“When it comes to choosing the best catalyst to combine with your sigil, Mr. Little here is something of a prodigy,” Eusebio boasted. His claim was complete bullshit, and he leaned on the counter, grinning, having put Seymour on the spot.

  Thornton Gring was doing better than before. A light sheen of sweat still slicked his cheeks but they were looking pinker, at least. Sarevja continued to prop him up—he had his arm looped around her waist—but at this point he seemed to be steady enough on his feet so Seymour guessed that he probably just didn’t want to let her go yet.

  If Seymour went along with Eusebio’s lie and pretended to be some kind of expert on the subject of catalysts, he’d be demonstrating a willingness to go with the flow and do as he’s told. It immediately felt like a test – but to what end, exactly? It could be that Eusebio was offering him a way to show his belly; to express his subordination. But it could also be a simple check of Seymour’s integrity.

  And there’s always a chance he’s just screwing with you, Seymour thought. Like, you really don’t know him all that well, right? This could be what passes for this dude’s sense of humor.

  These possibilities ran swiftly through his mind but were intercepted by another concern: if Seymour went along with Eusebio’s false claim that he was some kind of prodigy—when in fact he was a complete virgin—at selecting catalyst and sigil combinations, then it would set the expectation with Thornton that the outcome of their transaction would be something extraordinary. Seymour knew that traveling down that road would probably be a mistake.

  Underpromise and overdeliver, repeated in his mind. He’d heard that phrase back on Earth a few times.

  “Eusebio’s being too generous in describing my abilities,” he began, clapping his manager on the shoulder. “I’m no better than anyone else when it comes to virtue sigiling.”

  In fact, when it came to Virtue Sigils and their catalysts, Seymour was almost certainly the least knowledgeable person working at Dragon Dan’s Adventure Depot. He had only ever seen the process of adding catalyst to a sigil performed twice. First, when Dathon purposely lost the Essence of Invention to him, and second when he used the Card of the Gambler all on his own. And he was completely unfamiliar with how the words and pages would work. He assumed that they would function the same way the essence and the card had for him, meaning that in order to manifest a power, a sigil needed only to come in contact with a catalyst while its owner gave their consent for it to be absorbed – but who knew? Maybe he’d end up needing to read some of the poetic words to Thornton here in order for them to work.

  And beyond the simple mechanics of applying weird catalyst to Thor’s weird tattoo, Seymour knew that his grasp of what he’d come to think of as Sigil Theory was basic at best. If this was going to be a regular part of his new gig—and with Eusebio throwing him into the fire on his very first day as a sales dude it sure felt like it would be—then Seymour was going to need to hit the library for some serious studying.

  For now, he’d just have to wing – one step at a time.

  “So Thor,” Seymour began, formulating his questions on the fly, “what sigils have you manifested so far? Which one are you thinking of enhancing? And do you have a specific class evolution or archetype you’re shooting for?”

  Suddenly a new light twinkled behind Thornton’s eyes. The prospect of gaining a sigil power—a magical power—and possibly a class had sent him spiraling off into a sort of daydream.

  “I have Purity, Diligence, and Patience,” Thornton explained. “Gained them in that order. I think adding something to Purity is the consensus among my family. Ma doesn’t really want me swordfighting if it can be avoided. She was very explicit on that point, actually.”

  “Then Purity is what I’d recommend, too,” Eusebio interjected. “With the right catalyst, you have an excellent shot at evolving a more magic-oriented class. Something that stands in the back and whips fireballs around, maybe. How does that sound?”

  “Terrifying, to be honest.” Thornton smiled warily. “But if playing with fire is to be my fate, then so be it, eh?”

  Watching their interaction, it suddenly occurred to Seymour that he himself might actually be more comfortable with the idea of doing Dungeons & Dragons-style combat than many of the people who were native to Heschia, despite the fact they had only ever known a world full of monsters and magic. Maybe there had actually been something to all that talk back on Earth about the influence violent video games had on growing minds. If so, Seymour was grateful for all the hours he’d chosen simulated violence instead of doing his middle-school homework.

  Seymour had cobbled together a shallow understanding of the various sigils despite himself, while trying and failing to ignore Dathon’s late-night info-dumps. But what knowledge he’d managed to glean osmotically would hopefully be enough to help Thornton Gring here get a class he could use to help support his family.

  Retaking the lead from Eusebio, he placed both hands flat on the binders full of pages and words and cards.

  “So, I don’t really think these are gonna to be what you want,” he explained to Thornton. “Cards, words, and pages won’t have the same kind of synergy with Purity. What you need is an essence of some sort. Something to add some flavor to the brand of magic you’ll be specializing in.”

  On the counter sat a tablet made of materials similar to Seymour’s Catalogoggles; a rectangular, grayish metal frame which contained a blue-green pane of semi-translucent glass:

  The essences were semi-corporeal objects, which meant storing them was a whole ordeal of its own. The shop kept its entire supply—thousands upon thousands of essences—within the dimensional vault.

  Seymour didn’t have the first clue how this thing worked. It was more than a little terrifying. Eusebio had trained him on how to retrieve items from the vault’s depths first thing that morning but it did little to soothe Seymour’s anxiety. It was as simple as reaching into a purse-sized, black velvet sack and concentrating on the item he wished to recall, but doing so the first time had caused his hand to fall asleep, tingling with pins-and-needles.

  He activated the GLCD and the screen came to life with the same familiar, not-quite-electrical hum that his goggles always emitted.

  “I’m going to pull up only the essences you can afford.” He used the sleek gadget’s touchscreen to set search parameters including only essences priced at 2400 chits and under. “Here you go, have a look. And I’m still right here if you have any questions.”

  He slid the tablet across the counter and spun it around for his customer to peruse.

  “It says there are almost seven-thousand essences to fit my budget,” Thornton squeaked. He looked to Sarevja for support. “That can’t be right, can it?”

  “It is true.” She nodded solemnly.

  “I’m just not sure what to go with. There are a lot of strange options.” He made faces at the GLCD as he swiped through page after page of indexes.

  “Unfortunately, it looks like you’re still a couple thousand chits shy of some of the more obviously useful choices,” Seymour explained, “but I’m confident we can find you something in this book to make your Nana proud. Let’s see if we can’t find just what you’re after. So tell me a little about yourself, Thor. Where are you from? What do you do? Any special interests or skills?”

  “Well, I’m nothing special,” Thornton said, looking up from the tablet with a crooked smile, first at Seymour and then at Sarevja.

  He told them how he was from a small fishing village far to the north, near the heart of the empire. The village sat on the shores of a great lake, and Thornton’s family eked out a living selling bait to the fishermen. They couldn’t afford a boat of their own; they were hoping that perhaps if Thornton could become a dungeon crawler then he could earn the money to buy one.

  “Right,” Seymour said. “So your primary job skill is, uh, digging up worms?” The Pallesthesia effect on the piece of folk artificery crafted by Thornton’s nana made more sense now, but bait-digging felt like an obviously poor basis for any proper adventuring class. He decided to probe elsewhere. “Well, maybe just forget about work for a minute. What do you like to do in your free time?”

  “Oh I love to read,” Thornton began, but right away he thought better and shook his head. He turned to Sarevja, whom he still had caught by the waist, and apologized: “I’m sorry, that’s stupid. Reading obviously isn’t going to be a meaningful pastime when it comes to evolving any sort of useful adventuring class. I wish my older brother Dean had been the one to manifest these sigils.”

  “Not so fast, Bud,” Seymour quickly interjected. “A thirst for knowledge seems like a perfect base for becoming a spell-flinger of some kind, doesn’t it? What sort of things do you like to read?”

  “Oh, I’m a big fan of Lucretia’s work,” he blurted, and then his eyes went wide and his jaw worked mutely as he realized what he’d just admitted in front of Sarevja, who used his sudden surge of embarrassment to slip herself free.

  “I think you have this all well in hand, Seymour.” She smiled at Thornton. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Gring.”

  She pivoted and left. Thornton could only watch her go, mouthing silently, still unable to form an explanation for his reading preferences.

  When she was well out of earshot, Seymour said, “So, Lucretia, eh?”

  “Yeah. That’s right. I can’t believe I just said that in front of that Oberai—”

  “She does mostly monster girl harem stories, no?” Seymour knew about Lucretia’s smutty stories from his time with Dathon. He’d begged the squid-faced alien to read her works in silence.

  “Yeah,” Thornton admitted after a pause. “But I just skim past the explicit parts.”

  “Thor. My friend; my dude,” Seymour began, “if we’re going to find the right essence for you, then I’m going to need complete honesty.” He was bullshitting a little bit now, but it felt right. Honesty couldn’t hurt, could it?

  “Sorry.” Thornton shoved his hands in his pockets and turned his gaze back to the GLCD, quietly admitting, “I do love the horny stuff. Literally. I like the rhino-girls and I can’t even say why.”

  “Alright, man, maybe let’s just set aside all of your entire lived experience for a minute.”

  “This isn’t going well, is it? I’m just not cut out for this.”

  “No, no, I think I’ve got another angle. Let’s just try using that imagination of yours. I’d bet it’s pretty strong from all the reading you do, am I right?”

  “That’s probably fair to say. You think it can help me?”

  “I do. Tell me, Thor, when you imagine what it would be like to be an adventurer, what sort of powers come to mind?”

  Thornton thought about it.

  “I guess I imagine something related to nature. I spend most of my time at the lake or in the forest; don’t get into the city very often, though I suppose that would probably change if I become an adventurer.” He paused. The gears in his head were turning quicker with every passing moment. “I’d like control; ways to control my enemies. Keep them at a distance, if at all possible. I’ve done some practicing with a short bow, so maybe something that helps me keep out of range. And maybe an animal companion.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere.” Seymour smiled. “Something like an Essence of Nature is going to be out of your price range, and while I think you could probably just barely afford some Words of the Forest, we both know your best bet is going to be crossing that purity sigil of yours with an essence of some sort. So maybe something smaller, more specific, might be just what you’re after. Mind if I borrow the tablet again?”

  “Be my guest,” Thornton said, rotating the GLCD on the counter so Seymour could browse its contents. It only took a moment before he found what he was after.

  “What do you think of trying an Essence of Sprouting?” He pointed to where it was listed. Then he drew on his own experiences playing roleplaying games back on Earth. “I think with your background there’s a chance you could evolve a Druid or maybe a Shaman variant or something, with power directly over plants. Maybe you’d be able to grow some vines to root your target in place so you can plink away with arrows.”

  “Really?” Thornton looked skeptical. “Sprouting? There’s an essence for that? It’s hard to believe.”

  “It’s like the little cousin of growth,” Seymour explained, “but focused on plants. And here’s the kicker – it sells for only twelve-hundred chits, so you’d still have half your money left to add some basic adventuring gear or, shit – maybe even a second catalyst to broaden your power set. Pardon my French.”

  Thornton was pondering everything else Seymour had just said too hard to ask what French was.

  “We also have some Words of the Lake for I think four hundred chits, but again I’m not as confident in using words or pages or cards to compel your class. Not if we’re gonna try to catalyze your Purity. I think the Lake is probably moreso the kind of thing you’d use after your class evolution, once the overall theme of your powerset has already been established.”

  “Druid, huh?” Thornton said, breaking his silence. “I have to admit, that does sound intriguing.”

  “It should be a very versatile class,” Seymour claimed, again basing his analysis solely on his roleplaying game experience back home. “But I think a snare ability, something where you make roots come alive to attack your enemies, could definitely be a possibility if we cross your Purity with an Essence of Sprouting.”

  Thornton nodded, just barely at first, but then gradually becoming more emphatic.

  “Let’s do it,” he said, heading bobbing up-and-down.

  “Alright!” Seymour cheered. “Just follow me on over to this freaky- ass vault-thing and let’s see if I can get your essence out for you without losing my hand.”