Walking into the back room of the Hem and Stitch, Vivi was met with Malach, the Tailor of Vanguard—once a spritely young mouse beastkin, now bent-over and cane-wielding. With so many years having passed, and time having affected him with only some mercy thanks to his craftsman ranks, he competed with Aeris in his wrinkled and ancient appearance. Despite how the archmage was five times Malach’s age.

  She wouldn’t honestly have recognized him if she’d run into him on the street. The Malach she remembered had been a young man, a small, well-dressed mouse beastkin with an intelligent gleam in his brown eyes. Some of that hadn’t changed—the brown eyes and well-dressed parts—but all else had felt the weight of a century. Hunched over as he was, Malach might have been the first grown adult she’d met that was shorter than her. Though if he straightened his crooked back out, that probably wouldn’t be the case.

  His face crinkled into a kind smile when he saw her walk in. There was no surprise, proving that her earlier assumptions had been correct: Rafael’s correspondence and recent events at Meridian had prepared the beastkin for her arrival. Malach opened his mouth, probably to greet her by name, but hesitated, eyes flicking to the young man who had remained hovering by the doorway.

  “Thank you, Ferric. I’ll speak privately with our guest now.”

  “Yes, grandpa,” the boy said, seeming disappointed that he hadn’t snuck so much as a name. “Call if you need me.”

  “I will.”

  The boy spared one last look at Vivi, not distrusting, but curious and squinty-eyed nonetheless.

  When the door closed behind him, Malach’s smile brightened again. “Lady Vivisari. Somehow, I am both completely unsurprised to see you, and shaken to my very bones.”

  Shaken? That caught Vivi off guard. He didn’t seem shaken.

  “After all,” he continued, “a man might prepare for many years for an eventuality like death, but when it pounces on him, he will without exception be caught by surprise.” He paused, then cleared his throat. “Not that I compare your presence to death, Vivisari. Perhaps that was a poor choice of words.”

  She didn’t take offense; she was amused, if anything, that she wasn’t the only one who sometimes picked her words wrong. “Malach. I’m glad to see that you’re doing well.”

  “Well?” Laughter bubbled out of him, shortly turning into a coughing fit that had Vivi stepping forward in concern. He waved her away. “My years are numbered, there is no need to pretend otherwise. But I am as well as a man of my age can hope to be, that is true. In any case, I consider myself blessed to see you one more time.”

  “One more time?” Vivi asked, alarmed.

  “Metaphorically speaking,” Malach hastily corrected. “One last decade, perhaps? If I’m lucky.” He waved his hand, embarrassed. “Ah, I’m making a fool of myself with this introduction.” He hobbled up on his cane, closing the distance between them. “I know you aren’t the touchiest of people, Vivisari, but indulge this old man?” He spread open his free arm.

  Vivi hesitated, but accepted the hug. Malach didn’t try to scoop her in; it was a brief contact, a gentle squeeze that only left her feeling somewhat awkward. He chuckled as he pulled back.

  “I’m pleased to see you of sound spirit and mind as well, Vivisari.” He opened his mouth, then seemed to change his mind on what he was going to say. “I’m finishing up a personal project—would you like to join me?”

  The request caught her by surprise. She wondered if she should turn him down and get to the point. But she pushed that idea away. If he was ‘finishing up,’ she could spare a moment; she wasn’t in that big a rush, and a hundred-year-reunion deserved more than a brusque conversation where she demanded he return to Vanguard before immediately flitting off. If the task dragged, she might explain that she was in a hurry, but otherwise, a few minutes was fine.

  “I’d love to,” she said. “How can I help?”

  Malach set her to work, and the experience made Tailoring the third of the co-crafting skills she needed to familiarize herself with. She had scanned through the various abilities in advance, so she didn’t struggle with finding her place.

  As she busied herself under Malach’s guidance, she couldn’t help the rising curiosity on a topic she’d latched onto since the moment she’d seen the exterior of Malach’s shop. Especially because Malach didn’t fill the air himself, letting her mind wander as it pleased.

  “It’s an interesting store you have here,” she began tentatively.

  “We both know what you mean by that,” Malach replied, unbothered. “Ask me plainly. The heavens know you aren’t the only person to do so.”

  She hesitated. “Why are you crafting level zero clothing?” Because she recognized the materials being worked with, and the general intent behind his current project. It wasn’t silver- or even bronze-rank gear, but a sturdy cloth shirt that someone who’d never once advanced a combat class might wear.

  Malach hummed. “There’s a long answer, and a short one. I’ll give you the second: because I find it fulfilling.”

  Vivi digested that answer, and Malach once again didn’t speak to fill the quiet, working away diligently. When nearly a minute had passed, she asked, “You don’t find grandmaster-level projects fulfilling?”

  “I do,” he said. “That’s why I still accept requests through the Tailor’s Guild, should something catch my eye. But if I have to choose between spending what remains of my life catering to mithrils and orichalcums, or stitching a shirt that a good family man will spend twenty or more years wearing? A shirt that will give him endurance and strength he’ll never know about, to push him through the difficult days?” He held up the almost-finished project in question, nodded to himself, and smiled. “I find something deeply appealing in that. The choice was easy, in retrospect, however long it took me to make it.” After a moment, he added, “There’s some professional interest, too. Crafting zero-level gear is trickier than it might seem.”

  Vivi could see how that would be true. A piece of gear’s bonuses were tied intrinsically to its level rating. Getting any effect at all on something that qualified as level zero would be an interesting puzzle.

  There was an obvious logistical problem that came to mind, though. Malach had said the customers would ‘never know about’ those benefits. How?

  “Can’t they [Inspect] the shirt?” She could tell his claim was true just by the clientele outside; it was a secret, somehow. It seemed like the Hem and Stitch was—while popular—a commoner’s tailor, and clearly not some place that people knew belonged to one of the highest-ranking tailors in the world.

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  Malach nodded as if expecting the question, then set his needle and thread aside and walked over to a wardrobe. He pulled out an earthy-green pair of trousers and waggled them in a way that made it clear what she was supposed to do.

  She [Inspected] the clothing, and immediately understood. Because the skill bounced off the item like it would for any mundane object. And, unlike that event several days ago, not in the unnerving way the Tithe’s dagger had. Truly normal.

  “How?” she asked, intrigued.

  “A skill of mine,” Malach said. “Specially granted. Perhaps even unique. Only works on gear below level fifty, I’m afraid, which is why I suspect the Grand System bent the rules for me. It’s what made my mind up. Why else would I have been granted it, so late in my career? In that regard, the Grand System must have known my heart better than even I.”

  That made Vivi slightly uneasy, but Malach obviously thought nothing about how there was a mind-reading sentience linked to his soul. It was a fact of life here. “And nobody’s figured it out over the years?”

  “That the clothing they get from the Hem and Stitch has something extra tailored in?” Malach’s features wrinkled in amusement. “No. Not least because not every piece to come from here does have something special. Ferric keeps an eye out for those he thinks might need the help—those struggling, or who especially deserve my work. And even then, you’d be surprised what a person might miss. Even I can only layer so many benefits into level zero gear. Frankly, I’ve already gone beyond what I thought possible in that regard. I certainly haven’t made anything that would immediately make it clear that something is amiss.” He scratched his cheek, then laughed heartily—unfortunately cutting off into another coughing fit. “I’ve probably created a few superstitions about lucky socks that truly are lucky, over the years, but the Hem and Stitch is known more for its reasonable prices and quality work than anything so grand as secretly magical gear. It’s a well-kept secret, believe it or not.”

  “I see.” Vivi was quiet for a long moment. “Don’t you worry that you could be doing… more, though?”

  She wasn’t sure where the question came from, and it was much more judgmental than she’d intended. Malach seemed like he’d been expecting it from the start. He sighed. “A person can always be doing more, my lady. I could devote my life to crafting the most lucrative gear within my ability, and use the profits to help these good folk in more substantial ways than I do now—that would be the more logical way, no? Anyone could reason that out.”

  Vivi almost apologized, since that wasn’t really what she’d meant… or was it?

  “I think any person who strives for goodness confronts that unanswerable question,” he continued. “Even one without my skills could always be doing more. Is a man good unless he devotes every breathing moment to working to better himself and others?” He grunted, since it was an obviously ridiculous question. “It’s a matter of scale, yes? I do what I consider good, but also what fulfills me in a selfish manner. Perhaps I’m not as commendable as some others, but I’m at peace with the idea. Eshara disapproves, I know she does. Though I wonder—would she have taken her current path if it didn’t give the same sense of fulfillment with her goals that I feel with this humble shop? Is it merely a mismatch of how our wants line up to the greater good? So is she as selfish as me, despite her efforts?” He shrugged. “I can’t answer, truthfully.”

  “I didn’t mean to question you,” Vivi said. “I think what you’re doing here is admirable. You don’t need to spend every hour toiling away for the benefit of others, or… optimizing it. Nobody does. I just…” She trailed off. “I’ve been thinking about it, I suppose.”

  Malach smiled. “I understand. My potential is nothing, compared to yours, and so you would bear an even heavier burden. If you ask my opinion, however, I believe that so long as a person is doing good, condemning them for not doing more is—pardon me—rather asinine.” He sighed, more tired-sounding than the previous. “But perhaps it isn’t, either. I’ve always found philosophy exhausting. In any case, that is what this old man has decided.” He paused, then cleared his throat. “I’m sure I provide no great wisdom, though. Sometimes I forget, when it comes to the long-lived… you are far my senior, not the other way around. I’m too used to lecturing Ferric and the others.”

  Vivi internally grimaced. She definitely wasn’t this man’s senior, and she did find his words wise. Though these topics hadn’t breached her consciousness extensively, not in a direct manner, they had sat in the back of her mind. She had so much power now, and she wanted to help people with it. But how? And to what extent was she morally responsible to do so? She didn’t think of herself as a saint, or anything close, but as Malach had said, it almost felt like her potential correlated to her obligation.

  She was glad that Malach didn’t agree with that sentiment, at least. It was an unexpected weight off her shoulders. Not that she intended to sit around; she had immediate goals that benefited the world in no small way, that were undoubtedly the best use of her time. So those so-called philosophical worries were more for later, when things calmed down and the void crisis had been solved.

  And speaking of…

  “That reminds me of why I’m here,” Vivi told the man. “I’m happy to help finish this up”—she glanced at the shirt they were working on—”but I should be on my way sooner rather than later.”

  “With what I heard happened at Meridian, I expected no less,” Malach said, not solemnly, but growing more serious. “Many strange tales have filtered here, and I suspect they’re less reliable than even what nonsense is spreading through the capital. So. What is this old man in for when he returns?”

  That he intended to rejoin Vanguard pleased her; she hadn’t even needed to ask. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard, but I imagine the basics are true. It was a rather… difficult-to-contain spectacle. The short of it is that there’s a new threat, one we only have a rudimentary understanding of. Void creatures from beyond the dimensional horizon.”

  A short pause. “Were there no more opponents left for you on this side of reality?” the beastkin asked, tone surprisingly lighthearted. “Yes, it seems the rumor mill was accurate for once. The strange things I heard were true. How frightening. Voidlings and voidbeasts, a flood of otherworldly foes that the Sorceress—or the heavens themselves—descended to stymie.”

  She almost sighed at the reminder. “The Archbishop was quick to give credit to the gods. Rafael doesn’t think it’s malicious or some ploy, but that he actually believes it. Which is even more problematic. He’s speaking with High Prince Adrian who’s supposed to talk to the Archbishop to smooth that headache over. It’s up in the air how it’s going to go.” This time she did sigh, aloud. “I’ve grown… stronger in the years I was gone. Substantially. So it was an understandable assumption for the Archbishop to make.”

  Malach studied her out of the corner of his eye—finishing threading a simple decorative outline around the shirt’s pockets—but in the end, didn’t comment on that last part. “If the world is in danger and my services are needed for the preservation of all, then I will of course happily pick up my needle and rejoin the battle. How could I live with myself if I didn’t? I do wonder how much value I can provide, though, if you’ve grown beyond even what you were. Because I’m afraid I have not. I have advanced one rank since the days of Vanguard. Though even that is rather impressive. Without proper materials, improvement is difficult in any crafting field, and I grew fat and spoiled on materials harvested from world-ending Cataclysms. As we all did.”

  “Vanguard’s vault is open again, and I can harvest whatever you might need,” Vivi said, and though Malach seemed like a man whose ambition had smoldered, a person who’d settled down quite happily, she saw a glint of avarice appear in his eyes. There was some of Mae in him after all, then. That was probably true of any person who hit Grandmaster in a crafting profession. “More importantly, I need gear suited to this new threat.”

  “The voidbeasts?”

  “They interact with magic strangely—they’re resistant. But not impenetrable. I think armor and weapons specifically tailored to counteract, resist, or penetrate their elemental type—not that it’s actually an elemental type—should be possible to create. Though perhaps not. I’m unsure. And as much as for myself, having experienced craftsmen leading the charge and spreading what they learn will benefit the mortal kingdoms.”

  Malach frowned down at the shirt as he stitched in the last few threads, finally completing his project. He held the shirt up, examined it, and nodded. “I see,” he said at last. “I will do everything I can. Ferric can run the shop while I’m gone. He’s not quite ready, in my opinion, but I also think that might just be me fretting over the boy. In either situation, there’s no method of teaching quite as effective as throwing the bird out of the nest… so long as there’s something to cushion the fall.” He hummed. “Can I have until the end of the day to get my affairs in order?”

  “Of course,” Vivi said. “Take as long as you need. We’re happy to have you back, Malach.”