They rode back to Rhobair in silence, neither man willing to break the tension of what they’d just shared. Brannoc had given him the rest of the day off, telling him to find the Salt Lick and bring back jobs he thought he was ready for. Precisely the excuse he needed to flood his senses with as much of the magical city as he could. Anything to keep his mind from considering his teacher’s question.

  What was he going to do with this time? Certainly not what he’d done on Earth. Coast through a job he hated? Take for granted a woman who had the grace to love him? No, maybe that’s why this whole situation wasn’t ruining him? It was a fresh start. A chance to do it right.

  As Greg walked, Rhobair unraveled itself with slow, deliberate wonder. The city curved away from the coastline in ever-growing arcs. City walls shielded it from most of the hectic seaside winds, but when Greg reached the docks, the smell still found him. That clean, sharp scent of saltwater in the breeze. The way it brushed along his skin. The heavy cloud hanging overhead suddenly stopped just out to sea, making it too alien to feel like home, but it was just close enough to hurt.

  One crisis at a time.

  The Salt Lick was probably the most obvious building in the district. He’d half thought Maeve was joking when she’d described it, but sure enough, about a quarter mile from the docks, half a ship jutted up above the other buildings. He’d make his way back to it. For now, he wanted to familiarize himself with the city.

  After passing through the seaside sector of Rhobair, he crossed into the industrial ring. In the light of day, or what passed for the light of day beneath the heavy fog, the sector was even more busy than it had been the night he killed the Frost kissed. Ravens squawked out times, crafters in oil darkened aprons etched sigils into the sides of automated machines that roamed off doing God only knew what.

  It was still shocking to see people walking around that were not human, but he was starting to come to terms with it. The strangest of them were the massive rock skinned people. He’d need Brannoc to go over the common species with him so he didn’t accidental offend anyone. Maeve was probably a better choice for the job, but that would mean explaining more than she needed to know right now.

  The next section of the city was the massive towers that rose well above the cloud ceiling. Maeve had kind of already shown him around here, most of it being shops and residential areas. She’d mentioned something about dragonheart artifacts, but he didn’t want to start going through shops until he had a little more basic knowledge.

  Greg had to shield his eyes as he approached the wrought-iron fence painted white. Between the bars, the heart of the city rose in a perfect circle. Unlike the rest of the city, the castle and its grounds were unmarred by the fog, wearing the absence like a crown. Its gleaming white walls pierced the sky, each of the thirteen towers ending in a different colored roof, and a different flag.

  There was a suspension of disbelief with the rest of the city: the alien races, the flying forklifts, the fact that water treatment was done by dog sized worms. Staring up at the castle, though, its splendor. It couldn’t be real.

  New Quest!

  Become acquainted with The Thirteen

  0/13

  The Thirteen are the ruling class of Ashoria. Make some friends in high places! Or enemies that can turn you into a smoking crater.

  Reward:

  10000 experience

  That was a lot of experience. Probably not something he could accomplish in an afternoon. Greg took a few more minutes, admiring the scene before heading back the way he’d came.

  The first thing that came into view as he approached the ship turned tavern was the decorative carving extending off the bow. He’d always heard about mermaids decorating old school ships in his world, but never had he seen one depicted quite like this.

  Its scaled tail ended in dual tentacles, rather than fin, that curled back over the edge of the deck. The skin of her chest and navel were cracked and tinged with greens and blues as if it were covered in bruises. Where he’d expect shell-covered, perky breasts were pendulous, nippleless slabs of wood. Its head and arms remained disturbingly humanoid, yet the skin stretched taut into groups of smaller, finer tentacles beneath the eyes and from elbow to wrist.

  As if the figure wasn’t disturbing enough, the sign sealed the deal.

  “You’ve gotta be fucking shitting me.” Greg stared in disbelief.

  Jinty McGinty’s Salt Lick

  Est. 504

  There was no way after being shunted through space and ripped apart and rebuilt, some asshole named Jinty McGinty could just open a bar here. If he walked into this bar and they served those nachos that Autumn claims were “an insult to melted cheese,” he was going to riot.

  Frowning, he looked up at the heavy fog cloud that poked out over the sea and shook his head before pushing through the door. A wall of sound hit him all at once like the door had been holding it back. Voices, wood scraping across wood, creaking floorboards, some sort of stringed instrument and a singing man on the stage.

  Stepping into the tavern felt like walking backward in time. The outside world was a mishmash of technology and magic, but this place felt different. Tables and chairs of hand-carved wood filled the expansive floor, waiters and waitresses ducked and dived through stumbling patrons with trays full of drinks and food, and the air carried the haze of smoke and the smell of stale alcohol.

  The jobs board was the most obvious fixture in the place. A massive corkboard at the back of the bottom floor with hundreds of papers tacked to it. To the right of the board, a sprial staircase led up to the second floor of the tavern. From what he could see through the railing, it looked like more seating, though a layer of smoke made it hard to see exactly what was there.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Greg worked his way through the tables, picking up on conversations as he did. Mostly mundane, but a couple discussed their neighbor’s child being abducted and how they thought the increase in frost kissed was behind it. Another man was regaling a group with the story of how he battled a full grown kraken on his last voyage out to sea, single-handedly keeping it from bringing the ship to the depths. Greg chuckled softly as he stepped up to the board.

  Dock Repair Guard

  Carpenters need to work underwater.

  Something has been carving away at the pilings.

  Stand watch. Kill it if it shows up.

  Bring your own underwater equipment.

  Pay: 1 gold obol

  Delivery—Black Salt Package

  Pick up package from Darrett at Darrett’s Alchemy.

  Deliver to NW Monarch Forest outpost.

  Do not open. Do not Taste.

  Pay: 50 silver obols

  Hunt Request—Saltwater Constrictor

  Aquatic serpent sighted in furnace drain 9.

  Needs to be dealt with before it makes its way into the city.

  Bring proof to Conrad at the Salt Lick.

  Pay: 5 gold obols

  Lost Ring-Drain access 7

  My fiance’s engagement ring fell through the grate.

  I can’t go down there.

  Pay: Everything I have.

  Basement Problem

  Issue in the tavern sublevel.

  Ask Conrad for details.

  Missing Pet—Bronze Frog

  Name: Belle

  She doesn’t breathe fire that was a rumor.

  Pay: 60 copper obols

  THE WATER IS BREATHING

  NOT CURRENT. NOT WAVE.

  BREATHING!

  Open City Contract—Vermin Eradication

  Jester rat population is out of control.

  Kill as many as you can.

  Bring the crowns to Guard Tower 17.

  Pay: 10 copper per crown.

  Greg’s eyes started to glaze over as he skimmed the notices. Some of them were absolutely unhinged, other seemed blatantly illegal, and then there were the normal ones. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and pulled the city contract, lost ring, saltwater constrictor, and dock repair notices.

  “Aren’t you a little old for these?” A nasally voice sounded from beside him.

  Brow furrowing, he glanced over at the young man. He was the same race as Clover, titanblood, but they seemed rare. His hair was sliver and slicked back with grease. It stood out against his skin, a deep blue, ranging on purple. He had a limited sample size, but he noted how small the man seemed compared to the other titanbloods he’d seen.

  “I’m sorry. Are you too stupid to speak?” The young man tilted his head then spoke more slowly, sky blue scleraless eyes swirling with yellow streaks. “Maybe. You. Should. Put. Those. Back.” He said, reaching out to take the notices in Greg’s hands.

  “Maybe you should wait until your balls drop before coming at people with that tone.” Greg pulled his hand away and slid the notices into his back pocket.

  “Excuse me?” He turned to square up with Greg, puffing out his chest. Two more figures suddenly appeared behind him, each two heads taller than him and made of pure muscle. “Do you know who my father is?!”

  Greg blinked. “You didn’t just say that…” Greg glanced over one shoulder than the other to see if anyone else was listening. “Please tell me you didn’t just say that.”

  “Laurent Rillon!” The nasally voice snapped at him. “You’ve just insulted the son of the most powerful titanblood in the city. What is your name, sir?”

  Greg bit down hard on his lip, shaking in his attempt to not burst out into laughter. This could not be happening. A real life spoiled rich kid just asked if he knew who his father was?

  “Your name! Before I let my boys beat it out of you!” He nearly shrieked at him.

  “Hugh.” Greg answered suddenly.

  “Surname?!”

  “Jazz.” Greg held out his hand to him. “Wonderful to meet you.”

  “Hugh Jazz? What kind of name is that?” the pompous prick looked down at his hand as if he’d been carrying around a turd.

  “Foreign.” Greg nodded slowly and put his hand in his pocket. “Glad to see things in this new land aren’t too different. See you around, Daddy’s Boy.”

  Greg turned and strolled toward the door, despite the obvious rage he’d left spitting insults behind him.

  ###

  Back at the apartment, Greg found out his inventory apparently kept food fresh. Frog legs were a dish you could get in certain parts of America, but Greg had never tried them. Brinelurkers, while not exactly frogs, were close enough, and Clover had said they were a delicacy. He set himself to task, crafting a veritable feast of frog legs that looked more like state fair turkey legs, some kind of mashed tuber that looked close enough to a potato he found in her kitchen, and some kind of broccoli like vegetable.

  The exercise was cathartic. The smell of cooking meat, clang and scrape of utensils on pans, the heat from the cooktop, it all reminded him of Autumn.

  Reminded him of home.

  His eyes found a bottle on a nearby shelf labeled ‘Dockhand’s Mercy—Rhobair’s Finest Spirits’. That would hit the spot.

  The front door opened quickly, but closed with caution. “Greg?” Maeve called out.

  “In the kitchen.” Greg called back.

  He’d piled all twenty, now seared and roasted, brinelurker legs on a plate in the center of the kitchen table with a large bowl of the mashed tuber and another of the broccoli beside it and was finished up making a pitcher of a cocktail he’d been testing out. His head spun a little as he turned too quickly to grin at her.

  “I made dinner!” he said far too loudly.

  “I see that,” Maeve said through a laugh. “It smells delicious. I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “Mhmm.” Greg sat the pitcher down and slid her a glass. “Also, drinks!”

  Maeve took the glass and poured herself some of the contents, making a face as she sipped. “That’s pretty strong.”

  “Just how I like it,” Greg mumbled, drinking directly from the pitcher.

  Despite the liquor hitting him far faster than he’d expected, he managed to make Maeve a plate without making a mess. They both sat down to eat, though the initial boost to his mood the spirits had provided had quickly fallen. Even on a different planet, he was a downer of a drunk.

  Maeve dug into her third brinelurker leg with an approving moan before finally looking up to see him. Lips pursed, she tilted her head. “You alright, Greg?”

  Greg looked up at her, eyes misty, brain fogged and shook his head slowly. “I don’t think I am.”

  “What’s going on? Brannoc giving you a hard time?”

  “No,” Greg swallowed and pushed greasy fingers through his messy brown hair. “I don’t think I…” Greg looked over at her, a tear streaming from each eye. He just had to open up. Just once. Maeve was his only friend in this world, and she was asking him what was wrong. “I need to go to bed, I think.” Greg said with a short, fake laugh.

  [Fragment Surge—Error]

  Disappointing

  [Persona Contained]

  It used the Airport Autumn voice again, and he felt his stomach drop as he stood.

  “Hey.” Maeve held up a hand, her face going from its usual jovial grin to a softer smile. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but…” She paused and shrugged. “If you need to talk, I’m here for you, alright?”

  He almost choked on the lump in his throat, but gave her a nod. “Thank you,” he murmured before retreating into the empty room and curling himself up into the tightest ball he could in the corner of the bed.

  So many things had changed. He had a brand new and utterly improved body. He had a friend who seemed to genuinely care about him. He was training to be a monster hunting adventurer, for God’s sake. Yet, all he could think about was Autumn’s words and just how true they were. He just let things happen to him. Even fighting monsters…he was just reacting.

  Brannoc had asked him what he was going to do with the time he had left. Boiled down, what did he want? Was there a simpler question to answer? But here he was in the fetal position in a man’s bed he’d never met…completely unable to answer it.