shouldn’t have made a gold piece,” Ethan said. “Now I’m pretty much out of mana and I’m exhausted.”
He turned away from the table and made it two steps toward the bed before his legs gave up on dignity. He didn’t fall—exactly—but the landing was more of a sideways drop than anything controlled. Cloak twisted. Boots still on.
“Staying vertical is canceled,” he mumbled, face down into the blanket, voice half-smothered by fabric.
Pixie had been weirdly quiet. She padded over now and jumped up onto the bed, landing beside Ethan’s hip. She sniffed him once, then tapped his shoulder with one paw. “And NO turning into a bed blob! You still owe me a snack plan and a new broom chase!”
Ethan didn’t answer. Just gave her a thumbs-up without lifting his face from the blanket.
Then she shoved his head to the side so he was no longer being smothered face down in the blanket.
“Good,” she said. “Now you can breathe.”
Moose stepped closer. He didn’t sit. Just watched for a moment, eyes steady.
“You pushed it too far. I felt it drag through the bond. Don’t do that again unless you have to.”
He didn’t linger after that.
Pixie leapt off the bed and bolted for the door, her tail streaming like a banner. “RIBBON TIME!” she yelled through the bond. “I can smell Tessa from here!”
Buster stretched long and slow before following, muttering something about chalk dust and dignity being optional. Moose gave Ethan one last look, then slipped out behind the others and nudged the door gently shut.
Lyra came over and brushed her fingers through Ethan’s hair, seeing that he was already asleep. She didn’t say anything—just pulled his boots off, eased the blanket into place, and adjusted the angle of his arm so it wasn’t trapped under him. Once he was properly covered, she stood quietly for a moment, then slipped out and closed the door behind her.
The room went still.