Pain was the first language Invia's body spoke that morning—a dialect of screaming muscles and protesting joints that translated roughly to what the hell were you thinking?
He lay exactly where exhaustion had dropped him, just inside his door, cheek pressed against cool stone. The silver pendant had left an imprint on his chest, its familiar warmth the only comfortable sensation in a symphony of agony. Attempting to move triggered a full-body rebellion that made the Shatterling's claws seem gentle by comparison.
My Status, he thought, too tired to speak.
The translucent panel materialized:
[Invia]
Title: The Fool
Resonance: ?, Sword
Realm: Physical
Rank: Lower
Attributes:
Strength: D
Agility: D
Willpower: C
Endurance: D+
Perception: B-
Mastery:
Sword: E+
Slash: D
Thrust: E
Chop: E
Parry: E+
Block: E+
Skills:
A whole tier advancement in Slash. In one session. The numbers should have thrilled him, but all he could think about was whether his legs would ever work again.
Twenty minutes of careful negotiation with his rebellious body later, Invia managed a sitting position. Another ten got him standing. The walk to the bathing chambers felt like crossing a desert made of broken glass, each step a fresh reminder of yesterday's obsession.
The hot water was salvation and torture combined—soothing the aches while revealing new depths of exhaustion he hadn't known existed. He dressed slowly in fresh training clothes, movements careful as an old man's, and navigated toward the dining hall guided more by smell than conscious thought.
The morning crowd parted around him, perhaps recognizing the particular shuffle of someone who'd pushed too hard in training. He collected a tray—porridge, bread, something that might have been eggs—and searched for an empty seat.
"INVIA!"
The shout hit like a physical force. Django materialized beside him as if summoned, wild hair defying several laws of physics, his grin so bright it could have powered a small city. His eyes sparkled with the particular light of someone for whom the world was perpetually, inexplicably delightful.
"You look terrible!" Django announced with the same enthusiasm most people reserved for compliments. "Like someone fed you through a millstone! Backwards! Twice!"
"Thanks," Invia managed, settling carefully onto the bench. Even sitting hurt.
"What happened yesterday?" Django's head tilted at an angle that suggested his neck had optional joints. "You walked right past me! Like I was invisible! Or furniture! Or invisible furniture!"
The memory surfaced through yesterday's haze—passing someone in the corridor, too lost in the trance to register anything beyond the next slash. "Sorry about that. I was... training."
"Training!" Django's eyes went impossibly wider. "With Mono? He's famous for being strict! They say he once made a student repeat the same thrust ten thousand times because the angle was off by half a degree!"
"He didn't really train me," Invia clarified, spooning porridge without tasting it. "Just showed me one slash and told me to match it."
Django's face scrunched in concentration, the expression of someone trying to solve advanced mathematics with basic arithmetic. "But... how do you match something without being shown how? That's like telling someone to fly without explaining wings!"
"That's what I thought too."
"But you did it anyway?" At Invia's nod, Django beamed. "Amazing! You must be some kind of genius! Or crazy! Or a crazy genius! Those are the best kind!"
Despite everything, Invia found himself almost smiling. There was something refreshing about Django's complete lack of guile—like talking to an enthusiastic puppy that had learned human speech.
"How did you end up here?" Django asked, already past his amazement and onto the next curiosity. "Are you from one of the martial families? You don't look like you're from the martial families. They all have this specific way of walking, like they're balancing swords on their heads."
"I..." Invia gave the practiced lie. "Woke up in the middle of a goblin raid. No memories before that. My Sword Resonance manifested during the fight. Oh, and the System showed up."
Django's jaw dropped. "You lost your memories? All of them? Even your favorite food? That's terrible! How do you know what to order for breakfast?"
The question was so earnestly concerned that Invia had to suppress a laugh. "I just pick whatever looks good."
"Brilliant!" Django slapped the table hard enough to rattle their trays. "Practical problem-solving! I should try that!" He paused. "Wait, what if you hate porridge but don't remember? You could be poisoning yourself with bad breakfast choices!"
"I think I'll survive."
"That's the spirit!" Django's grin returned to full power. "Oh! Speaking of survival, how long have you been here? A goblin raid... was that recent?"
"About three days ago. A mercenary group brought me to the city."
"THREE DAYS?" Django's voice cracked. "You've been training with Mono FOR THREE DAYS and you're already meeting his criteria? It took me three months just to hold a bow properly! Although..." His face scrunched again. "My parents said that was because something's wrong with my head. I still don't understand what they meant. My head's attached just fine, see?" He grabbed his head and wiggled it demonstratively.
Invia blinked. "Your parents think something's wrong with your head?"
"That's what they kept saying!" Django threw his hands up, nearly knocking over his cup. "They kept me inside for years, said I couldn't leave until my head was 'fixed.' But they never explained what was broken! I asked if they meant my hair—it does stick up weird—but they said no. Then I asked if they meant my thoughts, but how can thoughts be broken? They're not physical things!"
The innocence in his frustration was almost painful. Invia studied Django's animated features, the way his emotions played across his face without filter or restraint. He'd met people who pretended at simplicity, but this was different. Django seemed to exist in a world where subtext simply didn't exist.
"Is that why you're behind in progression?" Invia asked carefully.
"Years behind!" Django nodded vigorously. "Everyone else my age is already pushing Conceptual Realm, but I'm still mid-Physical. But that's okay! More time to enjoy the journey, right? My bow teacher says I'm 'aggressively enthusiastic' about training. I think it was a compliment!"
It probably wasn't, Invia thought, but didn't say.
"Oh!" Django's eyes lit up with fresh excitement. "You have to meet Marcus! He's from Earth! He knows everything about the System that you have! He works in the archives and reads all day, and remembers everything he reads! He's like a human library! But sadder!"
"Sadder?"
"He smiles, but his eyes don't!" Django explained with disturbing perception. "Like he's practicing the expression! I told him he should practice harder because it's not working, but he just laughed. Except that was sad too!"
Before Invia could respond, Django was already standing, tugging at his sleeve. "Come on! He takes breakfast in the archives! Says it's quieter there, but I think he just likes books more than people!"
Invia followed, partly because Django's enthusiasm was impossible to resist and partly because System knowledge would be invaluable. As they walked, Django kept up a constant stream of chatter, pointing out everything from architectural details ("That pillar's been repaired six times! You can tell by the color differences!") to passing students ("That's Lei! She can make her sword invisible! She keeps walking into it though!").
The archive building stood apart from the training halls, its stone facade covered in carved symbols that seemed to shift when viewed peripherally. Django bounced up the steps two at a time, then waited at the door with exaggerated patience.
"Marcus doesn't like loud noises," he stage-whispered. "Or sudden movements! Or people touching his books without asking! Or people touching his books even after asking! Basically, don't touch anything!"
The archives smelled of old paper and preservation oils, the air heavy with the weight of accumulated knowledge. Tall shelves created narrow corridors between pools of lamplight, and somewhere in the maze of books, the soft scratch of a pen on paper provided the only sound.
They found Marcus in a corner alcove, surrounded by neat stacks of volumes. He was perhaps twenty, with the kind of careful posture that suggested someone trying to take up as little space as possible. As they approached, Invia noticed Marcus's fingers absently tracing the edges of a simple bronze necklace at his throat - a habitual gesture that seemed to ground him. When he looked up, Invia understood Django's comment about sad smiles immediately.
"Django," Marcus said, his voice soft but warm. "And... a new friend?"
"This is Invia!" Django announced, thankfully, at a lower volume. "He's got amnesia and a Sword Resonance and trains with Mono! I brought him to learn about the System, he's from Earth! You're the best at explaining things!"
Marcus studied Invia with intelligent eyes that seemed to catalog every detail. "From Earth, recently arrived, genuinely lost rather than pretending. Interesting." At Invia's surprised look, he offered that practiced smile. "You develop an eye for patterns, working here. Please, sit. Django, try not to knock over anything irreplaceable."
"Everything here is irreplaceable!" Django protested, carefully settling into a chair with exaggerated delicacy.
"Exactly," Marcus said dryly, then turned his attention to Invia. "What do you know about the System so far?"
"Almost nothing," Invia admitted. "Status windows, skill rankings, proficiency levels. The basics."
Marcus nodded, pulling a slim volume from his personal stack. "The System is... comprehensive. More than most realize at first. Let me show you something fundamental that many miss—the Inspect function."
He placed a simple iron dagger on the table. "Focus on this. Really look at it, but while thinking the word 'Inspect.' The intent matters more than the word itself."
Invia stared at the blade, shaping the thought. Inspect.
A new window appeared:
[Iron Dagger] Quality: Common
Damage: E
Durability: 34/40
Properties: None
Description: A basic iron dagger. Decent balance, showing signs of wear.
"Useful for equipment, materials, herbs," Marcus explained. "Even beasts up to a certain level. But for people, the System has limits. Race is the basic information, but it shows more the more you know about the person. As you grow stronger, you'll see more details."
Invia inspected him.
[Marcus]
Race: Human
Then, he did the same for Django.
[Django]
Race: Human
Resonance: Bow
Realm: Physical
Rank: Middle
Based on my own knowledge, huh.
"That's amazing!" Django bounced in his seat. "I wish I could see weapon details like that! I have to rely on actually testing arrows to know which wood works best! Takes forever!"
Marcus's smile grew marginally more genuine. "You manage well enough without it." He turned back to Invia. "The System tracks everything—every skill gained, every level advanced. It all gets recorded somewhere."
Something in his tone made Invia's skin prickle. "Is that... bad?"
"Not inherently." Marcus shrugged, but the gesture seemed calculated. "Just worth knowing. Information is never truly free."
He spent the next hour explaining nuances while Django peppered the conversation with questions about Earth ("Is it true you have metal birds that carry people?"). Despite his enthusiasm, Django showed surprising insight into combat theory, revealing the education his family had forced on him.
As they prepared to leave, Marcus caught Invia's sleeve. Django had already bounded ahead, distracted by something shiny in the corridor.
"Be careful who you trust here," Marcus said quietly, his practiced smile nowhere in evidence. "Even kindness can have a price. Especially kindness."
"Speaking from experience?"
Marcus's laugh was barely a breath. "Everything I do is from experience. That's what makes it so expensive." He glanced toward where Django waited. "Take care of him, would you? He sees the world differently, but that doesn't mean he sees it wrong. Sometimes I think he's the only honest thing in this place."
Before Invia could ask what he meant, Marcus had already turned back to his books, the conversation clearly over.
Django chatted happily as they walked back, but Invia's mind churned with questions. Marcus's warning echoed too closely to Kleo's parting words. Everyone wanting something. Kindness having a price.
What kind of academy is this?
As they parted ways—Django to his bow practice, Invia to rest before tomorrow's training—the archer grabbed his arm with surprising strength.
"Marcus is sad because he thinks too much," Django said, his perpetual grin softening to something almost wise. "But thinking too much is just another way of being scared. Don't be scared, Invia! The world's not as complicated as smart people make it!"
Then he was gone, bouncing away with his bow over his shoulder, leaving Invia to wonder if Django's simplicity was its own form of genius.
Tomorrow, Mono would evaluate his progress. Tomorrow, he'd push beyond just the slash. But today, he'd gained something valuable—a friend who couldn't lie and a warning from someone who couldn't tell the complete truth.
Both, in their own way, were gifts.