Day 13, L2 Challenge
Lilies regrown — right on schedule. Reliable.
Kayak trip upstream this morning. Found reeds outside the city, enough for more tests.
Brew failure #3. Water temp wrong? Too hot… or too cold. Can’t tell. Need better precision.
Challenge fine today. Two plants. Forty-five umbral cores. Routine.
But—an idea is forming. I need Saskia’s advice before I act on it.
prediction scribble: slime core market will tank soon. too much supply, price can not hold.
retain enough for duplication? question mark.
Noah hit level 3 today. Happy for him, but—
Should I ask him to wait? Feels selfish, but I can’t shake the worry he’ll get hurt if he runs too far ahead.
Rem found Noah down by the canal, sitting cross-legged on the low wall. The light caught his hair—sandy and messy, like he’d dried it too fast after a shower. His face was tired but easy, the kind of calm that only comes after you’ve survived something stupid.
“Level three,” Noah said, holding up three fingers. “Didn’t even get injured this run. First time ever, I think.”
Rem smiled. “Where’s your team?”
“Split.” Noah shrugged. “Guess I didn’t pay them enough to pretend to like me. Can’t blame ’em. I’m bad company when I’m bleeding.”
Rem held out a hand. “Come on. Let’s celebrate before you remember how broke you are.”
Noah laughed and took it. Rem grunted as he hauled him up, nearly losing balance.
“What’s this about paying for friends?” Rem said. “I think you owe me eight years of back pay.”
“Back pay? Man, I bought you one sandwich in tenth grade. We’re square.”
They wandered toward Oldetown, where a new noodle stall glowed beneath strings of paper lanterns. The smell of garlic and chili hit them before the warmth did. Rem ordered two bowls, and they sat on the canal side, knees bumping the underside of the table.
“Primitive reward system,” Rem said, pulling a couple of chocolate candies from his satchel—mint cremes.
Noah’s eyebrows went up. “You remembered?”
Rem grinned. “Hard to find now. Not sure I buy their excuse about a world-changing alien takeover messing with supply chains.”
They ate. The broth was deep and spicy, steam fogging the cold air. Noah made an appreciative noise. “Man, this is good. Real food. You ever notice we only eat properly after doing something stupid?”
Rem chuckled. “That’s all you.”
“Please,” Noah said, pointing his chopsticks like a sword. “You’ve done dumber things than me. Remember the raft?”
“That was your idea.”
“Well yeah, but you built it.”
“We both built it. I just captained her maiden voyage”—he smiled—“right into the depths of the canal.”
Noah laughed so hard he nearly spilled his bowl. The sound turned heads, but neither of them cared. For a while the world shrank to broth, warmth, and the hum of the city breathing around them.
When they slowed down, Noah leaned back and sighed. “You remember what you wanted to be? Before all this? Before the arrival messed everything up?”
Rem hesitated. “Normal, I guess.”
“Normal,” Noah repeated, staring at the canal. “Yeah. I think I said teacher once, but I don’t even remember what that means anymore. Feels like someone else’s dream.” He rubbed the scar on his jaw and smiled faintly. “Guess this is the upgrade.”
Rem said nothing. The lantern light shifted over Noah’s face, warm and unsteady. Both their bowls were empty, just broth and a few stray noodles left.
Noah blinked, looking away, expression flickering. “Eva’s calling me,” he said. “Better take it before she thinks I’m mad or something.”
Rem nodded.
“Next time, my treat,” Noah said, standing and stretching his shoulders.
He gave Rem a tired grin then crossed toward the bridge. His reflection rippled in the canal, breaking apart under the amber light until it was just water again.
Rem leaned against the doorway of his sister’s room, boot in hand. Saskia was nothing but a lump under her blanket, music leaking from her headphones. He tossed the boot onto the bed.
It thumped against her side.
“What!” Saskia barked, ripping the covers down. Her hair stuck in every direction, pajamas rumpled. She glared at him. “What’s the deal, Rem?”
“I’ve been calling you, but your music’s too loud.”
She groaned, rubbing her eyes. “I ran today. I’m dead. What do you want?”
“I had an idea to earn more cores.” He forced a half-smile. “Wanted your advice.”
That pulled her upright. She smirked, pushing hair from her face. “Finally ready to start your crafting empire. I knew you had a plan.”
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
“Not quite.” He crossed the room, grabbed the boot back from her blanket, and tucked it under his arm. Then he handed her a slim notebook. The cover showed a bucket and shovel sketched in careful ink, above a long title.
“A Child’s Guide to Soloing Challenge One,” she read. “By the world record holder… Zelfstryt?” Her eyebrows shot up. She flipped it open. Inside were diagrams, slime sketches, step-by-step notes.
Her voice went sharp. “Is this real? You’re telling me you’re Zelfstryt?”
“Not so loud,” Rem whispered. His ears burned. “I don’t want people to know. That’s why I’m asking you. Is there a way to publish this and get paid, but stay anonymous?”
She turned more pages, tracing the lines of his drawings. “You drew all this. It’s amazing. And this works…” Her awe snapped, twisting into anger. She shoved the book back into his chest.
The blow landed harder than it should have. His arms locked around the notebook like it was armor.
“Mom prayed for you every day, Rem. Every single day. And I prayed too. We thought you were drowning, and all that time you were better than fine—hiding this.” Her voice cracked, then sharpened again. “Do you have any idea how that feels?”
He couldn’t meet her eyes. Heat crawled up his neck. “I just didn’t want—”
“Didn’t want us to know? We’re your family!” Her eyes shone with fury and hurt. “I told you to keep your build secret from Mom and Dad, not your whole life from us.”
The words hollowed him out. He bent, jamming the boot back onto his foot just to give his hands something to do, something that wasn’t shaking.
For a moment he wished he hadn’t come. Better to keep hiding, better to bear it alone than see that look on her face—like he’d betrayed her. He braced for her to tell him to get out.
She stopped pacing, breath ragged. Then, almost against her will, she sat down again and pulled the notebook back into her lap. Her fingers trembled as she flipped to the last page.
She read the childish flourish, and her expression wavered—hurt still raw, but the corners of her mouth betraying her. A short, sharp laugh escaped before she could stop it, and then the rest followed.
In neat block letters it read:
“You’re ridiculous, you know that,” Saskia said, wiping at her eyes, still laughing.
Her laughter loosened the knot in his chest, but guilt still throbbed beneath it, raw and unshaken.
She snapped the book shut, grin stretching wide. “Alright then. If you’re serious about this, you can’t just print a bunch of copies. You need to set it up legitimately—and I don’t mean normal human laws. No. You’ll need something enforced by the system. Let me talk to my contacts, see what I can dig up.”
Her eyes sparkled as she traced the cover again. “This is better than good, Rem. You don’t even see it yet, but this could change everything.”
Rem laughed at the sight of his so-called storage locker. Two days ago it had been nothing but storage, a graveyard for used slime cores and half-forgotten junk. Now it looked like the workshop of someone who might actually know what they were doing.
Most of the slime cores were gone, spent on crates of vials. He’d stacked them into uneven towers and laid planks across, cobbling together a desk. Alchemy gear cluttered the boards—flasks, jars, a copper dish catching the light in a dull sheen. It wasn’t elegant, but it was his.
Along the far wall, three beds of night lilies swayed gently in their soil, pale blossoms spilling a perfume so rich it clung to the back of his throat. Almost enough for five challenge runs. Two more days, and he’d have the sixth. He tried not to count the hours like a miser with coins, but he couldn’t help himself.
He flipped one of the crates on its side and dropped onto it like a chair, grinning. He’d told his parents he was running a crafting build. A harmless lie, he thought. And yet—if he could manage even a simple health potion, it would feel less like a lie and more like a promise.
The iron burner was small, no bigger than a lantern base, its sides mottled with soot from too many hurried uses. He set it on the desk, added a splash of alcohol, and crouched close, flint striker poised. Three sparks danced off the edge of his blade before the fuel caught, blooming into a blue flame that whispered instead of roared. The iron body ticked faintly as it warmed, a sound as steady and comforting as a heartbeat.
Rem eased it into place beneath the flask stand. The glow of the fire painted the flask above in shifting oranges and blues, the kind of light that made shadows crawl like watchful things along the walls of his locker.
Inspect works in the locker, he realized again, shaking his head at his own stupidity. He’d nearly dragged all this into the marsh like some pack mule, convinced he had to brew there, in the danger and muck. The thought made him cringe.
He crossed the space and bent over the lilies. One flower came free beneath his fingers, its stem snapping cleanly. Back at the table, he slid a knife through the bloom with the same care Arbrios had shown him, splitting the velvet petals until the pale nectar glistened. A gentle squeeze, and it bled into the copper dish, glowing faintly as if it resented being taken.
He set it aside, reached for the reed sap, measured, dropped. The clear water hissed as the sap touched it, unraveling into delicate white threads that curled and twisted like ghostly hair.
So far. So good.
He held his breath as he took up the copper dish and tipped the nectar in. The last two attempts had died here—sour failures, the liquid curdling to ash in seconds. The nectar fell in a single drop, blooming into silver light that spread like moonbeams through the flask.
Rem’s lungs burned before he realized he’d been holding them. He exhaled, relief fluttering through him, and snuffed the flame at once.
The final step. The anise powder. He pinched it between his fingers, hesitated, watching the steam curl off the water. Was it cool enough? Had he waited long enough? He didn’t know, couldn’t know. At last he tipped it in and stirred.
The liquid reddened, threads of color unfurling into a deep, glowing crimson. The scent of licorice thickened in the room, sweet and sharp, and the flask pulsed faintly with its own light.
Lines of text burned into his vision:
[ SYSTEM NOTICE — CRAFTING OUTPUT ]
Formula Classification: Uncommon (Ref: IT-FRM/UNC).
XP Allocation: +10 XP applied to Formula: Health Potion (Ledger Ref: ESS-LOG/FX-HP02).
Authority: Expansion Protocol §4.9; Item Registry §12.4.
Record: Event logged to Crafting Ledger (CLD-ENTRY: CL-HP02).
[ SYSTEM NOTICE — INCIDENT RESPONSE ]
Status: Hidden achievement flagged.
Action: Grant provisional access to profession/gathering assignment workflows pending compliance reconciliation.
Oversight: Incident ticket generated (Ref: IR-UNSK/017).
[ SYSTEM NOTICE — LOCAL BROADCAST ]
Restrictions:
? Single active crafting profession permitted (Protocol 966721 §223.3).
? Single active gathering profession permitted (Protocol 966721 §223.3).
Compliance: Assignment governed pursuant to Concordant Law §17.3 and Profession Allocation Addendum §PA-7.
[ SYSTEM INTERFACE — PROMPT::423.112.11 ]
Response required: Signal “Yes” / “No” via active interface or in-region vocal confirmation.
Interaction Window: T = 00:00:30.
Failure mode (no response): Defer to user reissue or archive interaction (Ref: INT-ARC/CRA-HP02).
The words hung there, burning in the air like script written on the inside of his skull.
Rem frowned. Active. That didn’t mean , did it? Just that the system would let him carry one at a time, like tools swapped in and out of a belt. If that was true, then that was fine. He could change things later and take advantage of this early. It was a start.
His pulse quickened, the glow from the potion painting the corners of his vision in red and gold. He’d dreamed of this—no, lied about this—when he’d told his parents he was building for crafting. And now the system itself was offering him the truth of that lie.
His mouth was dry. He swallowed.
“Yes.”
The system answered at once.
[STAR CORPS — FIELD BROADCAST: FRONTIER UPDATE 17]
The Founding Flight nears completion — only three constellations remain before the First Twenty are enshrined in the Star Corps record.
Trash-Tier OP?!
Together, you’ve turned a simple idea about a one-inch cube into something more vibrant.
Service. Unity. Light.
Transmission End.
